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Title: The Devil's MistressAuthor: J W Brodie Innes* A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook *eBook No.: 180081h.htmlLanguage: EnglishDate first posted: September 2018Most recent update: September 2018This eBook was produced by: Paul MoulderProject Gutenberg of Australia eBooks are created from printed editionswhich are in the public domain in Australia, unless a copyright noticeis included. We do NOT keep any eBooks in compliance with a particularpaper edition.Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check thecopyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing thisfile.This eBook is made available at no cost and with almost no restrictionswhatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the termsof the Project Gutenberg AustraliaLicence which may be viewed online.
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Author's Note
Chapter One. At the Farm of Lochloy
Chapter Two. How Isabel Goudie Met theStranger
Chapter Three. The Sands of Culben
Chapter Four. A Tryst With the Devil
Chapter Five. The Sickness of the Laird ofPark's Son
Chapter Six. The Escape of Cosmo Hamilton
Chapter Seven. 'Horse and Hattock!'
Chapter Eight. The Arrows of Death
Chapter Nine. Magic--Black And White
Chapter Ten. The Water of the Seven Wells
Chapter Eleven. The Making of theMoon-Paste
Chapter Twelve. The Man-Hunt at Gordonstown
Chapter Thirteen. The Witching of Mr. HarryForbes
Chapter Fourteen. Happenings at Gordonstown
Chapter Fifteen. The Way to Elfinland
Chapter Sixteen. Fairies and Witches
Chapter Seventeen. How Isabel Came Back
Chapter Eighteen. How Isabel Raised a Storm
Chapter Nineteen. A Race with the Devil
Chapter Twenty. The Absolution of Isabel
Chapter Twenty-One. The Devil's Last Throw
IF the story which follows were to be regarded as a work ofimagination, it might justly be characterised as too wildlyfanciful to deserve even serious consideration. But it is not this:it is an attempt to portray exactly one of the most curious phasesof belief or superstition that ever passed over this country, thewitchcraft, namely, of the latter part of the seventeenth century.Isabel Goudie was a real person, and her own story of her life infull detail, given voluntarily and under no coercion, is preservedin the archives of the Justiciary Court in Edinburgh. Othercontemporary records confirm her account. For example, the illnessof Harry Forbes, the minister of Aulderne, is recorded in thePresbytery minutes. The Diary of Lord Brodie is well known. The oldhouse of Gordonstown still stands, almost as described in the tale,and in the muniment room are many letters of the Wizard Laird, theremains of whose alchemic furnaces and apparatus are yet to be seenin one of the so-called dungeons, and whose portrait hangs in thedrawing-room. The tale of his ride for life with the Devil is stillcurrent in Morayshire. Many of the letters of Patrick Innes are inthe Seafield Correspondence: others are in my own possession. Allthe leading characters in the story are actual historic persons,and the incidents told of them vouched by contemporary writings. Ihave merely set down as truthfully as I could what the actorsundoubtedly believed to be unquestionable facts, and must leave itto the reader to decide whether a monstrous delusion swept over thewhole country, or whether a strange manifestation of supernaturalpowers, either evil or good, took place some three centuries ago.In either case, it is an interesting study in the history of humanthought.
The recovery of many of the incidents in the tale, and theirsubsequent confirmation by documents, and much concerning thewriting of the book itself, would form exceedingly interestingmatter for the Society for Psychical Research; but of this I saynothing at present, preferring that the book should rest merely onits own merits as a record, as nearly accurate as I can snake it,of an interesting, important, and little-known period.
SOMEWHERE about the middle of the seventeenth century mygreat-great-great-grandfather--I believe I am right about thenumber of greats,--the godly Mr. Patrick Innes, was minister ofBanff. He was a man of singular piety, or so it was reported. It isa quality rather sporadic than hereditary in the family, and thewickedness of the times grieved him very sorely, for his father,who was a chirurgeon of the good town of Aberdeen, had brought himup very strictly in the tenets of the Reformed faith; and moreover,his patron, the Earl of Findlater, had entrusted him with the careof two boys, who were rather wild young sparks, notwithstanding theexcellent reports that the worthy Mr. Patrick sent home of theirconduct. And in truth there were evil practices in the countrythen. In spite of the long and godly discourses delivered eachSabbath day from the pulpit, it must be confessed that the moralsof the town of Banff were lamentably loose. There were soldiers inthe town, and soldiers are proverbially men of godless lives. Butthen, as in all ages of the world's history, a uniform was anirresistible attraction to the women, and some of the ladies ofBanff actually preferred lonely walks with soldiers on Deveron'sbanks, even on the blessed Sabbath day, to the Reverend Mr.Patrick's sermons; and so they fell into the toils of the Evil One,as might have been expected. And it was a joyous day for the worthyminister when the Provost was moved to purge the town of such evildoings, and order that these shameless hussies should be scourgedin the presence of the soldiers, mustered for the purpose, anddriven forth of the town. Whence we may conclude that disciplinewas stricter in those days than now, or that the spirit of soldierswas meeker. For one can scarcely conceive of such a sentence beingpassed by a civil magistrate of today, or being carried out withoutsome demonstration by the men whose sweethearts were thus rudelytreated.
That these ill doings arose from the direct instigation of Satanthere could indeed be no doubt. For even within Banff itself therewere many reputed witches who gathered about Our Lady's Well nearthe Kirk of Ordiquhill, and kneeling there--which, of course, wasvery gross superstition--were enabled by Satan to do deeds of magicart; and especially a vagabond man named John Philp, who had workedcures upon sick people by charming and washing them, by the aid ofthe Devil, and had been put in the stocks and thereafter was justlyburned at the Market Cross of Banff.
It was not without reason that Mr. Patrick was perturbed, for itwas barely twenty years since terrible doings had been brought tolight in the neighbouring county of Moray. Indeed, in spite of allthe godly discipline of the holy Kirk, it seemed as though theDevil were gaining greater power over the souls and bodies of menthan ever before.
Mr. Patrick was a frequent visitor both in Nairn and Forres,when he went to take part in the half-yearly sacramental meetings,and, it was said, preached with great acceptance for some two hoursat a time. It was at these meetings, and at the gatherings of theministers and elders thereafter, that he heard at first hand frommen who were well acquainted with the facts the curious storiesthat shall here be set down. His old friend Mr. Harry Forbes, theminister of Aulderne, had taken an active part in some of thehappenings, and knew of his own experience of the power and work ofthe arch-enemy of mankind, So that there could be no possible doubtof the truth of these terrible things. Matters indeed, as Mr.Patrick was very well certified, were rapidly gathering to a head,as had been foretold. The forces of evil were mustering for thegreat trial of strength against the hosts of the Lord, represented,as everyone knows, by the true Protestant Kirk of Scotland. So thatthere could be no doubt that the end was at hand, and the Battle ofArmageddon and the final triumph of the righteous and the end ofthe world could not be far distant.
The world still survives, but I make no doubt that mygreat-great-great-grandfather would find that the end was onlyslightly postponed.
The story that follows has been of necessity pieced togetherfrom very many sources, but in its main lines it may be read by thecurious in the archives of the Court of Justiciary. And there isalso abundant documentary evidence to prove that mygreat-great-great-grandfather had not invented the tale from hatredof the power and domination of Satan, which was only natural to hiscloth and his exemplary piety, or from sheer love of themarvellous.
Anyone who in those days journeyed eastward from Nairn,following the northern road near the coast towards the woods ofBrodie, came after a couple of miles or so to the farm-steading ofLochloy. A dreary, forsaken looking place it was, though there wassome fairly fertile corn-land on the landward side. The farmhousewas thatched, with low whitewashed walls and small windows; thebyres and stables abutted so close on the house that the reek ofthem unavoidably filled the rooms day and night; the thatch let inwater, and in places the walls were soaked and grew a slimy mossthat was half fungus and smelt vilely. Yet John Gilbert, thetenant, was deemed a most excellent man, industrious and thrifty,many said close-fisted, and withal an elder of the Kirk, and mostexemplary in his attendance every Sabbath and his enforcing ofdiscipline on man and maid. But he was a dour and gloomy man, andstubborn as a mule when he took an idea in his head, and ratherthan do a hand's turn to the repair of his house he would havesuffered any manner of inconvenience. It was his landlord'sbusiness, and he could not see why he should do it. Mr. Hay, thelaird of Lochloy and Park, did not see that he was bound to repairGilbert's house; moreover, he had no money to do it with. Moreoveragain--and this perhaps weighed a good deal with him--Gilbert'swife had snubbed him definitely and distinctly, and he was a manvery full of his own importance, and not apt to take a snub.
The muirland stretched between the farmhouse and the sea, andthe long dreary mere whence it took its name gleamed sullen andstagnant, and the cries of the thronging water-fowl on its bosomsounded inexpressibly mournful. To right and left as you lookedfrom the house door, the miry broken road wandered between the muirand the cornfields. Gilbert's carts went along it, and his cattletraversed it morning and evening, going to and returning from theirpastures, but foot of stranger rarely passed that way, now that thelaird no longer rode by Lochloy. Time was when his sorrel nag tookthe muirland road almost of her own accord. Not indeed for any lovethat Hay of Lochloy and Park bore to his tenant John Gilbert. Forthe laird was a genial, convivial soul, loving wine and goodcompany, and especially loving pretty women, and the dour,penurious old farmer was little to his taste. But on one point hewas mightily curious, what on earth had ever induced MistressIsabel Goudie to marry John Gilbert; and to solve the question herode often past the farm, timing his visits, however, to the hourswhen he knew that John would be busy on some distant fields.
And indeed others beside the laird had speculated on that samequestion. For Mistress Isabel, who was the daughter of a countrylawyer, was exceptionally well educated for her time and class. Sheread much, played fairly well on the spinet, and could dance aminuet as well as any lady in the land. Her father had been broughtup a papist, but, having little conviction one way or another, hadno scruple in giving his adherence to the true Protestant Kirk ofScotland, and thus retained his business and his prosperity. Hisdaughter preserved a certain partiality for the ritual of the oldfaith. But this same being as everyone knows a damnable heresy, andplacing one in danger of hell-fire, as well as the more palpabledanger of loss of property and reputation, possibly even of bondsand imprisonment, she carefully concealed any leanings she mighthave had in that direction and dutifully went to kirk with herfather and slept peacefully through the minister's discourse. Inperson she was strangely unlike the women of the farmer class inprovince of Moray, being tall and slight, with a mass of flamingred hair, deep brown eyes that seemed as though brooding overhidden fires, dark eyebrows almost straight in a face that seemedunnaturally pale, a slightly arched nose, and full red lips. Whatcould there possibly be in common between her and John Gilbert, thegrim, heavy, untidy farmer, with his ragged hair and unshaven chin,his clothes rarely changed save when he donned his rusty black onthe Sabbath day to officiate as elder at the plate at the Kirk ofAulderne, and listen to the discourses of Master Harry Forbes theminister thereof?
Hay of Lochloy and Park wondered, and turned the matter over inhis mind. In truth, Mistress Isabel's personality pleased him farmore than he pleased her. She had refinement and a sense ofbreeding much above her class and position, and he was in naturecoarser even than the average seventeenth-century laird. Still, hewas the laird, and had power to do much; the house badly neededrepair, and she was not sorry that he should see it. She mightpersuade him to make them more comfortable; he seemed notdisinclined to do something. But his interest in the house and farmresolved itself into openly expressed admiration for herself, and ahint of the price she could pay for his assistance. The sordidnessof the bargain revolted her--the bloated red face of the laird, andhis hot breath that smelt of drink even thus early in the day,disgusted her, and she spoke sharply, unwisely it might be. Thenwith a hiccupping laugh he tried to kiss her, and she smacked hisface and turned back into the house, seeing only the red faceblazing with anger, and the wig knocked awry by her blow. 'Beast!'she muttered. 'Oh, a very beast! May you never have male child tocome after you!'
So it was that the laird rode no more along the road by Lochloy,and the house was unrepaired, and the rotting couples of the roofsagged and cracked till it was a marvel how it held together atall. John Gilbert had a fat bag of money hidden somewhere, but hiswife was not privy to the place of concealment, and well she knewthat not one penny Scots would he expend on his house; nor evenmight she buy a new gown, though she had brought him a fair tocher,and for very shame of her rusty clothes she went seldom to a town,but walked far into the country and among the woods and muirs.
Seldom, too, came any neighbours to visit at Lochloy. MistressIsabel was not of their class, and they knew it and resented hersuperiority, and perhaps for this reason whispered venomously amongthemselves concerning the laird's frequent ridings on the Lochloyroad, and hinted at good reasons why he came no longer openly. OnlyJanet Broadhead came occasionally, full of tales of adventure andromance, picked up the Lord knows where, which only served to makethe realities of life seem more dreary and sordid than ever.
There was really no great mystery about Mistress Isabel'smarriage, though certainly the pair seemed strangely incongruous;it was a purely commercial matter. Her father the lawyer chanced toowe Gilbert a round sum of money, which at the time it wasinconvenient to pay; Gilbert had the idea, not uncommon in hisclass, that he could raise his social position by marriage.Mistress Isabel was clearly his superior, and, moreover, was wellliked by many of the local lairds and their families, so thebargain was struck. Daughters in those days were dutiful, and sheraised no objections. If there had been thrills and tremors whensome good-looking young soldier saluted her in passing, they wereall set on one side; her father's debt was not spoken of any more,and she settled down with such content as she could muster into theposition of a farmer's wife.
But it did not work out as Gilbert hoped. The wife of the dourold farmer was a different person from the lawyer's daughter; thelairds forgot her, and the farmers' wives resented her beauty andaccomplishments. To Gilbert she was as much a stranger as when hehad first bargained for her hand; honestly she had tried to winhim, but he felt and hated her fastidious refinement, and the moreshe strove to bring him to some outward semblance of decency indress and manner, the more uncouth he grew from sheerperversity.
All these things drifted vaguely through her mind as she stoodat the farmhouse door watching the autumn sunset flaming over thehills beyond Inverness, and touching into glory the roofs andtowers of Nairn.
'Bought and sold!' she mused bitterly, 'and now alone all therest of my life.'
There was the ill-will of Hay of Lochloy to reckon with now, andhe was not a man it was safe to offend. A rich and influential manhimself, and the Brodies too were his near kin, for his aunt hadmarried the Thane of Brodie, and was the mother of seven stalwartsons, every one of whom had become a laird.
'Beast!' she said again. 'A very beast! He will persecute usnow. Oh, for a chance to be even with him!'
She longed for Janet Broadhead to come in and gossip, for Janetwas a great teller of stories, and Isabel listened greedily totales of wild adventure that afterwards made her own life look sogrey and colourless that almost she wished Janet had never come.But now days had passed with no sign of her friend, and she longedonce more to revel even in fancy in that bright life of stir andexcitement that was really living. She was prepared to pay theprice of the reaction to the dull stagnation which must surelyfollow. It was like dram-drinking; the graphically told stories sether blood tingling in her veins, brought a flush to her cheek, andmade her limbs quiver deliciously. All which goes to prove, as thegodly Master Harry Forbes said long afterwards, how subtle are thesnares of the arch-enemy of mankind; for had she but listened topious discourses ordained to be preached every Sabbath, she wouldhave found therein a sure remedy for these restless feelings thatso disquieted her. But of a truth, as everyone knows, the Devil isthe begetter of all papists, and cannot endure with patience theteachings of the true Protestant Kirk of Scotland.
The shadow of night swept over the Laigh of Moray, long lines ofmist veiled the fertile lands of Culben, and from the dreary merearose a flight of wild-fowl winging their way towards the BuckieLoch. The men and horses had long returned from their work; shecould hear the cattle moving in the byre. Every day was therepetition of the day before, and every day would be the same, tillat last the turf of Aulderne kirkyard closed over her.
Only Gilbert was late. Unusually late. She began to long for hiscoming in a queer unaccustomed way. The spirit of adventure was inher blood. Could she rouse that dull, heavy man, whose soul knewbut two interests, the Kirk and his money bags? Somewhere in himthere must be passions that could be wakened. Even if he shouldturn and rend her, it would break the dull, deadly monotony.
With feverish eagerness she turned indoors and unlocked theheavy oaken kist she had brought with her when first she came tothe lonely farmstead. Old bits of finery, many of which had beengiven to her by the county ladies, the wives of lairds for whom herfather acted, and which she fondly hoped to wear at assemblies atNairn or Forres, or even, with good fortune, at Brodie Castleitself. How they roused old memories, and now to be used to try andfascinate that rough, sullen old farmer.
Hesitating somewhat, she took out a dainty shimmering thing thathad once been used as a bedgown by a French marquise when LouiseXIV first came to the throne, when Anne of Austria was Regent, andgreat ladies, according to the scandalous fashion of the time,received their friends and admirers in bed in the early hours ofthe morning; from her it had passed to a cadet of the gay andgallant house of Gordon, and been given to Isabel on hermarriage.
Hastily she began to loosen the rough homespun gown she wore,when she heard John Gilbert's heavy foot tramp over the threshold;she laughed softly to herself, the spirit of coquetry possessedher, she would not go to meet him, he should want her, call forher, then she would appear in all the glory of the French robe andsubjugate him entirely.
It was now long past the usual supper time, and supper was setout in the kitchen. He walked heavily in and sat down in silence;she heard him pour out a great tankard of beer and begin to eatnoisily; he did not seem to notice her absence. She was piqued, andgrew angry. Night after night she had wished him away, had longedfor quiet and solitude; now, strangely, she wanted him. In hergirlhood she knew she could draw men as she would with a casualglance, a lift of an eyebrow, a turn of a shoulder, and they cameand went where she would, while she feigned indifference orsurprise, and sent them about their business. Tonight she desiredto try the old power once more; and John Gilbert ate stolidly. Atlast she could bear it no more; she opened the door and looked outinto the kitchen. John was smoking before the fire, his grey hairwas matted and a week's growth was on his cheeks and chin; hisclothes, heavy with the sweat of men and horses and the reek of thebyre, smelt vilely; he certainly was not an attractive object. Itmattered not, he was a man, he must feel her power, since there wasno other man available.
'Are you not coming to bed, John?' she called softly. He lookedround and saw but her face looking from the door, and that onlydimly, for the light was almost gone.
'No,' he said, 'I am not; I must be afoot early tomorrow, beforesunrise; I shall lie in the byre.'
The rebuff smote her like a blow on the face, but only spurredher resolve to conquer him. The magic of her feminity had beenpotent enough in old days, and truly she looked a dainty figure nowin her shimmering night robe, that might have well beguiled theheart out of a man's breast. But as the godly Master Harry Forbeswas wont to say, such things were a snare of the Devil, and not tobe tolerated in the holy Protestant Kirk. John Gilbert looked upwith a dull stare in his small cunning eyes under their shaggy,grey eyebrows.
'What is this foolishness?' he growled.
She came forward bravely, swallowing her nausea at the man, andcrouched on the floor by the fire, laying one long, white armacross his knees.
'John,' she said, and there was a soft coo in her voicerecalling the note of a wood-pigeon at nesting time, 'come to metonight. I am tired and lonely, and the owls are hootingfearsomely.'
He jerked himself away from her, and swept her arm off hisknee.
'Get ye to bed, ye besom; and learn to dress like a God-fearingChristian woman, and not a French strumpet. And hark ye! I'll haveye to the kirk on Sabbath. No more pretence of headache andsickness; and ye shall go decently apparelled as becometh the wifeof a ruling elder. Now get ye to bed, and trouble me no more, or bythis and that ye shall do penance in the face of the congregation,ye accursed papist.'
Sullenly he lumbered to his feet, pushing her from him, andtramped out of the door; she heard him open and close the door ofthe byre.
One moment she stood by the dying fire looking like a beautifulstatue, with one arm raised as if in denunciation. Her spells hadfailed. The magic of beauty and of sex availed nothing againstbrutish stupidity.
'Oh, for power!' she ejaculated out loud. 'I will not becrushed. Why should I waste all my youth, and never know a moment'sjoy. Must I die before I have ever lived?'
She turned back into the bedroom, and threw the despised fineryback into the kist. The full moon shone through the little window;Isabel was hot and feverish, and the cool night air was gratefuland refreshing as it bathed her long, lithe body.
She leant from the window and recalled Janet Broadhead'sstories. Others there were who had adventures, whose lives werefull of colour. Might she not perchance share in some of these wilddoings, and live, though it were but for a few days? Out to thewest, Dunbar of Durris ruled at Grangehill, and the Dunbars were awild crew and little given to scruples of any sort. And beyondagain lay the lands of Culben. Little troubled was Kinnaird ofCulben with kirk or minister. Even on every blessed Sabbath day heand his grieve would sit at the cards while the cracked bell fromthe township of Findhorn called them to listen to the preaching.She would gladly go and play with the laird, for indeed she couldhold a very pretty hand at the cards. And farther out and away,beyond the Broch, Sir Robert Gordon of Gordonstown hobnobbed withthe Devil himself. Many were Janet's tales of this Sir Robert. Hehad lost his shadow, so it was said, when he studied magic atSalamanca in Spain, and only just now after years of labour he hadmade a creature out of the fire who did his bidding in everything.And then again, after one night's frost, he drove over Loch Spynieon the ice in his old chariot and four black horses.
As she thought of Sir Robert, for no reason whatsoever, for shehad never seen him, waves of heat and cold seemed to rush over her,she flushed and panted, and her heart-beats were almost audible.How glorious it would be, she thought, to sit beside him there inhis coach, while the coal-black horses flew through the night. Tolook down and see John Gilbert who had scorned her, Hay of Lochloywho had made insulting love to her, Harry Forbes who had preachedat her, and pour her scorn upon them, send Sir Robert'sfire-creature to torment them. Sir Robert would let her do what shewilled, of that she was sure. He would be a most gallant anddesirable lover.
Her slender body writhed and twisted with excitement. It wasmad, unreasoning, but she cared not. In fancy she must let herselfgo. Then succeeded a wave of unreasonable dread. Who were thesespectres that would drag her down into the depths? They seemedclosing round her, taking possession of her. She must escapesomehow. Then suddenly, and for no reason, there came before herthe fair face of the Lady Jean Gordon, who had been kind to her inold days, who had knelt beside her at Mass in the time before herfather had joined the Protestant Kirk, the only one of her oldfriends who had taken the trouble to take a whole day's journey tothe lonely farm on Lochloy to visit Isabel and wish her well, andhad given her a tiny gold crucifix, which now remained sewn intothe breast of her homespun gown, between the stuff and the lining,where none might see it.
And now Lady Jean was to be married, so she had heard, to ayoung soldier of the House of Hamilton; but because they were bothpapists there was impending trouble, and they might have to go andlive in France on nothing but a soldier's meagre pay. A wave ofpity came over her for her friend, but a wave of envy also for onewho had love and life before her.
'Oh, for power!' she sighed once more. 'How lovely I would makelife for them! How helpless I am!'
The night air struck her with a strange chill, and she creptinto bed weary but calm, and with all the fever gone for themoment, and slept soundly.
MY great-great-great-grandfather records that in his boyhoodthere was an extreme terror that spread over the land, by reason ofcertain mysterious happenings. In some houses of the lairds,furniture was found in the morning thrown about and disarranged, asthough a drunken party had held unholy revels overnight, andstrange sounds were heard of knockings and tramplings, whereby thehousehold were so terrified that none dared venture forth fromtheir rooms, yet all the doors were fast locked. The same sometimesis said to occur nowadays, and is by some believed to be caused bythe spirits of the dead, who desire in this way to send lovingmessages to their friends yet alive; and others hold suchmanifestations to be merely a fraud of professional mediums. ButMr. Patrick Innes, strong in the profession of the Reformed faith,entertained no doubt of the direct interposition of Satan,permitted, as he explained in one of his eloquent pulpitdiscourses, to vex the elect for a season, on account of the sadlack of zeal among God's chosen people; by which he meant not, ofcourse, the Hebrews, who vaunted that title to themselves, but theKirk of Scotland. Also beasts died of some strange murrain, andeven men sometimes would suddenly fall dead with no visiblecause.
No wonder the people were terrified and called on the ministersto deliver them from this awful visitation. But the ministers werepowerless. It was the backsliding of their flocks that had broughta curse upon them. Indeed, the Presbytery had pointed to thelamentable falling-off of the offertories as a convincing proof ofthe decay of faith, which had given occasion to the enemy ofmankind to enter.
At the farm of Lochloy two of the cows had gone off their milk;not an uncommon occurrence among cows, I am told, but John Gilbert,without hesitation, ascribed it to the power of the Evil One,allowed to molest him on account of the papistry of his wife.Wherefore he had ordered her to attend at the kirk punctually, andhad thoughts of purging her iniquities by penance in a white sheetin the face of the congregation, according to the fashion of thetime.
When Isabel wakened from a long and dreamless sleep, after theevents already recorded, Gilbert had been gone some time. The headman, usually conversant with all his master's doings, was ignorantor reticent as to his errand--he was going far, would not be backthat night, perhaps not the following. Isabel was rested andrefreshed, the fever and excitement of the previous night hadsubsided, but the loneliness that had oppressed her returned withdouble force. Even John Gilbert, though he jarred on her nerves atevery turn, had been something; she had never been without hope ofmaking him even a trifle more presentable, and anyhow the strugglehad given a certain zest to life. Now she was utterly alone; lifeseemed to stretch before her in an interminable dull vista, greyand hopeless. She had longed for power, conscious that she coulduse it well, but surely never was a creature so helpless. If onlysome strong man could come into her life! The need for somemasculine vitality was almost overpowering; but there was none. Shewent to the door--the farm-steading was deserted, the men had goneto the fields, for the corn was cut and harvest was in full swing,only the two sick cows remained in the byre. She had never beenallowed to take any part in the working of the farm. Gilbert'sfirst ambition to parade her as a lady had failed, and it was nowtoo late for her to assume the place of a working farmer'swife.
