Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland Volume XV Part 17

Mary would have remonstrated with him as to the rashness of his conduct--she would have told him what she knew. The warmth of a lately awakened affection, a woman's pride, a woman's delicacy, and a feeling of indignation at being thus suspected, were all at strife in her bosom; and it can scarcely be matter of surprise, if for some seconds they deprived her of the use of speech. As he was turning to depart, however, she mustered as much resolution as to repeat the word "farewell" firmly, which was all she could say.

When left alone, Mary felt so much agitated, that it was some time before she could endure the thought of being seen. Darkness and solitude seemed to accord best with the state of her feelings, and to afford her the only consolation which she was capable of receiving. In this state of mind, it was some time before she could think of returning home; and, when she did return, a new scene of mystery and confusion awaited her.

At the door she met her mother, who, with a countenance uncommonly solemn, was just coming out. Margaret, who, from having slept more soundly than was her usual, had only heard the concluding part of the nocturnal noises, was again in a great distress. She believed them nothing less than a _third warning_; which, according to vulgar superst.i.tion, is an infallible proof; and on the present, as on former occasions, she was hastening to communicate this fresh confirmation of her fears to Nanny Ferly. But she was immediately recalled by her husband, who, on returning from the yard, whither he had been to reconnoitre the morning sky, for the purpose of ascertaining what sort of weather they were likely to have for the day, declared, "that their back-window had been taken out, and that Mary's room had certainly been robbed." On being made acquainted with this circ.u.mstance, great was the good dame's consternation; and yet it were difficult to say whether she would not have preferred the loss of her daughter's property, or any other property which might be in the house, to those distressing fears which she had hitherto entertained for the loss of that daughter herself.

"G.o.d be thankit!" she exclaimed, after a short pause--"there was but little to rob."

A strict examination was now inst.i.tuted, to ascertain if property had not been abstracted from other parts of the house; but in this examination Mary took little share.

"What's the la.s.sie doin dreamin there, as if she were bewildered?" cried her mother at last, with some impatience. "Ye're a bonny ane indeed, to stand as unconcerned as if ye were the steeple, when the hale house is turned heels owre head to see how muckle that scoundrel has carried aff wi' him."

This seemed to awaken her from her reverie.

"Mother," said she, firmly, "you may spare your bad names; for whatever he _may do_, he will neither rob nor steal; and, so far as I can see, the scoundrel of whom _you_ complain has carried off but little."

Mary's a.s.sertion was strictly and literally true; for, after the closest search, it was found that the whole of the mortar which secured the little window on the outside had been carefully displaced by means of a large nail, or some other iron instrument, and the window itself set down upon the ground without any of the gla.s.s being broken; but nothing was missing, and not a single article seemed to have been so much as moved from its place. Great was the wonder which now rose as to who the depredator could be, and what motive he could possibly have had for acting so strange a part. Mary was strictly questioned as to the time and manner of her guest's departure; but her evidence tended in no way to clear up the mystery. After much conjecture had been wasted to no purpose, as daylight grew broad, a hat was discovered under a low-growing apple-tree, which appeared to have been brushed by the branches from the head of the depredator while he was making his escape.

It was carefully examined; but it bore no distinctive mark except the letters "A. A.," and "R. D.," in the crown, neither of which could be deciphered. Mary was again questioned as to its owner; but she only said, "It might belong to anybody, for anything she knew;" and, in the true spirit of discovery, it was carried by her mother to the house of the new-married pair. No sooner had Jenny Jackson--now Mrs Angus--seen it, than she exclaimed, "Whaur is Mary? whaur is Mary?" Mary was sent for.

"Whether is Ritchie or Jamie gaun to get ye noo, Mary?" she inquired, in an ecstasy of triumphant feeling. "I doubt it's Ritchie, after a', for this is his hat--the very hat he bought from Andrew before he gaed to the bleachfield; and Andrew said it was naething but you that took him there. See, there is baith their names--A. for Andrew, A. for Angus, R.

for Ritchie, D. for Drycraig."

The whole was now out. Ritchie, from having lain down and fallen asleep without his hat, was thrown into a fever, which, after having brought him very near the grave, cured him effectually of his drunken habits and his maudlin affection at the same time. Though James Duff had departed in wrath, he soon returned in softened feeling; and, in less than a year, he was married to Mary Mackenzie. Nanny Ferly was an incurable; but the ridicule to which she was subjected upon this occasion made her more cautious in the selection of her subjects And thus ends our story of The Warning.

