Book 1 — Chapter VIII

How I got the News of a noble Self-Sacrifice, how it affected me, and what I resolved to do for Sir Hugh Richmond

I now take up the telling of my own story once more.

Of all that happened as Sir Hugh has related it, I was, of course, in entire ignorance until some time after. He left me with a growing amazement and a growing admiration for his generosity. He had borne the humiliation of being overmastered by a woman with such good-humour and such gallantry that the shame an ordinary man would have felt in such circumstances was mine.

By not resenting it, he had laid me under a tremendous obligation, which he had increased until it was almost unbearable, by his after treatment: his refusal to take me prisoner, his risking his reputation and name as a soldier to shield me, his bestowal upon Master Dunner of the moneys which he had so generously offered to lend to my father in his strait, his advice and counsel as to what was to be done. Indeed, I could not with my life repay what he had done for us, or to be honest, not for us but for me, I thought. Yet I knew instinctively that I had it in my power to bestow upon him a reward which, unless I were greatly mistaken, would go far to compensate him for all.

Under other circumstances, I would have considered his evident predilection for me, his admiration so boldly and yet so tactfully expressed, as the mere casual compliment of a gallant soldier; but his words were backed by deeds, and, strange as it might be, I could not disguise the fact from myself that the man's profession had been just short of ardent devotion to me and my fortunes, of passionate desire to have me for his own.

Was I willing or unwilling? I had blushed many times before during this adventure, but all the colour rolled into one wave would not have equalled the rush of emotion that came over me when I put that question to myself and found but one answer in my heart.

What a fool I was, to stand many a stubborn siege and fall at the lifted hand of the first wayside comer! And yet, how nobly he had behaved, how gallantly he had treated me, with what self-abnegation, with what generosity, with what infinite delicacy. He had shaken me by the hand like a man and called me his little comrade and clapped me on the shoulder and wished that I might be in his company. I admitted to myself that I could think of no sweeter command. If I were a fool, I even luxuriated and rejoiced in this my folly.

Although I was intensely weary from my two days of hard journeying, the emotions through which I had gone, and the strain through which I had passed, it was a long time before I fell into the sound and dreamless sleep in which I sought recuperation from all the fatigues and excitements of the days before.

I was awakened by the tapping of the serving-woman upon my door. When I made sleepy answer to her repeated summons, she said that Master Dunner was below and insisted upon seeing me at once, upon matters of the gravest import. I must hasten for life and death.

I thrust my bare feet into a pair of slippers, threw over my night-dress a robe which lay at hand, and descended the stairs to the dining-room. With Master Dunner was another elderly gentleman, at the sight of whom I started back in great dismay, for I would not thus be seen by any other than he who was as a foster-father to me. But the attorney stayed my intended retreat.

"This," said he, "is the learned Counsellor Abadie. You must waive ceremony and hear what is to be said."

Counsellor Abadie was a friend of our own advocate. I had often heard of him as one of the most eminent and upright attorneys of Edinburgh.

"This," said Master Dunner, "is Lady Katharine Clanranald, the heroine of the adventure of which I have told you."

"Madam," said the other attorney, bowing low, "I am vastly honoured to have the privilege of your acquaintance. As a friend and admirer of the Earl of Clanranald, your noble father, I want to thank you and congratulate you, in the name of Scotland, for your filial devotion and splendid courage."

"Sir," said I, "'tis but what any daughter might have done."

"But what few would have ventured upon," he answered.

"We are not here to exchange compliments—forgive me, Abadie," said Master Dunner impatiently. "Will you explain the situation to Lady Katharine?"

"Madam," said the other advocate, "I am charged with the delivery of an important message to you."

"From my father?"

"From Sir Hugh Richmond."

"No harm hath happened to him?" I cried in great alarm.

"None yet," was the answer, "but he hath been—er"—the advocate paused—"apprehended. He hath summoned me as his counsel, and he now desires me to say to you that it is known that he was in company with a woman disguised as a man; that the hue and cry is to be raised for you in the morning; that strict search is to be made, and that, if you have business which calls you from Edinburgh, you must get away to-night."

"What hath happened to Sir Hugh Richmond?" I asked.

"Why, nothing," began Master Abadie speciously.

"Sir," persisted I, now thoroughly alarmed, "I am my father's daughter. I am much beholden to the gallant gentleman you represent. I must know the whole truth."

"Tell her what she wants to know, Abadie," said my old friend sharply. "She is of the stuff that must know and that can bear."

I thanked him with a look.

"He hath been arrested, charged with dereliction of duty, giving aid and comfort to the King's enemies, high treason, in short," was the answer.

"My God!" I exclaimed.

"His whole course is known. It is believed, since he entered the city in friendship with you, that the robbery was arranged between you; that he was privy to it before and accessory to it afterward."

"But could he not say that it was I, and, by delivering me up, have saved himself?"