The only cure for the blank depression that had settled down onher was to go out, as often before, for a long walk; the lonelinessof the dreary farmstead was unendurable. She had some curiousinstinct not to put on the old homespun gown in whose bosom thelittle gold crucifix was sewn; a still older and shabbier gown offaded russet, much soiled and frayed, should serve her turn today;for she was not going near the haunts of any living souls; and overher flaming hair she drew a thin old tartan screen of the darkgreen Urquhart plaid, and sallied forth. She was sensitivelyconscious of her appearance--she who had been so daintily dressed,so fastidious in every detail. Any if the neighbours who saw hernow would surely say that the rough, untidy old farmer had draggedher down to his level, and that without even making her a goodhousehold drudge. It only remained now to avoid being seen, tocreep past all inhabited places like a shy animal, and seek thefriendly shelter of the woods. On her left were the woods ofBrodie, but there were many farms and cottages there. Besides, theBrodies of that generation had gotten a turn of the most exemplarypiety; several of the girls had married ministers, and theatmosphere seemed alien to her. On her right lay the lands andmansion-house of Park, equally to be avoided. But straight beforeher, and crossing over a stretch of wet, boggy land, deviousfootpaths led through a lonely district with few human habitations,away into the great woods of Darnaway. This way then she would go.She would lose herself among the friendly trees and forget for awhile the sordid dreariness of life. In spite of the teachings ofthe holy Kirk, she had deep down in her nature an instinctivebelief in the spirits of the woods and streams, which as everyoneknows is a gross and heathen superstition, not, it is true, asdistinctly pernicious as the belief in saints, which is a damnableerror of the papists, but still an error, finding no warrant inHoly Writ, and not to be entertained by the enlightened disciplesof the Reformed faith.
Isabel, however, cared little for the Reformed faith or inministers; the spirits of the woods were kind and friendly and sheloved to dream of them, and to pretend to herself that they weresheltering her under their great strong arm. As she walked on, thefeeling of loneliness and depression was lifted. After the dark,stagnant atmosphere that seemed to hang round the marshy lands ofLochloy, the clean, pure air of the Darnaway woods flowed into herlungs, and drove the malignant vapours from her blood; she felt thesting of fresh life in all her veins, her pulses tingled with aqueer sense of coming adventure. It was half delight, and half asort of shy shrinking. After all, life might yet hold some bravedoings; the world was not all dominated by ministers andelders.
In her youth she had read many poems and romances, even some ofMaster William Shakespeare's plays, and her fancy, long crusheddown and deemed an evil thing, began to plume its wings once more.She spread her tartan screen on the ground and lay down under agreat oak, and tried to picture to herself the spirit that dwelttherein. A strong, beautiful man it must be. What a desirable loverhe would make! She shut her eyes and tried to fancy him coming toher, holding her in his arms. Her heart beat wildly. Then the skyand the trees grew dim, the interlacing branches ran one intoanother, and she fell asleep.
When she woke it was high noon; she had dreamed, but couldremember none of her dreams, only vague confused images remained.Somehow she had been a person of great power, she had held thewords of life and death, she had done justice and redressed wrongs,but how she knew not.
One thing only she was sure of, she was exceedingly hungry. Alonely cottage stood by the side of the path, under a huge ashtree; a black cat sat sunning itself in the window. Here she couldsurely get a drink of milk and a piece of bread. In the doorwaystood a pleasant-faced, comfortable-looking woman with night-blackhair.
'Come away in, dearie,' she said, 'I've been waiting forye.'
'Nay! that you cannot. I only just now found I was hungry, andseeing your cottage, I thought maybe ye could give me a drink ofmilk.'
'Come away, then, and I'll show ye that I expected ye.'
She led the way into the cottage, where a large jug of milk anda plate of newly baked scones were spread on the table. Isabellooked in wonder.
'I saw ye coming, my dearie! long ago, when ye left your ownfarmhouse. Ye need not wonder, I have the sight, ye ken. Now sit yedown and eat and drink all ye want to, for it's welcome ye are, andI'm fain to have a bonny lass like yourself to talk to, for it'slonely at times. Ye will know me by name, I'm sure. MargaretBrodie--that am I--and a true daughter of the late laird of Brodie,and half sister to his lordship, though I think he would not haveit mentioned, for its unco guid the Brodies are now, outwardly atall events. My mother's a gipsy, that's how I come to have thesight. That, and other things.'
While she talked, Isabel greatly enjoyed the hospitableprovisions of milk and scones. Here was another friend with whomshe could exchange ideas; life was no longer so dreary as it hadseemed that morning.
'Maybe I'll be seeing you at the kirk one of these days,' saidMargaret, after a pause.
'Oh aye! My man says I must go, but I'm not caring much forit.'
'Eh, but I was meaning--No! I'll not say--But it's fine to go tothe kirk. Ye'll know that some day.'
Isabel fell to wondering a little; her new friend did not seemone who would listen to godly admonitions for the pure love of it,nor had she a husband to take her by force.
A door at the back of the room opened slightly, and a facepeered out that smote her with a sick, icy dread. It was the colourof old stained parchment, dark with age and preternaturallywrinkled. Intensely bright eyes glared from beneath bushy eyebrows,and long grizzled wisps of hair hung down on either side. Over thetoothless mouth the long nose nearly met the prominent chin.
It was a fearsome face. Isabel started and turned pale as ashes.Then the door closed again and the face disappeared. MargaretBrodie laughed lightly.
'It's only my mother,' she said. 'You would hardly think to seeher now that she had been a beauty once. Gipsies age very soon; shehas got very morose and solitary, she seems to care for nothing buther old raven. Never mind! you come and see me, you needn't beafraid of mother, she never comes out of her own den.'
Once out again in the free air and among the trees Isabel'sspirits soon revived, and she forgot the terrible old woman andremembered only the kind and hospitable Margaret Brodie. Yes, shewould go and see her again. Here was another to all appearance assolitary as herself, but taking it with a bright cheerfulness thatwas infectious. But as she emerged from the woods, and saw themists creeping over the low-lying lands, the old feeling of nervousdepression settled on her once more. She breasted the slight riseby the small farm of Drumduan, and looked eastward over the sullenbogs. Towards these lay her way.
These flat dreary fields had seemed to her before the materialpresentment of her own dreary existence, and now after the shortescape and the gleams of hope of the day they oppressed her moreunbearably than ever. Oh, for an adventure of any kind whatsoever!Oh, for some strong man in whom she could confide! who would helpher, one who would bring her joy, and would not vex her. Not evento herself did she say a lover, yet had she been practised inself-analysis, and closely examined, she might have realised thatthis was in effect what she really meant.
Coming round a turn in the road she was not surprised to see aman walking towards her some distance off. Not surprised, becausein a sense she saw him before she saw him; she knew he was there,yet her heart gave a great bound when she realised that he wasactually there. And yet there was nothing specially remarkableabout him. Grey clothes and knee-breeches, a very dark blue Scotchbonnet after the fashion of the time--so much she noticed; alsothat he walked with an even, dignified gait that was neither aslouch nor a swagger.
There was a moment of exultation. Here was an adventure. The manwas none of the known people about the district, he was a stranger,maybe from some town, a cultured man evidently. Her opportunity hadcome. Then came a sudden fear of the unknown; the old familiar lifeat Lochloy looked sheltered and safe. Should she--could she--breakit? If she met this man she felt he must speak to her, he wouldcome into her life. Nothing would be the same again. A nervousshrinking came over her. No! she would not. Resolutely anddefinitely she turned to the right between some tall trees towardsthe Muir of Inshoch, where a little rise hid the road from sight.She would go round this way until the man should have passed, andthen return to the farmstead.
But no sooner was she out of sight of the road than the sense ofloss came over her. What a fool she was! her opportunity had come,and she like a craven feared to take it; the chance might nevercome again. She stood irresolute, weighing and debating, her heartwas throbbing painfully. Could she face the endless dreary years atLochloy? And after all, what was this man? A harmless, probably acourteous, stranger. Suppose she did exchange a greeting with him,a few words on general topics. Easy enough then to bid himfarewell, and return to the farm, and no harm done. Easy enough, ifhe should presume, to treat him as she had treated Hay of Lochloyand Park. But he would not presume, of that she was sure; and to betreated as a lady once more, to converse on equal terms with a manof refinement and courtesy! Surely she was a fool to lose such achance, though it were but for five minutes' conversation.
She trusted he had not passed, and then half hoped he had. Sheturned back to the road, walking slowly, as though dragged againsther will, then quickening her pace almost to a run, then almoststanding still, as she saw he was still there, walking towards herwith the same dignified deliberate pace. Mechanically she threwback her tartan screen, the low sun at her back flamed on herbright hair. He should see her thus, she knew not why, but thusthis man must see her. She looked curiously at him. He wasscrupulously neat, his grey clothes fitted him perfectly, his greystockings showed a well-turned leg and a slender ankle, brightsilver buckles gleamed on his shoes, his hair was dark, andslightly touched with grey; his face was that of a student, graveand somewhat sad, but his eyes were piercingly bright with astrange magnetic attraction.
She felt weird thrills run through her limbs. He was now closeto her; he raised his bonnet in courteous salutation.
'Give you good day, Mistress,' he said, and his voice was lowand musical. 'You seem in some trouble.'
'No, sir! no trouble. Only I am so lonely. So terriblylonely.'
That he should thus open her grief to a total stranger surprisedherself even as she said it. But she could not think of him as astranger.
'Nay, I cannot think so fair a lady could be lonely. Methinksyou cannot know your own power.'
'Power! What would I give for power! I am helpless as a poormouse caught in a trap, and I could do so much. I am young still,and I am married, and I have never known love. Oh, why do I talk toyou like this? I know not what you must think of me.'
'Nay, Mistress! I prithee look on me as one who has known theworld for more years than I care to remember. I have known men andwomen, and I can sympathise. Maybe I can help. As for power, yewould use it well. A beautiful woman always has power if she will.Yet I could teach ye more. Knowledge is power, and I have studiedevery science, and won power for myself, and this I can give to youif so be ye will.'
'How good you are,' she murmured softly. 'I never saw youbefore, yet I feel I trust you more than any man I ever met.'
'I can do somewhat for you. I think I partly know your trouble.Tell me, ye are baptised, is it not so?'
'They baptised me when I joined the Reformed faith, sorelyagainst my will. Why do ye ask this?'
'There is the source of much of your trouble. Ye know how menspeak of luck. It is a foolish word. It is themselves that attractpower and happiness. This foolish rite of baptism repels all thatis pleasant or desirable. Indeed, your Reformed kirk looks on allpleasure as wrong.'
'Oh, I know, and I hate it! If you only knew how I hate it. Butit's done and I can't undo it.'
'Nay, I think you can. What you have taken on you, you canrenounce. If once you renounce this silly vain form of baptism, youcan draw to yourself all that you desire.'
'And can I really do this? Can I win power so easily? Have yegot power yourself?'
'See now, ye desire a proof. Look out there to the east. Youknow they are gathering the harvest in the lands of Culben.To-morrow the farmer is to hold a great festivity for all men andhis neighbours to celebrate the ingetting of the best harvest hehas ever had. Now mark--he will never hold that feast. His landsshall be buried and all that is upon them shall be lost, and thusor thus wise may it be with all your enemies and all who hurt you,if only you will it to be so.'
'But this is amazing! Are ye then such a miracle worker?'
'No! a poor student, who has learned a few things.'
'And can you--will you--really teach me to do the same? Oh! Iwould give anything to have such power. But why should you takesuch interest in me? I am an utter stranger to you.'
'See ye, Mistress! When the Lords of this world give greatbeauty to a woman, it is intended that she shall have great power,for beauty is a supreme source of power. If ye are, as you say,helpless, you are not fulfilling your destiny. All my studies havetaught me that the enabling of any to fulfil their destiny willhelp me as much as the person I help. Ye are born for greatness,for power, and for happiness. This I can give you if you will. Ifyou will dare to meet me to-morrow night at midnight, when the moonis full at the kirk of Aulderne, I will show you more.'
'I will, I will. But how can I? My husband--' she said with asudden recollection. Gilbert would never permit her to be out atmidnight.
'He will still be away. Ye need have no fear.'
'I will come! I never wanted that baptism. But stay one moment.I was baptised before as a Catholic.'
'With that I have nothing to do,' he said gravely. 'Fare yewell, Mistress, until to-morrow night. Then ye shall see whereuntoa beautiful woman is born.'
He turned and was gone. Whether he passed up the by-lane, whereshe had undergone such doubts and hesitations before she couldsummon courage to meet him, or vanished in any other way, she couldnot tell.
But concerning that enigmatical last sentence of his, there waslater on much disputation among the learned. For the Presbytery,whereon my great-great-great-grandfather was a shining light,maintained, and set forth a most learned pronouncement on thesubject, that the papistical baptism, being a mere heathenceremony, and a gross superstition, was of no account whatsoever.But Father Bernard Angelico of Florence stated in an elaborateLatin treatise, with much citation of authority, that baptism intothe Holy Catholic Church was a sacrament of such high power andefficacy that it could never be renounced under any circumstanceswhatsoever, and therefore that any attempt to do so was of noavail. Whence we see that the stranger who accosted Mistress Isabelbetween the township of Drumduan and the Bogheads must have been apersonage of some considerable importance, since his utteranceswere the subject of so much learned disputation.
Isabel, however, walked back to the farm of Lochloy in strangeexultation, but mixed with other thoughts and feelings filling hermind with a strange medley. The man had been courteous anddeferential, he had promised her power, which was what she cravedfor; and indeed her whole sensation of him was one of power, heradiated power. He spoke of the spell of her beauty. But it seemedpowerless on him. Not by one single look or word had he suggestedmaking love to her. She had been alertly ready to resent any suchsuggestion. Now she was half conscious of a vague disappointment,that no such suggestion had been made. Half acknowledged toherself, but gradually growing, was the wish that he would makelove to her, that she could bring him under the spell he had spokenof. Was he then after all merely a talker with nothing behind him,merely passing an idle quarter of an hour in chatting with achance-met woman, and beguiling her with foolish boasts of what hecould do? She grew mightily curious about him. Well, Gilbert wouldbe at home the following night, so there was no good in thinkingmore about it. The thing was past and done with; she would hear nomore of the stranger.
Still, if Gilbert did not return, it would be some sort of aproof that the stranger knew more than ordinary folk. It might beworth while to go to the kirk of Aulderne and see what happened;there could be no harm in going; she could just find out what itall meant; she need do nothing, would in fact do nothing, and wouldcome away again, and no one would be any the wiser.
Curious, too, how she was pushed to go to the kirk of Aulderne.Gilbert had ordered her to go. Margaret Brodie had said she wouldbe sure to meet her there, and now this stranger had trysted her tomeet him in the same place.
Then there was that wild story about the lands of Culben. Thatwas surely the most empty boast. But what could he mean by makingsuch an assertion which a few hours would conclusively refute?
On the whole it was an adventure. It had served to break thedreary monotony of her life; it was something to look back on, astory to tell Janet Broadhead, and quite as thrilling as many ofhers; but she was glad it was over and done with.
The sun was setting luridly in piles of blood-red cloud, tornand lashed into a thousand fantastic shapes behind the great purplemass of Wyvis, but over Lochloy brooded an almost deathlike calm.The sea lay dark and sullen looking, and the rays of the settingsun gleamed redly on the enormous hills of sand that hadaccumulated on the old bar. It was a weird and extraordinary scene.Isabel with her quick poetic fancy looked at it with delight. Shewatched the flaming colours of sunset gradually fade to a dullleaden grey, as the sun sank out of sight. She listened to a lowmoan as though of wind, though the trees stirred not a single leaf.A sudden chill came over the low-lying lands. The water-fowl on theloch were strangely disturbed and flew inland with wild discordantcrying. A pair of owls hooted from a dead tree behind thefarmhouse.
Isabel shivered and went in, and in a very short time had creptbetween the blankets and buried her head to seek for sleep. Visionsof the stranger still haunted her. He stood where they had met, andthere was a sort of fiery halo round him; his raised his arm in acommanding attitude, and thunder clouds and wild lightnings seemedto follow his gestures. She woke trembling. Then she said toherself: 'What nonsense! I am just dreaming of the absurdities hetalked.' She shook herself impatiently, and turned over to dreamagain. The rising wind was moaning round the house. She dozed andwoke again as the little window rattled and the walls shook. Shewas thankful she was in shelter, for the storm was clearlyincreasing. The blasts howled and moaned round the farm; thechimney fell with a crash, a stinging shower of sand dashed againstthe window. Isabel lay and trembled, waiting for the dawn; sleepwas impossible until, just as grey streaks were beginning to throwa wan gleam on the wall opposite to the window, the wild winddropped as suddenly as it rose, and a profound stillness fell, andthen wearied out she fell into a sound dreamless sleep, from whichshe was only aroused an hour after her usual time by one of theherd girls who ran into the room crying: 'Oh, Mistress, waken! Hereis terrible news indeed. The whole of the farm of Culben is buriedin sand by last night's storm.'
THE news of the terrible disaster at the farm of Culben spreadrapidly over the countryside, and from every hand lairds, farmersand labourers flocked to see the desolation. All work was for thetime abandoned, and the harvest lay ungathered. The farm of Lochloywas utterly deserted. Isabel alone remained in the empty house.Looking out over the muir towards the sea to the right, she saw theline of the old bar, now only just visible above the water, theenormous hills of sand on its western end that she had watchedunder the red sunset the previous evening were gone; only away tothe eastward the great sandhills still remained, piled like aminiature island mountain in the midst of the blue waters.
What had happened was now clear; the furious north-easterlytempest had cut like a line across the end of the bar, comingstraight from the direction of the Souters of Cromarty, and hadswept all that accumulation of sand, piled up during years, perhapscenturies, by the winds and tides, over the narrow interveningwater on to the farm. The debris of the crumbling sandstone of theeastward coast had gone on unheeded piling itself up on the oldbar; now suddenly, and without a moment's warning, almost a quarterof the whole mass had been hurled on to the fertile land known as'the granary of Moray' from their wonderful fertility. Only thewesternmost farm, known as the Mains of Culben had been buried, butover this the sand was heaped to a depth varying from four feet toupwards of twenty. The mansion-house and its policies and theeastern farms were untouched. The line of the storm must have beenvery narrow and sharply defined; it swept over the farm lands, butstopped almost in a rigid line, avoiding the Chapel and ChapelGarth of St. Ninians, where in older and more pious days the lairdsof Culben had worshipped.
Hay of Lochloy and Park, immediately he heard of the disaster,rode out from his mansion-house to see the scene of destruction,and meeting on his way with Master Harry Forbes, the minister ofAulderne, they rode together, the minister's blind old pony withdifficulty keeping pace with the laird's sorrel nag, albeit thelaird frequently reined in his steed in deference to hiscompanion.
Isabel saw them coming, and turned back into the house, but fromthe window she saw the laird cast a look of venomous anger at herdoor, and lean over to say something to the minister, whereat thelatter also looked towards the farmhouse, first in surprise andthen aversion.
Mr Patrick Innes records how, long years after, Mr. Harry Forbeshad told him of that ride, and of the surprise with which he hadheard of the ill-repute of Mistress Isabel Goudie, whose husbandwas a right godly man, and an elder of his own kirk. Concerning thecurious track of the storm which avoided the mansion-house and theChapel and Chapel Garth, Mr. Patrick, who witnessed the finalcatastrophe whereby these were overwhelmed in the great sand stormof 1694, was clearly convinced that the wickedness of the laird ofCulben and the heathen papistry of that chapel which was preservedwhen it should have been totally destroyed, were the cause of thefinal ruin of the fair estate, but that at the time we are nowspeaking of, the measure of their iniquity was not yet full. HarryForbes seems to have described very graphically the state of terrorthat was over the whole country, and how this occurrence at Culben,coming on the head of all the other things of which mention hasbeen made, had brought the country folk to a condition of panicthat bordered on madness. They clamoured for a victim, but nonecould at the moment be found. True, the laird of Culben wasunquestionably a very wicked man, for cards as everyone knows arethe Devil's own books, and besides, he persistently profaned theblessed Sabbath day. But the vengeance in this case had fallen onhim, and Lord Brodie, who was a senator of the College of Justiceup in Edinburgh, astutely argued that a man could scarcely be theauthor of his own ruin. 'For if Satan,' he said, 'be dividedagainst himself, how shall his kingdom stand'; and Lord Brodie wasnot only a most eminent lawyer, but a man of exemplary piety. Thesematters then did the laird of Park and the minister discuss, duringthat ride to the sand-whelmed farm of Culben. And neither of themdoubted that the wickedness of men had brought this signal judgmenton the land.
Mistress Isabel Goudie, watching them pass, had caught that lookexchanged between them, and knew well the anger of the lairdagainst her.
'Beast!' she said once more. 'Oh, if that stranger only spokethe truth! If he will but give me the power he spoke of, I'll beeven with you yet. May you never have male child to come afteryou!'
Then she fell a-thinking. The stranger had foretold thisdestruction of the lands of Culben. On this very day, he had said,the farmer was to 'hold a great feast of all his men to celebratethe ingathering of the harvest. But that feast, he had said, neverwould be held, for the lands would be buried. An empty foolishboast it had seemed then. But now it was verified. Was it possibleto think that he had done this? Even if he had only foreseen it, hemust have extraordinary power. What had chanced to the farmer ofCulben chance to the laird of Park. She thrilled at thethought.
Meantime a continuous stream of folk were going past bound forCulben to see this last work of the Devil as they believed, and asshe gathered from scraps of conversation that drifted to her ears.She longed to go herself, but shame of her poor attire held herback. Surely if she could have that wonderful power that he spokeof, a new gown or so might not be out of the question. It was aremarkable sight that presented itself to these pilgrims when theyemerged from the Brodie woods and passed Dunbar's fine house onGrangehill. The lands that only yesterday had been dotted over withthe rich sheaves, and golden with the harvest, now lay a desert ofdazzling white sand that hurt the eye. All sense of the furioustempest of the night had vanished, the sun shone from an absolutelycloudless sky on wastes and hills of sand, in which the foot sankankle-deep; a weird golden haze seemed brooding over the bleakwhite land, making it look strange and unreal, and the men workingon it appear like phantoms. Busily they were working, trying hard,poor souls, to save such little property as they could by burrowinginto their buried houses, or to rescue their horses and cattle, forthey had been roused in the middle of the night by the rush of thestorm, and had only just time to save their own lives by fleeing toshelter anywhere beyond the bounds of that awful sand stream.
From all directions folk were pouring in to see and to renderwhat help they could.
Sir Robert Gordon drove over from Gordonstown in his famous oldchariot, the same which was said to have driven over Loch Spynieafter one night's frost, and with him came his kinswoman the LadyMary Gordon, with her niece Jean, the same who had been kind toIsabel Goudie in olden days, and who was now betrothed, despitemuch opposition, to young Hamilton. Sir Robert was aremarkable-looking man, grave and forceful, with a broad brow, keeneyes, and a short dark beard carefully trimmed. He had been a PrivyCouncillor of King Charles I, but since the execution of the kingand the coming of Oliver Cromwell he had retired to his countryhouse of Gordonstown. As he stood among the crowd by the edge ofthe sand, talking with Thomas Kinnaird the laird of Culben, onecould not help noticing that the people round, though markedlydeferential, yet shrank from him with looks of fear. In truth SirRobert Gordon was a man they dreaded, but dared not meddle with;strange tales were told of his weird powers. And in times when, aswas well known, the Devil had licence such as never before for thevexing of the holy Kirk of Scotland, it was only common prudence tobe careful. Yet some there were who did not hesitate to say thatthe laird of Culben and the laird of Gordonstown were both of themvessels of wrath fitted for destruction. But these sentiments wereonly whispered behind doffed bonnets in the ear of trustedcronies.
Lady Mary, who stood beside him, was a stately dame of a queenlypresence, but Jean, her niece, took captive the hearts of all whosaw her. She was of a rare type of fragile beauty, with soft,darkish-brown hair, and a wild rose complexion, and eyes of thetrue cornflower blue. The sensitive face was full of sympathy andunderstanding; and while the wonderful spectacle evidentlyinterested her keenly, and its weird picturesqueness moved herimagination and her artistic sense profoundly, her soul went out inpity for all the poor people who had been rendered homeless and hadlost all their little belongings in that terrible catastrophe.
The minister of Aulderne and the laird of Park passed close byher, and she caught a few words of their conversation, the wordLochloy occurring frequently, and she heard the laird say:
'A very wild cat, I assure you; flew at me like a fury, though Iwas only trying to see how I could repair their house and make themmore comfortable.'
Then the two passed out of hearing.
But Jean caught the name Lochloy. There was a moment ofindecision while she searched her memory for the association ofthat name. Then she remembered it was where her old friend IsabelGoudie, who used to kneel beside her in the little Catholic chapel,had gone on her marriage. Since then she knew and secretly mournedover the fact that Isabel had joined the Reformd faith. But inthose days of persecution very few were steadfast. Now she thoughtof it, Lochloy could not be far away. It would be nice to seeIsabel again.