GRIZEL COCHRANE.

A TALE OF TWEEDMOUTH MUIR.

When the tyranny and bigotry of the last James drove his subjects to take up arms against him, one of the most formidable enemies to his dangerous usurpations was Sir John Cochrane, ancestor of the present Earl of Dundonald. He was one of the most prominent actors in Argyle's rebellion, and for ages a destructive doom seemed to have hung over the house of Campbell, enveloping in a common ruin all who united their fortunes to the cause of its chieftains. The same doom encompa.s.sed Sir John Cochrane. He was surrounded by the king's troops--long, deadly, and desperate was his resistance; but at length, overpowered by numbers, he was taken prisoner, tried, and condemned to die upon the scaffold. He had but a few days to live, and his jailer waited but the arrival of his death-warrant to lead him forth to execution. His family and his friends had visited him in prison, and exchanged with him the last, the long, the heart-yearning farewell. But there was one who came not with the rest to receive his blessing--one who was the pride of his eyes, and of his house--even Grizel, the daughter of his love. Twilight was casting a deeper gloom over the gratings of his prison-house, he was mourning for a last look of his favourite child, and his head was pressed against the cold damp walls of his cell, to cool the feverish pulsations that shot through it like stings of fire, when the door of his apartment turned slowly on its unwilling hinges, and his keeper entered, followed by a young and beautiful lady. Her person was tall and commanding, her eyes dark, bright, and tearless; but their very brightness spoke of sorrow--of sorrow too deep to be wept away; and her raven tresses were parted over an open brow, clear and pure as the polished marble. The unhappy captive raised his head as they entered--

"My child! my own Grizel!" he exclaimed, and she fell upon his bosom.

"My father! my dear father!" sobbed the miserable maiden, and she dashed away the tear that accompanied the words.

"Your interview must be short--very short,", said the jailer, as he turned and left them for a few minutes together.

"G.o.d help and comfort thee, my daughter!" added the unhappy father, as he held her to his breast, and printed a kiss upon her brow. "I had feared that I should die without bestowing my blessing on the head of my own child, and that stung me more than death. But thou art come, my love--thou art come! and the last blessing of thy wretched father----"

"Nay! forbear! forbear!" she exclaimed; "not thy last blessing!--not thy last! My father shall not die!"

"Be calm! be calm, my child!" returned he; "would to Heaven that I could comfort thee!--my own! my own! But there is no hope--within three days, and thou and all my little ones will be----"

Fatherless--he would have said, but the words died on his tongue.

"Three days!" repeated she, raising her head from his breast, but eagerly pressing his hand--"three days! Then there _is_ hope--my father _shall_ live! Is not my grandfather the friend of Father Petre, the confessor and the master of the king? From him he shall beg the life of his son, and my father shall not die."

"Nay! nay, my Grizel," returned he; "be not deceived--there is no hope--already my doom is sealed--already the king has signed the order for my execution, and the messenger of death is now on the way."

"Yet my father SHALL not!--SHALL not die!" she repeated, emphatically, and, clasping her hands together. "Heaven speed a daughter's purpose!"

she exclaimed; and, turning to her father, said, calmly--"We part now, but we shall meet again."

"What would my child?" inquired he eagerly, gazing anxiously on her face.

"Ask not now," she replied, "my father--ask not now; but pray for me and bless me--but not with thy _last_ blessing."

He again pressed her to his heart, and wept upon her neck. In a few moments the jailer entered, and they were torn from the arms of each other.

On the evening of the second day after the interview we have mentioned, a wayfaring man crossed the drawbridge at Berwick, from the north, and proceeding down Marygate, sat down to rest upon a bench by the door of an hostelry on the south side of the street, nearly fronting where what was called the "Main-guard" then stood. He did not enter the inn; for it was above his apparent condition, being that which Oliver Cromwell had made his head-quarters a few years before, and where, at a somewhat earlier period, James the Sixth had taken up his residence when on his way to enter on the sovereignty of England. The traveller wore a coa.r.s.e jerkin fastened round his body by a leathern girdle, and over it a short cloak, composed of equally plain materials. He was evidently a young man; but his beaver was drawn down, so as almost to conceal his features. In the one hand he carried a small bundle, and in the other a pilgrim's staff. Having called for a gla.s.s of wine, he took a crust of bread from his bundle, and, after resting for a few minutes, rose to depart. The shades of night were setting in, and it threatened to be a night of storms. The heavens were gathering black, the clouds rushing from the sea, sudden gusts of wind were moaning along the streets, accompanied by heavy drops of rain, and the face of the Tweed was troubled.

