WINIFRED, COUNTESS OF NITHSDALE. (continued 2)

This double connexion had assisted to foster a friendship, which the opposite tendency of their political opinions might otherwise have prevented from attaining maturity; and consequently, when the young Duke of Montrose first brought his fair bride and cousin into Scotland, he failed not to present her to a family with which they were mutually connected.

The duke was a zealous supporter of the Protestant succession, and was at that period high in favour with Queen Anne. His youthful wife had shone as one of the most brilliant stars at her court; and gay, lovely, and volatile, she had not failed to adopt the style and manners then in vogue; she was esteemed the most modish lady about the court; the furbelow of her petticoat was no sooner seen than it was copied; her commode attracted all eyes, the jaunty air of her hoop was envied by all the sex, and she no sooner appeared in one of the small muffs which we sometimes see represented in pictures of the time, than all the muffs about town were cut in half.

She enjoyed the admiration she excited, as was natural to one who was aware, though not vain, of her powers of fascination; and there was a grace in her harmless coquetries, and a joyous good-humour, a frankness, piercing through the court airs, which had become as it were second nature to her, that took captive the hearts of all.

The young duchess would sometimes rally Lady Nithsdale on her antiquated notions, her housewife-like avocations, her retired habits; she would try to persuade her to follow the fashion of the day, and would urge her to taste with her the exciting pleasure of being swiftly borne by a spirited steed over hill and vale, dell and dingle: but Lady Nithsdale, unaccustomed to such exertions, would shrink from the very idea, and trembled when she saw her fair friend mounted on her palfrey, and, dressed according to the mode which has excited the indignation of cotemporary writers, dash from the hall-door like an arrow from the bow; then, turning gaily back, laugh at her timid cousin's fears. Her hair, which was suffered to hang at some length on her shoulders, was loosely tied by a scarlet riband, which played like a streamer behind her; her small hat was edged with silver; her dress was of green camlet embroidered with the same material; and a cravat of the finest lace completed the toilet of the élégante of the year 1711. The horse, as though it were proud of so fair a rider, seemed to share in her vanity: he was adorned after the same airy manner; and tossed and shook his pretty head, as if he despised the silken rein which hung loosely upon his neck.

Lady Nithsdale watched the party of equestrians as long as they continued in sight; and Amy, whose blighted hopes enabled her to give her undivided affection to her lady, and her undivided thoughts to her dress, had not allowed this opportunity to escape of enlarging her notions upon the subject of the prevailing mode. Presuming upon her favour with her mistress, she had stolen away from Annie Bell and Jeannie Scott, and glided to the oriel window of the hall, that she might see the great London bride in her new-fangled garb.

"By my troth, madam, but her grace is very fair, and wears a goodly dress, and mounts a jennet such as might befit a lady in one of my old ballads!"

"Yes, Amy," replied Lady Nithsdale, "the dress is strange, but graceful, and well does it suit my gay and sprightly cousin: yet she must have a marvellous good courage; I think I never could mount any horse, much less a pawing prancing steed such as delights her grace. It is strange thus to peril one's life for pleasure!"

"And yet, my lady, such a close-fitting jaunty coat as that would right well set off your ladyship's slender waist. Trust me, madam, but I should like to have the curling of your soft brown hair, and the shaking in a thought of powder, (her grace's maid showed me the powder-puffs they use now,) and the making it just hang in such ringlets as my lady duchess's."

"Nay, Amy, such flighty doings are not for me!"

In the evening, when the company were sipping their chocolate, and the servants were preparing the ombre-tables, the lively duchess again rallied the Lady Nithsdale upon her taste for staying at home.

"Now we will put you upon your trial," she said, playfully tapping her with her fan; "and you, my lord duke, and the Earl of Nithsdale himself, and Sir Hector M'Gregor, and Mr. M'Kenzie, and my fair cousin Crawford of Kilbirny, and young Mistress Rose Scott of Murdiston, shall sit in judgment, and pronounce whether I have not passed a more profitable morning than our demure hostess there! Now stand forth, Countess of Nithsdale, and answer the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth!"

The Lady Nithsdale smiled, while the slight colour mounted to her cheek, at being called into notice; but she professed her willingness to submit to the verdict of so goodly a tribunal.

"After our morning meal," resumed the duchess, "which I grant you was somewhat to the credit of the housewife—there was no fault to be found with the bannocks, nor with the saffron-cakes, nor the honey, nor the marmalade, nor the Finnan haddocks, nor any of the other delicacies for which our good land of Scotland is renowned,—after this meal, what were my lady countess's avocations!"

"Even such household duties as your grace must needs attend to when you reach your own castle of Kincarn. I visited the 'still-room, and gave the housekeeper directions for making of some mint-water, and some julap, and other simple medicines, which the neighbouring poor are used to procure at the castle. And, moreover, this is the season when the distilled waters for the year must be made; the elder-flowers and the roses are all in bloom."

"Oh, stop, my dear countess! This last employment was most vain and useless! for who could endure such homely scents? It is impossible now to use anything but orange-flower water; so you have indeed mis-spent your time most shamefully! Now you, by your own confession, did only one thing at a time, while I cultivated my mind and improved my beauty at one and the same moment. I studied Locke on the Human Understanding, while my woman curled my hair; after which I read two chapters on the properties of the loadstone, and—I would fain have studied the mathematics, only my wicked lord"—and she shook her fan at the duke—"would not give me the lesson he promised." She put on the prettiest pout of her ruby lips, while her gay eyes laughed through their fringe of eye-lashes, as she looked down her cheeks with a mock air of pettish anger; then raising them suddenly on the duke, she continued in a reproachful tone, "You know, my lord, you would not wish your wife to be quite out of the fashion; and every lady now talks of the mathematics, and speaks but in words with a Latin derivation; and I will learn these things too, in spite of you!"

The duke looked upon her with delight and love, while he replied, "Learn of our fair hostess how to make a sack-posset, Christian!"

"Not unless your grace will teach me the mathematics! Now promise, and it shall be a bargain, and I will let you kiss my hand upon it."

The duke most gladly availed himself of her permission to imprint on the fair hand she extended more than one kiss.

"Nay, you are too bold!" she added, withdrawing her hand suddenly, and frowning for a moment, while she expressed a pretty anger in the eloquent language of the fan, by quickly opening and shutting the sticks so as to produce a somewhat sharp noise. "But, my lord duke, you interrupt the trial. Silence in the court! The Lady Nithsdale had not made an end, when I, to my shame be it spoken, somewhat rudely interrupted her. Proceed, fair countess."

"I visited my children for a while, and then I practised to my new spinet some of the songs your grace showed me last night; for my lord loves sweet sounds so well, that he will sometimes listen to such poor music as I can make."

"That is well. But now, fair countess, how did you pass your time while I, having duly attended both to my understanding and my person, now took heed to my health, by galloping in the clear fresh air, many and many a mile, over sweet heath and thymy downs?"

"Why, after seeing my maidens at their embroidery, I wrote and despatched a letter to my dear sister Lucy at Bruges."

"Useless! still vain and useless! If your letter had been addressed to some court lady, who might have informed you in return of what colour was Mrs. Masham's new hood, and whether the queen had yet adopted the fashion of my last commode, and whether her grace of Marlborough had yet left off the philomot-coloured petticoat of which we are all so weary,—well! But what news can your devout sister send you from her dull convent?"

"Nay, your grace is jesting now! Every word that comes from Bruges, and tells me of the dear, dear friends of my childhood, is precious to me."

"I can well believe it," replied the duchess with a winning frankness; "for dearly do I love a letter from old Eupheme Stuart, the sister of our minister at Ethy; and I would often rather sit and con over her prosy epistle, than dress myself for a court-ball. But you know, Lady Nithsdale, that all other considerations must give way before our loyalty to our monarch."

"Most true, your grace," answered the Lady Nithsdale, in a tone of voice which showed she thought of the "king over the water," while the volatile duchess watched her with a laughing and malicious countenance.

"Oh, my dearest countess!" she exclaimed, "do you know you have patched yourself in the most factious manner! For Heaven's sake, remove that shocking patch on the wrong side of your face! it might lead to much mischief. It is an old saying, that extremes meet; and they say that some of the discomfited Whigs are even now plotting with the Jacobites. This is a season when it behoves every one to be most discreet in such tokens of their sentiments, and your imprudent patching might bring suspicion on your good lord."

"Does your grace speak of the mole on my right temple?"

"Is it indeed a mole? I pray your pardon, dearest cousin. But this is very sad! quite a misfortune! Do you not know we all of late express our political opinions after this fashion? You may perceive I always wear a patch on the left side of my chin, to evince my loyalty."

"If such be the case, my loyalty is born with me, and cannot cease but with my life!" replied the Countess of Nithsdale, whose feelings were so strong and so devoted she could not jest or banter on the subject.

"Treason! treason!" exclaimed the duchess: "we shall have to put you on your trial for still higher crimes and misdemeanours."

"A prisoner cannot be tried for two offences at once, and your grace has not brought the first accusation to an end," interposed the Earl of Nithsdale, somewhat anxious to give the conversation another turn.

"To tell the honest truth, my lord, I thought the evidence seemed likely to go against myself, and I was not sorry to drop the prosecution. We will let judgment go by default! Is that good law, my Lord Privy Seal, for you should understand these matters?" she continued, turning to her husband with an air of mock solemnity.