'Uncle,' she said, for so she always affectionately called SirRobert, though in fact he was only a distant cousin, 'would it betoo far for the horses to go on to Lochloy?'
'Lochloy, child! That's on Hay's place, just the other side ofBrodie. Why, it's not more than three or four Scots miles at most.My horses do what I bid 'em, or I know the reason why. Are yewanting to see it? It's a dreary place.'
'No, uncle; but there's an old friend of mine married to thefarmer there, Mistress Isabel Goudie, and I would fain greet heragain now that we are so near.'
'Isabel Goudie! Surely I know the name,' said Sir Robert, whoknew everyone in the neighbourhood, and never forgot a name. 'Ared-haired slip of a wench, was she not? Far above her class, oughtto be one of us, the sort that would make a great saint, or a greatsinner. Yes, we'll drive out and see her. What the devil did shemarry that lout of a farmer for! As the minister says, it's a sheerwaste of God's mercies.'
So it chanced that the lumbering old coach and the four blackhorses headed away through Brodie Woods, and Sir Robert entertainedthe ladies with sundry sarcastic comments on Lord Brodie, for truthto say he held that distinguished senator in but small respect. Theold scholar, who had been an ornament of the gallant and wittyCourt of the Stuarts, and whose learning was famed over halfEurope, had small patience with the narrow and pedantic piety andstore of legal maxims of Oliver Cromwell's follower andadmirer.
And so it was that the neighbours, returning from gaping overthe buried fields of Culben, beheld the unwonted spectacle of agreat family coach and four coal-black horses rocking and plungingalong the miry, broken road between the loch and the cultivatedfields of Lochloy, and halting before the door of the littlethatched farmhouse, Whereat there were sundry whisperings, andlifting of eyebrows, and some hinted broadly enough that Sir RobertGordon had taken the place of Hay of Lochloy and Park, and thatindeed it was just as well that John Gilbert was from home; butthese gossips were somewhat nonplussed to see two ladies descendfrom the coach, for a man does not generally take his womankindwith him when he goes a-courting his neighbour's wife.
But of these glances and whispers Sir Robert and his ladies knewand recked nothing, and hardly had they climbed down from theponderous and unwieldy vehicle than Jean and Isabel were in eachother's arms, talking both at once, exchanging affectionategreetings, asking for each other's news, till at length, in apause, Jean bethought her, and presented her aunt and Sir RobertGordon, who had stood by, amused spectators of the gush of feminineconfidences. Isabel recollected herself, and greeted her guestswith a long sweeping curtsy. Sir Robert doffed his hat with acourtly grace as though to a duchess.
'I pray ye enter,' she said. ''Tis a poor house, but a rightblithe welcome to the kin of my dear friend here.'
'Save you, Mistress!' quoth the baronet, 'we look not at thesetting when the jewel is of such fine quality.'
Beside Isabel the tender fragile beauty of Jean Gordon was morethan usually apparent; already the delicacy that grew afterwards toserious illness seemed to throw a prophetic shadow over her.
'I pray you, take some refreshment,' said Isabel; 'ye have comefar, and ye must be wearied.'
'Nay, we will taste nothing,' said Sir Robert, feeling withinstinctive courtesy the narrow resources of the farmhouse, anddivining a certain hesitating shyness, betokening a distrust of herlarder. 'We return to Gordonstown for supper. Another day, I trust,we may have the honour to welcome you there, Mistress Isabel. Thereare things there I think might interest you.'
Isabel, craving pardon of the baronet and Lady Mary, carried offher friend to her own little room, and showed her the tiny goldcrucifix, and told her of the dreariness and sorrow of her ownlife. But she said nothing of the stranger. Jean in return told ofher own troubles, of how she and her gallant young lover werepersecuted, of the delicacy of health that troubled her, and of thedark, hopeless future that lay before them. Then they returned,their arms affectionately twined round each other.
But before the party took their leave, Sir Robert, rising fromthe settle by the kitchen fire where he had ensconced himself, saidto Isabel: 'I pray you, Mistress, of your courtesy, that ye willshow me how your loch lieth. Ye may know that I have great interestin drainage, and there is on my property a very great loch, ye mayhave heard of it, called the Loch of Spynie, which I design todrain.'
'Come ye this way, sir,' said Isabel. 'If the ladies will excuseus. You will see the loch finely from the hill just to the east ofus.'
'Robert must have his way,' said Lady Mary. 'When he talksdrainage there is no room for any other topic in the world. Butwhen ye have done, Robert, we must e'en take the road or night willbe on us.'
But so soon as they had got beyond the cottage, Sir Robertturned round to his companion.
'I brought ye out here, Mistress Isabel, not to talk ofdrainage, whereof I deem ye know little, but because I see that yeare in trouble, and I would help ye, if that I may.'
'Oh, sir!' she faltered, 'you are over good to me, and indeedthere is much of trouble and but little of satisfaction in my lot;but more than for myself am I now exercised for my dear JeanGordon. We were the closest of friends, and my heart bleeds forher; she is delicate and overtaxes her strength, and they persecuteher for the man she loves.'
'And in all this,' said Sir Robert kindly, 'you can help betterthan any other. The power lies close to your hand, if you will butdare to take it. You can help your friend, and you can do much foryourself too; I deem there are things you would do foryourself.'
'Yea, indeed, and there are, Sir Robert, and there are those whohave dealt ill by me; and ye see how poorly I am lodged, and scarceeven a sup or a crust to offer a friend who should come to see me,'she cried, with a sudden burst of confidence, for she felt thisstrong, wonderful man who so generously offered his help was one onwhom she might rely. It was absurd to be reticent with him.
'All this you can do too if ye will. But remember, fear isfailure. When the chance comes, ye must be brave and take it. Andremember this too. The ministers tell you if you need anything youshould come to the kirk and ask for it, and this is true, but notin their sense. Indeed, they know not how true it is. Fare ye well;Mistress! Perhaps in time to come ye may do something for me too. Ineed a secretary badly, but I have found none capable to do mywork. Gladly would I have you in that office, for think ye couldhelp me well.'
So with many mutual compliments and affectionate leave-takings,they parted, and Isabel remained in a strangely elated condition,thinking over the events of the day. Circumstances seemed to bepushing her irresistibly. It was now no longer merely thechance-met stranger on the road. Sir Robert Gordon, a wise man, ascholar, and a Privy Councillor, had spoken almost as though heknew of the stranger, and were, without seeming to do so, urgingher not to let the opportunity slip. 'Fear is failure,' he said.'Power was within her reach,' he said, what other possible way thanby the stranger's offer? And what held her back; to be honest withherself, was it not fear? Both Sir Robert and the stranger had beenkind and courteous. They had not insulted her like the coarse andbrutal laird of Park. Sir Robert admired her, he told her she wasbeautiful, but he said it as a courteous gentleman might to a ladyof his own rank, with grave deference. Then there was thatenigmatical reference to the kirk. Why was everything combining todrive her to the kirk, where, sooth to say, she never desired go?Midnight at the kirk of Aulderne! It savoured of a weird,mysterious adventure. Would sheeted ghosts prowl around? It wascurious to hear Sir Robert Gordon talk of the kirk, for hisreputation was quite otherwise. But after all, a fig for countrygossip, and if indeed Sir Robert did collogue with the Devil, if asthey said he had made some sort of elemental spirit or creature outof the fire who did his bidding, well! he seemed none the worse forit. He was a grave prosperous, learned gentleman, far superior tothe average country laird.
In all of which anyone who knows the subtleties of human naturemay discern that Mistress Isabel, down in the depths of her nature,did desire, perhaps only half consciously, to keep the tryst withthe stranger, and sought for arguments and justification in sodoing.
There remained John Gilbert. If John came home that night theadventure would be impossible, and she half hoped he might, and socut the perplexity. But as the darkness deepened after sunset, anda step sounded outside, she thought he had come, and a sickdisappointment came over her--the adventure, the chance of herlife, was to turn to nothing after all. It was only one of the mengoing to see to the sick cows. She breathed again.
As she ate her solitary supper, the feminine question occurredto her, what should she wear? The stranger was neat and fastidious,the old homespun gown wherein was sewn the little gold crucifix wastoo poor, too shabby, and the gown she had worn when she met himyesterday was worse. In the old kist, whence she had taken theflimsy robe with which she had so disastrously sought to fascinateJohn Gilbert, were still some dresses, the relics of the old dayswhen the lawyer's daughter was an acknowledged beauty and muchfêted, but all too fine and out of keeping with her present state.They had never been worn since, never even looked at. She had noheart for finery she could not wear. Here she found a dress of anexquisite soft green, given to her long ago by Jean Gordon, with alittle gold embroidery, and a wimple and a hood of white. Couldshe, dare she, wear this? It was light and thin, and open at theneck and breast as was the mode of the time for ladies for eveningwear at fashionable assemblies. She looked out on the night. It wascalm and warm. The tempest of the previous night had swept the airclear and clean. The full moon would be rising soon. Not a soulwould be abroad at that hour. She would risk it.
She had all the country woman's knowledge of time, without anyaid of clocks or watches, and she knew that when the moon touchedthe top of the blighted fir tree to the east of the farmhouse onthat night, it would want half an hour of midnight. At that momentthen she would start. She laid out the green robe.
''Tis the fairies' colour,' she murmured as she looked at itlovingly. Would the time ever come when she would wear such robeshabitually, and associate again with cultured men and women? Yes,surely, if Sir Robert were to be believed.
She was restless and impatient. She wandered round the farm,looked into the byre to see how the sick cows fared, listened tohear if the men were asleep, and was reassured by their heavysnores; the herd girls too were sound asleep; the whole farm seemedunder a drowsy spell, only herself stirring, and she very wideawake. A sound on the road made her heart plunge. Was it Gilbertafter all, returning so late? It was only a stray horse, probablybelonging to some gipsies, cropping the roadside grass.
At last the edge of the moon appeared above the desolate muir.It was the signal she had set to herself. She turned into the farm,and rapidly, with trembling hands, cast off her homespun gown, andstood in the clear moonlight only in her shift, with her wonderfulflaming red hair shed like a veil around her. Then she put on thegreen gown, thinking, it must be said, but little of the goldencrucifix. The wimple and the hood were adjusted, but the mass ofhair she simply tied back with a green ribbon, after the fashion ofa snood. She would take no memory of John Gilbert, nor of herill-fated marriage; she would revert to the simple fashion of hergirlhood. Why she did this she could not have told; she simply feltimpelled to go thus to the tryst.
So southward she took her way, just when the full moon touchedthe top of the fir tree. She had succeeded at last in driving allhesitation from her mind. She looked forward feverishly to seeingagain that courteous stranger who had met her in the road, and shepassed with a thrill at her heart just over the very place where hehad stood as he talked to her. What a wonderful man he was! Allother men seemed faint shadows beside him, and she was to see himagain. A faint fear came over her. What if he should never come,what if he were only playing with her? She dismissed the thought astoo dreadful to contemplate, and walked rapidly on.
Aulderne Kirk stood boldly up among the thronging graves. Isabelnow felt nerved for anything by her excitement and expectation. If,indeed, she had seen the pale sheeted forms of the dead of the manygenerations she would have felt no fear now. It was a species ofintoxication that possessed her. She was expected. He, themarvellous man who had stooped from the heights to recognise and toask for her, was there, actually there. She was going to him.
Through the windows of the kirk there gleamed a strange light.Not the light of a service on a dark winter Sabbath evening, when afew rush-lights made the darkness only more dense, except by thereader's desk, but rather as if it were on fire. He had done this,then, in her honour. Would there be any others there? She hopedthere would, for a certain shyness was creeping over her again, andshe hurried now in fear lest she might be late.
Passing through the kirkyard, she felt an arm cast round herwaist, and looked up with a half-acknowledged hope. Was it thestranger?
The next instant she knew Margaret Brodie.
'Welcome, my dearie! I knew ye would come, but I thought not itwould be so soon.'
'Indeed, I knew not myself, said Isabel, glad to meet a friendthere, yet with a queer catch of jealousy. Did Margaret also knowhim? Was she familiar with the wondrous man? Nay, but he must knowvery many, and at any rate he had singled her out, her, IsabelGoudie, for singular honour.
'I know,' said Margaret gently. 'He has invited you himself. Oh,but lassie it's a rare honour ye have gotten; come away ben. He iswaiting for ye.'
So they entered the kirk. A warm red glow pervaded the wholeplace, very different from the forbidding chill that Isabel hadassociated with it. Many were there gathered, but she knew themnot, she was only aware of one fact. In the reader's desk stood thestranger, and as she passed through the door his eyes sought hers,and hers were fixed on him, as though in all that assemblage theytwo were alone, and she scarce felt Margaret Brodie's supportingarm.
'Mistress Isabel Goudie,' he said, and his voice was sad andmusical, like the tone of a great bell, 'have ye thought of what Isaid to you but yester e'en, and are ye prepared?'
'It needs no thought,' she made answer. 'I sought no baptism, Idesired it not. Gladly I renounce it.'
'Will ye then come to me? Will ye devote yourself body and soulto me for ever?'
The marvellous attraction of the man drew her like a magnet.Electric thrills ran through her limbs, till she would have fallen,but for Margaret's arm around her. To go to him, to belong to him,it was a bliss beyond all she had ever dreamed. She was mad,delirious, all power of thought, even of knowledge of where shewas, or how she came there, was gone. Only faintly could she gaspout, 'I will.'
'Then you will place one hand beneath the sole of your foot, andthe other on the crown of your head, and say after me--'
Stooping down, and leaning hard on the arms that held her, shedid so while he dictated the words of the oath.
'I swear by the height of heaven, and the depth of the sea, bythe flux of air, and by the glory of the fire, I renounce andpledge and give unto thee all that lieth between my two hands. Yes,for ever, soul and body, I will belong unto thee, whom men call theDevil.'
'Whom men call the Devil,' she repeated firmly. A murmur ofapplause and of greeting went round, but she heeded not.
'Bring her to me,' said the stranger, closing the black book heheld in his hand.
Margaret led, half carrying, her up to the desk.
Gently he laid his hand on her shoulder, sweeping aside thegreen gown, and laying the white flesh bare. Then he placed hisother hand palm downwards below the shoulder, and she felt a sharpprick like a stab, and a gush of blood came over the soft skin. Thestranger stooped with the air of a courtier, and kissed the wound,sucking out the blood till it was all staunched, then putting hisfinger in his mouth he drew it out covered with her blood, andmarking a strange figure on her forehead, he said:
'Thou hast renounced thy false baptism, now I rebaptise thee inmy own name. Thy earth name is lost now among us; thou shalthenceforth be known as Janet in our assemblies. Thou art now one ofus. If thou wilt learn more, and have the wisdom and the power andthe joy that I can give thee, come to me where I shallappoint.'
'I will,' she whispered.
A crash of thunder rolled across the sky, and as though the verywindows of heaven were opened, a rush of rain tore against the wallof the kirk. All was in darkness--only against her cheek she heardthat deep musical voice saying:
'At the Wards of Inshoch, on Sabbath next, during the time ofservice.' Then all was still.
'How will I win home through this?' she said, thinking MargaretBrodie was there.
Then, thinking but to shelter till the storm had abated, shesank into a pew, and for a moment seemed to dream, but roused againto see a familiar gleam of light, and knew it was coming throughthe little window of her own room in the farmhouse.
How she got there she never knew, but it was a fact that she waslying in her own bed, and the dawn was breaking.
THE familiar gleam of light only partially roused her to a dimmemory of the past night. It seemed a mixture of reality with avery vivid dream, but therewith was a horrible sense ofapprehension and dread, which the half-awakened brain was powerlessto shake off. Her thoughts moved automatically, and her will forthe moment was powerless to control them.
Luridly, recollections came in terrifying pictures.
'What have I done? O God, what have I done?' she said toherself. Then again, 'It was only a dream. But what made me dreamit?' Then as it came back in distinct detail, 'O God! I have givenmyself to the Devil for ever and ever, to burn in helleverlastingly. What shall I do? What can I do?'
Then the conviction that it was all a dream. She remembered therush of rain, the sounds of the thunderstorm. How could she havecome through it? If it had been a reality she must have beendrenched to the skin, yet she had no memory of being out in thewet, or even having got the least muddied or damp. There hung thegreen gown she had laid out with such pride and joy the nightbefore. Had it ever been worn? Certainly not in rain or storm. Ithung there fresh as when she took it from the kist; but to hersleep-dimmed eyes it looked like a fantastic simulacrum of herself,as though she were looking at herself standing by the door. Then itwavered and grew dim. Consciousness flickered, revived for amoment, then a warm indolent wave passed, the relaxed limbs sankheavily, and she was asleep again.
When she woke an hour later it was already full day. Thephantoms of the night had fled away, the dread and apprehensionwere gone. She felt a remarkable clearness of perception, and aself-confidence to which since her marriage she had been whollyunaccustomed. No longer was she, as she had described herself tothe stranger, like a mouse caught in a trap, but more like thegolden eagle sailing free and unfettered through the sky. Whatevershe desired was in her power to attain, the force of her will couldbring things to pass.
As to the events of last night she reasoned calmly anddispassionately. There had been a storm undoubtedly, for the wholeland lay in stagnant pools which were not there yesterday. Equallycertain her green gown had not been out in it; there was no speckof mud, no trace of damp on it, though she examined it with minutecare. So the memory of the stranger she had met and of Sir RobertGordon's visit had started a dream, the sound of the storm hadworked into it, and produced the culmination. She had read of sucha theory of dreams. Then a slight pain below the shoulder took herattention. She hurried to the little blurred mirror; there on theshoulder, and just above the swell of the white breast, was adistinct scar, dark with a rosy aureole round it, and on herforehead a spot of blood--more than a spot now that she looked atit closely, a trace of something. Was it an inverted horse shoe? ortwo horns? It was too faint to see. She washed it off; but this wasdiscomposing. The experience must have been real then after all, inspite of the green gown; she must have gone to the kirk and beenmarked. But then, in what possible gown could she have gone? notthe green one, and there was no other that had any trace ofwet.
Another possible solution occurred. She might have woundedherself in her sleep somehow, perhaps got up in a dream andscratched herself on a nail. This must clearly be theexplanation.
Then she remembered how the stranger had trysted her to meet himat the Wards of Inshoch next Sabbath during kirk time. She mustmake some excuse to John Gilbert, in spite of his definite commandthat she should accompany him. She could get up and then pretend tofaint, something or other she would do, and send him off alone. Shefelt now that she could do this without any question, and she wouldgo and meet the stranger. There was an extraordinary hunger in herblood to see him again. Come of it what might, she must see him.The memory of the thrill of that last whisper, when he told herwhere to come, remained with her yet. But, and this came with asick feeling of apprehension, what if this too were a dream likeall the rest?
No! in spite of every evidence to the contrary, it must be real.Rather all should be real than that there should be any doubt ofthis tryst. Whether he were man or Devil she cared not, she longedfor him with a feverish longing.
She wished very much now that she could go and see Sir RobertGordon. That wise old man would resolve all her doubts and explainthings. But that was clearly impossible. It must be some fifteen ortwenty good Scots miles away. There was no means of gettingthither, though Sir Robert had so courteously invited her.
Then she remembered Margaret Brodie. Margaret would know if itwere dream or reality. She it was who had first told her they wouldmeet at the kirk; she it was who had welcomed her there, who seemedfamiliar with all the wild mad doings. She had felt Margaret's armsupporting her through all the strange scene. Also, and this wasthe most vital, Margaret would know something of the stranger; shewould be able to tell where he might be found, if indeed he were tobe found; but, and here a bit of human nature strongly asserteditself, even to Margaret she would say nothing about that tryst inthe Wards of Inshoch. That, if it were indeed aught but a dream,lay between the stranger and herself, and all the wonder and glory,all the romance and the sweetness she imagined to herself for thatinterview she could not share with anyone whatsoever.
The old shabby gown of faded russet was good enough for thisexpedition, it was the one in which Margaret had seen her before.But first she would take a look into the byre to see how the sickcows were. The men were all away. None noticed her as she went in.Over the stalls, and over the heads of the two cows, there broodeda sickly, poisonous-looking yellow mist. Through it there lookedfaintly and hardly to be seen, rather to be imagined, a cruel evilface, a face she did not know.
'Who are you?' she said aloud, for she was startled. 'Ye have nobusiness here, Get ye gone--in the Devil's name!'
It was only a common turn of expression used in those days andoften since, and she used it without thinking.
Instantly like a cloud before a wind the yellow mist curled up,writhed and wavered a moment, and disappeared.
She went forward and laid her hand lightly on the head of thenearest cow.
'Poor Whitefoot! Ye are well now, I think.'
Instantly, somehow, she knew that the cows were cured, and sheknew that she was able to cure sick beasts, but how it could be sheknew not, nor did it trouble her, for it all seemed so supremelynatural. It was like moving or speaking, a thing she could do ofcourse; the surprising thing would be if she were not able to doit.
Margaret Brodie stood at her door, pleasant-faced and welcoming.'I knew ye would come the day, my dearie,' she said, 'or I shouldhave been down at your house to talk with ye when all the folk wereaway. I think maybe it were not altogether well for ye that Ishould be seen thereabouts. The people say this and that about mymother. They have nothing against me, though they might have ginthey knew everything; but they call me the witch's daughter, and Ithink they are feared.
'Well, I knew I'd meet ye at the kirk, but I did not know itwould be so soon. Come away ben and tell me. To think that heshould go himself to seek ye. And most folk have to wait long, andbeg and pray, and do all manner of services, and even then perhapsthey never see him.'
'Ye know him then, Margaret?'
'What! the Dark Master, as we call him, Ay, my dearie, I knowhim fine and well. Did not I myself bring ye to him at thekirk.'
'Who is he, Margaret? What is he? Was it all a dream, or was itreal? It all seemed so real to me, and you brought me up to himeven as ye say. But how did I get home through all that storm lastnight, and never a drop of wet on me?'
'Oh, that's easy. Look at me a moment.'
Isabel turned round, but Margaret was nowhere to be seen. Alaugh sounded up in the air over the cottage roof, she looked up inamazement, and that instant Margaret came round the corner frombehind the house.
'What is it? How is it?' gasped Isabel, at a loss for words.'Are you then--?'
'A witch, ay, dearie, that's what they would say if they knew.But they don't know, and they never will. He can take care of hisfriends. Ye ask me who he is, and sorrow a bit can I tell ye,Whiles I think he is a man, only great and strong, more than anyman ye ever saw. He can take other forms too, or it seems as if hedid. He says he is that one whom men call the Devil. My mother saysthe Devil is black and awful, with horns and fire all about him,and none can touch him, for he is red hot. The Dark Master is notlike that. And he is very good to his friends.'
'But tell me, is it all real, or do we just dream it?'
Isabel's mind kept running on some of the romances she had readlong ago, the power of the imagination was no new thing to her.
'I've often wondered,' Margaret answered after a pause while sheseemed to be thinking what to say. 'We do queer things sometimes.For instance, ye know Maggie Wilson in Aulderne. Well, she has herold man to consider. But she comes with us when we are out forrevelling. She just puts a besom in the bed, and the old man thinksit is herself, and never misses her. But whether it is her that'sat home, or her that's with us, none knows, or whether she is twowomen on that night. And she doesn't know. She swears she is withus, and the old man says she is at home. Well, ye ken whiles I havethought it may be the same with the Dark Master. Perhaps he is justa man who has learned many things, and makes us think he is theDevil, as Maggie makes her man think that the besom is her. Or hemay indeed be the Devil and makes us think whiles that he is just aman. Or perhaps he isn't there at all, but we just fancy he is. Butthere, dearie, it's no good wondering. Life is fine, and we are thequeens of the country; while he helps us we can do what we will,and the country doesn't know it. So we've only got to hold ourtongues, lest they burn us some day, and just enjoy our time whilewe have it.'
'But ye do things, ye say. How do ye do them?' said Isabel,whose curiosity was now keenly alive. 'Can I do them?'
'Oh, ye'll learn fast enough, no fear. See, lassie, ye are aprime favourite. I never knew the Master take to anyone so suddenlike before. He'll teach ye. There's spells, ye ken, words ye haveto say. But I doubt the words are not much without he puts hispower to them. I mean another person might say them and nothingwould happen. Always in rhyme they are; there's something queerabout rhyme. I've tried it, and the same words seem to lose theirpower if ye miss the rhyme.'
'Well, there's something come to me since last night. I seem asif I could understand things I never understood before, and as if Icould do anything I wanted to.'
She stopped a moment thinking how far she might confide inMargaret, then she went on to tell about the sick cows, and how shehad cured them.
'That's queer,' said Margaret, 'They were bewitched, those cows.But who was it that put the spell on them? I wonder if that was oneof my mother's cantrips. Whiles she does things. She is very stupidnow. See, mother--och hey!' she called loud and clear, 'Beelzebubcalls, the Puddock's loose. Come out, ye auld she-deevil!'
'Would ye speak to your mother like that,' said Isabel; 'are yeno afeared, and she a witch too?'
