Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland Volume II Part 2

"O sir," replied Simon, "ye wrong me--ye mistake my meaning a'thegither.

If you are to die, I will die also; but do ye no think it would be as valorous, and mair rational, at least to see and hear the young leddy before ye determine to die rather than to marry her?"

"And hae ye," said the maiden, addressing the laird, "preferred the gallows to poor Meg without even seeing her?"

"If I haena seen her I hae heard o' her," said he; "and by all accounts her countenance isna ane that ony man would desire to see accompanying him through the world like a shadow at his oxter."

"Belike," said the maiden, "she has been represented to you worse than she looks like--if ye saw her, ye might change your opinion; and, perhaps, after a', that she isna bonny is a' that any one can say against her."

"Wheesht, la.s.sie!" said he; "I winna be forced to onything. A Scott may be led, but he winna drive. I have nae wish to see the face o' your young mistress, for I winna hae her. But you speak as one that has a feeling heart, and before I trust ye wi' my last letter to my poor mother, I should like to have a glance at your face, and by your countenance I shall judge whether or not it will be safe to trust ye."

"I doubt, sir," replied she, throwing back the hood that covered her head, "ye will see as little in my features as ye expect to find in my young mistress's to recommend me; but, sir, you ought to remember that jewels are often encrusted in coa.r.s.er metals, and ye will often find a delicious kernel within an unsightly sh.e.l.l."

"Ye speak sweetly, and as sensibly as sweet," said he, raising the flickering lamp, which burned before them upon a small table, and gazing upon her countenance; "and I will now tell ye, la.s.sie, that if your features be not beautiful, there is honesty and kindliness written upon every line o' them; and though ye are a dependent in the house o' my enemy, I will trust ye. Try if I can obtain writing materials to address a few lines to my mother, and I will confide in you to deliver them."

"Ye may confide in me," rejoined she, "and the writing materials which ye desire I hae brought wi' me. Write, and not only shall your letter be faithfully delivered, but, as ye hae confided in me, I will venture to say that your life shall be spared until ye receive her answer; for I may say that what I request, Lady Murray will try to see performed. And if I can find any means in my power by which ye can escape, it shall not be lang that ye will remain a prisoner."

"Thank ye!--doubly thank ye!" cried Simon; "ye are a good and a kind creature; and though my maister refuses to marry your mistress, yet, had I been single, I would hae married you. But, oh, when ye go wi' the letter to his mother, my honoured lady, will ye just go away down to a bit white house which lies by the river side, about a mile and a half aboon Selkirk, and there ye will find my poor wife and bairns--or rather, I should say, my unhappy widow and my orphans--and tell them--oh, tell my wife--that I never kenned how dear she was to me till now; but that, if she marries again, my ghost will haunt her night and day; and tell also the bairns that, above everything, I charge them to be good to their mother."

The young laird sat down, and, writing a letter to his mother, intrusted it to the hands of the stranger girl. He raised her hand to his lips as she withdrew, and a tear trickled down his cheeks as he thanked her.

It was early on the following morning that Meikle-mouthed Meg, as she was called, requested an interview with her father, which being granted, after respectfully rendering obeisance before him, she said--"So, faither, I understand that it is your pleasure that I shall this day become the wife o' young Scott o' Harden. I think, sir, that it is due to the daughter o' a Murray o' Elibank, that she should be courted before she gies her hand. The young man has never seen me; he kens naething concerning me; an' never will yer dochter disgrace ye by gieing her hand to a man who only accepted it to save his neck from a hempen cord. Faither, if it be your command that I am to marry him, I will an' must marry him; but, before I just make a venture upon him for better for worse, an' for life, I wad like to hae some sma' acquaintance wi' him, to see what sort o' a lad he is, and what kind o' temper he has; and therefore, faither, I humbly crave that ye will put off the death or the marriage for a week at least, that I may hae an opportunity o' judging for mysel' how far it would be prudent or becoming in me to consent to be his wife."

"Gie me your hand, Meg," cried the old knight; "I didna think ye had as muckle spirit and gumption in ye as to say what ye hae said. But your request is useless; for he has already, point blank, refused to hae ye; an' there is naething left for him, but, before sunset, to strike his heels against the bark o' the auld elm tree."

"Say not that, faither," said she--"let me at least hae four days to become acquainted wi' him; and if in that time he doesna mak a request to you to marry me without ony dowry, then will I say that I look even waur than I get the name o' doing."

"He shall have four days, Meg," cried the old knight; "for your sake he will have them; but if, at the end o' four days, he shall refuse to take ye, he shall hang before this window, and his poor half-crazed companion shall bear him company."