"You are a mad-cap, Christian!" replied the duke, who, while he half attempted to repress her lively sallies, listened to them with pleased amusement, and, like the mother of a spoiled child, looked round upon the company to see if they also did not applaud her wit and grace.

In truth, though she was somewhat the spoiled child of fortune, no one could wish her other than she was. What in another would have been frivolous or impertinent, in her was graceful and most fitting. She was in the vein for playful malice, and with an air of mock penitence replied, "Well, then, my lord, I will be most staid and serious. I will not play one single game at ombre to-night, but I will sit by my gentle cousin's side, and learn of her to ply my needle as good housewives and virtuous matrons should;" and seating herself on a low stool in the window, she fell to sorting and choosing shades of silks, till she had confused and mixed them all.

"I must look at you, fair cousin," she added suddenly, "to learn how I should begin;—but methinks you have not chosen your colours with that taste which all admire in whatever else you do. Surely a white rose on that pale blue ground lacks contrast: a red rose, or a tulip, or a peony, would better please the eye; a white rose is, to my mind, but a mean and insipid flower," she added, with a sidelong glance at Lady Nithsdale.

"In my eyes it is the fairest flower that blows," replied the countess. "This stool is for my mother; and well may the white rose be dear to the widow, and the daughter, of the Duke of Powis!"

"Well, may it be dear, for it has cost you dear, or rather it might have cost you dear, had it not been for our gracious sovereign's clemency in restoring to your brother his estates. Now own, sweet coz, that never was Old England so great or so glorious as she is at present; our navies triumphant, our armies crowned with laurels, our commerce flourishing, our colonies prospering, our negotiations successful——Anything else, my lord duke? for I often hear a recapitulation of our glories, and I ought to know them by heart."

"Nay, dearest cousin, I do not understand such things; but I know full well that adverse fortune cannot loose us from our allegiance."

"Nay, nay, constancy to a falling cause is treason, not allegiance; for you know

'Treason doth never prosper. What's the reason? That when it prospers, none dare call it treason.'"

"Methinks, if any are guilty of treason, it is not those who through weal and through woe, through danger and distress, at the risk of their fortunes and their persons, preserve their fidelity to the king of their ancestors!"

The Earl of Nithsdale turned a warning glance upon his wife, whose feelings had for a moment outrun her prudence. The blood rushed into her face; her eyes filled with tears.

"Nay, dearest cousin, you are moved. Forgive my giddy bantering, and trust me, that whether Whig or Tory, Protestant or Catholic, Jacobite or not, I love you dearly; and if ever there should arise occasion to prove it, you shall not find your cousin Christian Montrose wanting:" and she threw her arms around her neck, and embraced Lady Nithsdale with a warm-hearted frankness which caused their playful dispute to draw still closer the bonds of affection between them.

Although the earl would not have denied his attachment to the exiled family, he wished not to be unnecessarily forward in expressing his sentiments. He respected the sincere patriotism of the Duke of Montrose—he did him the justice to believe that it was from firm conviction that he was so strenuous a supporter of the Protestant succession; and it was no matter of surprise to him when, two years afterwards, the duke retired from the ministry, rather than support the Earl of Oxford in measures of which his conscience did not approve.

CHAPTER IX.

Wigton's coming, Nithsdale's coming, Carnwarth's coming, Kenmure's coming, Derwentwater and Foster's coming, Withrington and Nairne's coming: Little wot ye who's coming, Blythe Cowhill, and a's coming. The Chevalier's Muster-roll.

The queen's health was now declining; and Lord Nithsdale, in common with many others of his party, looked forward to the chance of a peaceable restoration of the Stuarts.

His impartial judgment acknowledged that, under the rule of Anne, England enjoyed a more than common measure of prosperity; and though she was not the rightful heir, still it was Stuart blood which ran in her veins. He augured, from her silence upon the address of both houses of parliament, urging her to press the Duke of Lorraine and her other allies to exclude the Pretender from their dominions, and from her open disapprobation of the Elector's sitting in the house of peers, as Duke of Cambridge, or even taking up his abode in England, that her secret inclinations were in favour of her brother.

All these considerations combined to render Lord Nithsdale unwilling to disturb the tranquillity of his native land; and it was with satisfaction that he found month after month elapse without his being called upon to sacrifice either the peace of his country, or the principles of loyalty in which he had been brought up.

The moment, however, came at length, in which conflicting duties made it difficult for the most conscientious to preserve a fame untarnished, or so to conduct themselves as that their motives should not be liable to misconstruction. If in times comparatively settled, when loyalty and patriotism may and ought to go hand in hand, it is difficult for public men to steer clear of suspicion, we should not be too severe on those who were exposed to trials, and placed in difficulties, from which all are now happily exempt.

Queen Anne died: and it might have afforded a lesson to both the claimants to her throne, that she, under whom this country had ranked higher in the scale of nations than at any previous period of its history—under whom the British arms had been crowned with unexampled success—under whom no British subject's blood had been shed for treason—that "good Queen Anne," the mild and merciful, sank a victim to mental anxiety, a martyr to the harassing dissensions of her ministers and of her confidential friends and favourites. But when was such a lesson of any avail? The prize was sought by both parties with unabated ardour; and Lord Nithsdale's hopes that the title of King James the Third might be acknowledged were quickly blasted.

The Duke of Montrose, true to the Protestant cause, hastened to Edinburgh, there to assist in the proclamation of the Elector; and the Jacobites lost no time in communicating with the Pretender.

Both pity and indignation had been roused in the Earl of Nithsdale's bosom, when, upon the queen's death, the King of France intimated to the Chevalier that it was expected he would immediately quit his territories and return to Lorraine; and when, on the other hand, the King of England refused an audience to the minister of Lorraine till the unfortunate exile was removed from his master's dominions.

That the descendant of a long line of monarchs should thus be hunted from country to country—that the lawful sovereign of one of the fairest realms of Europe should not have where to lay his head, over-came all other considerations; and it was with zealous passion that he joined himself with the Earls of Mar, Carnwarth, Kenmure, and the other most ardent Jacobites. It was the generous impulse of compassion for the injured,—indignation, reckless of the consequences, which prompted his conduct, rather than hope of seeing their efforts crowned with success.

While others were elated at the unpopularity of the king, whose foreign language, manners, and habits were not calculated to please the multitude, and who, by the favour shown exclusively to the Whigs, had indisposed the Tories, with whom lay the great mass of landed property; Lord Nithsdale perceived that the new monarch was determined, spirited, and active. While others relied on the secret assistance which Louis the Fourteenth, notwithstanding his engagements with England, afforded to the Chevalier; Lord Nithsdale was convinced, from the effectual measures taken to defeat them, that the Chevalier's designs must be by some means communicated to the government: and, in truth, the Earl of Stair, the English ambassador at Paris, found means to discover, and transmitted to his own court, all the plans and intentions of the Pretender while yet in embryo.

Not many months after the king's accession, some tumults and riots took place, which tended greatly to raise the spirits of the more sanguine; and even to Lord Nithsdale himself seemed to augur well for the ultimate result.

Those who celebrated the king's birth-day were insulted; while on the following day, which was the anniversary of the Restoration, the whole city was illuminated, and its streets re-echoed with the sounds of mirth and rejoicing.

The government, aware that the spirit of disaffection was making considerable progress, adopted measures of some severity towards the Scottish Jacobites; they resolved that all who were in any degree liable to suspicion should be summoned to appear at Edinburgh, and there required to give bail for their peaceable behaviour.

The Earl and Countess of Nithsdale were one evening on the bowling-green of their castle of Terreagles, watching the gambols of their children; the little Lord Maxwell, a stout bold boy, was exerting all his might to drag one of the garden-seats up the steep grass bank. He had turned it upside down; had stuck in it a tall staff, with a handkerchief for its streamer; and having christened it "his gallant vessel the Royal James," had laden it with all the bowls and bowling-pins he could find scattered upon the grass.

The parents for the moment forgot the disputed succession to the throne, the claims of James the Third, the dangers which beset their country, the perils which awaited themselves—lost in the pride and delight of watching the eager spirited boy, whose sun-burned cheek was flushed with the exertion, every muscle called into action, every sinew strained, as by turns he pushed and dragged, and shoved his unwieldy plaything.

"He is a brave boy, is he not, my lord?" exclaimed Lady Nithsdale, looking into her husband's face, her eyes teaming with maternal pride; "he will not bring disgrace upon the Maxwells! Methinks he may one day fight as gallantly for his king and country as his ancestors have done before him!"

"God bless him!" ejaculated the earl; and he turned half away, ashamed of the emotion which suddenly surprised him.

At that moment a servant approached, and delivered to him the summons issued by government, requiring his attendance at Edinburgh, there to offer bail for his good behaviour, under pain of being denounced a rebel.

"Winifred, my love, the decisive moment has arrived," said Lord Nithsdale, turning to his lady with a sad, a serious, but a determined air. "I am here ordered to Edinburgh—a summons I cannot and will not obey. I am henceforward a rebel to the existing government. The die is cast. Alas! alas! for this poor land! Let the event be what it may, ruin and desolation must fall on many. Blood must flow!—the blood of our countrymen! Winifred, it is an awful thing to take the first step which must inevitably lead to civil war!"

"Nay, nay, my lord, if our gracious prince but sets foot upon his native land, all loyal hearts will at once acknowledge him. Was not his uncle's restoration bloodless? and was not the public mind less prepared for such an event than at the present moment? Oh, think more hopefully, my dear, dear lord! The 'rose of snow' will be triumphant yet!"

