Marjorie Bowen

“ Another silence as a faint light filled the room and the winter dawn spread above the mountains; then he spoke:
“When I am dead—take my pouch,” he said through labored breaths. “It holds—Dundee’s spy-glass—I want ye to have it—for staying by me now—”
She cried out in a passionate pity.
“I would not have left a dog, Macdonald!”
“So cold,” he whispered. “The world is freezing into death—I see the mountains changing into snow and falling—I feel the earth dissolve into an icy sky and all my life ebb from me—so cold—hark!—the horses!”
Delia could hear them now. ”

“ Their leader is Breadalbane, he rides a white horse with steel and scarlet trappings, and his green and blue tartan blows out behind him across his shining cuirass; he rides easily, swiftly, with one hand on his hip above his sword and the other lightly on his reins; in his bonnet is a sprig of myrtle and his hair flutters pale as silver back from his face.
By his side is the Countess Peggy, her plaid floats from her shoulder and over her black horse; she leans forward a little in the saddle and her red curls frame a pale triumphant face. ”

“ Silence and loneliness were abroad; the Countess gazed up at the infinite distance of the stars and shivered through her slender body; against the sky rose a misty vision often seen by her: the vision of a man with a beautiful face and clothes clay-stained and bloody, holding a lace cravat and looking at her with mournful eyes.
She smiled bitterly as she thought of the uselessness of that blood on her soul; Jerome Caryl might have lived. An obscure traitor had informed and the plot to be carried out at Turnham Green had come to nothing. ”

“ Ronald stared at him as if he had not heard. “Is it not an awful thing,” he said very low, “that she should be Jock Campbell’s wife?”
“Do ye care?” asked Ian incredulously. “’Tis an ordinary woman—and I like not green eyes; also she is false to her finger-tips—like a Campbell.”
“Ah, yes,” cried Ronald wildly, “she is false and doubly false. She has the trick of smiling when she lies—there is a poison in her breath that doth infect her kisses with a deadly sweetness, and in her eyes a witchcraft lurks to drive the blood too fast for bearing—I would that she or I were dead!” ”

“ From the burning hut a woman came running, alight from head to foot; there was no outcry; she flung up her hands above her blazing hair and fell forward on her face.
The musketry cracked again; a horseman galloped by with a Highlander clinging to the saddle; they were striking at each other with knives; the Macdonald dragged the Campbell from the saddle and the maddened horse plunged over both.
It was almost dark; Delia stumbled forward from her place and ran along the rocks, crying to herself. ”

“ His sister gave a little pant of suppressed excitement; the bold and restless spirit of Jerome Caryl was akin to her own; he was the soul of this plot in which she was engaged; of her own religion, her own views; a man whom next to her brother she admired of all others.
And for six months she had not seen him; the while he plotted in London, they plotted in Scotland; he might have great news to tell; she was confident his fervor and ability could remove obstacles that to the slower mind of her brother seemed insurmountable. ”

“ The old man called a garrulous blessing after her and she turned lightly with a dazzling smile, then hurried on down the street.
There was no one abroad; the stillness of the snow lay over everything; every tenth house alone showed a lamp and between the way was in perfect darkness; yet Delia found in this dreariness only a strangeness that heightened the ecstasy of her divine elation. As she turned into the courtyard of “The Sleeping Queen” she saw Jerome Caryl dismounting by the light of the ostler’s lanthorn. ”

“ One man alone stood apart, Ronald Macdonald wrapped in his plaid, indifferent against the open door.
The gray day was growing grayer; up from rifts and hidden valleys in the hills came the tacksmen of Macdonald; contained, silent, in a moment comprehending, in a moment seeing that picture of the Campbells, of Strath Tay held, of Breadalbane rising in Invernesshire, of Argyll rising in Argyllshire, of themselves surrounded, trapped, sport for the enemy, food for his sword. ”