'Afeared, is it?--and indeed I am not. She's ay sittingglowering ben there in her own den, and thinking naught butmischief. There's naught but hatred left in her. Oh, they're afearsome lot the gipsy witches, but they have not much power. Justa few things handed down from one to another in families. He willhave nothing to do with them. I believe she loved my father, thelaird, until he left her for his young wife, and then she hatedhim. I know she tried to poison him once, and she hated his wife,and hates her now. Ye ken she's married on to Dunbar, the Sheriff,since my father died; and so she hates the Sheriff and all hisfamily, and she hates me because the laird was my father; but shecan't hurt me, ye ken, because the Dark Master is o'er strong forher. There's no one she doesn't hate; she just lives on it. Ye kenwe're on the Moray's land here; gin it had been Brodie's I wotthey'd have putten us out langsyne. Och hey! mother, cannot ye hearme, ye auld faggot!'
There was a stir in the back room, and a scraping of a chair.The door opened cautiously, and the black raven flew out andcircled round their heads, settling by the ingle nook. The horribleold woman's face peered out, the bright eyes glowing like coalswith concentrated malignity.
'Who calls?' she mumbled through her toothless gums, 'Ye illtawpie! what for do ye disturb me?'
'See here, ye auld witch, was ye pulling an ill will on JohnGilbert's cows?'
'Och hey John Gilbert indeed! What was he to call me an auldwitch and set his dogs on me? It'll be worse than that he'll get.It'll not be cows the next time. Eh! but I'll teach him to miscallhis betters--me that's been wed by true gipsy law to the laird ofBrodie. Curse him for a faithless Georgio! Didn't we leap over thebroomstick thegither. Curse them all!'
'Haud your whisht, ye auld deevil! And harken ye now! Ye'll notinterfere with John Gilbert, or his family, or aught that is his. Iforbid it. See! Now ye ken me, and ye ken full well I mean what Isay.'
'Eh! curse ye, daughter of an ill race that ye are! And ay mustye thwart your auld mother. Och hey! Ye must have your will, Isuppose. Come away, Nickum.'
The raven rose and flew heavily round, finally settling on theold woman's shoulder, as with a glare of hatred she retreated toher den again.
Strange to say, Isabel felt not the slightest fear of theterrible old woman, only a disgust, and a certain half-consciouslonging for the stranger whom Margaret called the Dark Master. Ifhe would but put his arm round her she felt she could faceanything.
As if in answer to her thought, Margaret said:
'Ay! Trust in him, lassie, He'll not let any harm come to ye.Gin he were a man, I would say he was in love with ye. I warranthe'll let any of us suffer before ill befalls ye; and whatever heis, ye may ken he is strong. And gin there's anyone that does yedespite, ye can be even with them. Woe to any who shall injure anyof our coven, and I say it is most of all so for yourself.'
Isabel's thoughts turned instinctively to the laird of Park, butshe said nothing.
'And tell me,' she said, 'if there's one whom ye love. Can ye dogood to them?' She was thinking of Jean Gordon.
'That I cannot tell ye. We can lift the spell if any inferiorwitch has overlooked anyone, as my mother did your cows, or hascaused a sickness, and we can get great good for ourselves. Butmore than this I do not know. Ye see, there's no one for me tolove, there's none been particularly kind to me, until I wasbrought to the Dark Master. Oh no! He never sought for me. But allof our coven have been good to me. But now, mind ye this, lassie,your man will be home tonight, and ye'll find him different. Don'tye be afeared for him.'
A sick dread came over Isabel as she spoke. Gilbert to be homethat night, and on Sabbath she was to meet the stranger at theWards of Inshoch, but John had bidden her to kirk with him. Shecould not ask Margaret of this. It was a secret between her and thestranger, but how she longed for the time. No, she would not forgothat, whatever chanced. In love with her, Margaret said, and sheknew something of the Dark Master. It was more than she dared todream of. Who was she that she should be thus honoured? Nay! Shewould not be afeared for John. She felt within herself that shecould manage anything now; and if the Dark Master really wanted herat the Wards of Inshoch, he would take care she was able to bethere.
Somehow she was happier and more at ease as she walked home,though her doubts had not been resolved, and Margaret Brodieseemingly knew really no more than herself. 'Perhaps he's just aman,' she had said; and Isabel could not hide from herself how muchshe wanted him to be just a man. 'Gin he were a man, I would say hewas in love with ye.' Her heart beat wildly, the earth seemed tosing; what was this that was coming to her at last, a something shehad never felt, never dreamed of before. A wonder and a delightbeyond all imagining.
The radiance of that dream stayed with her all day; and in theevening Gilbert came back. But in a measure a changed Gilbert, evenas Margaret Brodie had said would be the case. Glum and dour asever. Unkempt, unshaven, and dirty as ever. But he was not nowbullying or abusive. He regarded her with a new-born respect,almost it seemed with a sort of awe, as a peasant might look on thelady of the manor who had come into his house on a visit or forshelter. It was a queer attitude that appeared to be forced on himagainst his will. He was apologetic for his long absence, and fornot telling her the time of his return, and he slunk almostshamefacedly out to the byre.
A new feeling altogether was coming on Isabel, a sense ofself-confidence to which she had long been a stranger. She was nolonger the chattel belonging to a dour old peasant farmer, nolonger a poor mouse in a trap with no prospect but gradually togrow older, dropped from sheer weariness into the sods of AulderneKirk. She was a person belonging to herself, with life and joybefore her, and above all with power to do or undo, to help thosewho were good to her, to get even with those who insulted orinjured her. And all this since her meeting with the stranger, andthe weird experience in the kirk of Aulderne. Barely forty-eighthours! He must be a man of extraordinary powers. Was he a man? Somuch she wanted him to be 'just a man' that she refused to thinkanything else. A man and a lover. As such she could manage him; shefelt no doubt of her power in this respect. He could do wonderfulthings, and he should do them for her.
She saw herself in fancy teasing, provoking, exciting,exasperating him, cajoling him with smiles and honeyed words tillhe was her slave, and did whatsoever she desired.
She slept that night, weary but elated; already she saw herselfgrasping the power so long desired, she saw herself with the DarkMaster the secret king and queen of the countryside, swaying thedestinies of everyone according to their pleasure. Now at last herdreams had come to her. A life of love and joy and power, a lifeworth living, after all these weary years of waiting. She wouldmake him king of the world, but she would be the queen, and to herhe should be her obedient vassal. So ran her dreams.
Gilbert lay on the settle by the kitchen fire. He seemed not todare to come near her, nor did she invite him. She dreamed of theWards of Inshoch.
Next day came Janet Broadhead, full of gossip and tales asusual.
'And have ye heard, Bell, what yon blackguard Hay of Park saidof ye?'
'Nay, I have not. No good, I'll warrant. Tell me.'
'He's been telling everyone that ye made shameless love to him,that ye desired him to come to the farm when your good man wasaway, and that ye wished to visit him at his mansion-house of Park,and when he bade ye to desist for shame, that ye slapped his face;and when he sought to repair the roof of your house, ye flew at himlike a wild cat, and told him it was himself ye wanted, and not hismoney. Oh, it's the fine character he's given ye.'
'Oh, the beast!' said Isabel. 'No matter, I'll be even withhim.'
She thought with some pride in her heart how she would tell theDark Master of the ill doings of Hay of Park, and how he would takeup her cause, and avenge her on this man.
'I'll help ye,' said Janet. 'I have a crow to pluck with himtoo. He came round once to my house at Belmageith, on the sameerrand, and mind ye, I can do something. My man, that's John Taylorin Belmageith ye ken, he learned me. But I wet ye'll ken far morethan me now, for the Dark Master favours yet. He just puts up withme because my man brought me to him.'
Isabel started, she had not thought to hear that Janet too wasof the Dark Master's company. Janet continued:
'I trow ye'll be the queen of us all now. Well, I'll help ye,and be proud to do it, and so will my man. We know when we'vegotten a good master.'
Something, she knew not quite what, held Isabel back fromquestioning Janet concerning the stranger. Evidently Janet did notlook on him as a man, and Isabel longed so feverishly that heshould be a man and a lover that she would run no chance of hearinganything else. Moreover, there seemed a certain disloyalty now indiscussing him even with one who was in his company. It was likediscussing the character of a king. She was the queen, and wouldspeak of him to no inferiors.
Then as time went on, the very vehemence of her desire that heshould be 'just a man' began to produce its reaction and its doubt.Suppose he actually were, as he had said in the kirk at Aulderne,that great one whom men call the Devil. He could be no human lover,nor could she rule him and use his power. On the contrary, he wouldown her, use her, do what he would with her. She would not belongto herself.
Here was a new consideration--
What if she went to the Wards of Inshoch only to be dominatedand enslaved? to change one slavery for another? to take the DarkMaster instead of John Gilbert? For one wild moment she said toherself, 'Yes! ten times yes! To lie at his feet for a mat for himto walk on, to be trampled and beaten by him, to be killed if hedesired to kill me. I want nothing better than to lose all my beingin him.'
Then in a calmer, saner mood she thought, 'No, I will not go. Ifhe is the great being he pretends, and that they seem to say, hewill come and find me anyhow. No! I will see if he comes.' But nosooner had she made this resolve than she repented. What if shewere throwing away the one chance that might never come again? SirRobert Gordon had said that fear was failure; he told her to dare,when her chance came to be brave and take it. And, after all, shehad promised to go, and what could harm her, she would soon see ifhe were a man. If he were, then she could manage him; she was quiteconfident of her power so far. If he were not, well! she would knowwhat to do then. If she had denied one baptism of the Kirk, shecould equally deny the other one at the midnight ceremony. He couldnot hold her to that. So on the whole it was clearly right to go.And how much her own half-acknowledged fierce desire to go, her ownwild longing for the stranger, underlay her reasonings withherself, none can tell. She was unconscious of this, save to theextent of a profound satisfaction when she reached theconclusion.
The Sabbath morning was clear and calm. The firth sparkled blueand silver under the autumn sun, and the western end of the old barlooked strange and bare denuded of the great sandhills that hadbeen emptied on to the farm of Culben.
Isabel lingered over her dressing, she had taken a bannock and aglass of milk before she got up, she was doing all she could to putoff the time. Planning what she should say when John Gilbert calledher to go to kirk. She heard him moving about in the kitchen, thenshe heard him tramp to the door, go out, and close it behind him.She heard his heavy step on the road outside, and peered throughthe blind. Yes, there was no doubt he was taking the road to kirkalone. He had his rusty black coat, and his great Bible, and theclean handkerchief he always placed on the top of it, and even thesprig of southernwood, which was part of his ritual.
She panted with eagerness and apprehension. Was the story soelaborately prepared not to be needed, all the subterfuges to besuperfluous? So it seemed; she trembled with anxiety so that shecould hardly lace the bodice of her gown. A green gown and bodicelaced with gold, with a black hood trimmed with lace. She found itin the old kist. She had not known she had it. But it seemedsuiting the occasion; she must look her best for the Dark Master.As she sallied forth, there was no soul about, man and maid allwere gone to the kirk. One moment she thought with a sinking ofdismay, how should she get rid of her finery on her return? allwould be then returning or back. Could she frame some excuse andstay out till it was dark, and all were in bed? Should she even nowsteal back, and carry the old homespun dress, and hide it in a woodsomewhere, and change into it after she left the Dark Master? Wouldshe ever leave him? Would she return to the farm of Lochloy everagain? No, she must now trust to chance. Not five minutes would shewaste of the time she might perhaps have with him.
On she sped southward away towards Inshoch, till the ruins ofthe old castle rose before her. Well as her own farm almost sheknew that grey ruin. Often she had sat there and dreamed of thepast, and of the knights and ladies who might have lived there.None of them all with such a romance as hers. But today it lookedcuriously unfamiliar. Almost it seemed an inhabited house, yet itwas the same ruin. And in the doorway stood the stranger withdoffed bonnet and deferential air of welcome.
'Ye have come,' he said, 'I thank ye, Mistress. 'Tis good of yeto put such trust in an unknown poor scholar. I grieve indeed thatI have here no worthier place wherein to bid ye welcome.'
'I would come anywhere to meet you. Ye have been strangely kindto me.' She spoke instinctively, and as it were without herwill.
'Again I thank ye. And I will prove my thanks. I have heard, nomatter how, that there is a man who hath dared speak slightingly ofye, whose shoe-lace he is not fit to tie. I have, as I told ye, alittle power from my studies, and I will deliver him into yourhands, to do with him whatsoever ye will.'
'But tell me. Ye speak thus. Are ye truly a man as ye seem, orwhat are ye?'
'Ay, sweetheart! Truly a man, and a man to love ye, for of asooth never have I seen woman worthier to be loved. Dost doubtme?'
His arm was round her, as he drew her gently through the doorinto the courtyard of the ruin.
'Nay, I doubt ye not. But ye are so strong, so great. Ye are toogreat almost for man.'
'Not too great to be thy humble slave, All the greatness thatthe greatest of us men can achieve is nothing to the magic of abeautiful woman; and you are beautiful, sweetheart! And if I amstrong, it is but to provide a setting worthy of so rich ajewel.'
He drew her towards a rich bed of golden brackens in the cornerof the courtyard.
'Still art thou timid, sweetheart! Nay, I love thee all themore. See, I am but a man, humble to thee. Thou art my queen! Letme but worship thee!'
With his left hand he swept back the hood from her head, andstroked the rich, luxuriant hair that, loosened from the snood shehad once more put on, flowed wildly over the green bodice. With agentle pressure he turned her head upwards towards him, and gazedinto the great dark eyes. She looked into his piercingly brightones, and it seemed as though all will gradually oozed away fromher, and therewith all memory and consciousness of everything saveonly herself and him; the past and the future were gone,non-existent; the castle itself was gone.
They were in some great hall with trophies and splendidornaments, and in one corner was a heap of wondrous cushions,spread with Oriental robes and silken coverings of orange andscarlet and amber. And all the time those marvellous eyes weresearching hers, and it seemed as if the whole of his being weredominating 'her, till she knew and desired nothing else in all theearth. Her head lay on his shoulder, her face upturned to his asshe received his long, sweet, shuddering kiss on her lips, andclosed her eyes in an ecstasy of bliss. Then he drew her to thecorner, to the pile of cushions that made a sort of divan, and itseemed to her as though all material things melted and dissolved.She was floating in a golden haze, without sense, without volition.Then consciousness itself faded, and she knew no more.
A cold breeze on her forehead roused her, and she opened hereyes slowly. She felt some hard, rough substance under her arms.She looked out on the familiar Sutors of Cromarty. She was leaningover a wall beside a gate on the road from Aulderne to Lochloy. Shehad been asleep then. But how she came there she had no knowledgeat all, she had no recollection of walking out. She had had aheadache, and had not gone to the kirk. She must have wandered outin her sleep, and just wakened here. As she wondered, she heardvoices. The folk were coming back from the kirk. She stood besidethe gate, and several passed by twos and threes. Then John Gilbertcame along, walking alone. Moved by some sudden impulse, shestepped out into the road and walked along beside him, thinking totell him that her headache was better and she had come out to takethe air, and to meet him. Then he turned round and said:
'Was not that a fine discourse we had the day from Mr. Forbes?Indeed, I am right glad ye were there.'
IN looking over my great-great-great-grandfather's papers, andother records of the time, I find frequent references to a strangesickness that attacked many persons, with no ostensible cause,somewhat of the kind that we should now term an epidemic. Mr.Patrick's father, the worthy Robert Innes, who was a distinguishedchirurgeon of Aberdeen, gave it a learned name, compounded of equalparts of Greek and Latin, but he had to confess his inability tocure it. The common people called it 'the wasting sickness'.
True to the traditions of his cloth, Mr. Patrick ascribed it tothe direct malice of the Devil, allowed to vex the elect on accountof the decay of faith and the disloyalty of the people of Scotlandto the purity and doctrines of the Reformed Kirk; and it seems thatthe Catholic priest of Dufftown, who with his tiny congregation hadby some curious inadvertence been entirely forgotten and passedover by the godly reformers, and continued to say his Masscontinually without molestation, while agreeing with Mr. Patrick asto the agency of the Devil, ascribed his power to hurt to thespread of the doctrines of that very Reformed Kirk. Whereas, saidSir Robert Gordon, the Devil may have laughed in his sleeve at themboth.
But whatever may have been the cause, there is no doubt that thesickness was greatly dreaded among the common folk, and indeedamong the gentry also, for it spared no class, and was nearlyalways fatal.
Isabel Goudie, looking back towards the old castle, which nowseemed to her almost like a holy place, where a new life had dawnedfor her, a life of joy and of power, of love and gladness, where alover had come to her such as surely mortal woman had never knownbefore, saw some boys running towards the castle, the foremost ofthem being the eldest son of the laird of Park. She heard theirshouts and their talk, and her hatred of the family blazed strongin her brain.
'To-morrow I'll climb that old wall,' cried young Hay.
'Ye daur na,' said one of his companions.
'Ay, but I daur, and I'll fling down some of the stones, andscare the bats and the owls, I warrant ye!'
Isabel felt a bitter resentment, much as a papist might feelhearing a sacrilegious proposal to desecrate the altar. That placehad been consecrated by that wonderful meeting with the DarkMaster. It was intolerable that riotous boys should destroy thebeautiful associations and trample on her romance. Above all, sucha boy as that.
'May he never have male issue to come after him!'
She recalled the wish so often uttered. Her brain was boilingwith indignation. As she could love, so she could hate, with anintensity and concentration that carried her away in a resistlesstide.
'Oh, may the wasting sickness seize him,' she muttered, andinstantly she was calm, the paroxysm of anger had passed.
Gilbert at her side knew nothing of it, but continued to speakslowly and heavily of the sermon, of the folk who had been at thekirk, and, regretfully, of the small amount in the plate.
She scarcely heeded, her mind was going back over all theincidents of her meeting with the Dark Master in the ruined castle.It was not ruined though; it was a splendid hall, not even the Earlof Moray in his fine castle of Darnaway had such a hall; and howshe and the Master had lain there in each other's arms on a couchof Oriental magnificence. This was her destiny, her rightfulposition. Only she grieved that she had lost consciousness; she hadfloated away in a delicious dream, but she had missed some moments,some hours mayhap, of that wonderful time, every moment of whichwas precious to her.
He had praised her green gown, he had admired the way her hairlay on it, and he had stroked her hair with that thrilling touch ofhis.
Stay! What of that gown? How in the world had Gilbert not askedabout it? How could he tolerate her going abroad in such finery, ashe so often condemned, and would never permit her to wear?
She looked down in apprehension, which turned to amazed wonder,for she had on the old homespun gown, and laying her hand on herbosom she could feel the little gold crucifix sewn therein.
Had she then dreamed all that meeting in the Wards of Inshoch?No, ten thousand times! If that were a dream, then perish allearthly things. There was nothing in all the world worth livingfor. Sooner than give over that one experience, as an actualpalpable reality, she would give herself and her soul's salvation.Yea! let everything else be a lie, but let that one thing betrue.
That afternoon, as is usual with most God-fearing members of theKirk, on the Sabbath, John Gilbert spread himself on the settle bythe kitchen fire and slept audibly. Isabel walked out to the edgeof the dreary loch, and looked across the still waters to the firthand the distant shores of Cromarty and Sutherland, lying very clearand defined in softest tones of grey and blue and pearl under thedeclining sun. But it was no longer dreary to her; on the contrary,it was irradiated with a magic light. Romance had come to her atlast, and the fulfilment of her dreams.
For one fleeting moment the memory of marriage vows recurred toher, only to be instantly dismissed. The Church wherein she wasbrought up would acknowledge none such; in the eyes of the priestat Dufftown her marriage was no marriage at all. What mattered itwhat the Kirk might say? She had renounced her baptism therein, shewas no longer a member of that Kirk. But with her baptism in theCatholic Church the Dark Master himself said he had nothing todo.
Then had John Gilbert ever been a husband to her? She was buthis chattel bought and sold. Nay, she would not be a chattel; sherefused to be bought. She belonged to herself. No human being canbe bought thus in free Scotland; belonging to herself, she gaveherself willingly, gladly, to a lover worthy of her.
All of which, it must be admitted, was a very specious argument,though untenable. But her heart went with it, and her heart was amost powerful advocate, whose success she desired.
All the same, mysteries surrounded her. What was real and whatwas dream or fancy? She could not disentangle the events. She hadseemed to be perfectly solidly in the kirk at Aulderne, and therehad been an actual material storm, yet she had come home without aspeck of mud or wet. She had not the slightest doubt that she wasbodily in the old castle at Inshoch, when she met the Dark Masterthat very morning in a green gown (which, by the way, she had notknown she possessed) and a black hood; yet she had come home in theold homespun dress without the smallest chance of changing. If somethings were dream others were real, and there was no distinguishingwhich was which.
Yet the very uncertainty seemed to add to the fascination of theposition. If it was a puzzle it was a delightful one. She and herlover would solve it together. Her lover! Dare she call him so,even to her inmost heart. It was a wild, delicious thrill to usethat term, at any rate. She would not forgo that. Her lover! herlover! She repeated the words with a glad reiteration of pride.
Awhile she wandered along the banks of the loch, then she turnedand went in.
Strange dreams came to her that night.
She was by the kirk of Aulderne, just within the kirkyard wall;some women were in the kirkyard. At least she thought they werewomen by their dress, but they were very dimly seen, and who theywere she could not determine. Vague, shadowy figures they were.
At one corner of the kirkyard the brown earth was heaped over anewly made grave; round this the spectral figures gathered. Sheseemed to remember that an unchristened child had been buriedthere. The figures began to dig the newly turned earth. Shewatched, horrified but fascinated. She knew in her dream that theywould disinter the child's body. Something of this she hadread.
Presently one of the spectres, leaping down into the grave,lifted out the little coffin, and the others, gathering round,seemed to prise off the coffin lid.
As usually chances in a dream, all sense of right and wrong, allsense of horror or disgust, seemed to have left her. The mostunnatural and abominable things seemed unaccountably natural and ofcourse. She tried to see, but the crowding phantoms prevented her.Yet by a strange instinct in her dream she knew what they weredoing. They were cutting the heart out of the little body and thenreplacing it in the coffin, which was lowered again into the graveand covered up. Meantime the heart was placed in an earthenwarevessel, and the evil congregation separated hither and thither,some seemingly collecting various grasses and herbs, othersbringing earth from different places. She could now see moreclearly how two foul and evil-looking women bent over the vesselthat held the heart of the child; one of them clipping locks of herown grizzled and matted hair, which she snipped up into littlepieces, while the other pared her nails and scattered the paringsinto the vessel. The others now returned with the things they hadcollected and threw them all into the pot, and two commenced topound the contents with heavy sticks, the whole company chanting akind of dirge that sounded more like the baying of dogs thananything human.
Then a rush of darkness swept over everything, a suffocatingcloud in which she gasped for breath. The nightmare oppressionpassed and she did not wake. Now she was near to the Wards ofInshoch. A gate gave access to the castle ruins, and on this sat araven. An evil-looking old woman, dirty and dishevelled, whose eyesblazed like flames, hobbled up to it, carrying the same earthenwarevessel she had seen before. Twice, thrice she essayed to pass thegate, but it seemed as though she were driven back by some strongforce. Muttering curses she thrust her hand in the vessel, andsmeared some of its contents on the gate.
'Woe unto him who first touches this gate, she said; then shechanted:
'With hurt and hate
I charm this gate
He shall not sleep or soon or late.'
Then the howling dirge began again. But this time it was thehowling of a dog strayed on the moor.
Isabel woke, still hearing the dog. She remembered MargaretBrodie's account of the rhyming spells. Then she thought of thecastle of Inshoch. What could that villainous old woman have to dowith that place of delicious memories? Then she remembered that theold woman could not enter. So, then, the place was guarded. Herlover was as careful as she herself would be to preserve it fromcontamination. But the gate was fatal: who would enter there first?she wondered sleepily. Then recollection came. Young Hay of Park.He was to be slain. She had willed it, but she had not willed theseloathsome hags. What could such as they have to do with her, orwith the Dark Master? She thought of the scene in the kirkyard shehad dreamed of--horrible, repulsive beyond measure. Still curiositystung her. It was but a dream, but she did wish she could have seenmore. It was not real, so there was no harm in wishing to see more.It was but like reading a book of horrors that gives one a notunpleasant thrill, and one rather resents the mitigation of itsgruesomeness.
So she fell asleep. But she dreamed no more that night.
The tale must shift here to the mansion-house of Park, apleasant, sunny house built in the old Scottish style, with whiteharled walls and corby steps, a round tower set in one corner, andthe front door looking as though it were jammed in at the anglemade by the tower and the wall. Stately old trees stood round it. Abright room on the first floor looked out through the small panesof its two windows to the blue waters of the firth and the hillsbeyond.
A gentle-faced woman with a weary, sad expression gazed out ofthe window, and walked restlessly up and down, then returned tolook out again.
'Will the leech not come?' she said.
The laird of Lochloy and Park fidgeted in his deep armchair; hisface was flushed, his coat unbuttoned, waistcoat and trunks looseand ungirt, and his ruffed shirt had a wine stain on it and marksof spilled snuff.
'Why all this steer?' he muttered impatiently, and somewhatthickly.
'I tell ye, David, the bairn is sick, he is very sick; and Iwould to the Lord the leech would hasten, for I know not what ailshim.'
'Well, well! Woman's fancies! 'Tis but some trifling childishill. The bairn was well enough this morn when he went forth.'
