Red Cap Tales Part 28

"Diana," said the horseman, "the evening grows late, and we are yet far from our home."

"Pray consider, sir," she said, lightly answering him, "how recently I have been under control. Besides, I have not yet given my cousin his packet--or bidden him farewell--farewell forever! Yes, Frank, forever.

(She added the last words in a lower tone.) There is a gulf fixed between us! Where I go, you must not follow--what we do, you must not share in--farewell--be happy!"

In the att.i.tude in which she bent from her Highland pony, the girl's face, perhaps not altogether unintentionally, touched that of Frank Osbaldistone. She pressed his hand, and a tear that had gathered on Die Vernon's eyelash found its way to the young man's cheek.

That was all. It was but a moment, yet Frank Osbaldistone never forgot that moment. He stood dumb and amazed with the recovered treasure in his hand, mechanically counting the sparkles which flew from the horses'

hoofs which carried away his lost Diana and her unknown companion.

Frank was still dreaming over his almost unbelievable encounter with Miss Vernon--more concerned perhaps, be it said, about the fact that she had wept to part with him than about the recovery of his father's papers, when another traveller overtook him, this time on foot.

"A braw nicht, Mr. Osbaldistone," said a voice which there was no mistaking for that of the Mac-Gregor himself; "we have met at the mirk hour before now, I am thinking!"

Frank congratulated the Chieftain heartily on his recent wonderful escape from peril.

"Ay," said Rob Roy, coolly, "there is as much between the throat and the halter as between the cup and the lip. But tell me the news!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "IN the att.i.tude in which she bent from her Highland pony, the girl's face, perhaps not altogether unintentionally, touched that of Frank Osbaldistone. She pressed his hand, and a tear that had gathered on Die Vernon's eyelash found its way to the young man's cheek."]

He laughed heartily at the exploits of the Bailie and the red-hot coulter in the inn of Aberfoil, and at the apprehension of Frank and his companion by the King's officer.

"As man lives by bread," he cried, "the buzzards have mistaken my friend the Bailie for his Excellency, and you for Diana Vernon--oh, the most egregious night owlets!"

"Miss Vernon," said Frank, trying to gain what information he could, "does she still bear that name?"

But the wary Highlander easily evaded him.

"Ay, ay," he said, "she's under lawful authority now; and it's time, for she's a daft hempie. It's a pity that his Excellency is a thought elderly for her. The like of you or my son Hamish would have sorted better in point of years."

This blow, which destroyed all Frank's hopes, quite silenced him--so much so that Rob Roy had to ask if he were ill or wearied with the long day's work, being, as he said, "doubtless unused to such things."

But in order to divert his attention Mac-Gregor asked him as to the skirmish, and what had happened afterwards. It was with genuine agony that Rob Roy listened to the tale which Frank had to tell--though he modified, as far as he could, the treatment the Bailie and himself had met with from the Mac-Gregors.

"And the excise collector," said Rob Roy; "I wish he may not have been at the bottom of the ploy himself! I thought he looked very queer when I told him that he must remain as a hostage for my safe return. I wager he will not get off without ransom!"

"Morris," said Frank, with great solemnity, "has paid the last great ransom of all!"

"Eh--what?" cried the Mac-Gregor, "what d'ye say? I trust it was in the skirmish that he was killed?"

"He was slain in cold blood, after the fight was over, Mr. Campbell!"

"Cold blood!" he muttered rapidly between his teeth, "how fell this?

Speak out, man, and do not Mister or Campbell me--my foot is on my native heath, and my name is Mac-Gregor!"

Without noticing the rudeness of his tone, Frank gave him a distinct account of the death of Morris. Rob Roy struck the b.u.t.t of his gun with great vehemence on the ground, and broke out, "I vow to G.o.d, such a deed might make one forswear kin, clan, country, wife, and bairns! And yet the villain wrought long for it. He but drees the doom he intended for me. Hanging or drowning--it is just the same. But I wish, for all that, they had put a ball or a dirk through the traitor's breast. It will cause talk--the fashion of his death--though all the world knows that Helen Mac-Gregor has deep wrongs to avenge."

Whereupon he quitted the subject altogether, and spoke of Frank Osbaldistone's affairs. He was glad to hear that he had received the stolen papers from Diana Vernon's own hands.

"I was sure you would get them," he said; "the letter you brought me contained his Excellency's pleasure to that effect, and it was for that purpose I asked ye to come up the glen in order that I might serve you.

But his Excellency has come across Rashleigh first."

Rob Roy's words made much clear to the young man, yet some things remained mysterious. He remembered that Diana Vernon had left the library and immediately returned with the letter which was afterwards claimed by Rob Roy in the tolbooth of Glasgow. The person whom he now called his Excellency must therefore have been in Osbaldistone Hall at the same time as himself, and unknown to all except Diana and possibly to her cousin Rashleigh. Frank remembered the double shadows on the windows, and thought that he could now see the reason of those.

But Rob would give him no clew as to who or what his Excellency was.