The earl shook his head sorrowfully. "I cannot join in the sanguine hopes of those who think this matter can be brought to a speedy termination. I tremble, Winifred,—nay, do not look at me as though you scarcely believed, and yet blamed me," he continued, with a smile, in which there was little mirth,—"I tremble for my native land: God knows I honestly and sincerely wish for its welfare. During the just and mild reign of the late queen, it would have gone hard with me to have assisted in any disturbance, for her people were happy; but now, when a stranger and a foreigner persecutes my rightful sovereign—when he is driven, like a hunted beast, from one land to another—when all the persons of note in the country are prosecuted, banished, or disgraced—when my honoured friend and cousin, the Duke of Ormond's name and armorial bearings are razed from out the list of peers, his achievement as Knight of the Garter taken down from St. George's Chapel,—no, it is not in mortal man to sit down calmly under this tyranny! I should disgrace my name, my ancestors! Let the success be what it may, it shall never be said that William Maxwell, Earl of Nithsdale, proved false to the cause of his king, through coward fear of the event!"

Lady Nithsdale watched his kindling countenance with love and awe: the colour flushed into his pale cheek; his eyes, so full of care, gleamed from beneath the coal-black eye-brows.

"King James must succeed," she cried; "a few such spirits as my noble lord's must carry victory with them. Let the king but set foot in Scotland——"

"Yes, Winifred," he resumed, and an expression of care again stole over his countenance; "let the king come in person, and come quickly!—but, alas! he is in the hands of those who use him for their own purposes. I fear—but I scarcely dare own the fear to myself—that he lacks that decision, that boldness, that promptitude of action, which in such an undertaking are so indispensably requisite! Why is he not here even now? Why does not the Earl of Mar receive his commission? Yes, Winifred, I tremble. Should we plunge our native land in strife, should the 'rose of sna'' be indeed 'steeped deep in ruddie heart's bluid,' and should we fail in our object, shall we not have much to answer for?"

At that moment the little Lord Maxwell came running to his parents, breathless and exulting: "I have towed the Royal James safe to land, father; there she is in port!"

"Oh, take this for a good omen, my lord!" said Lady Nithsdale, kissing the boy. Lord Nithsdale shook his head; but bending over the boy, he kissed him likewise.

"Winifred, do you not think your sister Lucy, the abbess, would let them be pensioners in your old convent? I should engage in this business with better heart, if I knew that my boy and poor little Annie were safe in any other land. I would urge your accompanying them,"—Lady Nithsdale started,—"but I know that it would be in vain."

"Vain indeed!" replied Lady Nithsdale. "In all things else I have been, and I will be, a submissive wife; but do not ask me to leave you, my lord,—I scarcely think I could obey."

"But the children?"

"Gain but a little time, and we will despatch them to Bruges."

"I will excuse myself from attending the summons to Edinburgh, will beg the commissioners to take my bail here, at my own castle. This they will refuse; but some days will thus be gained, and we will hope—" he added with a sigh—"and we will hope his majesty will either arrive in person, or we may be authorised from himself to set up his standard openly."

In consequence of this resolution, the Earl of Nithsdale returned an evasive answer, in which, under the plea of ill-health, (and indeed the mental anxiety which he had of late undergone had somewhat affected his health), he applied to those entrusted with the government in Scotland for indulgence to have his bail received at Terreagles; and, in the mean time, the children were despatched, under the care of trusty and confidential attendants, to Bruges, and there placed under the protection of their aunt, the Lady Lucy.

It may well be imagined that such a separation could not take place without a bitter pang to both parents. With Lady Nithsdale it was the instinctive tenderness of the mother which suffered at parting from the objects of her love; but she looked forward with hope and reliance that the long-desired moment had arrived, that they were at last on the eve of seeing realised the expectation, which in her mind amounted to a kind of religious trust. With her husband the feeling was different.

Lady Nithsdale wept as she bade her children adieu. Lord Nithsdale's eyes were dry. The last sound of their voices, the last embrace, melted away the heart of the mother. The father, silent and almost stern, scarcely heard their parting words; but as he watched the carriage which bore them from their paternal halls, pass under the archway and emerge into the brighter light beyond, he felt that the heir of the house of Maxwell had for ever quitted the tower of his ancestors; and that he, by his own act and deed, was about to deprive his child of his home, his heritage, his titles, and his country. Bitter were the thoughts which struggled in his soul. He turned abruptly from the portal, and strode with a hasty but firm step into the withdrawing-room beyond the hall.

Lady Nithsdale followed with streaming eyes; and winding her arm within her lord's, she spoke of the winning words of their boy, of the pretty grief of the Lady Anne. For the first time Lord Nithsdale forgot to soothe her sorrows, forgot to press the arm that clung to him for support; but throwing himself into a chair, he hid his face with both his hands, and remained for some seconds absorbed by emotions far more painful in their intensity than the tender regret which drew tears from the mother's eyes.

Those tears were, however, soon dried, for in the fearful grief of her husband she found cause for alarm, which changed the current of her thoughts. "My lord, my dear lord!" she said, "be not thus moved, the children will do well. See! I have dried my woman's tears. They will be well cared for by my good sister; and we shall see them soon again bounding through the hall, we shall hear their gay voices prattling on the stairs."

"Never, Winifred, never!" he replied, withdrawing his hands, and looking at her with a sad and fixed countenance; "never! I have banished my children; I have deprived my son of his lawful patrimony; I have now driven him forth to beggary, exile, and dependence. No Earl of Nithsdale will ever inhabit these halls again: I know it, I feel it! The lands I inherited from my forefathers must pass to others. Our castles will be desolate, our name extinct! But this is weakness all. I knew I hazarded all earthly goods when I devoted myself to the interests of my king. Alas! If I could but feel assured that I was truly devoting myself to the interests of my king, and also of my country, I would not pause to think of my fair castle, my goodly lands!" And his eye glanced quickly round the noble apartment, and dwelt for a moment on the smiling prospect from the windows, where the Nith danced along the valley through banks diversified with fields of waving corn, and luxuriant copses, whose deep green contrasted beautifully with the yellow harvest.

During this momentary silence the distant sound of the bagpipe came fitfully on the ear, as its wild music cheered the reapers to their toil. "Though," he added, "the descendant of a long line of ancestors loves the halls where those ancestors have dwelt,—though the man loves the spot where he has wandered a child,—though," he continued, "a patriot loves the soil which gave him birth; yet," and his voice strengthened, his eye flashed upwards,—"gladly, willingly, gallantly, would I resign them all, were I certain that I indeed strove to secure my country's good, when I seek the restoration of my king."

Neither the countess nor her lord had ever contemplated the possibility of their deserting the Jacobite party; but they viewed the probable result of the enterprise, in which both deemed it equally indispensable to join, with very different eyes.

Even the success of his schemes did not to him hold out a prospect of certain good. Though a strict Catholic, he was no bigot; and he could not blind himself to the inexpediency of giving a Catholic king to a Protestant people.

To Lady Nithsdale, on the contrary, the peaceful restoration of the Stuarts appeared to be the universal panacea; and she devoutly believed that if that object could be accomplished without effusion of blood, all orders of British subjects must be good and happy. Little used, however, to join in political discussions, little accustomed indeed to hear them, she did not venture to urge any arguments of her own; yet she could not remain silent when she saw her lord thus moved, and timidly suggested—

"You are a true patriot, my lord; and that you yourself could not be content under the rule of a stranger and a heretic, is surely proof enough that neither could others, who have noble souls, be happy under his dominion. Does England boast any man whose name is fairer, whose character is more unblemished, than the kind, good, generous Earl of Derwentwater? he whose purse is open to the poor, whose hand is ever ready to assist the unfortunate? Must not he seek his country's good? Is not the Viscount Kenmure's name a noble and an honourable one? would he sacrifice his country? But why should I seek other names than my own dear lord's? The Earl of Nithsdale's is in itself a justification, and a sanction, of any cause he espouses!" she continued with warmth. Lord Nithsdale shook his head. "Our noble friend, the Duke of Ormond too! he has joined his majesty at Havre."

"Ah, Winifred! now you have touched the chord to which my soul vibrates. Such flagrant injustice must rouse the spirit in all honest hearts! Ormond's name must be restored! Ormond's banner must be replaced! Yes, we are driven to the course we are pursuing: we must proceed. Let us think no more; but blindly follow where honour, loyalty, friendship, consistency lead us, without anticipating what may be the event! To-morrow we shall receive the answer from Edinburgh—to-morrow I am a denounced rebel; I must join the other lords who are already seeking the Earl of Mar. But oh! Winifred! would any other general were appointed to the undertaking! That man has not the head, the heart, nor the character fitting for such a situation. He has zeal, but that is all. The honour—the undoubted, the unquestionable honour is wanting. Was he not one of the first to make protestations of loyalty to the Elector? and now——But there is no use in retrospection; we must on—on—on! To-morrow, my love, I leave you: how, when, where to meet, is in the hands of Providence."

Lady Nithsdale's eyes were cast to Heaven, and her hands involuntarily clasped themselves in prayer. "And now, dearest wife," he continued, "we must to business. You are safe here at present. I shall take but four men with me. The inmates of the castle, and the dependants immediately around, are more than sufficient to defend you from any ministers of the law who might seek to make you answerable for the actions of your husband. But, before I go, I must commit to your care the title-deeds to the estates, and the other papers, which may secure to us and to our children some property in case of the worst."