“ The fire had dropped into ashes; the dawn strengthening showed dust on everything; dust on the tarnished silver, on the sails of the gold ship, on the empty armor.
There were cobwebs, high up among the shelves that showed now; cobwebs clinging to and obscuring the splendor of the gold and silver.
The black cat leaped from the table, ran round the room, then began playing amid the ashes and the ends of Delia’s hair.
Lord Stair crossed to the head of the settle and stood looking at the dawn behind the diamond panes. ”

“ Delia gave one glance, then motioned it away with a gesture of horror.
“How like,” she said fearfully.
“How like whom?” asked Lady Dalrymple startled. “They are beautiful faces—are they not? Why do you turn away? I crave people to gaze on them—”
“They are like—Sir John,” faltered Delia with quivering lips. “It startled me—”
“Why—you have seen him?”
“Yes.”
Lady Dalrymple frowned. “I do not think they are so like,” she said, and shutting the case, put it back into her bosom.
Delia uttered a hard laugh.
“’Tis the same face,” she said cruelly. ”

“ ON THE ROAD TO LONDON It was drawing toward the evening of December twentieth, along the smooth high road to Carlisle three travelers were riding swiftly, their faces toward England. The wind blew cold and keen; the trees bordering the roadside began to show dark and misshapen in the twilight; the walls of Carlisle ahead of them were a welcome sight.
Delia Featherstonehaugh, riding between her brother and Jerome Caryl, shuddering drew her hood closer round her face, and whipped her horse up to keep pace with her companions. ”

“ Ronald Macdonald, light-footed as a cat, followed.
In the narrow little hall she turned and faced him; in the circle of the candle-light her brown hair glittered with threads of gold and the yellow satin of her gown rippled into reflections and shadows.
“Maybe you will meet the lady with the red curls again,” she said.
He looked curiously at the Saxon woman who had nursed him; his blue eyes held some wonder; he had hardly realized her as yet.
“’Tis late to start on a journey,” continued Delia; “dark already.”
“Day and night are one to me,” he answered. ”

“ RONALD MACDONALD Some fifty men were making slow progress through the pass of Glenorchy, which lies in the heart of Invernesshire and so in the very depths of the wild Highlands. A thick white mist hung over the landscape; it was the end of October and a raw and chilly day; the dull purple heather, disclosed now and then by the lifting vapor, the gaunt firs and faded bracken that grew along the pass, were shivering under the weight of dripping moisture. ”

“ The candle clattered from her slack fingers to the floor; the room was in complete darkness. Delia turned wildly through the blackness and caught Jerome Caryl’s arm.
“Who is it?” she cried. “Whom do you think it can be? Nay, answer me—could it be—he? Ah, no, my God—it is not possible—”
“Hush! hush!” said Jerome gently. “I must get a light.”
“No, no, I could not bear to look,” she shuddered wildly. “I will not bear it—why should you ask me to? It was his cloak—”
Jerome tenderly disengaged her hand. “Take courage,” he said. “If it should be Perseus he may not be—he may be—living.” ”

“ Mr. Wedderburn made no answer and presently he began to pace the room in a manner that at last attracted the other’s attention; he began to look at him curiously; he noticed that the King’s messenger appeared absorbed, gloomy, as if he reined in high passions, that his face was unnaturally pale and shadowed under his brilliant eyes as if he had been through great pain or sleeplessness. Sir Perseus studied him covertly, with a growing uneasiness; he did not look like a man in the mood to undertake a difficult enterprise. ”

“ A slender figure in a scarlet roquelaure with the collar turned up to his ears, his beaver and feather hanging limp with the rain; both his dress and his horse were of the lowlands. The Macdonald’s eyes glowed at the sight of the Saxon; he was too stung to care that he had missed his men in the pursuit. He came on at a run, silently. The horseman had gained rising ground and stood outlined against the sky.
The mist changed to a drizzling rain: they were able to see each other distinctly; the tired horse stumbled and stopped, the rider wheeled him round and drew up, facing the Highlander. ”