"Madam, he could not."

"Why not?"

"Can you, a soldier's daughter, ask that question?" returned Master Abadie. "His honour as a gentleman..."

"Oh!" I gasped. "Is that all?"

"All and enough, your ladyship."

"Is it known who...?"

"Not yet. They seek a woman, not you especially."

"I will go at once and deliver myself up to Sir Alexander Forfair and declare the whole story."

"But your father!" said Master Dunner. "The information must be spread before the King. We dare not trust the papers and the money to another hand."

"Was ever woman so torn," cried I, "between her father and her...!"

I stopped. What was I about to say?

"Sir Hugh Richmond," interposed Master Abadie, "hath said that you are to give yourself no concern as to his fortune, but you are to go at once to the King. Some means must be found to get you safely out of Edinburgh before the morning. He bids you think not of him, but of your father."

"What is the punishment should Sir Hugh be found guilty, Master Abadie?"

"As he is a soldier," said the advocate, "he may have choice of being shot rather than be beheaded."

"I cannot sacrifice his life to save my father's," I continued, sick at heart and, I make no doubt, white to the lips at the dreadful alternative Fate had propounded to me. "I have no right to do so."

"Sir Hugh is an officer of the King's Guards," broke in Master Dunner. "They will not execute him without royal approval."

"Ay," assented the other advocate. "General Ramesay is his friend. They will not hasten the procedure. I have his word on 't."

"But, if I surrender myself, they will let him go free at once, and..."

"And your father, the Earl!" cried Master Dunner.

"God help me!" I moaned.

"Ay, so may He do!" was the answer. "But be advised by me, madam," continued my old friend. "My brother advocate and I here have talked the matter over carefully. The appeal for your father must go to the King. The one chance of clemency for Sir Hugh Richmond is there as well. I tell you plainly that, even though you were to give yourself up, which no gentleman could suffer under any circumstances, his guilt in the eyes of the law would be none the less plain. It is not only your father's life, but Sir Hugh's as well and your own liberty, that depend upon the King's action; and the sooner you appeal to him, the better it will be for you all."

There was sound sense in this certainly.

"Can I not see my father or Sir Hugh before I go?"

"It would be impossible," cried both gentlemen in a breath, "and fatal even if it could be brought about!"

"Can you get me out of Edinburgh at this hour of the night?"

"Ay," was the immediate answer. "Five hundred pounds hath bribed a soldier at the Dumfries gate. But it must be done within the hour or not at all."

"I have my clothes, but I shall need another horse?"

"It shall be here, it should be here now, for we have already taken order for it, anticipating your consent," answered Master Dunner. "How doth your wound?"

"I suffer nothing from it, the pain in my heart is so great," I said.

"'Tis a hard fortune that drives you on."

"Hard indeed," said I, "but we cannot repine over that. The King fortunately is at Durham according to Sir Hugh's word. I should be there within the week."

"I would you had some one to ride with you!" cried Master Dunner.

"I had best go alone," I answered.

"But if you should be stopped in the way, Lady Katharine?"

"Think you," I cried, "that I have gone through all these perils and dangers to be stopped in the way?"

"Go and dress, then, and make you ready at once. I have here the petition, and something over ten thousand pounds in two equal bills of London exchange, easily carried and negotiable. You must do the rest," said Master Dunner.

"But hasten, I pray you, madam," added Master Abadie.

I nodded, turned, and ran from the room. I was soon dressed. Save that I donned a fresh shirt in exchange for that which I had worn, I wore the same attire as I had put on when I first set forth on the adventure. I do not suppose ever maid got into men's clothes quicker or more eagerly than I.

But for Sir Hugh, I thought as I fumbled nervously among the unfamiliar buttons, I would fain have been born a man myself. But now, in spite of my father's peril, in spite of Sir Hugh's danger, in spite of my own position, and the trying journey that lay before me, I could not but exult in this further and final evidence of my soldier's devotion to me, evidently as deep as it was sudden. I could no longer disguise, had I wished to, his feelings or my own.

When I descended to the hall, I found the two advocates waiting for me. Master Abadie, being able to ride a horse, was to accompany me as far as the gate. I bade farewell to Master Dunner, implored his prayers for my safe journey and success, and Master Abadie and I mounted our horses and rode quietly away through the deserted streets of the town. I heard the clock in the old church tower toll two strokes in the morning. There was no moon and it was very dark. None accosted or molested us. We were shrouded in horsemen's cloaks and went silently along, saying nothing.

The sentry at the gate was ready for us, and, faithful to his agreement, he slipped open the postern. I shook hands with Master Abadie, and then, upon the impulse of the moment, whispered a message to him for my soldier.

"Tell him," said I, "that I ride to the King to tell him all, to beg his clemency, and should I fail—he called me his comrade, we struck hands on it—I shall come back as a soldier to die by his side."