"Heaven help thee, if thou intendest to travel far in such a night as this!" said the sentinel at the English gate, as the traveller pa.s.sed him and proceeded to cross the bridge.

In a few minutes, he was upon the borders of the wide, desolate, and dreary muir of Tweedmouth, which, for miles, presented a desert of whins, fern, and stunted heath, with here and there a dingle covered with thick brushwood. He slowly toiled over the steep hill, braving the storm, which now raged in wildest fury. The rain fell in torrents, and the wind howled as a legion of famished wolves, hurling its doleful and angry echoes over the heath. Still the stranger pushed onward, until he had proceeded about two or three miles from Berwick, when, as if unable longer to brave the storm, he sought shelter amidst some crab and bramble bushes by the wayside. Nearly an hour had pa.s.sed since he sought this imperfect refuge, and the darkness of the night and the storm had increased together, when the sound of a horse's feet was heard, hurriedly plashing along the road. The rider bent his head to the blast.

Suddenly his horse was grasped by the bridle, the rider raised his head, and the traveller stood before him, holding a pistol to his breast.

"Dismount!" cried the stranger, sternly.

The horseman, benumbed, and stricken with fear, made an effort to reach his arms; but, in a moment, the hand of the robber, quitting the bridle, grasped the breast of the rider, and dragged him to the ground. He fell heavily on his face, and for several minutes remained senseless. The stranger seized the leathern bag which contained the mail for the north, and flinging it on his shoulder, rushed across the heath.

Early on the following morning, the inhabitants of Berwick were seen hurrying in groups to the spot where the robbery had been committed, and were scattered in every direction around the muir; but no trace of the robber could be obtained.

Three days had pa.s.sed, and Sir John Cochrane yet lived. The mail which contained his death-warrant had been robbed; and, before another order for his execution could be given, the intercession of his father, the Earl of Dundonald, with the king's confessor, might be successful.

Grizel now became almost his constant companion in prison, and spoke to him words of comfort. Nearly fourteen days had pa.s.sed since the robbery of the mail had been committed, and protracted hope in the bosom of the prisoner became more bitter than his first despair. But even that hope, bitter as it was, perished. The intercession of his father had been unsuccessful--and a second time the bigoted and would-be despotic monarch had signed the warrant for his death, and within little more than another day that warrant would reach his prison.

"The will of Heaven be done!" groaned the captive.

"Amen!" returned Grizel, with wild vehemence; "but my father _shall_ not die!"

Again the rider with the mail had reached the muir of Tweedmouth, and a second time he bore with him the doom of Cochrane. He spurred his horse to its utmost speed, he looked cautiously before, behind, and around him; and in his right hand he carried a pistol ready to defend himself.

The moon shed a ghostly light across the heath, rendering desolation visible, and giving a spiritual embodiment to every shrub. He was turning the angle of a straggling copse, when his horse reared at the report of a pistol, the fire of which seemed to dash into its very eyes.

At the same moment, his own pistol flashed, and the horse rearing more violently, he was driven from the saddle. In a moment, the foot of the robber was upon his breast, who, bending over him, and brandishing a short dagger in his hand, said--

"Give me thine arms, or die!"

The heart of the king's servant failed within him, and, without venturing to reply, he did as he was commanded.

"Now, go thy way," said the robber, sternly, "but leave with me the horse, and leave with me the mail--lest a worse thing come upon thee."

The man therefore arose, and proceeded towards Berwick, trembling; and the robber, mounting the horse which he had left, rode rapidly across the heath.

Preparations were making for the execution of Sir John Cochrane, and the officers of the law waited only for the arrival of the mail with his second death-warrant, to lead him forth to the scaffold, when the tidings arrived that the mail had again been robbed. For yet fourteen days, and the life of the prisoner would be again prolonged. He again fell on the neck of his daughter, and wept, and said--

"It is good--the hand of Heaven is in this!"

"Said I not," replied the maiden--and for the first time she wept aloud--"that my father should not die."