“ For a moment the man and the animal gazed at each other, then the Earl began reascending the stairs.
“What are you going to do?” cried Delia, barring his way. “You are not going back? My God! Look how the flames are mounting—they will cut off your escape.”
Lord Stair looked up at the kitten.
“It is alive,” he said, “and I cannot let it burn.”
“You are mad!” shrieked Delia, clinging to him. “The house has only a few minutes to stand—they have gunpowder.” ”

“ There was no one there who had any wish to shed blood before Lady Dalrymple; she was greatly beloved in Edinburgh and neither her beauty nor her fearlessness failed of their effect.
“We willna’ touch ye, mistress,” cried a man. “Stand awa’ frae yer husband.”
But she had laid her hand on the Earl’s breast and though he sought to move her, kept her place.
“Ye hae a bad lord!” shouted another. “But ye are a gentle leddy—stand frae the Earl—”
“Madam—retire!” cried her husband, very white.
But she took no heed of him. ”

“ Wedderburn sat very quietly; as though indeed he was not listening. Sir Perseus, however, preferred passing the time in reading rather than in further conversation; with a fervent, silent wish for Jerome Caryl, he droned on:
His wife too felt little grief
Or else she quickly found relief—
For her youngest newly dead
A merry life she led
And did her consolation take
In loving of a Hell-cat rake
A man with all the vices rife
A lover fit for the Master’s wife— “A moment, sir.”
Mr. Wedderburn leaned forward in a manner, that, although still quiet, stopped Sir Perseus instantly. ”

“ There was a little pause before Lady Breadalbane answered:
“The Macdonalds o’ Glencoe for one. They have na’ taken the oaths.”
Delia saw the red and shadowy room spin round her and felt the blood hammering in her temples; before she left Glasgow she had been assured that the Macdonalds had come in with the other clans; she had never questioned it; it was such an unlikely thing they, of all, should remain obstinate; she moistened her lips and tried to frame some reply; she was saved by Jerome Caryl opening the door. ”

“ The two young men swung round, black with mistrust, but Makian spoke in bland Lowland Scotch:
“Ye will be wondering, why we make such a tardy appearance,” he remarked gently, “weel, it was the weather—was ower rough.”
His manner utterly waived all thought of offense between them; he spoke as if the Campbells and Macdonalds had been friends for centuries.
Breadalbane hitched his sword over his hip so that it lay nearer his hand. “Weel,” he answered thoughtfully, “I’ll no’ be denying that I was expecting Makian, though ’tis ower long since a Macdonald came to Kilchurn.” ”

“ The heavy gray sky seemed to hang low enough to be touched with an uplifted arm; there was no wind; a few flakes of snow fell slowly. Makian walked a little ahead of his two sons, and reflected on the absolute failure of his attempt to wring money from Jock Campbell: it had been a bold attempt and there was little wonder that it had not succeeded. Whether they took the oaths or no, Makian was very sure that they would not get a guinea of the English money; it was a bitter wrong, he thought, that the government should have chosen for its agent a man with whom so many clans were at feud. ”

“ He pictured that unfortunate gentleman’s agonies as he hurried home; then his smile deepened as he saw still further. Argyll might warn the conspirators that the Master was on their track; they might take fright and escape the net spreading for them; so would the Master’s labor go for nothing; the Viscount finally laughed aloud at the thought of the storm there would be when Sir John found himself outwitted; his was the temper that loves to provoke and then standing aside watch the violence aroused in others. ”

“ So cold it was, so cold, and she so helpless; she cast more peat on the fire and prayed that some one might come; that some one, in this valley of the dead, might be living and come.
Through the long, bitter night she knelt so, holding him, till her limbs were stiff with his weight; he spoke no word, only his struggling breath showed that he lived.
With the first breaking of the pale gray dawn, he turned his head toward the open door.
“I hear horses,” he said.
Delia started from a half-swoon. ”