'Ay, I know that fine. He went to play in the Wards of Inshoch,with his school-mates. But no sooner had he touched the gate thatleads into the old castle (he had run on before them all as he isever wont to do) than he fell in a faint; and they carried him awaytill they met a cart returning this way, and they put him therein,and so they brought him home; and now he is hot, burning withfever, yet with a cold sweat over him, and ever he moans and criesof some terrible thing he sees.'
'Oh, David! I tell ye it was a wicked thing ye did when yecounselled the Earl of Moray to put out the folk from that cottageof his. They say the old woman is a gipsy and a witch, and I fearshe hath overlooked our bairn.'
'Nay, an' she be a witch I'll see to it that she be worried atthe stake. But I think 'tis all nonsense, a silly superstition, andye know they are a constant annoyance to my Lord Brodie, for theold woman declares she was his father's mistress, boasts of it, andsays that he deserted her. The Earl will not put them out, thoughindeed I urged him so to do for his own peace of mind. But he caresnot. An' the old woman be a witch, she shall be burned. But Ibelieve not in such nonsense myself.'
'Sure it is wiser to let them alone, David. Leave the Kirk andthe Courts to manage what is their business. If these people betruly of the power they say, let us not bring their curses on us.Heaven knows we have trouble enough of our own. And if they beinnocent and deluded, or a mark for the spite of others, it were acruel thing to burn or torture them, and would surely bring God'scurse on the shedders of innocent blood.'
'Ay! woman's reason! I tell ye, mistress, ye know naught ofthese matters. Leave them to men. Go ye and attend to yourhousehold. There lies your business. Look you, there comes yourleech. He will assure ye. The bairn has but a stomach-ache fromover many green apples. Get ye to your own department, and leave meto mine.'
He rose heavily and a trifle unsteadily, shook off the snufffrom his shirt front and laced his trunks and waistcoat, and walkedout, calling for his man to order round his sorrel nag.
Mistress Hay of Park and Lochloy hurried to meet the leech andtake him to the sick boy's chamber, whence presently they emerged,grave but somewhat reassured.
'At present, madam, I can tell ye but little. I am thankful thatthis is not, so far as I can tell just now, what we know as "thewasting sickness," and is more like to some poison in the bloodfrom some unknown cause. Now that I have let blood freely, I willsend you some conserve of lilies with snake-root and otheringredients, and I trust that soon there may be a good recovery. Ishall call again shortly. Madam, I have the honour to wish you goodday.'
Half way down the avenue he met Mr. Harry Forbes.
'I hear the young laird hath been smitten of a sore sickness,'said the latter. 'I go now to try, by my prayers, to counter thewiles and malice of Satan, for in truth he has been very busy amongus of late.'
'Ye may pray as ye like, minister,' said the doctor, who wassomething of an unbeliever, 'and the young laird will get well, yetin truth it is my blood-letting that's to thank. That and myconserve of lilies, whereof I alone have the secret, and which is aspecific. And it was fortunate the good lady of Park sent for mewhen she did. In two hours it might have been too late.'
'Ay! use ye your skill, Sir Leech. We have warrant in Holy Writfor the employment of a physician, but beware lest ye blaspheme.These sicknesses, I tell ye, come from the Devil, and it is throughhis servants who practise the abominable and wicked crime ofwitchcraft or sorcerie, against the divine law of Almighty God,that he is able thus to vex the elect. The which practices, by thelaws of God, and also by divers Acts of the Parliament of thisrealm, are declared worthy of death. And well ye know that withinthe bounds of the Forest of Darnaway there dwells a notoriouswitch, at one time joined in sin unto the father of the LordBrodie, a godly man; but for this sin she hath never repented, norbeen put to penance in the kirk. But because the laird of Park hathurged the Earl to remove her, which notwithstanding he has notdone, she hath been heard to threaten him with her evil sorcerie.Now, there ye have the cause of this sickness. But indeed I trustthe power of the Holy Kirk of the Reformed faith may be able todefeat the malice of the Devil.'
The doctor fidgeted with much impatience during thisharangue.
'Ay! pray as ye list, minister. But I'd have ye to know thatthis is but a certain humour of the blood, engendered betwixt thehot and dry natures, during the waning of the moon, and in theopposition of Mars unto Mercury, and hath little to do with suchsuperstition and vain device as ye speak of. And ye know well thatwitchcraft cannot be accomplished but by characters, signs,crosses, poisoned waters, ashes, oils, figures, pictures, herbs,roots, or other matters, whereof there is no appearance here.Therefore ye are greatly superstitious. But by natural means, andthe employment of science, shall this sickness be banished; and sofare ye well.'
Mr. Patrick Innes, being himself a godly minister of the Word,and also the son as hath been said of a distinguished chirurgeon,records the disputes that frequently fell out betwixt these twoworthy men, and hath a certain sympathy with them both. Yet well heknew that Mr. Harry Forbes was right in ascribing these troubles tothe agency of the Devil, whereof indeed there was a certain proofthereafter, as shall be more particularly shown.
And this tale of the sickness of the laird's son spread quicklythrough the district, so that news of it was brought before noon tothe farm of Lochloy, and told to Mistress Isabel Goudie by one ofthe farm wenches. The memory of her dream of the past night cameback on her vividly. Could it then be that her wish had borne fruitthus suddenly? But this was no action of hers. Nor, as she thought,had it aught to do with the Dark Master. She must seek MargaretBrodie and get some certainty of these things.
She wished greatly that she knew how she might communicate withthe Dark Master himself. If he were truly her lover, as she hopedand believed, and if he were to give her the power he had promised,he would not leave the vengeance she desired to be accomplished byother means, nor would he entrust it to the hands of such an evilhag as she had seen at the gate, who could not even enter into thatenclosure so full of sweet memories secret between herself andhim.
'Nay, lassie!' said Margaret as they sat together beside herfire, 'this is just one of my mother's cantrips. Ill faur the aulddeevil! She would bring destruction on us all, but for the Master'said. Often I've warned her to have naught to do with her cursedgipsy sorcerie. Ye shall learn in good time how to put "the wastingsickness" on any, and all of our coven will aid ye therein. Yeshall draw down the moon from heaven, and the paste that ye shallmake shall be of power to do what ye will. Therewith can ye ruleall men in the power of the Dark Master. But my mother, with herfoul gipsy spells, hath but little power; she cannot give death,however she may boast, but only a sickness, and the bairn willrecover this time. Yet if ye desire to destroy the male offspringof the laird of Park, I say ye have good cause to do so, and itwill be easy for ye. So haud ye a still tongue. We are on theMoray's land here, and the Earl will not put us off, for goodreason. Moreover, there is right good wine within the cellars ofDarnaway, the which we will taste ere many days be past, and aprime venison pasty withal.'
'But, tell me, Margaret! How may I meet with him? If indeed Ibe, as ye say, a favourite with him, he will not leave me withoutsome means of calling to him when I am in need.'
'Nay, dearie! Fear ye not that. But I may not tell ye. He willteach ye himself the words of power. He is good to us, and well Iwot that ye are now the queen of the coven.'
She rose from the settle where she sat, and, crossing over, laida hand on Isabel's head, grasping both her hands in the other hand.A delicious languor seemed to steal over her.
'Listen!' said Margaret.
Far away through the woods there came the sound of steadyfootsteps.
'The Dark Master is walking through the woods,' she said again.'He communes with the trees and the streams. Listen now again.'
There was a rushing sound in the air, the leaves and branchesrattled and pattered.
''Tis the spirits that do his bidding. The spirits that serve usat our covens. Oh, lassie! 'tis the rare sport we have! Ye know notwhat it is to live yet. But ye shall, ye shall! Hey, then! The huntis up! The hunt is up! Hark to them!'
It sounded like the tramp of galloping horses overhead; wildcries seemed blended with the hoof-strokes. Isabel strained herears. She heard over and over again the cry of 'Horse and hattock!Horse and hattock!'
Her pulses throbbed madly. Oh, to be out with them! the wildchase, the mad exhilaration! This were something to live for.
'Horse and hattock! Horse and hattock!'
She fancied herself on horseback, remembering the days when as ayoung girl she was a daring rider. But now on a great black steedrushing through the air, with the Dark Master beside her. The deerfled before them. A great stag was close before the plunginghorses. Her breath came fast, her eyes shone with a wild light. Thespirit of the chase was on her, she longed for the kill. The stagfell before the spear of the Dark Master, but the knife to grallochhim was in her hand.
Then Margaret let her hand drop, and in an instant allvanished.
'Ye see, dearie! he's not far off.'
Isabel opened her eyes with a sigh.
'Eh, Margaret! What a time! Sure there's life somewhere; Ideemed it was all grey and dreary.'
'Nay, my lassie! not when ye have learned to know him. But thinkye no more of yon dream of yours. 'Twas but one of my mother'scantrips, and anyway he asks ye not to join in anything ye likenot. For me, I mind not a corpse here and there. It interests me tosee more of them than ever I saw before, to see how they're made;and there's queer power about them too. But I ken there's some thatlikes them not, and there's some that's afeared of them. And heasks of none what they like not.'
New ideas were thronging on Isabel as she walked home. Thememories of love in the old castle on the Wards of Inshoch were avery precious secret shrine in her mind; but now there was also thedream of the wild mad gallop, the hunting of the stag, the rush ofglorious excitement. Was that ever to be realised? Life wasbeginning to open out into marvellous vistas.
Even the scene of her dream in the kirkyard of Aulderne hadalmost ceased to be horrible; almost she wished she had seen more.She felt like a schoolboy who, gloating over a story of ghastlyhorrors, resents the omission of any detail.
She slept that night calm and dreamless, yet with a thrill ofanticipation that the wonders of life were only just beginning.
ONCE again the scene of the tale must shift--and this time tothe city of Elgin. Sir Robert Gordon writes: 'This poor desolatetown hath suffered greatly, insomuch that a very little more willput them clean out of breath.' In the times of confusion the townwas sometimes in the hands of Covenanters, and at others of theRoyalists, and was plundered and burnt by both sides impartially.Only some ten years since the Marquis of Montrose had fought agreat battle at Aulderne, and defeated the Covenanters, whose bonesJohn Gilbert frequently turned up in ploughing his farm lands.Montrose had come on to Elgin to supper on the following Sundayevening, and before he left on the next Wednesday had burnt andplundered half the town. Before two years had passed two threatenedattacks, by Lord Aboyne and by Lord Lewis Gordon, were averted bythe personal influence, and possibly other powers, exerted by SirRobert Gordon.
After the battle of Dunbar, and the final extinction for thetime being of the Royalist hopes at Worcester, Scotland was underthe firm government of General Monk and his army, who, althoughtaking his orders from Cromwell in London, still cherished hopes,afterwards realised, of a Restoration. Of this, however, at thetime no one dreamed. But Elgin was in a curious state of unrest.Many of the old families had remained Royalist, and among themthere were still some who secretly but firmly stood steadfast tothe old Catholic faith, but the mass of the citizens werevehemently attached to the Covenanters; and there were alsoquartered there a body of English troops, vehement Covenanters allof them, but, being English, they hated, and were hated by, thegood folk of Elgin. The Burgh Records are full of accounts ofbrawls in the streets, of attacks by night on the houses ofpeaceful citizens, of plunder and burning.
On an autumn day, soon after the events last recorded, down thebrae to the north-east of the great Cathedral was heard a wildtramp of horses and a rattle of wheels as a heavy family coach withfour magnificent black horses came at full gallop down the hill,swerving round the turn as they came in sight of the towers andspire of 'the lanthorn of the North', as the beautiful church wasfondly called. Beautiful still it is, though falling sadly todecay.
There was no mistaking Sir Robert Gordon's equipage. The foursplendid coal-black horses, generally driven at a gallop, werefrequently to be seen thundering through the streets. In thechariot were Sir Robert himself and the Lady Mary Gordon, andopposite to them the fair Jean Gordon, looking now radiantly happy,for beside her was young Cosmo Hamilton, her fiancé in spite ofCovenanters, and Governments, and political intrigues.
Sadly they noted the ruin of the Cathedral, for the choir wasroofless for twenty years, since the great storm had blown down therafters, and a fanatical mob, headed by the minister and the lairdof Brodie, had torn down the beautiful wooden partition, whoseglowing colours, in spite of exposure to the weather, were as freshas when newly painted. A number of the Covenanting soldiers wereamusing themselves--some with muskets and hackbuts, others hurlingbig stones--with breaking the delicate tracery of the great westwindow, shouts of laughter and applause greeting the fall of eachpiece of exquisitely carved work. Many of the citizens, in spite oftheir adherence to the Reformed faith, were yet proud of the oncemagnificent building, and they stood by and silently but heartilycursed the English.
Sir Robert was feared by many, being more than suspected ofdealings with the Devil, and was disliked by most on account of hisknown Royalist proclivities. But the town on more than one occasionhad had to thank him for their deliverance from threatened plunderor burning, and they knew well that they might very probably haveto appeal to him again. He was too powerful a personage to offend.Moreover, his father, the great Earl of Sutherland, had joined thetrue Protestant Kirk of Scotland; and together it behoved them toput their feelings in their pouches, and be civil to the WizardLaird, as they called him behind his back.
So the chariot and the black horses rattled up the main street,and drew up in front of a house on the north side with a roundtower and three round arches supported by squat pillars. Under oneof these stood a sailor in the uniform of the English Navy, whosaluted and came forward to open the door of the chariot. Thecitizens gave a languid attention. Sir Robert's interest in theNavy was well known, and not unnaturally it was surmised that somenew move was intended. However, the sailor preceded the ladies andyoung Hamilton into the house, while the baronet remained below,and shortly afterwards might have been seen on the opposite side ofthe street, talking earnestly with a man dressed in grey clothes,with a dark blue Scotch bonnet.
The three others, with the sailor, entered the house, andclimbed the narrow winding stair in the round tower up to thetopmost floor. Here in a tiny landing the sailor, begging to beexcused, disappeared for a moment, and almost immediately returneddressed in a cassock and biretta of a priest of the CatholicChurch. Reverently the three knelt before him. 'Father Blackhall,give us your blessing,' said Lady Mary. 'These young people, hopingsoon to be joined in holy matrimony, come here now to entreat God'sblessing in the holy Mass, whereat for six months now they have hadno opportunity to be present. And hearing of your presence atGordon Castle, they have begged of you that you would come hither.We thank you that you have granted our request.'
'I bless ye all,' said the priest, raising his hands in the signof the cross over their bowed heads. 'Ye have well done; would toGod there were more as steadfast to our holy faith in these timesof trouble. Yet the Lord has been wonderfully gracious to me, formy disguise hath not been penetrated, and none have guessed thatWill Marley the English sailor was none other than that poor FatherBlackhall whom they have sought early and late to cast him, as theysay, into the hell made for papists. But come within--Cosmo, myson, you shall serve.'
He unlocked a door leading from the little landing, admittingthem to a room apparently containing only some old trunks andboxes, but a few dexterous movements of the priest rapidlytransformed these to an impromptu altar and reredos, the priest'svestments came from another box and the other necessary furniturefrom yet a third, and the ladies knelt while Father Blackhallrecited the sacred words of the Mass, and young Hamilton reverentlyserved.
The final words of the Mass were said, the blessing waspronounced, and rapidly as it had been transmogrified the room wasrestored to its former aspect of a lumber room. Father Blackhall,passing into what had once been a tiny bed cupboard, now serving asan extemporary vestry, reappeared as Will Marley the Englishsailor, and the four descended to a comfortable sitting-room on thefirst floor to wait for Sir Robert, who had promised to call forthem. Jean and Cosmo stood together in earnest lovers' conversationbefore the fire, while Lady Mary and Father Blackhall tactfullyfound considerable interest in watching Sir Robert's chariot andblack horses in the street below waiting for their return, and LadyMary heard somewhat of Father Blackhall's adventures. These, asnarrated by himself with much humour under the title of 'A BreiffeNarration of the Services Done to Three Noble Ladies' by GilbertBlakhal, may yet be read by the curious.
So entertained was the Lady Mary with the good priest's stories,that the time went by unheeded, and the lovers talked withoutinterruption. When suddenly Lady Mary saw Sir Robert hurriedlycross the street, followed closely by his groom, whose office wasto ride one of the black horses. As he crossed, he looked anxiouslyright and left, up and down the street.
He looked troubled as he entered the room.
'We have been betrayed,' he said, 'Some cur of Cromwell's breedhath denounced our young friend there. They have marked the house,and the Sheriff's officers will be here directly, reinforced by adetachment of those blackguard English soldiers whom they havedrawn off from their godly exercise of destroying beautiful thingsfor God's glory. They are at present all round this house, beforeand behind. Not a mouse could escape.'
The young soldier laid his hand on his sword, and stoodforward.
'At least they shall not take me alive.'
But Sir Robert held up a restraining hand.
'Tut, tut, boy! Not so impetuous! There are a troop ofthem--they would kill you almost ere ye could draw, and whatservice were a dead hero our dear Jean there. Nay! go ye must, andwe must think of some means to get ye loose again.'
'Oh, help us, uncle,' she cried. 'Don't let him be taken. Thosecursed Covenanters. They let none go free whom they once take.Smuggle him away somewhere, or 'twill be Tower Hill and a shortshrift.'
'The Chapel!' muttered Father Blackhall. 'No! they search tooshrewdly. It would but bring all our necks in peril, and therewould be none left to aid the boy.'
'Ye can do something, cousin!' said Lady Mary. 'I know they callyou the Wizard Laird. An ye have any power, now is the time to showit.'
'Ay!' cried Jean. 'That's it, ye have wondrous powers, uncle.Invoke the Devil, or whomever ye will, I care not. An the Devil canhelp, I'll welcome him. Only let not Cosmo be taken.'
'What's all this steer?' said Cosmo firmly. 'What! Cannot asoldier face danger? I have been taken prisoner before, ay, andcondemned to death too, and here I am. 'Tis but one of our usualchances. Cheer thee, sweet love. We shall laugh over this yet.'
'Ye must not mistake me,' said Sir Robert. 'I have been astudent all my life, and have learned many of the secrets ofnature, and nature's forces. But these are not in place here.Nathless, I have some political power. And I may be able to dosomewhat. Only here resistance is futile, and would but endager usall, and prevent our doing aught.'
'Sir Robert is right, said the priest. 'We cannot resist. So wemust e'en acquiesce with a good grace, and then do all we canafterwards.'
At this moment there came a startling knock at the door, and astern voice outside demanded:
'Entrance in the name of the Commonwealth!'
Sir Robert signed to his groom, who threw open the door, andstepped back in obedience to his master's gesture to the fireplace,where he stood beside young Cosmo.
'And now, sirs,' said the baronet, 'what means this uncivilentry on a peaceful family party, resting themselves ere theyreturn to my poor house of Gordonstown?'
Three or four sheriff's officers stood somewhat shamefacedly atthe door.
'Save ye, Sir Robert Gordon,' said the one who appeared to betheir leader. 'The Lord knows I would not willingly offend yourlordship. But my orders are imperative. I have to arrest yon youngspringald, and well ye know my Lord Commissioners take no excuse.If I fail in my duty, it's like my head will pay the forfeit.'
'And on what charge?'
'That of popish recusancy and idolatry, and conspiring againstthe true religion.'
'Who knows what is true?' said Sir Robert. 'It is but apretended charge to cover some political intrigue. But I wot yeknow naught of this, my good fellow, and ye must do your errand.Whose commission do ye hold to come here and arrest my friend?'
'Marry! I know not who hath rule here now. But my commission onthis arrest is from the Lords Commissioners of theCommonwealth.'
'Ay! An English commission, and I trow of small authority inthis realm. Nathless, ye must proceed, since there is no remedy,and take your prisoner.'
The men advanced, and closed round young Hamilton, Sir Robertwent up to his groom, and took him by the arm.
'See,' he said. 'Tarry not one instant, Get ye down and into mychariot; ride not, but get inside. Bid the coachman drive and sparenot horseflesh, but gallop with all speed he may to Gordon Castle,Take this paper; open it when ye are clear of the town of Elgin; yewill find therein what ye must say to my Lord Duke. Then, if heshall so bid ye, get ye down to the sea, and make all speed towhatsoever port he may tell ye--London or France or wheresoever heshall say--and let me hear of your errand. Begone!'
A faint cry behind took his attention as the groom hurriedlyleft. Jean had fallen in a faint to the floor. While the men wereremoving their prisoner, Sir Robert and Lady Mary were busied inadministering simple remedies, and before long she was sufficientlyrecovered to sit up.
'Now,' said Sir Robert, 'in the meantime we can do naught inthis grievous matter. But our young friend will be lodged in thejail. We will go across and see him, and bid him be of good cheer;and we will await the success of my message to my Lord Duke. I havegood hopes.'
There was a humorous twinkle in his eye as he spoke, as of onewho knows more than he says.
The jail of Elgin was then situated in the midst of the HighStreet, where the fountain now stands, and almost opposite to thehouse where they were.
'Will Marley shall go with us,' said Sir Robert. 'I have muchfaith in the navy; it will be a mighty power yet. Maybe he willadminister some spiritual comfort to the poor prisoner.'
As they crossed the street, the man in grey with whom Sir Roberthad been seen to speak previously approached, and said a word ortwo in an undertone. Jean's quick ear caught the name of IsabelGoudie, and she wondered dully why they should speak of anotherperson in the face of so monstrous a calamity. Sir Robert seemed toassent, and the party entered the precincts of the jail, where thebaronet made inquiry for the Provost. He was in his private room tothe right of the entrance, and stood up as they entered.
'Welcome, my Lord of Gordonstown,' he said. 'As it chanced, Iwas at this moment inditing a letter unto you, for there is troublefeared with Lord Lewis Gordon.' He handed to Sir Robert a sheetstill wet, requesting that his worship might come down the morrowas timely as he could that they might have his worship'sopinion.
'Something of this same nature ye have written me afore, andmore than once,' said Sir Robert. 'But it was not of this that Icame to confer with you, my Lord Provost. Ye must know that sundryof the Sheriff's men, I know not what Sheriff, whether it be Dunbarof Westfield, or Simon of Lovat, or who, have arrested a youngfriend of mine, for no crime that I can judge, and have lodged himin this jail, and I would fain have speech of him with these ladiesof my kin and Master Will Marley of the English Navy, who is a goodfriend of mine.'
''Tis irregular, Sir Robert, mighty irregular. And indeed I haveno power. But for your worship's sake, and the good I trust ye willdo our town, I will stretch a point, and take ye myself to see theprisoner. Come ye this way. I trow I must be present at yourinterview.'
'That ye shall, and welcome, Sir Provost.' There was the sametwinkle in his eye as he spoke, and Lady Mary, knowing the baronetwell, wondered.
The Provost led the way to the cells, and ordered a turnkey tounlock a door he pointed out. Jean pressed through in front, butimmediately fell back in dismay.
Sir Robert, looking over her shoulder, burst into a loud fit oflaughter.
'Why, faith!' he cried. 'But this beats even all the stupidityof the Covenanting rascals. See, my Lord Provost, what they havedone. They have arrested my poor groom, and what they have donewith young Cosmo Hamilton, the Lord knoweth.'
It was indeed Sir Robert's groom who stood there, with a broadgrin on his honest face, and the Provost, who knew the man well bysight, stood speechless for a moment in sheer amazement.
'What in the world means this? I must call the varlets; they arestill here drinking, I'll be bound. It will be an ill day's workfor them.'
'Nay, my Lord Provost, with your favour, this matter will notonly be ill for them. And, after all, 'twas but a mistake. But itwill bring the whole town of Elgin, and our vigilance, and ourjustice into disrepute. We shall be a laughing-stock to a parcel ofknaves in London, who must needs meddle over much with our Scottishaffairs. Wherefore I counsel ye for your own good that ye keep thismatter quiet. At present it is but known to ourselves and to theSheriff's men, who for their own sakes will not speak thereof. Yeshall just inform the turnkeys, who know naught, that havingexamined into the charges there is naught therein, and the men willjust report to whoever commissioned them that they failed toexecute the warrant, not finding the panel. And ye will restore mygroom to me.'
The Provost thought for a moment, and scratched his head.
'I find your counsel good, Sir Robert, and ye will aid us in thematter of Lord Lewis.'
'Why, yes! I will do that, and seeing he is my relative, and ismoreover indebted to me in sundry matters, I think he will harkento me.'
'Now, sirrah,' he said, turning to the groom, 'get ye out withall speed ye may, and procure me some kind of hired coach, that maytake me back to Gordonstown.'
The groom departed, and Sir Robert and the Provost sent for theSheriff's men, who stood flabbergasted. They had taken young CosmoGordon. Did not Sir Robert see that they did so? or the sailor? No!Both had been engaged at the moment in attending on the lady whohad fainted. They thought the men knew their duty. At all events,the matter must be kept very quiet. To that all agreed. So then andthere a report was drawn up, and Will Marley, who seemed to havesome gift of words, wrote it out, artfully phrasing it to throwblame on the English soldiers, whose slack vigilance had permittedthe panel to escape, if that indeed he were in the house at all. Itwas a most convincing report, and was counter-signed by theProvost. Sir Robert, for very good reasons of his own, took noostensible part in it.
Soon after this was accomplished, the hired coach was at thedoor of the jail, and the party started for Gordonstown. Sir Roberthumorously indignant at the discomforts of the vehicle after hisown luxurious chariot; Lady Mary stately and resigned as usual, buteminently glad to get away; Jean, now the excitement and presentanxiety was passed, feeling the reaction piteously near tocollapse; Will Marley, or, rather, Father Blackhall, calm, strong,and self-reliant.