Lord Nithsdale then entered into all necessary details concerning his wishes and intentions, with a firm, methodical coolness, which proved how little he expected ever to return to the happy home of his youth and manhood.

CHAPTER X.

Let us think how our ancestors rose. Let us think how our ancestors fell; The rights they defended, and those They bought with their blood, we'll ne'er sell. Let the love of our king's sacred cause To the love of our country succeed, Let friendship and honour unite, And flourish on both sides the Tweed. Jacobite Relics.

The messenger returned from Edinburgh, and brought with him such a reply as the Earl of Nithsdale had anticipated. Towards evening, therefore, he made ready for his departure.

The Lords Athol, Huntley, Traquhair, Seaforth, and others, were already gathered round the Earl of Mar, under pretence of joining in a hunting expedition; but, after his refusal to attend the commissioners at Edinburgh, Lord Nithsdale's making one of the famous "Hunt of Braemar" would have betrayed the nature of the meeting. He therefore resolved to seek the Earl of Derwentwater at his castle in Northumberland.

Lord Derwentwater was perhaps of all the Jacobite lords the one with whom his feelings and sentiments were most in unison: even his enemies have never ventured to cast any imputation on the motives and the character of a nobleman of such known integrity: with him Lord Nithsdale felt he could ever conscientiously act in unison.

Lady Nithsdale assisted her lord in all his arrangements, listened to all his instructions: it was indeed fitting she should do so. The time was past when the wife needed only to be the gentle housewife, the graceful hostess, the dignified countess. Her husband knew well the enduring courage, the calm resolution, which were latent in the soul of his wife; and in her he reposed entire confidence, on her he placed implicit reliance. But she herself was not aware of the qualities which slumbered within her; qualities which, had her life been passed in the common routine of polished existence, would never have been awakened and called into action. She trembled as she heard her lord give the directions which he deemed necessary for the security of the castle; and she shrank instinctively when she saw him gird on his sword, and prepare the pistols which he carried in his holster.

Such precautions, although not unusual in these times, struck her as the real actual commencement of war,—of civil war; and an icy chill ran through her veins when she heard the balls rattle down the iron barrels of the pistols.

The shades of evening had now gathered around: the four domestics who were to attend their lord were ready mounted in the court-yard; his own stout horse was there, bridled and saddled. Lord Nithsdale, with a firm and stately step, traversed the dimly lighted apartments. The time for doubt or hesitation was past. There was sadness, but no wavering in his eye. His wife was on his arm, but she pressed it lightly; she dared not cling to him as her heart would have prompted her to do, neither durst he unman himself by giving way to the tenderness he felt.

When he reached the door, he paused for a moment; and turning back, he looked slowly round the hall, where hung the portraits of his forefathers, the battle-axe of Eugene Maxwell, the helmet of Lord Eustace, the banner of good Earl Robert.

His eye rested for a moment on the family motto, "Reviresco." "Not here, my love, not in these ancient halls, will the Earls of Nithsdale flourish again!" and gently pressing both the cold trembling hands of his wife between his own, he descended the steps, and, mounting his horse, he rode resolutely from out the castle gate.

It was a glorious summer night. Lord Nithsdale felt, painfully felt to his heart's core, the beauty of the scene, as he traversed the valley from which he took his title, and the lands endeared to him by early recollections, as well as by that consciousness of possession, which assuredly has for the mind of man a charm almost magic in its influence.

The moonbeams slept calmly on the towers of Terreagles,—of his home! and they sparkled on the waters of the Nith as it bounded through the smiling vale with its green sheep-walks and its wild copses.

Avoiding the town of Dumfries, he followed the banks of the stream, till he found himself under the very walls of his own far-famed Castle of Caerlaverock. It was with a pardonable feeling of pride that the fifth Earl of Nithsdale surveyed, for the last time, the noble edifice which had been the seat of his ancestors for nearly seven hundred years, and which they had rendered famous by many an act of prowess.

The two circular towers which flanked the northern entrance stood out, bold and dark, against the deep blue of the moonlight sky; the rippling waves were tipped with silver as they broke against the walls of the castle, which, built in a triangular form on the point of land where the Nith throws itself into the Irish Sea, rose on two sides abruptly from the waters.

But though he might cast towards the ruined walls a glance of regret, and might bid them in his heart a long and sad adieu, he reminded himself that the Lord Eustace had in his zeal for King Robert Bruce demolished the ancient fortifications of this same castle, lest the English might garrison it themselves; and he thought of Robert, the eighth Lord Maxwell, and first Earl of Nithsdale, who had so gallantly defended it for his unfortunate master Charles the First: and in the glorious recollections of former deeds of loyalty, and in resolutions to emulate such deeds, he attempted to drown the sad anticipations which crowded on his soul.

But he was alone! No eye was upon him! No enthusiastic Jacobite was by his side, before whom he might blush to own a thought which had reference to self. Each step, as he advanced, was full of the memorials of his ancestors. He passed the Tower of Repentance,—a monument of the ostentatious remorse of John Lord Herries. In the distance he saw the Castle of Hadham, which came into his family by the marriage of Sir John Maxwell to Agnes, heiress of the Lord Herries of Terreagles. "And the time will come," he thought, "when the Maxwells will be forgotten in a country where they have been known and where they have been honoured, where they have been feared and where they have been loved, for so many centuries! But if remembered, their name shall never be coupled with dishonour, with treachery, or with disloyalty:" and he spurred his gallant horse, hastening from scenes which, while they confirmed him in his devotion to the cause he had espoused, made him feel the extent of the sacrifice he was making.

Intelligence little calculated to raise the spirits of the Jacobites awaited him upon his arrival at Dilstone Castle, the seat of the Earl of Derwentwater. He there found the earl and all his adherents in the utmost consternation at the death of Louis the Fourteenth, and the refusal of the Regent to assist the Chevalier with arms, men, or money, or to do anything which might be considered an infraction of the treaty of Utrecht.

The Earl of Mar, although not yet provided with a legal commission as general, had set up the standard of King James, and had gathered around it at Braemar three hundred of his own followers. They had all advanced too far to retreat; but the most sanguine were dismayed and dispirited at the unfavourable aspect of affairs.

Lord Nithsdale alone did not appear affected by the intelligence. Most of the other insurgent nobles were actuated by motives either of ambition, or of revenge, by discontent with their present condition, and by the hope, in the changes consequent upon war, to improve the estates which they found inadequate to the support of their rank and station. But in Lord Nithsdale's mind no personal consideration mixed itself with his conscientious belief that honour demanded his adherence to the Stuart race, whether it might be for weal or for woe. His hopes were not blasted, for he had never entertained any; and on the present occasion it was he who sustained the resolution of those around, and reminded them that the change in the policy of France did not loosen the bonds of allegiance to their sovereign; that in union and in perseverance consisted their only chance of success; that to themselves alone they must look. "If," said he "the feeling of the people is really in favour of their lawful monarch, when once the standard is raised, when once the Earl of Mar can show his sovereign's commission, they will declare themselves: if, on the contrary, the mass of the people is satisfied with the present order of things; if Englishmen are indifferent whether a Stuart or a Guelph wear the crown of England, provided they may enjoy the comforts of life in security; if loyalty no longer survives in the hearts of those who are occupied only with selfish considerations, French gold, French arms, will never impose upon the British nation the sovereign that nation rejects. In that case we are traitors, and we must abide the consequences!"

It was not long, however, before the success which at first attended the Earl of Mar's strenuous exertions, elevated the drooping spirits of the English Jacobites to as high a pitch of exultation as they had before sunk low in despondency.

He had actually raised an army of ten thousand men; he had at length received, and read aloud at the head of each regiment, his commission as general-in-chief of the Scottish forces; and he had despatched to the Chevalier a numerously-signed address, urging the necessity of his immediate arrival in Scotland. Mr. Forster and Lord Derwentwater, with Lord Nithsdale, had proclaimed King James at Warkworth, Morpeth, and Alnwick. They advanced into Scotland as far as Kelso, where they were joined by Viscount Kenmure with two hundred horse, and the Earls of Carnwarth and Wintoun, who had already set up the Chevalier's standard at Moffat.

But these temporary successes could not blind Lord Nithsdale to the elements of discord which were found in the very union which gave the assembled forces a somewhat imposing aspect; and which, had they with one accord proceeded towards Dumfries, made themselves masters of that town, thus forcing a communication with the main army under the Earl of Mar, might have enabled them to furnish themselves with arms and ammunition at Glasgow, and finally to dislodge Argyle from Stirling.

But he saw and deplored, on one side, the obstinate infatuation of the English Jacobites, who seemed confident that an immediate and universal rising in the northern counties would be the consequence of their marching into England; and, on the other, the resolute wilfulness of the undisciplined Highlanders, who declared that they would not cross the border.

The town of Dumfries continued in the hands of government. The Countess of Nithsdale therefore kept herself in strict retirement, nor could she often receive direct communication from her husband. A thousand vague and unauthenticated rumours daily, nay, hourly, reached her; rumours, which, coming through the medium of the royalists, brought even exaggerated accounts of the disunion and the want of discipline which prevailed among the insurgent forces. Her heart sank within her when, through Amy, she heard how the Whigs had exulted at the confusion produced among the Jacobites by an incident in itself trifling.

