CHAPTER XIII.
WULLCAT WAT DARES HEAVEN AND HELL.
It was about the end of February, when the days are beginning to creepout quickly from their shortest, that my aunt, the Lady Lochinvar, cameto town. I, that asked only meat and house-room, companied not much withthe braver folk who sought the society of my cousin of Lochinvar. Watglanced here and there in some new bravery every day, and I saw him butseldom. However, my lady aunt came to see me when she had been but threedays in town. For she was punctilious about the claims of blood andkinship, which, indeed, women mostly think much more of than do men.
"A good morning, cousin," said she, "and how speeds the suit?"
Then I told her somewhat of the law's delays and how I had an excellentlawyer, albeit choleric and stormy in demeanour,--one of mine own name,Mr. William Gordon, though his pleas were drawn by James Stewart,presently in hiding. What Gordon said went down well with my Lords ofthe Council meeting in Holyrood, for he was a great swearer and damnedfreely in his speech. But Hugh Wallace, that was the King's cash-keeper,claimed the fine because that my father was a heritor--conform to theActs of Parliament made against these delinquencies and conventicles in1670 and 1672, appointing the fines of heritors being transgressors tocome into the treasury. But Sir George Mackenzie said, "If this plea benot James Stewart's drawing I have no skill of law. Tell me, Gordon, ginye drew this yoursel' or is James Stewart in Scotland?"
Then my lady of Lochinvar asked of me when I thought my matters might bebrought to an end.
"That I know not," said I; "it seems slow enough."
"All law is slow, save that which my man and your father got," said she.
I was astonished that she should mention her man, with that courage andcountenance, and the story not six months old; indeed, his very headsticking on the Netherbow, not a mile from us as we talked. But she sawsome part of this in my face, and quickly began to say on.
"You Gordons never think you die honest unless you die in arms againstthe King. But ye stand well together, though your hand is against everyother man. And that is why I, that am but a tacked-on Gordon, come tohelp you if so be I can; though I and my boy stand for the King, and youand your rebel brother Sandy for the Covenants. Weary fa' them--thattook my man from me--for he was a good man to me, though we agreed butill together concerning kings and politics."
"Speak for my brother Sandy," I said, "I am no strong sufferer, and soshall get me, I fear me, no golden garments."
Thus I spoke in my ignorance, for the witty lown-warm air of Edinburghin spiritual things had for the time being infected me with opinionslike those of the Laodicians.
Now this was a favourite overword of my mother's, that suffering was theChristian's golden garment. But to my aunt, to whom religion was mostlyfamily tradition (or so I thought), I might as well have spoken of friedfish.
"But concerning Walter," she went on, as one that comes to a realsubject after beating about the bush, "tell me of him. You have beenhere with him in this city the best part of three months."
Now indeed I saw plainly enough what it was that had procured me thehonour of a visit so early from my lady of Lochinvar.
"In this city I have indeed been, my aunt," I replied, "but not withWalter. For I am not Lord of Lochinvar, but only the poor suitor of theKing's mercy. And I spent not that which I have not, nor yet can Iafford further to burden the estate which may never be mine."
She waved her hand as at a Whig scruple, which good King's folk madelight of.
"But what of Walter--you have seen--is it well with the lad?"
She spoke eagerly and laid her hand on my arm.
But after all the business was not mine, and besides, a Gordon--Covenantor no Covenant--is no tale-piet, as my lady might well have known.
"Wat Gordon," said I, "is the gayest and brightest young spark in town,like a Damascus blade for mettle, and there are none that love not hiscoming, and grieve not at his going."
"Ay--ladies, that I ken," said my aunt. "What of my Lady Wellwood?"
Now I had a very clear opinion of my Lady Wellwood, though I knew hernot; for indeed she would not have waved the back of her lily hand to mein the street. But she was a handsome woman, and I admired her greatlyfor the fairness of her countenance as she went by. Besides, thebusiness of Wat and my Lady Wellwood was none of mine.
"My lady is in truth a fine woman," I said calmly, looking up as if Iwere saying what must please my visitor.
The Lady Lochinvar struck one hand on the other hastily and rose.
"Attend me home," she said; "I see after all that you are a man, and somust defend all men and admire all women."
"The last, for your ladyship's sake, I do," I made answer. For in thosedays we were taught to be courteous to the elder ladies, and to makethem becoming compliments, which is in danger of being a forgotten artin these pettifogging times.
"What takes you to the Covenant side?" asked Lady Lochinvar, "Certes,the Falkland dominie had not made that speech."
"The same that took your husband, Lady Lochinvar," I returned, somewhatnettled. For she spake as if the many honest folk in Scotland were butdirt beneath the feet of the few. But that was ever the way of her kind.
"Kenned ye ever a Gordon that would be driven with whips of scorpions,or one that could not be drawn with the light of ladies' eyes?"
She sighed, and gathered up her skirts.
"Ay, the last all too readily," she said, thinking, I doubt not, ofWalter Gordon and my lady of Wellwood.