As soon as they were past the cobble-stones of Elgin, and couldhear each other's voices, Lady Mary began to question Sir Robertabout the strange events they had experienced.
'I am certain you know something of all this, Robert,' she said.'Your assumption of ignorant innocence was all very well for theProvost, but we know ye. Now how in creation did Sandy the groomget into the hands of the Sheriff's men? and, above all, what'sbecome of our dear Cosmo?'
Sir Robert chuckled gently to himself.
'A simple trick of delusion which I learned in Spain. My groomand Cosmo for the moment borrowed each other's appearance. TheSheriff's men, looking at Sandy, could have sworn it was Cosmo. Soindeed would yourselves had you not all been busy attending toJean, and needs must that they haled the poor fellow off to jail,for he knew not why they did so. And as for Cosmo, he went offsnugly seated in my chariot, in the very mortal likeness of Sandy,and with a paper of instructions in his hand, bound for GordonCastle ostensibly. He will not go to the castle, however, for theLord of Lorne is in possession there on account of poor Huntly'sdebts, and I like not the Campbell breed, nor do I trust them. Buthe will make for the coast and take a swift vessel for France,where for the time being he will be safe.'
'Oh, uncle! how good you are, how noble,' sobbed Jean, nowfairly hysterical with mingled emotions. 'Ye think ofeverything.'
'Pardon me,' said Father Blackhall, 'But how will ye provide aswift vessel? Myself, I have but lately come from France, on my wayfrom the Scots College in Rome to visit the faithful in thisunhappy land, and there was the most extreme difficulty to procurea vessel at all, and by no means a swift one.'
'Ye can do many things an ye know how,' replied Sir Robert,'Hark in your ear, for I know ye are safe, and this is sub sigillo.There is a vessel, as swift as any on the seas, that hath butlately landed a good cargo of French aqua vitae for me at my ownshore of Covesea. At the present she lieth at the Port of Buckieunder disguise of a fishing craft. Cosmo hath my written orders tothe captain, and I warrant he will reach the French port in theshortest possible time and in all safety. An ye desire it, Father,I will charge myself with your own convoy back to France as soon asyour business here is sped and ye desire to return.'
'I thank ye, Sir Robert,' said the priest. 'The Lord will rewardye for your kindness to a poor priest of an alien faith. And Ishall not fail to avail myself thereof, should opportunity ornecessity arise.'
'And here, at long last, we are at Gordonstown,' said SirRobert. 'And I bid ye welcome to my poor house, Father! and cravethat ye will accept my hospitality so long as it lists ye, ifindeed ye be not feared to abide with one reported to be overintimate with Satan.'
'Nay, I fear nothing,' said the priest. 'I have fought manyrounds with Sathanas myself, and I think we know each other. Also,there are many questions on this very theme that I would fain askye.'
Father Blackhall had great curiosity concerning the house ofGordonstown, concerning which he had heard much, but there was notime now to see even the exterior appearance of the building, forSir Robert hurried the party out of the hired coach, and in at thedoor, saying:
'Ask what ye will, Father, at the proper time, but now is thetime to refresh. Mary, ye will take our dear Jean and bestow hersafely in bed. This day hath been over much for her, but I trust asimple cordial and a long sleep may perfectly restore her. And foryou, Father, come ye with me, and ye shall taste such a tass ofcognac, twenty years old and more, as seldom I warrant hath passedyour lips.'
Seated in the great hall of Gordonstown, beside the ample fire,each with a stoup of the very finest French brandy before him, theyconversed with much interest.
'I ween,' said Sir Robert, 'ye wish to hear somewhat of myself,and to you, Father, I have no objection to disclose what many seekto know. For I know that ye are safe. All my life I have been astudent. Others seek riches, honours, power, what not, but for methe one thing I have ever desired was knowledge. From my youth upit has ever been the secrets of nature that have attracted me. InSpain I learned many curious things concerning the elementalspirits. It is the fashion now to deny that such beings exist. Yetan they do not, ye can in no otherwise account for the things thathappen around us. I learned, then, there how a man having will andcourage might communicate with these spirits, and indeed after afashion command them, and thus may learn many things, the veritywhereon is hidden from the vulgar.'
'But they say that ye collogue with the Devil, Sir Robert. Now Iwould fain hear you on that subject. For I have known much of theworks of Sathanas, having often withstood him, and these works aremanifest: to wit, hatred, variance, strife, evil-speaking, lust,rapine and murder; and none of these do I find in you, but I findthem often and markedly displayed among the very godly Covenanters,who are ready to denounce and to doom to the stake those of theiropponents whom they get into their power.'
'Ay, indeed! and they would willingly burn myself an theydared,' said the baronet with his whimsical chuckle. 'But they areafraid of me. I have much political power, as ye know, and amnearly related to leading men in both parties, and they credit mewith supernatural powers because I know some of the secrets ofnature. And it is my safety that I encourage these beliefs, whichbreed a kind of dread in the vulgar. I have told ye that I desireneither riches nor power, yet in a sense I do, for fain would Imake of this property of mine an estate worthy of my name andrace--and of this old house a mansion whereof a Gordon ofSutherland need not to be ashamed. This, as ye know, takes money,and therefore do I bring in my cargoes of the good French aquavitae, and other things from the fair land of France. Nor have Ihesitation so to do. For I do but take the money from theseaccursed English Covenanting Lords, who would tax our free land ofScotland. Yet to do this I must inspire the folk with such dreadthat they dare not meddle nor inquire too closely concerning me. Yehave heard, doubtless, how I drove my chariot over the ice on LochSpynie, after one night's frost. 'Tis not hard to do if ye have theear of the spirits of the waters. Even your own St. Peter--But Iwill not intrude on theological matters. Now ye see how I have tospend much money on this old house. When it came to us from Innesof Drainie, it was but a hole scarce fit for a rat. Only thedungeons were watertight, and there was a still older mansion, partthereof, which had once belonged to the Bishop of Moray.'
'But all of this,' said Father Blackhall, 'tells me nothing ofthe Devil.'
'Nor can I tell ye anything. The elemental spirits, who are thepowers of nature, are subject unto a great head--the Lord ofEarth--Him the ignorant hold in great dread. Yet I think withoutcause. The forces of nature will destroy the ignorant man whowantonly invokes their strength, but they will faithfully serve thephilosopher who rightly studies their conditions.'
'I thank you greatly for your patience and courtesy, Sir Robert.Ye have taught me much. But sincerely would I say to you--Beware!lest at last ye raise forces ye cannot control.'
Late that night another guest sat in the inglenook opposite toSir Robert. It was the same man in grey who had spoken to him inthe town of Elgin.
'And can my science then naught avail,' said Sir Robert, 'toavert this trouble from my niece Jean?'
'It availeth nothing,' replied the other; 'because it is butscience. There is but one that will be able to help ye then, andthat is Isabel Goudie. And gin she help ye, she will loseeverything.'
'Women have done as much before now,' said Sir Robert. 'And willagain.'
SIR ROBERT GORDON did not fail to make close inquiries as to whoit was who had denounced young Cosmo Hamilton. His position andconnections gave him many opportunities of ascertaining things notgenerally known, or meant to be known. So it was that he soon foundout that it was Hay of Lochloy and Park who had set the matter intrain. And the motive, too, was not far to seek, for David Haygossiped in his cups among his boon companions, and there were fewsecrets in his life that were not sooner or later known and talkedof. He had seen fair Jean Gordon with Sir Robert at Culben, the dayafter the storm, and admired her in his own evil way, and desiredto get her into his power--for with him admiration of a woman hadbut one meaning. He soon learned of her betrothal to CosmoHamilton, and he saw the chariot with its black horses at the doorof Gilbert's farm, and ascertained the intimate friendship betweenJean and Isabel. By removing Cosmo then he could get rid of oneobstacle to his designs on Jean, and through her he could hurtIsabel. The combination pleased him. It was very crude, but hechuckled as though he had thought of something clever.
That night he sought the Lord Brodie, and represented that thisyoung firebrand, a danger to the Commonwealth and to the Reformedfaith, a most pernicious papist, was in fact plotting for therestoration of the evil house of Stuart, and the overthrow of theCommonwealth, the destruction of the Parliament and of the trueProtestant Kirk, and the re-establishment of the popish errors castout with so much of labour and bloodshed, and moreover the castingdown of the saints of God, such as his worship the Lord Brodie, andothers whom the Lord had placed over the flock as trueshepherds.
Lord Brodie had listened gravely, weighing the words of hisfriend, occasionally interposing wise saws and modern instances,and tags of sermons; finally, finding the advice good, he hadagreed to write that very night to the Lords Commissioners. He wasa man of much weight and consideration with the Parliament, whosagely judged that he must know the conditions of his own countrywell, and that any danger to the Commonwealth was also a danger tohimself, and accordingly took action. Watching Jean Gordon theysoon became aware of the man of whom they were in search. And therest followed naturally, as we have seen.
Hay's eldest boy still lay very sick at Park. But the lairdseemed to take no special heed. He had said there was nothing thematter with the boy but a trifle of overeating or such like, and hewould not alter this view. So he went about his own affairs asusual. It was absurd that women's scares about a trifling illnessshould interfere with the serious business of drinking andlovemaking, and the natural pastimes of a man of his condition. Hewas rather seriously annoyed, however, to find that there waspresently no woman to make love to, none with whom he was intimateenough to drop in on his morning rides for a drink, and othermatters not spoken of. Isabel had repulsed him and boxed his ears,and his soul was filled with a venomous rancour against her. JeanGordon was only an exciting possibility in the distance. Thatadventure was beginning. When Cosmo Hamilton was out of the way, ashe hoped was now the case, there might be some other pleasantlittle steps he could take. But in the meantime he felt desertedand alone.
'Oh, let the Devil, an there be a Devil, send me a mistress!Life is dull,' he muttered, as he rode through the Brodie woods, invast ill-humour with the world.
'This also shall come.'
Was it a voice in the trees above his head, or an echo in hisown brain, or was it himself answering himself? He could not tell.He rode on to the Mills of Brodie, where he knew he could depend ongetting some fiery Spanish wine, for the miller had many small kegshidden in the sacks of grain that came up to him from the port ofFindhorn, and men said he made more profit on these than on thelegitimate contents of those sacks.
News was brought to Isabel at the farm of the boy's continuedsickness. The herd girls, of course, gossiped among themselves, andit seems the laird was no favourite except with drinking men.Isabel's bitter hatred of David Hay surprised herself, andpersistently she sought to justify it to herself, by considerationsof his ill-deeds; yet in her inmost self she knew that it was aninstinctive aversion, even as her feeling for the Dark Master wasan instinctive attraction. In the old days when she was a Catholic,she would have been sure that both were sinful, and she would havestruggled hard to conquer them both, she would have tried to fixher mind on any trait of good she could find in the laird, and shewould have made excuses for his evil propensities, and schooledherself to disregard and shut her eyes to his coarseness andbrutality and the qualities that repelled her finer and morefastidious taste. And she would have avoided the Dark Master, andtried to banish from her mind the fascination that drew her to him.But now she accepted both, even encouraged them.
She had several times uttered the curse upon the laird, 'May henever have male issue to come after him!' and she earnestly desiredthat this should be so, but that it should be her doing. She wishedto wreak her hatred herself, not that it should happen by anyoneelse's intervention; least of all by that of the hideous old witch,Margaret Brodie's mother.
Some strange longing drew her to walk out again to the Castle ofInshoch and revisit what for her now had become almost a sacredplace from the memories of that Sabbath morning's greeting. It wasa calm autumn morning with a touch of frost. She sat in thegateway, recalling and living over again every moment of thatdelicious time when love had come to her and she had given herselfunreservedly. Almost physically again she seemed to see the DarkMaster and to feel the same thrills of joy as when she first metwith him.
Then with a sensation of the deepest disgust she became aware ofthe old hag hobbling towards the gate, and striking at it with herstick as she mumbled, half chanting, the words:
'I set this charm upon this gate
With sorrow and sigh and muckle hate.'
Isabel shrank within the castle enclosure, keeping well out ofsight, but watching curiously what might befall.
A shrill cry sounded from the edge of the wood, and MargaretBrodie came flying down in great haste.
'Come away out o' that, ye auld limmer. How often must I tellyea I will have none o' your cursed gipsy witch work. Ye'll bringus all to the stake ere ye've done.'
The old crone hobbled away muttering curses, and Margaret comingup to the gate passed her hands over it, chanting in a low clearvoice:
'I take the spell from off this gate--
Nae ill shall fall o' muckle hate,
Till the Devil speaks the word of Fate,
Hail shall he be in the Devil's name.'
Again she passed her hands over the gate and raised them as ifin supplication. Then she hurried after the old woman.
Isabel became increasingly conscious of the Dark Master herlover. She was not afraid to call him so now to herself, though nolonger did any idea of making him her slave present itself. On thecontrary, she knew that she was only too glad and proud to be his,only she would not let the others see it. When others were there,she and he would play a part. She would pretend to tease him then,and he should pretend to be hurt.
But when they were alone, she would give herself body and soulto him to do what he would with her. She would glory in abjectsubmission.
She seemed to see him now, greater and stronger than he had beenbefore, a big man with a rollicking humour and a mighty enjoyment.She caught the infection of his mood. It was like the time inMargaret's cottage when she had heard the wild cries of 'Horse andhattock!' She began to realise that there were other aspects of herlover which she had not yet proved, infinite possibilities ofdelight. What glories might not the future hold for her.
Now she fancied he came close to her. She almost felt strongarms round her, warm breath on her cheek, hot kisses on herlips.
'Tonight the coven meets. I shall come for ye, my sweetheart. Yeshall be the queen of our assembly.'
Were the words fancy? They seemed definitely spoken. Yet whenshe drew a long breath and looked around for him, there was no onethere. The old castle walls were grey and solid and matter of factas ever. If they knew aught of these weird happenings, it was wellindeed that they kept their secret.
Tonight he would come and take her to the coven. She had heardof the coven from Margaret Brodie, and from Janet Broadhead. Butwhat it was she only vaguely guessed, and she did not like toinquire too closely. Somehow she felt always that whateverinformation she got must come from him. She belonged to him, andall the others were--well, others. She could not put it in anydifferent way to herself. But what about John Gilbert? How couldshe leave, and how return without waking or disturbing him?Sometimes he slept lightly, sometimes he did not sleep. Sometimeseven he would take a fancy to come to her room. Well, what would bewould. Perhaps the Dark Master would take her away altogether.
The thought seemed almost unbelievably beautiful.
But if only once she could join in that mad gallop which she hadheard sweep over the woods, feel herself rushing through the air ina wild hunt with her lover beside her, she would not care what cameto her afterwards.
'Horse and hattock!' Unconsciously she murmured the words. Herimagination was working strongly; she fancied the black steed wasthere; she had but to spring on his back, and go whither shewould.
Then a doubt passed over her mind; there was no real horsethere; she must keep the sane balance of her reason. Tonight shewould know. The Dark Master surely would teach her somewhat of hisknowledge and skill, and if the whole matter were real and not amonstrous delusion of the mind, then all would be made clear.
The moorland between Inshoch and Lochloy lay before her,gleaming in the sunshine as it had done any time for all these pastyears since she came to live with John Gilbert. Just the same moorthat she had grown so weary of. The enchantment that made it alllike a veritable fairyland was only in her own mind.
Nothing but a straw blown past in the wind, and she knew not whyshe noticed that.
No matter. In fancy lay the supremest joys of life, so the poetshad said. If she could create a fairyland for herself, was it notwell done? The hours seemed interminably long till nightfall. Itwas a moonless night, but the stars were brilliantly clear, gemmingthe whole vault of heaven, like a shower of diamond dust. Isabelhad retired early, but she could not sleep--a strange excitementpossessed her. At times she dozed, and in confused dreams she sawthe Dark Master, and anon the wicked, fearsome face of MargaretBrodie's mother. Then the rush of the wild horses seemed to dashpast. Then she woke again, and all was so quiet and still that shefelt sure all that she had experienced was but the delusion of adisordered fancy. She would allow such visions no more; she mustsleep. Gilbert's regular snoring came from the kitchen.
Then beside the window there was a flutter. Some night bird,doubtless. Such had frightened her before, but she had grown usedto them now. Once an owl had come into the room, and scared itself,had scared her nigh to death. Languidly she looked at the window,faintly visible from the starlight outside. She had forgotten tofasten the hasp. Something pushed it open and, with a flutter ofwings, a large and solemn-looking crow hopped into the room andperched on the footboard of her bed with a loud and raucous caw.She sat up in bed and looked anxiously towards the kitchen. Aboveall things she did not want John Gilbert to be wakened. Hiscontinued snores reassured her. She looked back towards the foot ofthe bed to see what the crow should be doing. It was an uncannyvisitor at this time of night. The light was very dim, and shecould only make out something shadowy on the footboard, but, as hereyes grew accustomed to the darkness, it began to take moredefinite shape, and a low laugh sounded in her ear, as shegradually made out a head and shoulders, and became conscious,though without knowing how, that the Dark Master himself was there,leaning over the footboard, his gleaming eyes fixed on her.Somehow, there seemed to be a subtle light around him, but whetheremanating from himself or from whence, she could not tell. Beyonddoubt it was himself, but it was himself in a new phase. Not nowthe grave student, not even the passionate lover of the Castle ofInshoch, though liker to this. He was now a kingly figure,expressing wild strength and power, such as she might fancy thechief of some half-savage clan. His coal-black hair seemed to havethe spirit of the wind in it, and his eyes gleamed fiery with forceand will, but also with an extraordinary and infinite tenderness.His face was marvellous in its beauty of wild energy, a face shethought then that a woman would follow to the end of the world, andinto the very pit of hell, rejoicing only to follow, craving onlyto serve.
With a low glad cry she leapt from bed, and nestled in thestrong arms that strained her closely to his breast.
'Did I startle thee, sweetheart? I meant not to do so, I havecome to fetch thee, for the coven meets tonight. Dost fear to ridewith me?'
'Nay, 'twas a joyous start,' she whispered, clinging closer tohim as she wound her white arms around his great shoulders. Take mewhere ye will, my sweet lord.'
Gently as any woman his strong hand smoothed back the masses ofher glorious hair, that hung like a veil round her, and he gazedhungrily into her eyes; then fastened his lips on hers in a longkiss.
'Tonight, sweetheart, you sit with me as the queen of the coven.Come!' She made a gesture towards the kitchen, thinking momentarilyof Gilbert.
'Nay, he sleeps fast. None can know aught when I bid them not toknow.'
'But if he should come in here. Sometimes he doth.'
'Oh, faithless! Dost not trust me then? See, take this besom andlay it in the bed. Should he come in, ay! even though he weresleeping beside ye, he will see the besom, and think it isyourself. Good enough for him, I wot.'
'Ay, in sooth,' she murmured, with a low merry laugh. 'Ye mustknow he called me a besom, when he was wroth. Now he hath it. Butan I am to come with ye, sweet lord, give me leave to dress.'
'Nay, love! it skills not. Thy lord can provide for hisbride.'
He lifted her lightly in his strong arms, and how it came aboutshe knew not, but somehow they were together outside the farmhouse,and she found herself dressed in a wondrous robe, green, alwaysgreen. But this was the green of the young apple shoots in May, andthe delicate line of embroidery and the lining were of the purestwild-rose colour, or the inside of a sea-shell, and a golden girdleround the waist.
He whistled low, and a mighty black horse stood before them,arching his proud neck to the touch of his master's hand. Loosinghis clasp of her for one moment, he placed his hand on the pummeland vaulted into the saddle. She placed one little foot on his andsprang up before him. In infinite content now she nestled againsthis breast; his arm was round her.
'Horse and hattock! Horse and hattock!'
The great steed sprang forward. He chanted in jubilantexultation:
'Horse and hattock! Mount and go!
Horse and hattock! Oh, ho, ho!'
They were rushing fast through the spaces and silences of thestar-sprinkled night, the cool soft shadows around them. Guidingthe horse easily with one hand, he bent and kissed her.
'Why didst not ride this morning, love? I sent the horse when yecalled.'
'Did I call? Nay, I was afeard. But I will never fear againnow.'
On they sped into Brodie woods, and over the blasted heath. Thenshe lost knowledge of the road. All seemed strange. At length theypulled up at the door of what seemed a comfortable farmhouse. Herehe leapt from the horse and swung her lightly down, then whispereda word in the good steed's ear, and where it had stood there wasnothing, only a straw whirled down the wind.
She recalled the straw she had noticed that morning, andwondered. He opened the door and, giving her his hand, theyentered. A long room was before them. There were many gatheredthere, mostly women, but there were a few men scattered about.
A shout of welcome rose, but the Dark Master held up his handand instant silence fell. The company formed themselves in twolines: the women crouched on their knees with their hands on thefloor, and their hair hanging loose over their eyes, and theirheads bent down; the men stood behind in reverent attitudes.
Slowly, and looking neither to right nor left, he walked downthe middle to the farther end of the room, leading Isabel by thehand.
'Rise, my faithful ones, rise, I present unto you now the queenof your coven. As Janet I baptised her at Aulderne in my own name.But henceforth shall she be known unto you as Hacallah, that is,the Bride.'
He stood forth on the dais, a kingly figure, in the rich huntingdress of the period, with an eagle feather in his bonnet fastenedwith a golden brooch; and Isabel beside him, standing dainty andqueenlike in her spring green robe, with all her wealth of rich redhair flowing over her shoulders.
'We feast not here tonight,' he said. 'We are for Darnaway--tocelebrate the occasion. But we crush one cup to the bride, and asmall piece of business--then away.'
Isabel looked curiously around. There were many there that sheknew by sight, if not personally. Margaret Brodie was the nearestto them on the left-hand side, and Janet Broadhead on the right;lower down her neighbour Isabel Nichol, whose husband was also afarmer on Lochloy, but Isabel had never been very friendly withher; and much lower down was Bessie Wilson of Aulderne, and hersister Maggie Wilson, an ill-favoured, sulky-looking woman, veryunlike the rest of the jovial company. There were two other womenfrom Aulderne, Elspet Chisholme and Isabel More, whom she knew bysight. The men seemed of little account. Their office seemed to beonly to wait on the women.
Alexander Elder, the farmer of Earlseat, took the lead, and theother men present followed, handing round cups filled with a strongsweet liquor. And the Master, raising his high in the air,shouted:
'Scald to the Bride! Ho, ho, wassail!' and drained his cup,tossing it into the air, where it seemed to be caught in a tongueof flame. All the company did the like, and shouts almost deafeningof 'Scald to the Bride, Queen of the Coven!' rang through theroom.
Then once more the Dark Master commanded silence.
'My faithful ones,' he said, 'I would have ye all to know thatthere is a man justly to be hated and despised by us. Ye may knowhim by name, at least; some of ye know more, to wit, David Hay.'The name was greeted with a chorus of groans. 'So much I expectedof ye. He hath done despite to and hath insulted some of ye. In thename of what he terms the Kirk he would refuse all joy to the sonsof men, yet is he a hypocrite, for ever he seeketh to snatch joyfor himself. Rightly he sayeth that all joy is of the Devil, yetwould he burn and torture you who take such joy as he seekethsecretly to take for himself. Most of all, he hath insulted yourqueen.' There were loud cries of 'Shame!' 'Yea, shame it is. Butthis day hath he called on me. Ye may wonder, but so it is. Andthey who call on me I in no way refuse. I will grant his request.He sought of me that I would grant him a mistress, which at thepresent time he has not got. I decree therefore that thou whom wecall Toad o' the Wind, but whose name on earth is Maggie Wilson,shall be his mistress.'
'Nay, Master, that I will not. He is a vile man. Give me someproper man, or I serve ye no longer.'
'Silence!' shouted the Master in stentorian tones. 'Once beforeye have rebelled and given me insolence, and I forgave ye. This isyour last chance. An ye take it not I deliver ye to the hands ofmen to torture and to burn ye in temporal fires, and thereafter tothe hands of my imps to burn ye for ever in everlasting fires.What! Ye have sworn obedience to me, and I have given ye the joysof life; and now ye would defy me. Have I spoken right,comrades?'
'Right! Right!' resounded from every side.
'It is well. Now, then, I endow ye with power to fascinate thisman. Ill-favoured as ye are, ye shall be beautiful to him, and heshall desire ye, till all that see shall marvel, and shall deridehim, and he shall be a mockery and a scorn to all men. Now, will yedo this, or will ye abide my vengeance?'
Thoroughly cowed, Maggie Wilson bowed her head and said:
'Great Lord! Pardon thy servant. I will do it.'
Isabel drew closer to the Dark Master, 'Love, I thank thee,' shesaid.
'It is well,' he said. 'The meeting is closed. Now, hey forDarnaway, and the Earl's good Spanish wine! Call on your attendantspirits, and mount your steeds, and all follow me and your queen.Sweet love, I give you here a spirit to wait on you, whom ye maycall whensoe'er ye will.' He snapped his fingers, and amerry-looking spirit all in black skintight garments, save for abrilliant scarlet collar and cord round his neck, and a scarletcord in his hair, danced up. He seemed unable to move except at adance.