Captain Wogan having mistaken some of their own troops for an advancing party of General Carpenter's, inadvertently discharged a pistol, the preconcerted signal to warn those behind of an approaching enemy; and, until the mistake was discovered, there ensued considerable tumult and disorder among the soldiers in the rear. On another occasion, the cavalry of the insurgents, which had just entered Jedburgh, were hastily marched out again to assist the foot in repelling—a party of their own friends who had joined them by another route! These, and other occurrences of a similar nature, were subjects of mockery and exultation to the Whigs in Dumfries, and failed not to be good-naturedly transmitted to the inhabitants of Terreagles. Nor did the letters which she occasionally received from her husband tend to cheer her. Although, partly from prudential motives, partly to spare her the feeling of blank and hopeless self-immolation which pervaded his own soul, he refrained from expressing his full conviction of the inadequacy of their means, the mismanagement of those means which they did possess, the futility of all their endeavours, still she could plainly perceive that his fears, rather than his hopes, had gathered strength since last they parted.

She was one day seated in the tapestried withdrawing-room, from whose large and deep-set windows the Earl had taken his last sad look over his vast possessions; her eye was also mechanically following the mazes of the Nith as it wound through the valley below; when Amy Evans hastily entered, with a joyful countenance, and a thick packet for her lady.

"News from my lord!" she exclaimed, all breathless; "and Walter Elliot, who is even now from the army, says they are coming to lay siege to Dumfries immediately, my lady; and we shall have my lord at home again in his own castle. And oh! how glad I shall be to see my lord's own noble bearing as he mounts the entrance-steps, and to hear his firm tread as he paces his own hall, and to see my own dear lady smile once more!"

Lady Nithsdale meanwhile had with trembling hands and a flushed cheek opened the packet which Amy hoped would have proved so welcome; but the words of gratulation died away on her lips while watching the fallen countenance, the blanched cheek of her mistress, as she perused the letter.

"Alas! my good Amy, you are a flattering, but most false, prophet. The English counsels have prevailed; they are even now withdrawing the troops towards the borders, and have sent to recall the horse which had advanced as far as Ecclefechan. I never knew my lord write so despondingly. How strange it is, Amy, that when he is there to tell them what had best be done, to point out to them the advantages of occupying all the west of Scotland, of gaining easy possession of Dumfries, of Glasgow, and of Stirling, they should persist in their infatuation. Oh! if the king were but in Scotland, he would surely know who were his true friends! Then my lord's counsels would be attended to, as it is fitting they should be."

"Indeed, my lady! And are they not coming to Dumfries after all? Why, Walter Elliot said it was the talk of all the army; and that the Highlanders said they would fight the enemy to the last in their own country, but that they never would be marched across the borders, to be kidnapped and made slaves of, as their forefathers had been in Cromwell's time! And can it be, my lady, that they will really turn back, when my lord says it is more advisable that they should advance?"

"Alas! it is only too true! My dear lord also says that all will be leaders, and that none will be led. But he adds at the same time, that, whether they follow his counsels or not, he will never desert the true cause from any personal pique. Oh! my own true noble lord!" she exclaimed, looking up with tearful yet beaming eyes; "there spoke your own high soul! The king in all his army has not another spirit, disinterested, uncompromising as yours!" Then resuming her letter, she continued, "My lord says that, notwithstanding all the Earl of Mar's confident hopes and assertions, he cannot find that the Duke of Ormond has landed yet. 'Tis strange! it seems as if all aid from foreign shores were spell-bound. He loves his cousin of Ormond! methinks if he were with them, my lord would have more heart and hope in what he undertakes!" Then, as she proceeded in the perusal of the letter: "Nay, did I say that there was not another noble spirit in all the king's army? Shame on my lips for uttering such treason! for here my lord writes that he and the Earl of Derwentwater think and feel alike on all things; and that were it not for his friendship, his support, he should indeed find himself alone. May Heaven bless the good Earl of Derwentwater, if it is only that my lord finds comfort in him! and moreover, I know full well that he is as brave and as kind a gentleman as ever trod this earth."

"And what is to become of us, madam, if my lord and all the army are gone into England?"

"We must e'en wait, as we have done, my good Amy; and abide the result, as we have done."

"And must I still see you pine, and pine, and grow thinner and thinner? Alas! alas! these are weary times! I almost think it would be best to let King George alone upon his throne, and see if we cannot be as happy under him as we were under Queen Anne."

"Amy! you would not be a turncoat, would you? You, Rachael Evans's daughter!" answered Lady Nithsdale, in a tone of half-playful, half-serious reproof.

"Indeed, my lady, I would fain be loyal, for you, and my master are so, and my poor mother was loyal also to the last; but I can never love any king, whether a Stuart or no, as I love my own dear lady, who has been to me as mother, sister, friend, and mistress!" and the warm-hearted Amy kissed the countess's hand with devoted affection.

"You are a good girl, dear Amy; and I do not know how I should bear my present anxiety, and the sorrows that may await me, did I not feel assured I should ever have one true friend to lean upon in every exigency. Let what will come to us, Amy, I think I may count on your affection as long as I live."

"While there is breath in this body, while the pulses beat in this heart, my lady, Amy Evans shall be true to you and yours, through woe and through weal, for life and for death!"

Lady Nithsdale wept soft tears of gratitude; they rolled down her cheeks, they dropped on Amy's hands as she pressed them in her own, and the true-hearted girl wished not for farther assurances of her lady's affection.

CHAPTER XI.

There's some say that we wan, Some say that they wan, Some say that none wan At a', man! But one thing I'm sure, That at Sherriff Muir, A battle there was Which I saw, man. And we ran, and they ran, And they ran, and we ran, And we ran, and they ran, Awa' man. Battle of Sherriff Muir.

The Duke of Argyle had not yet been reinforced by the Irish or the Dutch troops. This would indeed have been the moment for the insurgents to have made themselves masters of all the west of Scotland; but, as Lord Nithsdale informed his wife, the English counsels prevailed.

Letters were confidently asserted to have been received from Lancashire, declaring that twenty thousand men would immediately join the army upon its appearance in the county; and the various advantages attending a speedy march into England were urged with such vehemence, that the troops most in advance were suddenly recalled, and appointed to meet the main body at Langtown in Cumberland.

But the Highlanders, under the influence of the young Earl of Wintoun, who was intimately convinced of the difficulties into which they were heedlessly plunging themselves, and the favourable occasion which they were now throwing away, halted a second time. Many then deserted, and chose rather to surrender themselves prisoners, than to go forward to what they looked upon as certain destruction.

The Earl of Wintoun himself, finding that all his efforts to alter the destination of the army were fruitless, returned to the main body, but from that time he was never called to assist in a council of war; indeed, a reckless levity was henceforward visible in his whole demeanour, and he seized upon every opportunity of idle amusement which chance threw in his way, in a manner scarce befitting one engaged in an important and perilous enterprise.

Not so Lord Nithsdale; for having little hope that the most prudent course could have brought the undertaking to a successful termination, he felt less keen disappointment at the rejection of any of his counsels. In sad, but conscientious devotedness, without anger, or personal mortification, he patiently strove to smooth ruffled feelings, to accommodate jarring interests. It was principally through his influence that the ardent and intemperate young Earl of Wintoun had been induced to rejoin his companions in arms; and it was he who prevailed on some of the Highland troops to accompany them, upon the condition of receiving sixpence per day from the time they crossed the border.

The task of tracing the progress of the insurgents through Carlisle, Penrith, Appleby, Lancaster, &c. is relinquished to those who are more capable of describing the military movements and the political intrigues of such stirring times. It is enough for us that the next advices which the Countess of Nithsdale received from her husband were somewhat less gloomy in their tenour. Although the expected risings in England had not proved so numerous, or so general as the Scottish leaders had been taught to expect, still they had met with no serious opposition. They had proclaimed King James at Lancaster; they had levied the public revenue in his name, and they were rapidly advancing towards Preston.

Mar, meanwhile, had established his head quarters at Perth, and he made some attempts to fortify that city, as a place of defence in which the Chevalier might be received upon his expected landing.

The decisive morning of the 13th of November approached, the day on which the battle of Sherriff Muir was fought in Scotland, and that on which the Jacobites surrendered at Preston in Lancashire.

In the battle of Sherriff Muir the Earl of Mar displayed that energy, and that decision, which are requisite qualifications for the head of an insurrection. His eloquent and animated address to the chieftains in the council awakened a corresponding ardour in the bosoms of all, except, perhaps, of Huntley and Sinclair; and when he wound up his appeal by briefly stating the question in the words, "Fight, or not?" the whole assembly answered at once with an universal shout of "Fight!"

This resolution, reaching the lines as they were drawn up in order of battle, was welcomed by loud and continued huzzas, and a general tossing up of hats and bonnets.

Such demonstrations of eagerness for the onset promised well for the result, and for a time the insurgents bore down all before them. But, though the left wing of the Duke of Argyle's army was routed, his right wing, in its turn, put to flight the left wing of the Earl of Mar's; and to the English remained the solid fruits of victory, inasmuch as they retained the position by which they defended the Lowlands. Both generals, however, claimed the advantage; and to a party which had struggled with so many adverse circumstances, the fact of having withstood the royal forces in a pitched battle, gave some confidence for the future.