“ By the low dark table stood a lady, who looked up sharply at the new-comers.
She was a great contrast to her surroundings; her fur-lined coat lay on a chair beside her, but she still wore her large beaver hat, and in one hand she held a black muff; her gray velvet dress was open at the bosom on a full white bodice; her attitude was elegant and indolent, she rested against the table with her feet crossed daintily.
Perseus and his sister advanced at once to the fire, showing no heed of her, but Jerome Caryl remained in the doorway, loosening his cloak ”

“ The narrow box-edged paths radiated round a central fountain full of gold carp; a stone figure of Hylas rose from the water-lilies and poured water from a Grecian urn, splashing into the basin.
Trees of box and yew cut into the shapes of peacocks and Chinese pagodas framed the dark background to innumerable roses, hollyhocks and bushes of sweet-brier. Leading to a back entrance to the house was a wide flight of steps ending in a terrace, the balustrade being white with jasmine.
Steadily up and down the smooth paths walked Lord Stair, his shadow now before, now behind him. ”

“ Yet the scene was desolation, utter desolation; in all the vast expanse there was no human being in sight, no animal nor bird. Only, bare to the wide sky, lay the scattered, ruined huts of the Macdonalds; the little creeping wild flowers had overgrown the ashes of the charred door-posts which lay half-hidden in the grass; the storms and winds of three winters had nearly demolished what the vengeance of the Campbells had left, but still above the rough graves made by the surviving Macdonalds for their kindred rose some few traces of the village of Makian. ”

“ A rider swept up, cried out at sight of her and flung himself from the saddle. She felt him seize her and drag her away.
“Ye will be slain,” he kept saying and he hurried her from the shrieking confusion into the dark of the cold rocks and wet heather; once her companion put his arms about her and lifted her over a fallen man. He held her close against his breast a moment; the musketry still cracked in their ears and the snow was falling over them.
Delia struggled away to stare into her rescuer’s face. ”

“ He looked at her in a pitying, troubled manner.
“You are wondering what is to become of me?” she asked, meeting his glance. “Well, to-morrow will be soon enough: come again to-morrow.”
She sat down and turned her face away as if she dismissed him; Jerome Caryl rose heavily.
“Do you want money?” asked Delia in a weary voice. “There is plenty—you know Perseus had the last sent over by the King. I have it here.”
“It is all too little for your own needs,” he answered. “Keep it, Delia.” ”

“ Why have I flung myself into the plot—to work with my own hands? Why do I plan to sweep the Highlands bare of thieves—to rein in a kingdom and fly grandly above the breath of popular hate? It is only that I may forget—even for a while—I wish to plunge knee-deep through the press of factions, to mount, and ever mount, to grasp power, and, by Heaven, wield it—that I may cheat myself into thinking I forget what I shall never forget—unto the end! ”

“ It was bitterly cold here, but she did not seem to heed it; carefully she placed the candle so that it did not gutter in the draught, then, sinking on her knees beside them, she opened the topmost box.
Out of it with infinite care she took a large jointed doll, the waxen face beautifully modeled. It was the size of a child and was elegantly dressed in velvet and lace; Lady Dalrymple set it on the chair and smoothed out the collar with loving fingers.
In this uncertain light the doll had a ghastly semblance of humanity ”

“ Sir Perseus held out his hand, “’tis only that sometimes I think you do not see the danger—”
“Why, I do love it,” she interrupted gaily. “The excitement is life to me—and you forget—are there so few faithful in England? We are only two of thousands who plot, and wait and long for the rightful King again!”
With a little laugh she came behind him and put her hand on his shoulder, while she gazed over his head into the fire.
“Yea, we will do it,” said Sir Perseus quietly. “We will oust the Dutchman, I think, Delia—there is a huge discontent everywhere.” ”