It was dusking when we stepped out. My aunt took my arm and desired thatwe should walk home, though already I had called a chair for her. So wewent up the narrow, dirty street and came slowly to her lodgings. Waltermet us on the stair of the turnpike. He was shining in silk and velvetas was recently his constant wont. Lace ruffles were at his wrists. Hehad a gold chain about his neck, and a jewelled rapier flashed and swungin a gold-broidered velvet sheath at his side.
He seemed no little dashed by our coming in together. I quicklyunderstood that he had thought his mother safely out of the way, andwondered how I should keep the peace between them. For by the tremble ofher hand on my arm I felt that the storm was nigh the breaking.
Yet for all that he stopped and kissed her dutifully, standing on thestep with his hat in his hand, to let her pass within. The flickeringlight of the cruisie lamp in the stairhead fell on him, and I thought hehad the noblest figure of a youth that ever my eyes had rested upon.
But his mother would not let him go.
"Attend me to my chamber, Walter," she said. "I have that concerningwhich I would speak with you."
So we went upward, turning and twisting up the long stairs, till we cameto the door where my lady lodged. She tirled fretfully at the pin, theservant-maid opened, and we went within. The window stood wide to give adraft to the fire of wood that burned on the firegrate. I went over toclose it, and, as I did so, a broad flake of snow swirled down, and laymelting on my wrist. It told me that it was to be a wild night--the lastsnowstorm of the year, belike.
My lady came back from her own bed-chamber in a moment. She had merelylaid aside her plaid, waiting not to change her gown lest her son shouldbe gone.
Walter Gordon stood discontentedly enough at the side of the firegrate,touching the glowing embers with his French shoe, careless of how heburnt it.
"Walter," said my aunt, "will you not pleasure us with your companyto-night?"
"I cannot, my lady," said Lochinvar, without looking up; "I have made anengagement elsewhere."
He spoke baldly and harshly, as one that puts a restraint on himself.
His mother looked at him with her eyes like coals from which the leapingflame has just died out. For a moment she said nothing, but the soulwithin her flamed out of the windows of her house of clay, fiery andpassionate. It had come to the close and deadly pinch with her, and itwas on the dice's throw whether she would lose or keep her son.
"Walter Gordon," she said at last, "has your mother journeyed thus f
arto so little purpose, that now she is here, you will not do her thehonour to spend a single night in her company? Since when has she becomeso distasteful to you?"
"Mother," said Wat, moved in spite of himself, "you do not yourselfjustice when you speak so. I would spend many nights with you, for allmy love and service are yours; but to-night I cannot fail to go whitherI have promised without being man-sworn and tryst-breaker. And you havetaught me that the Gordons are neither."
"Wat," she said, hearing but not heeding his words, "bide you by meto-night. There be sweet maids a many that will give their lives foryou. You are too young for such questing and companionry. Go not to myLady Wellwood to-night. O do not, my son! 'Tis your mother that makesherself a beggar to you!"
At the name of my Lady Wellwood Walter Gordon started from his place asthough he had been stung and glanced over at me with a sudden and fieryanger.
"If my cousin----"
But I kept my eyes clear upon him, as full of fire mayhap as his own.And even in that moment I saw the thought pass out of his mind in theuncertain firelight.
"Your cousin has told me nothing, though I deny not that I asked him,"said my lady curtly. "Young men hang together, like adder's eggs. ButWat, dear Wat, will you not put off your gay apparelling and take anight at the cartes with us at home. See, the fire is bright and thelamp ready. It will be a wild night without presently!"
"To-morrow, mother, to-morrow at e'en shall be the night of my waitingupon you. To-night, believe me, I cannot--though, because you ask me,with all my heart I would that I could."
Then his mother rose up from her seat by the fire, and went up to him.She laid her hand on his arm and looked into his eyes.
"O Walter, my boy, go not forth to-night"--(here I declare to God theproud woman knelt to her own son)--"See, I have put off my pride, and Ipray you not to go for my sake--for your mother's sake, that neverdenied you anything. There is evil boding in the air."
She shuddered and, in rising, threw an arm over his shoulder, as thoughshe had been his sweetheart and were fleeching with him.
For a moment I saw Wat Gordon waver. Then he took her hand gently anddrew it down from his shoulder.
"Mother, for you I would do all, save set a stain upon my honour. Butthis thing I cannot, for I have plighted my word deep and fast, and go Imust to-night."
"Tell me," said my aunt, "is it a matter of treason to the King?"
Her eyes were eager, expectant. And for very pity of her I hoped thatWalter could give her satisfaction on the point. But it was not as Ithought, for who can track a woman's heart?
"God forbid," said Wat Gordon heartily, as one that is most mightilyrelieved.
But his mother fell back and her hands dropped to her side.
"Then," she said, "it is my Lady Wellwood!--I had rather a thousandtimes it had been treason and rebellion--aye, though it had set yourhead on high beside your father's."
"Lady Wellwood or another!" cried Wat, "nor heaven nor hell shall gar mebreak my tryst this nicht!"
And without another word Walter Gordon went down the stairs as one thatruns defiantly to death, daring both God and man--and, alas! the motheralso that bore him.