With this a.s.surance Agnes, or, as she was called, Meg left her father, and bethought her of how she might save the prisoners and secure a husband.

The mother of the laird sat in the midst of her daughters, mourning for him, and looking from the window of the tower, as though, in every form that appeared in the distance, she expected to see him, or at least to gather tidings regarding him, when information was brought to her that he was the prisoner of Murray of Elibank.

"Then," cried she, and wept, "the days o' my winsome Willie are numbered, and his death is determined on; for often has Sir Gideon declared he would gie a' the lands o' Elibank for his head. My Willie is my only son, my first-born, and my heart's hope and treasure; and, oh, if I lose him now, if I shall never again hear his kindly voice say '_mother_!' nor stroke down his yellow hair--wi' him that has made me sonless I shall hae a day o' lang and fearfu' reckoning; cauld shall be the hearth-stane in the house o' many a Murray, and loud their lamentation."

Her daughters wept with her for their brother's fate; but they wist not how to comfort her; and, while they sat mingling their tears together, it was announced to them that a humble maiden, bearing a message from the captive laird, desired to speak with her.

"Show her in!--take me to her!" cried the mother, impatiently. "Where is she?--what does she say?--or what does my Willie say?" And the maiden who has been mentioned as having visited the laird in his prison, was ushered into her presence.

"Come to me, la.s.sie--come and tell me a'," cried the old lady; "what message does Willie Scott send to his heart-broken mother?"

"He has sent you this bit packet, ma'am," replied the bearer; "and I shall be right glad to take back to him whatever answer ye may hae to send."

"And wha are ye, young woman?" inquired the lady, "that speaks sae kindly to a mother, an' takes an interest in the fate o' my Willie?"

"A despised la.s.sie," was the reply; "but ane that would risk her ain life to save either yours or his."

"Bless you for the words!" replied Lady Scott, as she broke the seal of her son's letter, and read:--

"My mother, my honoured mother,--Fate has delivered me into the power of Murray of Elibank, the enemy of our house. He has doomed me to death, and I die to-morrow; but sit not down to mourn for me, and uselessly to wring the hands and tear the hair; but rouse every Scott upon the Borders to rise up and be my avenger. If ye bewail the loss o' a son, let them spare o' the Murrays neither son nor daughter. Rouse ye, and let a mother's vengeance nerve your arm! Poor Simon o' Yarrow-foot is to be my companion in death, and he whines to meet his fate with the weakness of a woman, and yearns a perpetual yearning for his wife and bairns. On that account I forgie him the want o' heart and determination which he manifests; but see ye to them, and take care that they be provided for. As for me, I shall meet my doom wi' disdain for my enemy in my eyes and on my tongue. Even in death he shall feel that I despise him; and a proof o' this I have given him already; for he has offered to save my life, providing I would marry his daughter, Meikle-mouthed Meg.

But I have scorned his proposal."----

"Ye were right, Willie! ye were right, lad!" exclaimed his mother, while the letter shook in her hand; but, suddenly bursting into tears, she continued--"No, no! my bairn was wrong--very wrong. Life is precious, and at all times desirable; and, for his poor mother's sake, he ought to have married the la.s.sie, whate'er she may be like." And, turning to the bearer of the letter, she inquired--"And what like may the leddy be, the marrying o' whom would save my Willie's life?"

"Ye have nae doubt heard, my leddy," replied the stranger, "that she isna what the world considers to be a likely la.s.s--though, take her as she is, and ye might find a hantle worse wives than poor Meg would make; and, as to her features, I may say that she looks much the same as I do; and if she doesna appear better, she at least doesna look ony waur."

"Then, if she be as ye say, and look as ye say," continued the lady, "my poor headstrong Willie ought to marry her. But, oh! weel do I ken that in everything he is just his father ower again, and ye might as weel think o' moving the Eildon hills as force him to onything."

She perused the concluding part o' her son's letter, in which he spoke enthusiastically of the kindness shown him by the fair messenger, and of the promise she had made to liberate him if possible. "And if she does,"

he added, "whatever be her parentage, on the day that I should be free, she should be my wife, though I have preferred death to the hand o' Sir Gideon's _comely_ daughter."

"La.s.sie," said the lady, weeping as she spoke, "my poor Willie talks a deal o' the kindness ye have shown him in the hour o' his distress, and for that kindness his mother's heart thanks ye. But do you not think that it is possible that I could accompany ye to Elibank? and, if ye can devise no means for him to escape, perhaps, if ye could get me admitted into his presence, when he saw his poor distressed mother upon her knees before him, his heart would saften, and he would marry Sir Gideon's daughter, ill-featured though she may be."