To Lady Nithsdale's hopeful heart the battle of Sherriff Muir appeared a glorious victory, which was to change the aspect of affairs. With the buoyancy of youth and loyalty, she exulted in the idea that her husband and the Scottish army were marching triumphantly through England, while the English army was sustaining a defeat in Scotland. She dwelt with pride and delight on the individual acts of prowess which came to her knowledge; and Amy hastened to her lady with every fresh piece of intelligence she could collect from chance-comers to the castle gates, thus endeavouring to beguile the tedious hours of sickening expectation, and hope deferred, in which her mistress wore away her days.

"Did you hear, my lady, how the M'Leans with one accord joined their old chief the moment he set foot among them? for all the isle of Mull belongs now to the Duke of Argyle himself."

"Indeed, Amy! And so the tie of clanship was stronger than interest, or than duty to their new landlord. And, moreover, Sir John M'Lean has been living for many years in France, and on an allowance too granted him by Queen Anne."

"However that may be, he soon raised a regiment of eight hundred men, and when they were prepared for battle, all the speech he made them was, "Gentlemen, yonder stands Mac Cullummore for King George, and here stands M'Lean for King James. God bless M'Lean and King James!—Charge, gentlemen!" and on they rushed like wild creatures. It was in that very charge the gallant young Clanronald was killed by the heavy fire of the regulars. But Glengarry would not give them time to be disheartened, but cried out, 'Revenge! revenge!—to-day for revenge, and to-morrow for mourning!'"

"Yes, yes! there is some of the true spirit left!" exclaimed Lady Nithsdale, exultingly: then, with a changed voice, she added, "But, alas! for young Clanronald: he was a brave youth, and, I have heard my lord say, a complete soldier; he had been trained in the French guards. When he received the Earl of Mar's summons, he replied, 'That his family had ever been the first on the field and the last to leave it!' and he has proved but too well that he was a worthy scion of that noble house!"

"Yes, my lady; and they say that as he fell out of the ranks, after he had got his death wound, the Earl of Mar met him, and asked him why he was not in front. 'I have had my share,' said the poor young man, and dropped dead at the earl's feet. Oh, my lady! a battle is a shocking thing! and though one is so glad to hear of a victory, and one thinks nothing of hundreds of the enemy being killed, yet when one pictures to one's self one fair and gallant youth lying pale and stiff, and cold and bloody, on the bare ground, oh! one's heart sickens within one, and one wonders how one could ever wish the king should come back among us to cause bloodshed and slaughter!"

Lady Nithsdale answered not. The words "pale, and stiff, and cold, and bloody, on the bare ground," had conjured up an image to her mind which seemed to curdle the very life-blood in her veins. She clasped her hands closely, and pressing them tightly on her knee, she sat with fixed eyes and lips compressed, striving to exclude from her mind thoughts which would rush into it.

"Oh, say no more, dear Amy; I cannot, must not think. Each day, each hour, may bring us news of a battle in England. How do we know what may be the result? Alas! if it were not for the blood which runs in my veins,—if I were not a Herbert,—if I were not married to a Maxwell, I too might wish that——But no, I will not utter what would be, in me, a dereliction of duty,—treason to the cause my lord upholds. I will remember that my lord has done that which he deemed it his duty to do; and for the event, we must leave it to Providence. We must submit, and only pray for strength to perform the part that may be allotted us, whatever that part may be. It is but two days since I received such a letter from my dear sister the abbess as should teach me to trust and to submit. Oh! if I could but look as she does, on all earthly and temporal concerns! but, alas! how can one wean one's self so entirely from this world, when it contains one's soul's treasures? Lucy has no husband! Lucy has no children! Alas! these ties hold me down so tight to earth, that not all her holy counsel, not all Father Albert's ghostly advice, are enough to detach my heart from it: I cannot fix my thoughts, as they bid me, on Heaven, and Heaven alone."

"Nay, my lady, nor is it fitting you should. It is for priests and nuns to be so much better than other people: it would never do for those who have to wrestle with the world as it is, not to have their thoughts somewhat in it."

"Yes; but Amy, the more our affections are set upon things which are not of this world, the more thoroughly we shall be enabled to do our duty here."

"I am sure my lady, there is no need for anybody to do their duty better than you do; and whichever way your heart is set, it must be the right way;" replied Amy, whose devoted attachment was such that she did not like to hear it implied, even from her lady's own lips, that she was capable of improvement.

"I must not value myself according to your estimate, Amy," replied Lady Nithsdale, smiling, "or I shall be sadly lacking in that first of Christian virtues—humility."

It was not many days after the battle, or, as the Jacobites termed it, the victory, of Sherriff Muir, that vague rumours reached Terreagles of disaster and defeat at Preston.

Lady Nithsdale was struck with the pale countenance of Amy when she had summoned her, ostensibly to assist in arranging some household matters, but more, in fact, that she might hear a friendly voice, and look on an affectionate countenance. She was still more struck with the haste in which Amy wished to depart, instead of gladly lingering, pleased and honoured at being admitted to share the counsels and the feelings of her mistress.

"Think you not, Amy, that these damask hangings will make my lord's apartment look exceedingly handsome? and to my mind the old pictures which adorn his study will show well upon the deep crimson. He will be pleased, when Heaven vouchsafes him a safe return, to find we have been mindful of his comfort. I would gladly turn these hangings to so good account. What think you, Amy?" and Lady Nithsdale gazed inquiringly in her face.

"Yes, madam, in sooth they are as good as new," replied Amy with a hurried voice; and her eye avoided that of her lady: her fingers trembled as she smoothed the fringe, and she kept her head bent low, as though examining the texture of the damask.

"Amy, you have heard ill news that you fear to communicate," said Lady Nithsdale, laying her hand firmly on Amy's trembling arm, and looking at her fixedly. "Speak! I charge you, speak! I can bear anything but suspense. Let me know the worst!" and she grasped her almost convulsively.

"Oh, my lady, do not look thus at me: truly you fright me. In very truth I know nothing, nothing for certain."

"Amy, Amy, this is not like yourself; you are trifling with me!"

"We must not heed every silly report that comes from so far off, my lady."

"Then it is of the army in England!" and Lady Nithsdale dropped into a seat "Speak! speak! tell me all!"

"Indeed I have but little to tell. They said there had been an engagement: but we have often heard that before, my lady; and people make so much of a little thing; and the news comes through Dumfries, and the people there tell everything their own way."

"And they say, then, that we have been defeated!" continued Lady Nithsdale, striving to appear perfectly tranquil. "Tell me, Amy; you see I am quite calm."

"Why, yes; I suppose it is as your ladyship says, for they seem marvellously well pleased."

"And are King James's forces retreating?"

"Not that I know of, my lady."

"What, do they still hold Preston, then?"

"Why no, my lady. I believe what they call the Royalists have possession of it now."

"Then where is our army?"

"Alas! dearest madam, I cannot justly say. Indeed, indeed, my lady, those who told me do not seem to know themselves, and I dare swear it is not half true."

"Amy, you have heard more; I am sure you have! Is my lord——? Have they told you anything? I cannot, cannot ask. Oh, Amy! answer me, and answer the truth, or I think I shall die!"

"Nothing, my lady! They never mentioned my lord's name one way nor another; indeed, indeed they did not."

"Thank Heaven so far!" and Lady Nithsdale closed her eyes for a moment, as if to regain composure and resolution.

"And you know, my lady, ill news travels fast enough, and everybody hereabouts would be curious enough about my lord: so pray set your mind at rest."

Lady Nithsdale looked at Amy with a sad withering smile. "At rest, Amy! at rest!" and pressing her hand upon her bosom, "it is long since this heart has been at rest, and I am much mistaken if it will be so for many a long day yet. If there is any truth in what the people of this country call second-sight, I have much to suffer yet; but I will not despair. I place my reliance above; I will confide in Him who will not abandon the humble, even when all human succours fail."

CHAPTER XII.

When the day is gane, an' night is come, An' a' folk bound to sleep, I think on him that's far awa, The lee-lang night, an' weep, my dear, The lee-lang night, an' weep. Jacobite Song.

It is singular how the first vague rumour of a great event travels faster than can almost be accounted for by human means, and how much time sometimes elapses before the real and authentic account is received! Two nights and a day of dread and uncertainty did Lady Nithsdale endure before any farther details reached Terreagles.

The honest Amy's face soon betrayed that fresh intelligence had arrived, and that intelligence unfavourable. Almost before her lady could question her she said,

"My lord is well, madam! my lord is safe!"

"Oh, dearest Amy, thanks!" and her eyes flashed with joy. "But why this sad countenance then? Look cheerful, girl, for your face belies your words. You are not deceiving me?"

"No, no indeed, madam. He is unhurt: not a wound, nor a scratch, as I believe."

"Then why can you not smile? Oh, Amy! at this moment I feel how weak a sentiment is loyalty to one's king, when put in the balance with love for one's husband! Still no smile! Why, we have changed characters, Amy, and you are going to school me into my due allegiance."

"Oh, my sweet lady! I joy to see a smile upon your lips; and I dare not finish my tale, for I shall banish it more quickly than I have called it up."

"You said he was unhurt; not a scratch, you said?"

"I did, my lady! but oh! can you not guess what other misfortune may have befallen him, and all of us?—oh, my lady!"

"I am dull of comprehension; but I cannot picture any great evil now my lord is safe!"

"He is safe, now, madam, unhurt, unwounded; but——"

"But what, Amy? Speak; you distract me!"