'His name,' said the Dark Master, 'is the Red Reiver. He willserve ye faithfully. Call on him when ye need aught. If ye need me,send him, and I will be with ye almost ere ye can draw breath. Nowthen, sirrah! my horse. My lady and I ride together this time. Isit not so, sweetheart?'
'Yea, my lord,' she said, 'So I would have it.'
In an instant, without knowing how it chanced, they were outsidethe house. The black horse stood there just as she had seen himlast, and she and her lover once more were together, as she lay inhis arms with the great horse beneath them, and the whole of thecoven flying behind them; but she was unconscious of anything savethat he and she were together; everything else was unreal, asqualid, stupid dream.
Oh, the mad glory and wonder of that ride, the wildexhilaration, the racing of the pulses, as the horses swept on,thundering through the woods, dashing over the plains. A herd ofdeer started before them.
'No,' he shouted. 'We hunt not tonight. We sup at Darnaway.Another night we shall hunt. Ho! rise ye in the air. Horse andhattock! Horse and hattock!'
Up in the air rose that wild hunt, the Dark Master and Isabel onthe huge coal-black horse leading. Like an eagle sweeping andveering over the tree-tops, with all the mad coven shouting andyelling behind them. Over Brodie woods they rushed, and westwardtill they passed over Park. Here he drew his hunting knife, andcutting off a small portion of Isabel's fiery tresses, he scatteredit in the air with a muttered spell. She saw every individual hairlike a tiny flame float and flicker, and finally settle down roundthe house, passing down the chimneys, entering in at the windows,wherever one was left open.
'Each one will find its goal, he said. 'Each one will light onthe laird, and torment him. By this spell I have delivered him overto thee. Do with him as thou wilt. Spare him not.'
Now with a wide sweep they passed over the forest of Darnaway,and saw the white towers of the castle peering above the trees.
The old castle where of old Black Agnes the female Earl hadruled, which Cochrane the mystic architect had completed andadorned with triumphs of his skill, where the beautiful ill-fatedMarie Stuart had visited when her evil brother the Regent wasthere, and whence she had ridden to the famous tournament on themeads of St. John, was still standing in all its beauty. Round andround they circled three times widdershins, chanting:
'Slumber deep,
All shall keep,
In the Devil's name let all sleep.
Fast asleep all remain,
They shall not wake till we choose again.'
Wild was the revel in Randolph's Hall that night, and mad thefeasting. The Dark Master and Isabel sat at the head of the board,and pledged the company. Venison pasties, salmon from the Findhorn,game of all kinds, and noble Spanish wines went round in recklessprofusion. Then the tables were drawn, and the fiddlers started theold rant called Gillatrypes, which would make the lame and theparalytic dance, so captivating is the rhythm and the lilt of it.The Dark Master rose, and leading Isabel forth, they two led thedance. And when they came to the special snap where the leadingcouple leap together, he cried, 'O'er the Dyke with it.' Andeveryone that followed, as they came to leap, cried after him,'O'er the Dyke with it,' and that was the name of the dance formany years thereafter. But at last even Isabel was growing weary,and she sank with sleep into the arms of her partner.
'So, sweetheart! I must e'en carry ye back to bed,' he said, andshe nestled close to him, and felt herself sinking into a deliciouslanguor, from which she was awakened by his low laugh, and openingher eyes they were together in her own room at Lochloy, and JohnGilbert, snoring beside the besom, awoke with a start.
''Tis sunrise,' he called: 'awake, ye lazy limmer,' and rolledout of bed himself, with some gruff curses, to take his way to thebyre.
'Sleep ye well now, sweetheart,' said the Master. 'I'll see thathe comes no more to disturb ye. But by this and that, it wascomic.'
The sun was high when she woke, but the memory of the night wasclear and vivid, and, faith! she longed to have that dreamagain.
LOOKING over the records of the time, I find that Mr. PatrickInnes was convinced as he stated in his letters, and also in hispulpit discourses, and before the Presbytery, that witches weretaught by the Devil certain potent spells whereby they might assumevarious forms at will--as of a cat, or a hare, or sundry kinds ofbirds. They had but to repeat a doggerel rhyme which they learnedfrom him, and in his name, and forthwith they appeared in thatform, but could, at will, resume the appearance of women. Also theycould draw away the milk from cows, and take the substance fromcorn in a granary so that the farmer should find but empty husksthere, and draw the strength from ale so that it was but as water;and thereby much mischief was done, and many innocent people wereruined, yet without ever being able to detect the hand from whencethe ill had come upon them.
And it appears that as each occurrence was reported and gossipedof, there was very great indignation and clamours for vengeance.Both those who had suffered, and those who feared they mightsuffer, cried loudly that the perpetrators of such wanton outragesshould be punished by any means that could be devised. And thedifficulty of detection made them even more savage, so that theyvied with each other in suggesting cruel torments and ingeniousmodes of death for those who thus interfered with their property.But it was very hard to obtain proof. True, there was Master JohnKincaid, the notorious witchfinder, who professed to have a specialgift for discovering witches, and who could find, so he said, theDevil's mark on a witch, wherein if a pin were thrust the witchneither felt the prick thereof nor was blood drawn, and this wasconclusive evidence.
Many of the depositions of Master Kincaid are extant, and may beread by the curious, and many witches were burned on his statementsalone. Whence it appears that he drove a very thriving trade, forso anxious were the people to find someone on whom they might wreaktheir vengeance, that they would accept any evidence, howeverslight, even the unsupported testimony of a witch-finder. AndMaster Kincaid grew rich.
In all of this, however, there was an element of truth. MistressIsabel Goudie herself has left an account of the spells that theDark Master taught her, and these fully confirm the account givenby Mr. Patrick and other godly ministers of the Kirk.
Even the learned were greatly puzzled and exercised by theseevents, for we find my Lord Advocate Mackenzie, who was a man notgiven to superstition of any kind, and the astutest lawyer of hisday, after careful investigation of the subject, to which hebrought a very sceptical mind, concluding there must be some truthin the accusations.
But Mr. Harry Forbes rejoices over the great refomation that hadcome on Mistress Isabel Goudie. She became, he says, regular in herattendance at kirk, and most circumspect in her behaviour,listening with exemplary attention to his discourses. And when hesaw the laird of Park notoriously infatuated with that dirty,ill-favoured slut Maggie Wilson in Aulderne, and neglecting hiswife and family to pass long hours drinking, and maybe worse, inher cottage, he began to review the stories that the laird had toldof Mistress Isabel, and to consider that the laird's ill-will wasmore of a testimonial of righteousness than otherwise. So herejoiced greatly over the salvation of a soul from the damnableerrors of papistry, and on many a Sabbath morning in the old Castleof Inshoch and elsewhere Mistress Isabel and the Dark Masterlaughed gaily together over his somewhat unctuousfelicitations.
There seem to have been many meetings at that time, sometimes oftwo or three chosen ones together, sometimes of the whole coven.But at Inshoch the Dark Master was the learned student who hadbecome the ardent lover. No other was ever present at thesemeetings, and we have only Mistress Isabel's own account to guideus. Mostly they took place on the Sabbath when folk were at kirk,and Isabel seems to have been sorely exercised as to how she shouldaccount for her constant absence from the diet of worship.
'But,' said her lover, 'ye need not be absent. Ye can send thatpart of yourself that is not needed here. It is not a kirk-goingbride that I want. See, now! If only ye can imagine yourself to bein any place, a part of ye is there; and if ye imagine stronglyenough, ye may be seen there. Come then, now, sweetheart, as ye liein my arms we will together imagine ye are at the kirk, and I'llwarrant everyone that's there will see ye, and yourself here willbe all the happier to be quit of that part of ye. For the part ofye that would take ye to kirk has naught to do with love andjoy.'
That day it was that Master Harry Forbes accepted John Gilbert'sinvitation to take his mid-day meal at the farm of Lochloy; andIsabel, who had a very keen sense of humour, was mightilyentertained at the conversation on the morning's discourse, atwhich her opinion was often asked, and was given with gravedeliberation and much piety. It seems that, having once exercisedthe imagination in strong, concentrated will, no more was needed;the wraith of Isabel sat dutifully and attentively in the kirk,listening with apparent edification to the worthy minister'sexposition, while she herself, or perhaps we may say the other andmore material part of her, was at Inshoch learning diabolic artsand rejoicing infinitely with her lover.
Concerning this there have been great discussions among thelearned. The ministers and authorities of the holy Protestant Kirkentertained no doubt that it was a manifestation of the power ofthe Devil, and herein the popish priests agreed, though theydiffered widely as to the causes, that gave such power to thearch-enemy. For each considered the other as the true servants ofSatan, who invited and gave him occasion thus to delude and vex thefaithful. Lawyers and philosophers were apt to disbelieve the wholestory, which they attributed either to hysterical delusion or starklying. But later authorities, aware of the strange hallucinationsproduced by what is now called hypnotism, have thought that theDark Master, whatever else he might have been, was a powerfulhypnotist and was able by these means to produce in the wholecongregation the illusion that they actually saw Mistress Isabelsitting in the kirk beside John Gilbert. The which is a comfortableand not altogether improbable theory, but leaves many pointsunaccounted for.
David Hay of Park and Lochloy may well have wished that he hadthe same power, for he found himself falling rapidly into disfavor.His infatuation for Maggie Wilson was becoming notorious, and wasthe subject of considerable derision among his friends, and ofgrave condemnation among the more serious-minded of his neighboursand acquaintances. Lord Brodie no longer welcomed him at theCastle, and many of the smaller lairds, who followed his Lordship'slead, intimated that they did not desire his company. He veryseldom now appeared at kirk, preferring to pass the Sabbath morningin Maggie's cottage, and no wraith took his place. But the more hewas shunned by the respectable, the more he swaggered and lurchedunsteadily through fair and market, with a careless insolence thatgave greater offence even than his notorious evil life.
Isabel could hardly think of him with any patience. That such abeast, against Whom her whole soul revolted with a sick disgust,should dare to say that she had made love to him! She, the chosenof the greatest and most desirable of men! This insult rankled farmore even than the attempted kiss for which she had boxed his ears.He had admired her, and now he had demeaned himself to MaggieWilson. She thought over him till she felt murderous. She would notbe insulted for nothing. He should learn what it was to provoke awoman like her. She was not to be played with by any man withimpunity. Moreover, her lover had himself denounced him; here wasgood enough reason for her hatred, if any were needed, and he hadbeen delivered to her to do what she would with. As she thoughtthus, she saw him staggering out from Maggie's cottage, with aninsolent leer on his bloated face as he passed her, and had therebeen a knife in her hand she would undoubtedly have stabbed himthen and there. But he passed by, and she muttered to herself, 'No!It's too good for the like of him. He must suffer. I'll make himsuffer. May he never have male child to come after him!'
Then she bethought her that Margaret Brodie had told her thatshe should learn the words of life and death. If she could be thedeath-giver, she might have means in her hand of adequatelypunishing this man, and indulging her hatred as she had indulgedher love to the full.
The thought followed her even in her meetings with her lover atInshoch, and in the wild midnight rides and revels of the coven,when they hunted the great red deer over the lonely moors ofStrathdearn, or when they held high festival in the hall ofDarnaway, or some other great castle. Well, she knew now how toplace a windlestraw between her feet, and, crying 'Horse andhattock, in the Devil's name!' to find the black charger beneathher, and to ride where she would, galloping over the countryside,ambling gently in a half dream through the woods, or mounting inthe air and fleeing among the clouds. Far she had gone on theseexcursions, and once had circled round the house of Gordonstown,but had not descended. She wished much for another talk with thewizard laird, but she felt an invisible but neverthelessimpenetrable barrier around the house. On this occasion she hadridden alone, but mostly when she rode it was with the coven, orsome of them; and what she loved best were the wild rides when shesat before the Dark Master, held up in his strong arms as they spedthe hunt, and all the latent savagery of her nature had full play,and he and she together felt and indulged the lust to kill which,sooth to say, is inherent in every child of man, and only withdifficulty subdued on the surface of civilisation.
Then the mad carouse after, when the deep draughts of strong,heady wine washed out the savour of blood, and the wild revel andwild nights of love roused all the primitive instincts of theanimal nature to mad exultation, followed by a dreamy delight.
Oh, they were days and nights of the gods those, when she tastedto the full the savour of living!
And ever there was the joy of the kill; and the nobler thevictim the greater was the joy.
'My sweet lord,' she whispered one day, half afraid of her owndaring, 'kill ye ever a man?'
'Ay, sweetheart, 'Tis the finest game there is. Not indeed forthe hunting, for the stag shows the finest sport when the hunt isup and our steeds rush through glen and corrie; and the chase ofthe lion and the tiger is grand too in the wild jungles. But forthe kill itself, there is naught can compare with man as a quarry.Ye shall know it, I wot ye are like unto me in that. Blood stingsye to the utmost.'
'And will ye truly let me kill too, my lord?'
'Ay, sweetheart! that will I; and thereafter we will revel as nolovers before us have revelled, and as I trow none will again. Wehave our time now, and when the world loses the glory of your hairand the sweetness of your lips it will lose that which it willnever recover in any new love-time so long as the planet abideth.But come ye with me now, and I will show ye how the Arrows of Deathare made, and ye shall have them whene'er ye will.'
'My lord! for the laird of Park?'
'Ay, truly! A good, fair mark; and I have given him to ye. But,hark ye, love: ye need practice. It is not easy to wield the Arrowsof Death at first. But mind not this--ye shall be an expert intime, and the laird cannot escape ye. I have given him to ye.'
Two corbies winged their way over Brodie woods and the kirk ofDyke, past Grangehill, and away over the buried farm of Culbentowards the sea. At the edge of the sand was the blacksmith's shop,as it was called, which was, in fact, a bloomery or iron furnace,where iron derived from the iron sand and the Morayshire pan wassmelted in a primitive alchemy, and the smith was sometimesreported to be wiser than an honest man has any right to be. On theroof of this the corbies alighted, and within a very few moments ahandsome pair walked round from behind the shop and greeted thesmith, who was working thus late to finish some implements ofquaint design that he wished not the ordinary folk to see.
'We would visit the arrow-makers,' said the Dark Master. 'I trowye ken me fine, Rob. I need no pass.'
'Pass on, my Lord!' replied the smith. 'Ye may trust that I amalways on the watch, and none pass without your Lordship'ssign.'
'Through the shop,' said the Master. 'It is the only way.'
In at the door they went, and a puff of wind down the chimneyscattered a shower of sparks all round them; out at a door behind,where they saw a narrow track leading towards the shore, skirtingthe sand.
'None can come this way,' said he, 'except by passing throughthe shop, and Rob will stop any who have no business. None but myfaithful ones may use the Arrows of Death.'
'What are they? Tell me,' said Isabel. 'Is this your ownarmoury, Lord? Is this where ye forge death for men?'
'Ay, and so it hath been for many a thousand years. And men willfind our arrows and know not what they are, for they will have lostthe art that makes them deadly. But the time will come When theywill know again, and the Lords of Death shall reign in the worldonce more. See there, before ye!'
The sand seemed shimmering and moving, and presently as her eyesgrew accustomed she made out figures of dwarfish men dressed inleathern garments so nearly the colour of the sand that they werehardly visible. Some were hurrying to and fro; others squatting onthe ground were diligently tapping, hammering, and chipping. Asthey passed among them she saw that they were shaping the flintarrow-heads which even now are constantly found, and of whichnumberless examples are in all our museums.
He walked among them, examining their work with a critical eye,occasionally taking a hammer himself and finishing one that wasbetter made than the rest. These he put in his pouch, but many ofthe little men he rated soundly for clumsy work.
As they walked away he taught her how to use the arrow-heads,curling the forefinger round the barb and propelling them with aflick of the thumb, till in a little she became quite expert. Hetook one from his pouch and breathed on it, muttering some mysticwords.
'There, now, that is charged with death. It will kill anything,man or beast or bird, that it touches. See, now, try yourskill.'
A hare started up before them. She flipped the arrow-head, whichjust grazed the hare's ear and it fell over dead.
'A splendid shot!' he said, Sweetheart, ye shall deal death asye will.'
He took two or three arrows from his pouch, breathed on them,and handed them to her. 'Now hey for home!' he cried; 'but by theford of the Muckle Burn we will rest. There is a dainty little nookthere where a pair of lovers may well shelter. Tomorrow we huntwith the coven.'
She gave a little cry.
'My armlet! I've lost my armlet! Oh, my dear lord, search erethe sand cover it! 'Twas an old armlet that once belonged, theysay, to a King of Scotland. It was given to me on my marriage.'
'Vain to look, sweetheart! The Lords of Death ever claim atribute at the first kill from the Arrows. Henceforth, unless thatarmlet be returned, ye are under their protection, and no Arrows ofDeath can harm ye, even though by inadvertence one should strikeye.'
The armlet was not returned to Isabel. For two hundred and fiftyyears it lay buried in the sand. Quite recently it was found, andis now preserved in the mansion-house of Altyre, where it may stillbe seen, but its story has been forgotten.
Over the low, flat lands the corbies winged their homeward way,but at the ford of the Muckle Burn they alighted, where a littlehollow shadowed by thorn trees formed a natural bower where theyrested. A stumbling, uncertain step came along the path, and Isabelstarted and clung to her lover's arm.
'Be calm, sweetheart,' he said. 'Even with no magic spells nohuman eye could see us here. Look forth.'
Curiously she peered out. It was the laird of Park stumblinghome from a heavy drinking bout. As he balanced himself unsteadilyon a stepping-stone of the ford, a wave of loathing filled herbrain. That he should appear just at this moment was too much; themingled rush of emotion, of love and hate surging on her brain,wrought to a species of madness. Hardly knowing what she did, sheseized an arrow and flipped it. It fell short, and the lairdstumbled on, unconscious of his danger.
The Master laughed.
'Ye should know witch-law better than that, love. Know ye notthat running water destroys our spells? Ye could never strike himthere.'
He stroked her hair with his old caressing gesture, and theturmoil of her brain calmed down.
'I am glad,' she whispered softly. 'I would not kill him now; itis too easy an end. If I killed him I could not hurt him any more.Oh, sweet my lord, how I hate that man! As much almost as I lovethee. When I see his insolent face, and his cruel sneer at me whenhe passes, I feel what a luxury it will be to watch him graduallyhumbled, cringing into the dust, to torment him, to make himsuffer. Dost hate me, my lord, because I am human? I must tell theeeverything. I must lay bare my whole soul. It is a joy to me thatye should know every atom of me. Lord, how can I make himsuffer?'
'Sweetheart! I love thee for thy hate. Faith, ye are my verychild: liker unto me than most of the children of men. Ye areworthy to have the moon-paste, and this too I will give thee. Thenthou canst not only kill but torture too. Thou shalt enjoy andgloat on thy vengeance. Woe unto them who deal evilly by thee! Andthou shalt give thy love to me, all the stronger and the hotter forthe hate that goes therewith. We will torture, and we will kill,and the savour of blood shall whip us up to the keenest bites andstings of love, such as the feeble children of earth scarce dare todream of. That which ye give me shall be for no other lover so longas the world endureth. Come, now! Hey for Lochloy! and there Ileave ye for a while. One more kiss, and then we fly.'
Over the low-lying marshy grounds near the shore the two corbieswheeled and circled, swooping over the breaking waves by the shore,making a sudden dash out over the end of the old bar, and thenstraight southward crossing the western end of the loch, where theyalighted, and a man and a woman might be seen walking gravely upfrom the loch's margin, towards the farmhouse.
On the miry road to the eastward a man dressed as a groom on asplendid black horse was moving slowly up and down as thoughwaiting for someone. As they approached he put his steed to a trot,and reined up close to them.
'For Mistress Isabel Goudie,' he said, saluting as he held out aletter, 'from Sir Robert Gordon of Gordonstown. I was bidden todeliver it to none but into your own hands, Mistress, and to tellmine errand to none.'
Isabel took the epistle and broke the seal. The Dark Masterstood aside, but she motioned to him to come and read with her. Theletter ran thus:
'Unto the fair lady, and my honoured friend, an she will permitme to call her so, the Mistress Isabel Goudie, commonly said to bethe spouse of John Gilbert in Lochloy.'
'Commonly said,' she whispered. 'I like that word. Sir Robert isa courtier.'
'I pray you, Mistress,' the letter continued, 'of your charitythat you will come hither with all the speed ye may, for my dearyoung relative, Mistress Jean Gordon, and your friend, is truly ina dangerous sickness and crieth for you; and I am assured that ofall this world ye can heal her. I would send my coach for you, butI think that he whom we know can provide for you betteraccommodation than I can, and that without remark, the which istruly desirable for we live in censorious times. I beg leave toassure you that I have it on absolute authority that it was yourneighbour David Hay of Park who denounced her lover Cosmo Hamiltonand my good friend to the cursed English Covenanters, and the crewof the brewer's knave, and hath brought this sickness on her. Butfortunately, and by the aid of him whom we know, I frustrated hisevil purpose, and young Hamilton is by my last advices safe inFrance. I trust that the said David may be tormented according tohis deserts, and with my humble duty I beg to remain your mostobedient servant to command.
'ROBERT GORDON OF GORDONSTOWN.'
'Master, shall I go? Oh, I fain would go! And can I be of helpto my dear Jean--can you help me herein?'
'Yea! go, sweetheart. This sickness cometh but from evil wishingof men who would be my servants if they dared, and if I would havethem, which I will not. Poor fools! they would serve the Devil, andkeep their peace with what they call their consciences, andpreserve the respect of their fellow-men, which always they lose.They would make the best of both worlds, but, being fools, theyhave but the worst of all. Such poor magic ye can lift. Farotherwise were it if this were a decree of the Mighty Lords ofFate. But of this we will not speak. Whene'er ye will, take ye awindlestraw and go "by horse and hattock," but I will aid ye. Fareye well.'
'Say to Sir Robert I will do his will,' she said to the groom,who set spurs to his horse and galloped off.
Gilbert had been snoring for some time.
A BRISK wind blew, but the day was fine, and in Brodie woods theautumn leaves rained down till the air seemed full of them and theground was carpeted with yellow and brown and red. The farmstead ofLochloy, as usual in the daytime, was deserted. It had neveroccurred to John Gilbert that day after day Isabel was left aloneand without even the ordinary occupations of a farmer's wife, forthese were all done by the herd girls, exactly as they had beenbefore she came to the farm.
She stood by the door, looking as she commonly did across thesea to the Sutherland and Caithness hills. She was thinking of thechange that had come over her own life--how she had been merely acipher on that lonely farm, whose coming had made no differencewhatsoever, and all the dreary desolation of it, and now the wonderand romance that had come to her. Then she thought of poor JeanGordon and Sir Robert's message. The Dark Master had bidden her go,and had promised that he would help her; yet when should she go?Sir Robert had named no time. As she pondered on this, a wind-blownstraw whirled down upon a gust almost into her hand; it seemed ananswer to her thought; she seized it and placed it on the groundbetween her feet, crying, 'Horse and hattock, in the Devil's name!'Instantly, she knew not how, the black horse was beneath her. Shewas on his back riding, as she had done in her Childhood, astride.The Dark Master stood on the bank beside the road, with doffedbonnet.
'It is the propitious time,' he said. 'Haste ye!'
'But I cannot go like this.' She was suddenly conscious that shewore the old homespun dress with the little gold crucifix, and thatshe was astride of the horse in a way that no grown woman of anyposition or dignity in those days would think of riding.
'Go as you are,' he answered. 'It suits best for that ye have todo.'
He stood far off, and spoke coldly. Her whole being yearned tohim, longed for him. She stretched loving arms, but he stoodstill.
'Haste ye!' he said, 'I meet ye there.'
She felt a slight pang of disappointment. She longed for anembrace, she was insatiable to feel those strong arms round her.Also she would have fain gone to Sir Robert in some more beseechinggarb. But what he said was law.
'Horse and hattock! Mount and go!
Horse and hattock! Oh, ho, ho!
In the Devil's name.'
The great horse reared and bounded into the air, rising clearabove the roof of the farm.
'Hey for Gordonstown!' she cried, as they swept round to theeast, over Brodie woods, and past the fords of the Findhorn.Beneath them lay the meads of St. John, where the beautiful QueenMary had witnessed the famous tournament. Over the mouldering oldAbbey of Kinloss, now fast sinking into ruin since Cromwell tookhalf the stones to build his fort at Inverness. Over Windyhills,where another Brodie lived. On and on till the water of Spynie Lochcame in sight, and down towards the sea the woods surrounding thehouse of Gordonstown. A strange pile it was; the fragments of thegrey old castle in the centre, and the remains still discernible ofthe house of Innes of Drainie, reputed haunted for many years past,and the unfinished buildings of Sir Robert himself, transformed theheterogeneous structure into something having the appearance of aDutch chateau. Here the black horse, now very ordinary-looking,trotted sedately along the avenue leading to the house, and Isabelwas aware of a groom riding behind her. She dismounted at the doorwhile the groom held the horses, and Sir Robert stood on the stepsto receive her.
'Welcome, Mistress, to my poor house,' he said. 'I thank ye thatye are come so quickly.'
'I pray, sir, that ye pardon my poor attire. I was bidden comeat once, and not stay to change.'
'Whatever the attire, it becomes ye well. But far more than theattire, I see radiating out from ye the power to heal; and indeednow Jean is very sick, and like to die, and she crieth for ye. Ipray you that ye will let me take you to her at once, for I deemthere is none other that can help us at this time.'
Isabel looked round: the horses had disappeared, but the groomwas none other than the Dark Master himself. But he still stoodaloof.