"My leddy," answered the stranger maiden, "it is little that I can promise, and less that I can do; but if ye desire to see yer son, I think I could answer for accomplis.h.i.+ng yer request; an' though nae guid micht come oot o't, I could also say that I wad see ye safe back again."

Within an hour, Lady Scott, disguised as a peasant, and carrying a basket on her arm, set out for Elibank, accompanied by the fair stranger.

Leaving them upon their melancholy journey, we shall return to the young laird. From the windows of his prison-house, he beheld the sun rise which was to be the last on which he was to look. He heard the sentinels, who kept watch over him, relieve each other; he heard them pacing to and fro before the grated door, and as the sun rose towards the south, proclaiming the approach of noon, the agitation of Simon increased. He sat in a corner of the prison, and strove to pray; and, as the footsteps of the sentinels quickened, he groaned in the bitterness of his spirit. At length the loud booming of the gong announced that the dial-plate upon the turret marked the hour of twelve. Simon clasped his hands together. "Maister! maister!" he cried, "our hour is come, an' one word from yer lips could save us baith, an' ye winna speak it. The very holding oot o' yer hand could do it, but ye are stubborn even unto death."

"Simon," said the laird, "I hae left it as an injunction upon my mother, that yer wife an' weans be provided for--she will fulfil my request.

Therefore, be ye content. Die like a man, an' dinna disgrace both yourself an' me."

"O sir! I winna disgrace, or in any manner dishonour ye," said Simon--"only I do not see the smallest necessity for us to die, and especially when both our lives could be saved by yer doing yerself a good turn."

While he spoke, the sound of the sentinels' footsteps, pacing to and fro, ceased. The prison-door was opened; Simon fell upon his knees--the laird looked towards the intruder proudly.

"Your lives are spared for another day," said a voice, "that the laird o' Harden may have time to reflect upon the proposal that has been made to him. But let him not hope that he will find mercy upon other terms; or that, refusing them for another day, his life will be prolonged."

The door was again closed, and the bolts were drawn. The spirit of Sir Gideon was too proud and impatient to spare the lives of his prisoners for four days, as he had promised to his daughter to do, and he now resolved that they should die upon the following day.

The sun had again set, and the dim lamp shed around its fitful and shadowy lights from the table of the prison-room, when the maiden, who had carried the letter to the laird's mother, again entered.

"This is kind, very kind, gentle maiden," said he; "would that I could reward ye! An' hoo fares it with my puir mother?--what answer does she send?"

"An' oh, ma'am, or mistress!" cried Simon, "hoo fares it wi' my dear wife an' bairns? I hope ye told them all that I desired ye to say. Hoo did she bear the news o' being made a widow? An' what did she say to my injunction that she was never to marry again?"

"Ye talk wildly, man," said the maiden, addressing Simon; "it wasna in my power to carry yer commands to yer wife; but, I trust, it will be longer than ye expect before she will be a widow, or hae it in her power to marry again."

"O ye angel! ye perfect picture!" cried Simon, "what is that which I hear ye say? Do ye really mean to tell me that I stand a chance o' being saved, an' that I shall see my wife an' bairns again?"

"Even so," said she; "but whether ye do or do not, rests with yer master."

"Speak not o' that, sweet maiden," said the laird; "but tell me, what says my mother? How does she bear the fate o' her son; an' hoo does she promise to avenge my death?"

"She is as one whose heart-strings are torn asunder," was the reply, "and who refuses to be comforted; but she wad rather hae another dochter than lose an only son; an' her prayer is, that ye will live and mak her happy, by marrying the maiden ye despise."

"What!" he cried, "has even my mother so far forgot herself as to desire me to marry the dochter o' oor enemy, whom no other man could be found to take! It shall never be. I wad obey her in onything but that."

"But," said the maiden, "I still think ye are wrong to reject and despise puir Meg before that ye hae seen her. She may baith be better an' look better than ye are aware o'. There are as guid as Scott o'

Harden who hae said, that were it in their power they wad mak her their wife; an' ye should remember, sir, that it will be as pleasant for you to hear the blithe laverock singing ower yer head, as for another person to hear the wind soughing and the long gra.s.s rustling ower yer grave. Ye hae another day to live, an' see her, an' speak to her, before ye decide rashly. Yours is a cruel doom, but Sir Gideon is a wrathfu' man; an'