Emily Hamilton, a sister of Lord Evandale.
“Had I no better gang to the house to put things to rights?” said Jenny, confounded with this unexpected apparition.
“We want nothing but the pass-key,” said Miss Bellenden; “Gudyill will open the windows of the little parlour.”
“The little parlour’s locked, and the lock’s, spoiled,” answered Jenny, who recollected the local spmpathy between that apartment and the bedchamber of her guest.
“In the red parlour, then,” said Miss Bellenden, and rode up to the front of the house, but by an approach different from that through which Morton had been conducted.
“All will be out,” thought Jenny, “unless I can get him smuggled out of the house the back way.”
So saying, she sped up the bank in great tribulation and uncertainty.
“I had better hae said at ante there was a stranger there,” was her next natural reflection. “But then they wad hae been for asking him to breakfast. Oh, safe us! what will I do?— And there’s Gudyill walking in the garden too!” she exclaimed internally on approaching the wicket; “and I daurna gang in the back way till he’s aff the coast. Oh, sirs! what will become of us?”
In this state of perplexity she approached the cidevant butler, with the purpose of decoying him out of the garden. But John Gudyill’s temper was not improved by his decline in rank and increase in years. Like many peevish people, too, he seemed to have an intuitive perception as to what was most likely to teaze those whom he conversed with; and, on the present occasion, all Jenny’s efforts to remove him from the garden served only to root him in it as fast as if he had been one of the shrubs.
Unluckily, also, he had commenced florist during his residence at Fairy Knowe; and, leaving all other things to the charge of Lady Emily’s servant, his first care was dedicated to the flowers, which he had taken under his special protection, and which he propped, dug, and watered, prosing all the while upon their respective merits to poor Jenny, who stood by him trembling and almost crying with anxiety, fear, and impatience.
Fate seemed determined to win a match against Jenny this unfortunate morning. As soon as the ladies entered the house, they observed that the door of the little parlour — the very apartment out of which she was desirous of excluding them on account of its contiguity to the room in which Morton slept — was not only unlocked, but absolutely ajar. Miss Bellenden was too much engaged with her own immediate subjects of reflection to take much notice of the circumstance, but, desiring the servant to open the window-shutters, walked into the room along with her friend.
“He is not yet come,” she said. “What can your brother possibly mean? Why express so anxious a wish that we should meet him here? And why not come to Castle Dinnan, as he proposed? I own, my dear Emily, that, even engaged as we are to each other, and with the sanction of your presence, I do not feel that I have done quite right in indulging him.”
“Evandale was never capricious,” answered his sister; “I am sure he will satisfy us with his reasons, and if he does not, I will help you to scold him.”
“What I chiefly fear,” said Edith, “is his having engaged in some of the plots of this fluctuating and unhappy time. I know his heart is with that dreadful Claverhouse and his army, and I believe he would have joined them ere now but for my uncle’s death, which gave him so much additional trouble on our account. How singular that one so rational and so deeply sensible of the errors of the exiled family should be ready to risk all for their restoration!”
“What can I say?” answered Lady Emily,—“it is a point of honour with Evandale. Our family have always been loyal; he served long in the Guards; the Viscount of Dundee was his commander and his friend for years; he is looked on with an evil eye by many of his own relations, who set down his inactivity to the score of want of spirit. You must be aware, my dear Edith, how often family connections and early predilections influence our actions more than abstract arguments. But I trust Evandale will continue quiet,— though, to tell you truth, I believe you are the only one who can keep him so.”
“And how is it in my power?” said Miss Bellenden.
“You can furnish him with the Scriptural apology for not going forth with the host,—‘he has married a wife, and therefore cannot come.’”
“I have promised,” said Edith, in a faint voice; “but I trust I shall not be urged on the score of time.”
“Nay,” said Lady Emily, “I will leave Evandale (and here he comes) to plead his own cause.”
“Stay, stay, for God’s sake!” said Edith, endeavouring to detain her.
“Not I, not I,” said the young lady, making her escape; “the third person makes a silly figure on such occasions. When you want me for breakfast, I will be found in the willow-walk by the river.”
As she tripped out of the room, Lord Evandale entered. “Good-morrow, Brother, and good-by till breakfast-time,” said the lively young lady; “I trust you will give Miss Bellenden some good reasons for disturbing her rest so early in the morning.”
And so saying, she left them together, without waiting a reply.
“And now, my lord,” said Edith, “may I desire to know the meaning of your singular request to meet you here at so early an hour?”
She was about to add that she hardly felt herself excusable in having complied with it; but upon looking at the person whom she addressed, she was struck dumb by the singular and agitated expression of his countenance, and interrupted herself to exclaim, “For God’s sake, what is the matter?”
“His Majesty’s faithful subjects have gained a great and most decisive victory near Blair of Athole; but, alas! my gallant friend Lord Dundee —”
“Has fallen?” said Edith, anticipating the rest of his tidings.
“True, most true: he has fallen in the arms of victory, and not a man remains of talents and influence sufficient to fill up his loss in King James’s service. This, Edith, is no time for temporizing with our duty. I have given directions to raise my followers, and I must take leave of you this evening.”
“Do not think of it, my lord,” answered Edith; “your life is — essential to your friends,— do not throw it away in an adventure so rash. What can your single arm, and the few tenants or servants who might follow you, do against the force of almost all Scotland, the Highland clans only excepted?”
“Listen to me, Edith,” said Lord Evandale. “I am not so rash as you may suppose me, nor are my present motives of such light importance as to affect only those personally dependent on myself. The Life Guards, with whom I served so long, although new-modelled and new-officered by the Prince of Orange, retain a predilection for the cause of their rightful master; and “— and here he whispered as if he feared even the walls of the apartment had ears —“when my foot is known to be in the stirrup, two regiments of cavalry have sworn to renounce the usurper’s service, and fight under my orders. They delayed only till Dundee should descend into the Lowlands; but since he is no more, which of his successors dare take that decisive step, unless encouraged by the troops declaring themselves! Meantime, the zeal of the soldiers will die away. I must bring them to a decision while their hearts are glowing with the victory their old leader has obtained, and burning to avenge his untimely death.”
“And will you, on the faith of such men as you
