The Yeoman Adventurer Part 48

"Well, William," said I. "Any more coincidences?"

"Yes, sir," said he, and began his hand-washing.

"You'll die a rich man, William."

"No, sir. This particular coincidence made me the poorer by, I should say," suspending his washing to calculate, "some five shillings."

"The devil it did! How was that?"

"Your honour's clothes that you left behind, sir, when you were trans.m.u.ted, as my lord would say, were stolen."

"And you value them at five shillings! I ought to crack your head for you."

"Yes, sir. Cast-offs sells very cheap, sir. But the coincidence, sir!

I've not really come to that yet."

"Go on, William! You interest me deeply."

"I found them, sir, at the bottom of the garden, torn to rags, sir!"

"And sold 'em for fivepence! Eh, thrifty William?"

"Sixpence, to be exact, sir!"

The Colonel rushed me off, but I found time to give the rascal a crown, which put him sixpence in pocket. A servant ought to have his vails, and, besides, William's concern amused me a good crown's worth.

This was late on in the night after the final decision to go back, and since then I had been scouting miles behind the main body of our rear-guard, so as to make sure that the Duke's horse were not on our track. I had slept by driblets as opportunity offered. Now, my purpose accomplished, I was looking forward to supper and bed, having left a patrol of fresh men some six miles back to watch the southern road.

There was one thing in my mind, however, that must be attended to first.

I must see Mistress Hardy of Hardiwick. My heart ached for her, for I knew how sorely she would feel the retreat of the Prince. Moreover, the clansmen were not likely to discriminate between her and other townsfolk, and I would save her from disturbance. So, jumping off the sorrel, and giving him in charge to one of my men, I started for the little cottage. I was turning the corner out of the square when some one, running lightly behind me, placed a hand on my arm and detained me. It was Margaret.

"You've no need to trouble, Oliver," she said. "I've kept a room for you at the 'Angel.'"

"Thank you," I replied. "You are very kind, madam."

"Poof! Come along! You're so tired that you can hardly keep your eyes open to look at me. Come along, sir!" She was merrily pulling at my arm as she spoke. "I don't want to be obliged to return you every service, you know, sir!"

"No, madam! Certainly not."

"No, indeed, sir! I'm not going to put you to bed, except as the very last resource."

"Fortunately, madam, I'm a long way from needing that. In a few minutes I shall gladly take advantage of your care for me. First, however, I must see to our old friend to whom the Prince gave the brooch."

"We'll go together!" said Margaret, putting her arm in mine.

The cottage was dark and silent, welcome proof that she was undisturbed.

I knocked gently, and, after a short delay, the door opened, and her woman appeared, candle in hand.

"I knew you'd come, sir," she said simply. "And this is your lady! Come in!"

Candle in hand, she paced ahead of us to the door of the room, and then stood aside, erect and solemn, to let us pa.s.s in. I looked at her closely.

The worried, anxious look on her comely face had gone, and she was subdued, calm, and happy.

"Thank G.o.d!" she whispered. "She's at peace!"

I stepped ahead of Margaret into the fine old room, with its pleasant memorials of ancientry. There they were, just as I had seen them--scutcheon, portrait, glove, and pounce-box. There was no change in them; they were the abiding elements on which a strong soul had kept itself strong. But change there was. At the _prie-Dieu_, kneeling in a rapture before the Virgin Mother, was a solemn, black-robed priest. A narrow white bed was in the room. Two large candles burned steadily at its head, two at the foot; and on the bed, the linen turned down to reveal the thin, frail hands crossed below the Prince's brooch, lay the still, white form of our lady of the square. G.o.d had taken her to Himself. Death had caught her with a welcoming smile on her face, and, in pity and ruth, had left it there.

The Hardys of Hardiwick had given their last gift to the cause.

Tears were streaming down Margaret's cheeks. With shaking hands she removed her hat and, kneeling down at the bedside, clasped her hands in prayer.

"She talked no end about you, sir," whispered the serving-woman, "and about the beautiful lady with you. That standing in the cold square to see the Prince was the death of her. She would have her bed put down here, sir. She wanted to die here, with the old shield in her eyes, for she was proud of her blood, as well she might be."

"Yes," I whispered back. "She was the last of a great race."

"Aye, sir. She was that. She was a bit moithered in her mind, dear heart, just afore she went. The last words she said were a prayer for his soul,--her sweetheart you know, sir, that she lost sixty years ago,--just as I'd heard her pray thousands of times. But, poor thing, she got his name wrong. She called him 'John.'"

Choking, I threw myself on my knees beside Margaret, and prayed and fought, and fought and prayed again. Here, before me, I saw Death in the only shape in which it can give no sorrow--sinless age that had gently glided into immortality; and, with equal vision, I saw the black pa.s.sage ... and the still twisted thing lying there in a patch of gloom ... my friend, gone in the pride of his youth ... his life spilt out in anger and agony ... and by me. Then the innocent hand of her for whom, though all unwittingly, I had done this thing, crept on to my shoulder, and I turned to look at her.

"Thank G.o.d we came, Oliver!" she whispered.

Before we could rise, the black-robed priest lifted his tall, gaunt frame slowly from the _prie-Dieu_. Standing on the opposite side of the bed he raised his hands in blessing.

"Our sister is with G.o.d," he said, his deep voice vibrant with emotion.

"My children, you are, as I think, those who were much in her prayers at the last. I know not who you are, but, in her memory and in G.o.d's name, I give you in this life His Peace, and in the life to come the a.s.surance of His Everlasting Blessedness. Amen."

He ceased. Gravely, and in a solemn silence, he knelt again at the _prie-Dieu_. We rose. First Margaret, and then I, kissed the Prince's brooch and the folded hands, and then stole out of the room. We were too awe-stricken to speak, or even to look at each other, but, as we went, she placed her hand in mine.

Weary days, full of hard riding and scouting, pa.s.sed before I saw Margaret again. I was always in the rear, generally far in the rear, while she and the other ladies were, very properly, kept well ahead. She now rode in the calash with Lady Ogilvie,--the two being inseparable,--and Maclachlan was with them. My work was hard and anxious but it kept me from thinking overmuch. I put all my soul into it so that it should.

"The lad does very well, as I told you he would," said the Colonel to Murray one night when I rode in to make my report.

"I see no signs of my chance of breaking him," said his lordship grimly, but he would have me sup with him that night, and was very unbending and helpful.

There is nothing I need say about this stage of the retreat. It was well managed, and is, I am told, a very creditable piece of soldiership. It does not belong to my story but to history, to which I leave it.

Things did happen, however, that do concern me. The first was laughable though vexatious. This was the manner of it.

While the Prince was making the stage from Macclesfield to Manchester, and Murray and the Colonel were in force a few miles in his rear, I had to keep the country behind them well observed. I had one patrol within sight of Macclesfield, and others stretching out along an edge of upland country running westward to the next main road. I spent the night in a little wayside ale-house, and was having my breakfast next morning when I was disturbed by a succession of yells from without.

I ran into the yard and there was Donald, the rough head of one of my dragoons in each hand, banging them together, varying his bangs with kicks at any accessible spot, and shrieking at them in Gaelic, while they shrieked back and wriggled to escape. He stopped when he saw me, but still held them by the pow.

"What's it all about, Donald?" I asked.

"The loons! It's Glencoe 'erself sail hang 'em," he said breathlessly.

"What for? Out with it, Donald!"