"But, madam—dear madam—he and all the other lords—are—prisoners, madam,—prisoners to King George!"

"Prisoners!" and she seemed to awake as from a trance. "Prisoners to King George! then rebels! traitors! Fool that I have been! and my thought never glanced towards this! Oh! to whom can I apply for advice or for assistance? Alas, alas! what can a poor weak helpless woman do? If I had wings to fly to my lord, then he would tell me how I might assist him;—then at least I should be near to soothe and to support him! But here, alone, and helpless," she added, wringing her hands, "what can I hope? what can I effect?—But you know more, Amy; you can tell me more?"

"No more, madam, than that the Scots were the last to come to terms and to surrender."

"And they surrendered! yielded themselves up to the Whigs! Oh, my dear, dear lord, what must thy noble spirit have endured ere it was bowed to this! How must thy counsels have been scorned, thy hopes blasted, thy heart crushed! I know thy lofty nature well, and truly my woman's soul almost refuses itself to picture what thine must have undergone!"

Amy stood for some momenta bewildered, and unable to offer consolations which she felt must be unavailing. Then, resuming her self-possession, she urged: "Think, madam, how much worse it might have been! you forget that my lord is safe in person."

"But, Amy, what he must have suffered in mind! And what are bodily sufferings to the tortures such a mind is capable of enduring!"

"There is one thing, my lady, for which we cannot be too grateful. He is now safe from the dangers of battle: think how you felt when we were talking of young Clanronald, so fresh, so blooming on the bloody sod!"

"True, true!" and she looked up for a moment. "But—" and she lowered her voice—"there are other and more inevitable perils than those which are met with in battle. If, indeed, the usurper keep the throne,—if the new dynasty prevail—then loyalty is treason, and treason, treason, Amy!—Even King James spared not his own nephew; can we expect more mercy in the soul of a stranger than in one of our own royal blood?—Oh Heaven, be pitiful!"

"Nay, madam, but the Duke of Monmouth was the usurper himself. This case is quite different! And then there are so many of them. Mr. Forster, and the Earl of Derwentwater and his brother, and the Lords Wintoun, Carnwarth, Kenmure, Nairne, and many, many more of noble and gentle blood. King George, if indeed he is to be our king, must show mercy. He could not have the heart——" Amy dared not finish the sentence: she could not have uttered, her lady could not have listened to, the termination their imaginations but too well supplied.

Lady Nithsdale bowed her head in silence, and Amy feared to break in upon the sad solemnity of her thoughts. After a pause, the countess slowly rose: "I will to my closet, Amy, and there tell my beads, till I have regained composure enough to think. But fail not to let me know should farther intelligence reach the castle."

Amy opened the door for her lady, and as she passed, she kissed her hand in token of obedience to her injunctions. Lady Nithsdale pressed her's, and slowly, steadily withdrew. Amy watched the closing door; and then giving a full vent to her own repressed feelings, she wept and sobbed in freedom.

Every hour now brought fresh reports, each more distressing than the last. One told how fourteen hundred men were inclosed in one of the churches, where they suffered both hardships and indignities from the soldiery; how they were stripped, not only of every article of value which they might have about them, but almost of necessary clothing.

These were principally Scotch, who, having been the last to surrender, were treated with the greatest rigour; and Lady Nithsdale shrunk with almost equal horror from the idea of her noble husband being exposed to the insults of the low-born and the mean, as from the more tremendous vengeance of the law.

Another report reached Scotland, that the rebels were to be tried by martial law, and shot upon the spot. But the alarm which such a notion was calculated to excite, was in some measure allayed, by learning that this summary punishment was only to be inflicted upon those who had actually held commissions under the government, against which they had borne arms. Lady Nithsdale was farther re-assured, when the name of Lord Charles Murray was the first mentioned as likely to suffer, for she knew well that her husband's could never have been omitted had he been in danger of such a fate.

But still she heard not from himself, and these varying and often contradictory rumours almost wore away her soul in feverish anxiety.

The town of Dumfries was in the hands of the Royalists, and it was a matter of difficulty for the prisoners to transmit any communication to their friends, which was not subject to the revision of those who were in power. There was time for each hope, in which she had formerly indulged, to be successively crushed. That which she had fondly imagined to be a victory at Sherriff Muir proved in its consequences to be no better than a defeat. Dutch reinforcements joined the royal army; while scarcely a day elapsed in which some of the Lowland chieftains did not desert the standard of the Earl of Mar.

Still no succours arrived from France. It became known that the regent Duke of Orleans had proscribed the Chevalier, and still the Chevalier's arrival was delayed.

Lady Nithsdale roamed about the vast and deserted halls; the un-read book dropped from her hands; the once loved spinet remained unopened; the needle, which she used to ply so rapidly and so dexterously, was still resorted to for occupation; but the flowers no longer grew under her fairy fingers, and the falling tears would often tarnish the colours of the silks before the leaf had yet assumed its form. She started at every noise: the changing cheek, the fluttering heart, the trembling finger, the faltering voice, all spoke the heart ill at ease. The long, long days wore wearily away; it seemed to her that each dismal winter evening closed in more slowly than the last.

Her children were far away; she could not visit their couches, listen to their tranquil breathing, and beguile the hours in watching their unconscious slumbers. Her existence would have been less irksome had there been any duty for her to perform, any exertion to be made; but in this forced inactivity of body, while the mind was distracted with doubts and fears, she endured, not so much the pangs of hope deferred, as those of protracted disappointment.

Watching the blazing logs on the hearth, and listening to the incessant whistling of the December blast, only varied by the rattling of a dry and withered stray leaf against the casement, she had sat through the early and lengthened twilight of a Scottish winter's evening. Glad of the excuse of fading light to indulge in the idleness of vague, dreamy, but most sad meditation, she had allowed the night to steal upon her unawares, till all without was darkness that might be felt, and the stone mullions of the oriel windows alone shone white in the fitful blaze of the wood fire.

She was startled from her reverie by the sound of men's voices, and the tread of a strange and heavy foot. The attendants entering, explained that a peasant was without, who insisted upon seeing the countess.

"It is the countess herself that my business is with," said the stout and rosy boor, who forced his way past the serving-men; "I was to come to the speech of the lady herself; and if you can certify to me that yonder she is, why I am ready enough to give up my packet; but I shan't let it go to any of you. How do I know what sort of jackanapeses you may be?" and the peasant grinned good-humouredly, with a twinkling eye, which led to the conclusion that he had not journeyed so rapidly, but that he had taken time to refresh himself by the way. He held a packet in his hand: "If it is true that you are that rebel lord's lawful wife, why, here's the letter I was to deliver safe into her own fair hands—that was, when she gave me the reward I have earned by a journey of some hundred and fifty miles."

"Oh, give it me! in mercy give it me!" exclaimed Lady Nithsdale; and starting from her seat, she would have snatched it at once.

"Softly, fair lady," cried the peasant, withholding it; "where is the reward the gentleman promised me?"

"Oh! you shall have anything you will, only give it—for pity, give it me! Amy!" she cried to Amy Evans, who, never far from her lady's side, had by this time made her appearance; "fetch my casket: nay, here, take the key, and bring hither my purse; it is in the embossed casket, and give the fellow what he will. And now, my friend, the letter—the letter."

"I think the lady's one that loves him; but nobody has yet assured me that she is his lordship's wife," continued the undaunted boor, with a knowing glance round the room: "all wives are not in such a taking about their husbands," he added, wishing, with a sort of low craft, which he deemed prudence, to delay delivering the letter till he had made sure of the money.

"Oh, trifle not with me! Give it me, as you hope to meet with mercy yourself!"

"Well, here it is, then; the poor soul shall have the letter any how." She snatched it quickly from his hand, and throwing herself upon her knees before the fire, she hastened to devour its contents. Her eyes, blinded by tears, could not decipher the lines as fast as her wishes prompted.

"Bring lights!" she exclaimed; "why are there no lights?"

The servants hastened to fetch the tapers; and the peasant remained near the door, watching the lady with an expression half compassionate, half comic.

"Sure enough, the poor soul loves that darkbrowed fellow," he muttered; "she tucks back her hair, as if she could tear off the curl that falls between the fire light and the paper; and she thinks no more of me! But I shall not depart without the pay I have been promised, I can tell her."

Amy re-entered with the purse at the same moment that the serving-men returned with lights; and Amy, showering into the hands of the messenger several gold pieces, led the way into the hall, that her lady might be left to peruse her packet in privacy.

The peasant clinked the money in his hard palm; then looking cunningly at Amy, "Your lady said I should have what I would."

"Well, and have I not rewarded you handsomely?"

"Why, pretty fairly, pretty fairly; but I should not mind another gold piece or so. You must bear in mind that my journey has been somewhat perilous, all through the royal armies and the loyal inhabitants, with a letter in my pouch from a rebel lord to a rebel lady."

"Nay, you are unreasonable, you should not be covetous: but here are a couple more, for my dear mistress will not think anything can be too much for one who brings her news from her husband."

"Thanks, fair mistress! I am one who always keep the eleventh commandment, even if I keep no other."

"The eleventh, fellow! Why, Protestant and Catholic agree there are no more than ten!"

"Ah, but I know the eleventh, and I know it best of all, and so do most people; and if they all kept the ten others as strictly as they do that one, why the world would be a better world than it is, that's all!"

"You speak in riddles, friend; explain yourself."