"I am thinking," he said cautiously, "that if you do not know that already, it cannot be of much consequence for you to know at all. So I will e'en pa.s.s over that part of it. But this I will tell you. His Excellency was hidden by Diana Vernon in her own apartment at the Hall, as best reason was, all the time you were there. Only Sir Hildebrand and Rashleigh knew of it. You, of course, were out of the question, and as for the young squires, they had not enough wit among the five of them to call the cat from the cream!"

The two travellers, thus talking together, had approached within a quarter of a mile from the village, when an outpost of Highlanders, springing upon them, bade them stand and tell their business. The single word _Gregarach_, p.r.o.nounced in the deep commanding tones of Frank's companion, sufficed to call forth an answering yell of joyous recognition. The men threw themselves down before the escaped Chief, clasping his knees, and, as it were, worshipping him with eyes and lips, much as poor Dougal had done in the Glasgow tolbooth.

The very hills resounded with the triumph. Old and young, both s.e.xes and all ages, came running forth with shouts of jubilation, till it seemed as if a mountain torrent was hurrying to meet the travellers. Rob Roy took Frank by the hand, and he did not allow any to come near him till he had given them to understand that his companion was to be well and carefully treated.

So literally was this command acted upon, that for the time being Frank was not even allowed the use of his limbs. He was carried--will he, nill he--in triumph toward the inn of Mrs. MacAlpine. It was in Frank's heart that he might possibly meet there with Diana Vernon, but when he entered and looked around, the only known face in the smoky hovel was that of the Bailie, who, with a sort of reserved dignity, received the greetings of Rob Roy, his apologies for the indifferent accommodation which he could give him, and his well-meant inquiries after his health.

"I am well, kinsman," said the Bailie, "one cannot expect to carry the Salt Market of Glasgow at one's tail, as a snail does his sh.e.l.l. But I am blithe to see that ye have gotten out of the hands of your unfriends!"

The Bailie, however, cheered by Highland refreshment, presently unbent and had many things to say. He would also have spoken concerning Helen Mac-Gregor. But Rob stopped him.

"Say nothing of my wife," he said sternly; "of me, ye are welcome to speak your full pleasure."

Next the Bailie offered to bind Rob's two sons as apprentices to the weaving trade, which well-meant proposition produced from the outlaw the characteristic anathema, mostly (and happily) conceived in Gaelic, "_Ceade millia diaoul!_ My sons weavers! _Millia molligheart!_ But I would rather see every loom in Glasgow, beam, traddles, and shuttles, burnt in the deil's ain fire sooner!"

However Rob Roy honestly paid the Bailie his thousand merks, princ.i.p.al and interest, in good French gold. And Frank quite won the outlaw's heart by the suggestion that the foreign influence of the house of Osbaldistone and Tresham could easily push the fortune of Hamish and Robin in the service of the King of France or in that of his Majesty of Spain. Rob could not for the present accept, he said. There was other work to be done at home. But all the same he thanked him for the offer, with, as it seemed, some considerable emotion. Already Frank was learning the truth that a hard man is always more moved by what one may do for his children, than with what one does for himself.

Lastly he sent "the Dougal cratur," dressed in Andrew Fairservice's ancient garments, to see them safe upon their way. He had a boat in waiting for them on Loch Lomond side, and there on the pebbles the Bailie and his cousin bade each other farewell. They parted with much mutual regard, and even affection--the Bailie at the last saying to Rob Roy that if ever he was in need of a hundred "or even twa hundred pounds sterling," he had only to send a line to the Salt Market. While the chief answered that if ever anybody should affront his kinsman, the Bailie had only to let him ken, and he would pull the ears out of his head if he were the best man in Glasgow!

With these a.s.surances of high mutual consideration, the boat bore away for the southwest angle of the lake. Rob Roy was left alone on the sh.o.r.e, conspicuous by his long gun, waving tartans, and the single tall feather in his bonnet which denoted the chieftain.

The travellers arrived safely in Glasgow, when the Bailie went instantly home, vowing aloud that since he had once more gotten within sight of St. Mungo's steeple, it would be a long day and a short one before he ventured out of eye-shot of it again.

As for Frank, he made his way to his lodgings in order to seek out Owen.

The door was opened by Andrew Fairservice, who set up a joyous shout, and promptly ushered the young man into the presence of the Head Clerk.

But Mr. Owen was not alone. Mr. Osbaldistone the elder was there also, and in another moment Frank was folded in his father's arms.

III. THE DEATH OF RASHLEIGH

Mr. Osbaldistone's first impulse seemed to be to preserve his dignity.

But nature was too strong for him.

"My son--my dear son!" he murmured.

The head of the firm of Osbaldistone and Tresham had returned from Holland sooner than was expected, and with the resources which he had gathered there, and being now in full credit, he had no difficulty in solving the financial problems which had weighed so heavily upon the house in his absence. He refused, however, every tender of apology from MacVittie and Company, settled the balance of their account, and announced to them that that page of their ledger, with all the advantages connected with it, was closed to them forever.

Soon after the home-coming of Frank Osbaldistone from the Highlands and his reconciliation with his father, the great Jacobite rebellion of 1715 broke out, in which the greater part of the Highlands burst into a flame, as well as much of the more northerly parts of England. Sir Hildebrand led out his sons to battle--all, that is to say, with the exception of Rashleigh, who had changed his politics and become a spy on behalf of the government of King George.