"'Get all you can, and keep all you get.' Did you never hear that before, mistress? if you have not heard it, you have practised it, I warrant me. But where's your buttery-hatch? I am spent with hunger, and 'specially with thirst."

While Dickon, the Lancashire ploughman, was restoring the strength, which did not seem to be much impaired, the countess was absorbed in the long-wished for epistle.

The letter was sad, almost hopeless; but it was from himself, and she gazed with delight on every line traced by that loved hand. The first impulse was that of joy; it was not till upon consideration and reflection, that she found in it matter for deep sorrow and despondency. It ran thus.

CHAPTER XIII.

Nor can any men's malice be gratified further by my letters, than to see my constancy to my wife, the laws, and religion. Bees will gather honey where spiders suck poison.—Eikon Basiliké.

"Dearest Wife,

"You will have heard from other hands the ill success of our expedition. My Winifred, who knows what have been my fears from the beginning of this undertaking, also knows that my mind has been prepared for the result, and will therefore be aware that among all his sorrows her husband has not had to endure those of disappointed hope. Let her then be assured that his heart, though grieved, is unsubdued; and that his soul is fully made up to meet with constancy whatever may occur to himself.

"As my dear wife may well believe, I have suffered much. I have seen counsels which appeared to me the most imprudent, and which the event has proved to be such, invariably prevail. I have seen every opportunity of success neglected. I have seen, without the power of preventing it, rashness, where prudence should have ruled; deliberation, where boldness and decision would have been true discretion.

"But, as my Winifred knows, it was not with the expectation of ultimate success that I devoted myself to the cause of my king. I obeyed what I believed to be the call of duty, but I may have been mistaken. When I have seen the blood of my countrymen stain their native soil, then indeed I have felt doubts, agonizing doubts, as to the correctness of my judgment. I have looked on death before; I have served in Germany; I have been an eye-witness of assassinations in Italy; I have seen criminals pay the forfeit of their lives; but, in the solitude of a prison, it is the image of the first victim of civil strife that haunts my imagination,—that moment, when I saw one of our own Scots fell with his battle-axe a fellow Scot; when I heard one foeman utter a threat, the other a cry for mercy, in the selfsame tongue! I still see the dying glance of that blue-eyed youth, the life-blood staining his fair crisped curls: in the heat of battle the impression was momentary; but now, in darkness and in silence, that image rises up between me and sleep!

"It is only to my beloved wife, who has so long read every feeling of this wayward heart, that I dare confess such weakness. To my companions in arms and in misfortune such sentiments would appear the sickly phantasies of a distempered mind: even to her, I will dwell on them no longer.

"My Winifred will have learned with pride for the land of her husband, that the Scots were the last to yield at the fatal affair of Preston: indeed, all our party fought with unequalled bravery; each several street was obstinately defended. General Willis's troops set fire to the houses betwixt themselves and the barricades; but we still fought all night by the light of the conflagration, and we had the advantage in every several attack. Yet what could be done by a small body of men, cut off from all assistance, and cooped up in a burning town!

"The English were for submission, while our brave men were for rushing on death, or regaining liberty by one desperate sally. The English accomplished a capitulation; but Forster's life was near becoming the sacrifice! Many of our Scots still loudly accuse him of treachery; and Murray levelled a pistol at his head when he heard what was the mission on which Oxburgh had been sent to the English general. Had not a friendly hand struck the weapon upwards, Forster must then have fallen! But I sincerely believe that he has acted with loyalty and sincerity throughout. When the cause is hopeless, is a commander justified in wasting the blood of those under his command? Each of us, individually, may prefer death to submission; but has a general a right to sport with the lives of others?

"Should my Winifred have an opportunity of seeing our king,—who, though his coming is now too late, must, I imagine, be by this time in Scotland,—it would be but justice towards a man, who, though unfortunate and perhaps ill-judged, is, I believe, a faithful servant of King James's, to let his majesty know that such is my impression.

"We have not yet been told our ultimate destination; but we conclude we shall be conveyed to London, there,—let not my dear wife be startled, for she must be aware it is the inevitable consequence of defeat—there to take our trial. Let her rather rejoice that it is in an honourable, though perhaps a mistaken cause, that her husband will appear before the tribunal of his country; and that among his fellow-prisoners he may count the noble Earl of Derwentwater, the good Viscount Kenmure, and many more of unsullied honour.

"When I make use of the word 'prisoners,' let her not picture to herself handcuffs and irons, a dark and damp dungeon: we are poorly lodged, it is true, but we are not deprived of necessary comforts. If I could see my Winifred——! But that is now impossible.

"She may rely upon my summoning her when there is a hope of her being allowed to cheer me with her presence. I should think myself unworthy of her true and devoted affection, if I did not place on it the implicit reliance which it deserves. Adieu, my beloved! I know that, next to Heaven, I am ever in your thoughts; neither do you need to be assured that you are loved with equal truth and fervour. Professions are needless between those whose souls are united as ours have ever been! And yet there is a satisfaction in tracing with my own hand the words which I trust will reach my Winifred's eyes,—that whenever, however, death may meet me, my last prayer shall be for her, my last thought on her, and that I firmly believe the affection which fills my soul must survive death itself; that I am, and ever have been, her true and faithful husband,

"Nithsdale.

"P.S. I hope I have engaged a countryman of these parts to convey this safely to your hands, under the promise of a handsome reward upon the safe delivery of the letter."

Full many a time did Lady Nithsdale read over the assurance of that affection which she never doubted. She laid the precious document next her heart; and then she summoned once more the English peasant, who she thought had probably beheld her lord with his own eyes.

He was ushered into her presence; and never did two human beings form, in their outward appearance, a more striking contrast, than the pale, slender, high-born countess, whose anxious countenance bore the traces of deep feeling, whose transparent complexion varied with every word she uttered, whose shrinking form seemed as if every breath of wind might blow it away, while the light which shone from her eye spoke a soul capable of withstanding the storms of adverse fortune; and Dickon, who with stout and sturdy limbs, and a ruddy countenance, beaming with health and good cheer, mixed with a sort of rustic, merry cunning, stood unawed before her.

"You saw my lord your own self, did you not, my good friend?" inquired Lady Nithsdale, with a degree of timidity and anxiety in her tone.

"An' it please your ladyship," answered Dickon, with a scrape of the foot and a pull of the hair, "I saw a many of the rebels, great and small, one day, when they were changing their quarters."

"But it was my lord himself, the Earl of Nithsdale, who entrusted you with the packet you brought even now?"

"Yes, I take it, it was; for the packet was directed to the Countess of Nithsdale, and the gentleman told me to take it to his wife, and to be sure and give it into her own hands, without fail, myself; and he said, if I did, I should be sure to get a handsome reward; that nothing would be too good for me, and such like, he said. He was a civil-spoken gentleman, and very free of his promises."

"You have been rewarded for your pains, I hope. I gave orders to my waiting-woman to see to your wishes in every respect."

"Oh! she is a smart lass, that, and she behaved very civil to me, and I'm no ways dissatisfied. Only perhaps a trifle from your ladyship's own fair hand; she is but a waiting-woman after all," added Dickon, not forgetting the eleventh commandment, and making another scrape, which he meant should savour of gallantry.

Lady Nithsdale slipped some additional gold into his hand. "And did my lord look well?" she inquired.

"Yes, very well, my lady, as far as I know. Just as well as the other lords he was along with; only a trifle paler. He did not look, my lady, as if he had visited his own buttery-hatch quite so lately as I have."

"Alas! was he very pale? Tell me, in pity tell me all the truth."

"Nay, madam! don't put yourself in such a fluster. He looked pale, just like all the rest of them."

Lady Nithsdale turned away for a moment. She could scarcely endure to commune with one who saw in her noble husband but a man, like other men: and yet this peasant had seen him, he had heard his voice; from him alone could she hope to learn any particulars. Dickon, who was not wanting in natural shrewdness, perceived that his answers did not give entire satisfaction; and when Lady Nithsdale again turning towards him inquired whether her lord moved with a firm step, or whether his health did not appear to have suffered from long confinement, he answered,

"Oh, bless your heart, my lady, he walked as strong, and looked lusty and hearty; quite different from the other lords! Oh! he's a fine gentleman sure enough, and looked more like a prince than anything else."

"He has a noble carriage, in good sooth," rejoined Lady Nithsdale; "and sorrow has not yet subdued his lofty bearing?"

"Lord save you, my lady! he was quite of a different sort from the rest of them. They seemed like rabble by the side of him: anybody might have known him among a thousand!"

"They might, indeed. And when he spoke did his voice sound full and mellow as ever?"

"Why, he spoke somewhat low, for he did not wish everybody to hear; but methought it was a marvellous good voice, quite different from the other rebels."

Lady Nithsdale hung upon his words with delight, and forgot that at first she had thought him incapable of estimating her lord's superiority over his fellows.

"And can you tell me how my lord was lodged, and how he is attended?"

"Why, as I have heard say, very well lodged; not so handsomely as he would be here in such a castle as this, but right well lodged as times go; and they say that the rebels they live like fighting-cocks, and there is revelry of all kinds going on among them. But that's among the young lords," added Dickon, who saw he had not now touched the right string; "not my Lord Derwentwater and my Lord Nithsdale, they are quite of another sort; but some of the young gallants, and young Bottair of Athol—Oh! he's a comely young fellow that!—and they do say that pretty Kate Musgrave——"