'Take me to her,' she said. 'Oh, my poor darling Jean! Whatwould I not give to have the power to help her!'
'The power is yours,' said a voice near her. 'Do and say but asye are moved, and she will recover.'
There was no one near. The voice came out of the air or from herown brain.
Then the Lady Mary came into the hall from the great staircasewith cordial greetings to Isabel--calm and stately as usual, butthere was a look of trouble on her face.
'Jean bids me to say to you, with her dear love, how glad she isthat ye are come. She is persuaded that ye can heal her, and Godgrant that it may be so, for we have been in very great anxiety, asye know.'
'Take her up to the child,' said Sir Robert. 'I have a few wordsto say to a friend here.'
As Isabel followed Lady Mary up the wide stair she looked back amoment and saw Sir Robert in earnest conversation with the DarkMaster, in his groom's dress. Something, she knew not what,impelled her to take a tiny knife that she always carried, and cutthe stitches that sewed the gold crucifix into the bosom of herdress, and hold it in her hand. As she did so she became awaresomehow that the old homespun dress no longer looked old andshabby. It was the same gown, but transformed, new and fresh, a joyto wear.
'Our Jean is very ill,' said Lady Mary. 'Ye will find her sadlychanged. And we know not what has caused it. It is not "the wastingsickness," so the leech assures us; and Robert--who had some skill;indeed, I think myself he hath more skill than the leech--is sureit is not that. But neither he nor the leech can find a cure. Andwhen she cried for ye, Robert said that it was you and none otherwho could cure her. What made him say so I know not. But heinsisted, and made the groom ride out with a note for ye.'
'And it's right glad I am to come,' said Isabel, 'if only I maybe of some service.'
Very wasted and wan looked poor Jean as she lay on her pillow,and turned weary eyes of love and welcome on Isabel.
The latter drew near and knelt by the bedside, laying a longcool hand on the burning brow, and smoothing the soft brown hair,waiting to know what to say or do. Then memory came back to her ofwords she had learned long ago in the little Catholic chapel. 'Itshall be given you in that hour what ye ought to say.' So shewaited.
As she knelt with one hand on Jean's forehead, she clasped thewasted hand in her own which held the golden crucifix, and thenwords came to her mind. Whence they came she knew not then, norindeed did she ever know, and she chanted low under her breath asomewhat barbarous rhyme:
The Lord rade fair and free
Ower the hills till Galilee;
He pat the blood to the blood till all upstood,
The lith till the lith till all took with.
Owr Ladie charmed her dearlie son, with her tooth and hertownge
And her ten fingaris.
Be ye then hail and well,
In the name of Father, Son, and Halie Ghaist.'
As she chanted, the fever seemed to die out of Jean's eyes, andthe quick breath grew regular and steady. Her head sank low on thepillow.
'Oh, the blessed peace!' she murmured low. 'Dear Isabel, I knewye would heal me. All the pain is gone. Bless you!'
She was asleep.
The Lady Mary and Isabel crept softly from the room, but Isabelclung to the banisters almost fainting; all her strength seemed tohave left her. Lady Mary put an arm around her and led her down tothe hall, and deposited her in a huge cushioned chair. Sir Robertwas alone.
'See, Robert,' said Lady Mary, 'ye were quite right, this dearlassie has indeed wrought a miracle. For Jean is already better,and will be quite well soon. But all the life has gone from Isabel.I deem she has given herself for her friend.'
'That may soon be remedied,' he said; 'nevertheless this wouldshe do, an I mistake not.'
He turned to a shelf beside his elbow and, taking a bottle ofsome strong sweet cordial, he poured out a glass.
'Drink ye this, Mistress Isabel. It will revive ye.'
She lifted sad weary eyes to his face, and mechanically drankthe liquor. It tasted like the fiery wines she had drunk at therevels of the coven at Darnaway. As Sir Robert looked steadily ather, she felt as if new life were flowing through her veins; theweariness disappeared.
'Mary,' he said, 'I have a few words to say to Mistress Isabelof thanks and so forth for her timely aid. Give us leave for a fewmoments.'
'I will go to watch by Jean. I deem she sleeps?'
'And will wake recovered. Go ye then, Mary.'
Sir Robert and Isabel were left alone. It was the opportunityshe had so long and earnestly desired, yet now it was come she wastongue-tied.
Sir Robert said kindly: 'I know that ye wish to ask me somewhat,Mistress, since our talk in Lochloy. Ye think me a man of verygreat powers, and maybe ye may wonder why I should not myself healmy niece, and why ye should have the power.'
'Indeed, Sir Robert, this has been on my mind,' was all shecould say,
'Knowledge is what I have always sought. From boyhood I had aninsatiable curiosity. And I have gained much knowledge, perhaps inways that some might deem unlawful. I cared not so long as I gotit. And by my knowledge I can do some few things that other mencannot. But this was not my object. I never sought power, norpleasure. Now you, I know, are joined with a friend of mine, ofwhom I need not speak more. Through him ye can have power, andlove, and pleasure. Ye have the keys of death but not of life.Through him ye can hurt, but ye cannot heal. Ye can only help thosewho are also joined with him, and that only to a certain extent.That is what he can give ye. But ye have more than this. For yewere baptised in the Catholic Church, and as such ye have by rightthe command of certain forces of healing and giving life. Yea, evenof reversing the decrees of the Lords of Fate; but this ye could doonly at a very great sacrifice to yourself. Not this did ye do justnow. For what ailed Jean was but the effect of the ill-wishing of avery evil man, who has linked himself with a low type of witch. Theman has no power save by his abominable thoughts and desires. Sucha spell ye can lift by your own power; but ye did it, and rightlyin this case, by the power of your Catholic baptism. But this mustfor the time hold ye apart from your friend.'
'Was this, then,' she cried, 'why he stood so strangely aloof.It distressed me.'
'What is that which ye hold in your hand?'
She opened her hand and showed him the little goldencrucifix.
'That is it. So long as ye hold that he cannot come nigh ye. Itis the law of his being.'
For a brief moment she had a mad impulse to fling the crucifixfrom the window. Sir Robert held up a restraining hand.
'No! Do not so. So long as ye hold that, or have it on yourperson, he must stand aloof. But when ye wear it not, nor have itabout ye, all will be as before.'
'But why should I keep it if I can heal without it, as ye say? Idesire not that he should stand aloof.'
She stopped in a little confusion; she had not meant to betrayso much to Sir Robert. He smiled gently, and indulgently.
'Nay! but he will not, believe me, save when ye wear it. Andsee, ye healed by it to-day, and so ye will again. Only it may bethat in some dire need ye may desire to lift a decree of the mightyLords of Fate, and this too ye can do by the aid of this. Andherein have ye greater power than I, with all my studies, couldever accomplish. But only once. When ye do this ye will have nopower more. Nor will it ever come back to you. Beware, then; yehave in your hand a talisman of the mightiest power that ever wasupon this earth.'
'Sir Robert, there is such wonder in all this that ye tell me,and that I have known, that scarce can I think of it as aught but astrange wild dream. Tell me an ye can, is it real?'
'Real, Mistress Isabel! Which of us is there who can say withconfidence what is real? Hundreds of years ago the keenestintellects, the wisest philosophers of the world disputed over thisvery question. And it is not settled yet, nor ever will be, so longas the world abideth. Dreams are not real, they say, yet many of usin dream have seen material happenings. If we saw them awake theywould say 'twas real. You can fly in the air, and most men wouldsay that was unreal, yet in Italy Messer Leonardo well nigh did thesame, and in time to come all who desire will be able to do thesame. I myself by my studies can do some things that men would saywere unreal, yet time shall be when such things will be common. Andsome there are to-day who maintain that nothing is real at all. Ay,Mistress! if anything is real, all is real, I but know some secretsof nature that other men know not. Ye can yourself do some thingsthat others cannot. Now I may keep ye no longer. Fear not to trustme. I know the spells whereby ye work. I know him with whom yecame. He hath given me knowledge; he hath given you power, and joy.Let me lead ye to the door till ye call your steed. And once more Ithank ye for your courtesy in coming to us in our need.'
Beside the front door a windlestraw fluttered down to her hand.She caught it and placed it between her feet. Sir Robert gave herhis hand as she cried 'Horse and hattock, in the Devil's name!' Theblack horse was beneath her. She chanted the spell:
'Horse and hattock! Mount and go!
Horse and pellatis! Ho, ho!
In the Devil's name.'
She wondered a little why the little gold crucifix did not seemto interfere in the least with her flight. She was still holding itin her hand. She replaced it in her bosom as she flew. But the DarkMaster was nowhere to be seen.
At Lochloy, when she alighted from the black horse, thewindlestraw fluttered down the wind, and she half saw, half fanciedshe saw, the Dark Master standing by the dyke at the roadside. Awave of apprehension came over her, What was it that had comebetwixt them? Had all that glory and romance passed out of her lifenow as suddenly as it had come in? Her heart sank and a numb paincrept even to her finger-tips, as her eyes filled with tears.
'Red Reiver, Red Reiver!' she called, mindful of the attendantsprite, but none answered. Only something seemed to flutter roundher at some distance, or was it but a shadow? Was he then alsotaken away? The desolation was more than she could bear. Then sheremembered what Sir Robert had said of the crucifix. Impetuouslyshe would have cast it from her, but he had bidden not, and assuredher that when she did not wear it, all would be as before. Shehurried indoors, the crucifix belonged to that homespun gown. Solong then as she wore not that there was nothing to keep her fromher lover, but when she had it he must stand aloof. Quickly, withfeverish fingers, she began to replace the stitches and fasten itagain into the bosom of the gown. Then she tore off the dress, and,only in her shift, she turned and opened the kist and laid ittherein.
As she rose from bending down to fold the dress, the Dark Masterhimself was beside her, and she was in his arms.
'Love!' she whispered, as he kissed off the hot tears that stilllay on her cheeks. 'Verily I thought I had lost ye, and the worldturned black and all the sunshine was fled.'
'Nay, 'love, think not so. Glorious times are before us, and farmore power can I give thee than yet thou dreamest of. But my friendSir Robert Gordon hath told ye where that symbol is there I may notcome. 'Tis not I that stand aloof, but it is thyself that holds meoff. Yet I know well thou doest what thou must. See, now, how thenew moon rides in the wake of the sun. When She shall be full thoushalt make for thyself the moon-paste. In the old castle, whichhath so often been our bridal bower, I will myself teach thee theart.'
'Tell me, sweet lord! what is this moon-paste, whereof I haveheard so much?'
'Sit here then on my knee, So! Yet first pin thy shawl over thewindow. Now I can tell thee. Nay, fear not. None of the farm folkwill return as yet. I have bound them to the fields while I speakwith thee. See, then--Hecate, who appears to the children of men asthe moon, hath strange powers, and these, when ye know the art, yemay control. When her sickle becomes her silver shield, ye shalldraw her down from heaven to do your will, and she shall consecratefor ye the paste that ye shall make; and therewith, if ye shallmake an image of any, it shall be unto that person even as ye shalldo unto that image. Ye have heard of "the wasting sickness"--thegodly folk of the Kirk ascribe this to the power of the Devil, andthey are right, for it occurreth when my faithful ones have madesuch an image, and have roasted it gradually. Yea, and when theypierce it with pins there come excruciating pains in all thelimbs.'
'Oh, my sweet lord! the laird of Park,' she murmured.
'Ay, him if thou wilt, love; or whomsoever thou wilt. Suddendeath thou canst give with the Arrows of Death. But thou cansttorment with this paste, and many other things thou canst do. Thoucanst bring parted lovers together.'
'My dear Jean and her lover?'
'Yea! an thou wilt.'
'And this will not part me from thee, as my healing of herdid?'
'Nay, Hecate is my servant, the world-old witch. Older than theworld, yet ever young and beautiful.'
'I am somewhat jealous of Hecate,' she whispered, clinging tohim and burying her face on his shoulder.
'Be not so. Hecate hath not thy wondrous spell of sex. World-oldshe is and marvellously lovely, but she is cold even as thou seestthe moon ever is. Never a lover hath waked her to dreams of joy. Myservant she is, and shall be thine. But thou art my queen. Listenthen, there is more that thou canst do. Thou canst part the dearestfriends, the fondest lovers. Thou canst make whomsoever thou wiltfollow thee blindly, and do thy bidding.'
'Sweet lord, give me this. It is the power I have longed for,and dreamed of all my life. Oh, give it to me at once.'
'Nay, love! In the castle I will teach thee how to make it. Thoumust make it for thyself. Thou hast seen in a dream how the foulhags who learned the paltry spells of the old gipsy witch madetheir vile brew in the kirkyard of Aulderne. A little power wastherein, the power that springs from malice and hate. But veryfeeble is this. With one word, ye, who are the queen of the coven,can counter their malice when ye will. But the magic of themoon-paste none can counter, save I myself. Unless ye should usethat talisman, ye wot of. But then ye would lose all.'
Isabel shuddered.
'When will ye teach me, my sweet lord?'
'Ere yon moon groweth to her full. For when she rides high inmid-heaven, round as a silver shield, then is the favoured time.Now, sweet love! one more kiss and I go.'
It was one corby who flew away from the lonely farm, as the menwere returning from the fields, and Isabel put on the russet gownall in a tremble of joy and expectation. New delights, new powerswere coming to her. She knew now she could bring healing where sheloved. She was to learn to strike and bring torment and death whenshe would where she hated. She was to learn how to unite Jean tothe man she loved, and this too without losing her lover. Strangeother power too she had by that little crucifix, but at someterrible sacrifice, she understood not what. Well, she sought notto reverse the decrees of the Lords of Fate. Fate had been verygood to her. So this mattered not. She began to set out the supper,with all her blood singing in her veins.
The experiences of the day haunted her dreams that night.
Again she seemed to be in the house of Gordonstown, but not inthe room where Sir Robert had talked to her, nor in Jean's room.Sir Robert took her along to the western wing and into a vaulteddungeon-like place whose walls, floor, and roof were entirely ofstone. A fierce fire blazed in a hooded furnace; crucibles,alembics, and other chemical apparatus were scattered round. Avessel was boiling on the fire, from which a pipe was led to ahollow globe standing on a table before a strong lamp. This globeseemed filled with clouds of steam writhing and curling like a nestof brilliant serpents. In the hottest glow of the fire she seemedhalf to see a filmy form, something like a lizard, that manipulatedthe boiling vessel.
Sir Robert and the Dark Master were here together. They seemedto beckon to her to come forward and look into the globe.
'I cannot see here,' said the latter. 'The priest's powerrestrains me, as I told ye. But she can, and will tell us.'
In her dream she peered into the globe standing between the twomen, each of whom held one of her hands. The clouds writhed andcurled and cleared away. Then she saw a picture forming itselfwithin the globe. A long straight road bordered with poplar trees,a canal on one side and a chateau at the end of it, with towers atthe angles and a drawbridge. This she described, and Sir Robertsaid:
'That is Montfaucon. She really sees where we could not.'
'The priest's protection is not against the Catholic baptised,'said his companion.
Then a man appeared in the globe in the uniform of an officer ofthe Scottish Guard. She described him minutely.
'It is Cosmo,' cried Sir Robert, in high delight. 'Now lookclosely, my dear Mistress. I know there is danger that threatenshim, but I know not from what quarter.'
Closely she seemed to watch while the clouds rolled over, andcleared and rolled over again. She seemed to see the evil bloatedface of the laird of Park, and the sanctimonious council ofRoundheads sitting in London. Then came a picture of a port withvessels coming and going, and many sailors and others on thelanding. Some she seemed to know were in disguise.
'It is at the port for London,' she said; 'they watch for himthere. Men in disguise waiting to seize or stab him. They have wordthat he is returning.'
'All is safe, then,' said Sir Robert. 'I bade him bide atMontfaucon till I sent him word, Mistress, I thank ye. And now thatI know ye can see, I am well at ease. I shall ask ye again in timeof difficulty.'
Darkness swept over the whole scene. She was in her own bed atLochloy, and the day was dawning. It was all a dream, but sosingularly vivid that she almost deemed she had been physicallythere.
THERE are innumerable records of the political affairs of thetime, both in the form of state papers and of private letters anddiaries, written by both prominent and obscure persons, bothRoyalist and Covenanting, and these are so hopelessly conflictingthat it is impossible to trace the verities. There were plots torestore King Charles, and counter-plots to defeat and destroy theplotters. Men suspect were assassinated with small scruple, andsuspicion was so easy and so common that none went really safe. InFrance, though the royalists who had friends there, or wereconnected with any of the great houses, were safe under theprotection of Anne of Austria and Cardinal Mazarin, yet the wars ofthe Fronde produced a state of great insecurity, and the veryfavour of the Court party would put them in danger from theFrondeurs and their sympathisers.
Hence, though the great house of Hamilton had almost moreconnections in France than in Scotland, and young Cosmo was warmlywelcomed among his numerous relations there, his position was aperilous one, and Sir Robert Gordon's anxiety was fully justified.At the Chateau de Montfaucon indeed he was at present safe. But forhow long none could foresee. It was difficult to restrain theimpetuous young soldier from hurrying back to Jean, though SirRobert and Lady Mary had carefully minimised the seriousness of herillness in their communications with him. The great Cardinal hadgiven him a commission in the Scots Guards of King Louis, who wasthen a mere boy, and Sir Robert adjured him to remain where he was;to which Jean, in full confidence in Sir Robert's power and wisdom,added her earnest entreaties, much as she longed for him. So in themeantime the lovers were necessarily parted; and although Jean'srecovery after Isabel Goudie's visit was as rapid as it wasunexpected by everyone except Sir Robert, yet this separation andthe apparent hopelessness of the situation preyed on her mind, andnothing but her absolute trust in Sir Robert kept her up.
Sir Robert himself, in his eager quest for knowledge, had nowverified two new facts. Isabel Goudie had an amazing power ofhealing; also she could see clairvoyantly, notwithstanding thecircle of protection set by the priest. These two points showed himthat Mistress Isabel Goudie was a very exceptional personality, andworthy of close study. And that with regard to Jean she could giveassistance such as could be had from no one else. The combinationof her unrenounced Catholic baptism and her pact with the DarkMaster produced results absorbingly interesting.
It would seem that some very learned theologians of the CatholicChurch denied altogether that under the circumstances anymiraculous power could possibly manifest itself through her, andthat only diabolic influences could be looked for. ThePresbyteries, and the divines of the Reformed Kirk of Scotland,denied that any miracles could ever happen through the agency ofthe infamous popish Church, and its blasphemous deceits; though itwas well known that the fervent prayers of the godly ministers ofthe Kirk might at times be very efficacious. The scepticalphilosophers both of France and Scotland roundly denied that therewas any miraculous power in any of them, though it was well knownand admitted that certain simples, gathered at the proper time ofthe moon, and with favourable conjunctions of the stars, were verypotent to heal, but this was science, not superstition.
Sir Robert, however, though he listened to all these opinions,shrewdly remarked that facts were of more value than theories, andthat if Isabel could heal, and could see, it was not much use for awhole university of professors to state learnedly that both ofthese were impossible. Nor was it much use to say that it was doneby the power of the Devil, when he, being well acquaint withSathanas, knew that he had failed to do these very things. MistressIsabel Goudie also herself states that she healed some who weresick. But though she quotes the spell, and mentions the use of thename of the Trinity in healing, and the Devil's name for doinghurt, she seems to have had no clear idea of the reasonherself.
Father Blackhall too was very greatly interested in thesemanifestations. As a priest he fought tooth and nail against whathe deemed the work of the Devil in the world, and this he conceivedto be, as was laid down by the Apostles, envy, hatred, malice,evil-speaking, blasphemy, pride, foolishness, and the like; allthings that separate one from another, and war against the holyspirit of love. He was therefore keenly anxious to learn all thatcould be known concerning the personality of the arch-enemy.
It appears that he must have been asked concerning the suddendeaths that occurred when, for no apparent cause, men and womenfell dead, for there is extant a letter of his, in answer to somesuch inquiry, wherein he says that the same question may be askedconcerning the quarry that men take and kill in the name of whatthey call sport. He had witnessed the huntings of the great noblesin France and Italy, and seemingly he had been asked how thesecould be justified, and how also it could be permitted that menshould be slain by the power and malice of the Devil, for no faultof their own. And he replied that the two things were on preciselythe same level, for that, as we know, no sparrow falleth to theground without the will of God; therefore we must conclude thatevery beast that is slain in a hunt is destined to die just at thattime and in that manner, and could not die in any other way. Thoughhe does not therefore excuse the hunters, with whom he seems tohave but small sympathy. And equally, he continues, if a man isslain by the spell of a witch, or by the malice of the Devil, it isbecause that man's time to die has come, and that is the appointedmode of his death, and the witch is but the instrument to carry outwhat must be. Vain therefore to waste any pity on the victims. Andhe ranks the witch with the hunter. His ideas seem to have beenmarkedly at variance with those of his time. For he concludes that,though it is justifiable to kill for food, and indeed is commanded,there is no justification in taking pleasure in the kill. Thisbeing the primitive instinct engrained in every child of man, whichit is the work of the divine spirit to subdue and eradicate.
It will be seen that in this the reverend father recognisedthose very instincts which Isabel had felt so strongly, and hereinmay be perceived the essential difference in the way that thesewere regarded by him and by the Dark Master. These deaths of menand women were caused, as we now know, by the Arrows of Death. Butat the time they were strange and mysterious, and caused, as hasbeen said, great terror in the land.
Isabel, secretly handling the arrows which the Dark Master hadgiven her, rejoiced in the sense of power they gave her, but as yetshe had never used them since that one time when she had killed thehare, and had shot at and missed the laird of Park. She enjoyed thefeeling that she could deal death when she would; but what she nowgreatly craved was the moon-paste--the power of this was what shedesired all her life.
Meanwhile the son of the laird had wholly recovered. Thecrescent of the moon had grown to half her full, and the time wasdrawing nigh when the spell was to be put in action.
In their solitary meetings in the old castle of Inshoch the DarkMaster gave her the secrets of many spells. He taught her how tolay a strong delusion on anyone she pleased, so that they shouldfancy what she wished. How to raise the wind by laying a wet clothon a stone and beating it, while chanting a certain rhyme, and howto lay the wind again. He told her of the Hand of Glory, cut fromthe wrist of a hanged murderer, and holding in its grizzly fingersa candle made of the fat of an unchristened child, with which ifone should knock at any door, with the words, 'Open locks whoeverknocks,' all bolts and bars would fly back, and the holder of thehand could enter freely.
But this she never would use, being, as has been said, sensitivewith regard to corpses, and with an instinctive shrinking fromnecromancy of all kinds. Knowing this, her lover told her of suchdoings only as a curiosity of witchcraft, and like the disgustinghell-brews made by a low class of witches, of small power.
'Ye see, love,' he said, 'how the great gates of Darnaway swingwide to let us in. We need no Hand of Glory. But there are foul andignorant gipsy witches, such as one that ye wot of, who could enterby no other means.'
At this time too she heard that the laird of Park suffered fromthe eruption known then as St Anthony's Fire, but now callederysipelas, which tormented him sorely. She remembered the lock ofher own fiery tresses cast down upon the mansion of Park on thatfirst wild ride of the coven to Darnaway, and how the Dark Masterhad said that every individual hair should find its goal, andshould torment the laird, and she rejoiced.
At the farm things went better. Gilbert obeyed her will, thoughhe had not the slightest idea that he was doing so. He opened hisconcealed money bag and repaired the house, since as he said it wasuseless now to hope for any help from the laird. The stock throvewell too, and the corn of that harvest was exceptionally fine andheavy. None knew that Mistress Isabel had drawn off the substanceof a neighbour's grain. But Master Harry Forbes said that thisprosperity was a clear proof of the efficacy of the faith of theReformed Kirk of Scotland, for whereas they had had nothing buttrouble when Mistress Goudie neglected the kirk, and, as hebelieved, still hankered after the false doctrines of the papists,now that she had become a true and godly Presbyterian, all waswell. So he rejoiced, and she was vastly amused at his rejoicing.But he altered his opinion later, as will appear.
She had not failed to inquire of the Dark Master at one of theirmeetings concerning the sickness that had overtaken JeanGordon.
'It is very simple, he said. 'Ye will remember how I orderedMaggie Wilson, whom we call Toad i' the Wind, and right well thename beseems her, to become the mistress of the laird of Park, andye know she hath done so, and no other lover hath she, or is everlikely to have. But he desires ever to get your friend MistressJean Gordon into his power, and this hath Toad i' the Wind foundout; also that he caused the young Cosmo Hamilton, her betrothed,to be sent out of the kingdom, for his own safety; wherefore shebecame exceeding jealous, and put forth some of the cursing spellson Mistress Jean. She is one of the coven, and hath some power, butnot much. Therefore ye can lift her curses by any spells ye choose,for ye are the queen of the coven, and none of their spells canprevail against your word.'
'But what was it ye said, lord, about the spell that should loseme everything?'
'That is only if ye lift the decree of the mighty Lords of Fate.We will not speak of that. These be great and terrible powers, towhich even I must bow. An ye do this, ye are reft from me for ever,and all our love and our joy is over.'
She shuddered.
'But there is much I can do by the moon-paste, is there not,love, without losing thee? It is thine own spell. Cannot I helpthem by its means?'
'Ay, truly! As I told ye, by this ye can bring together partedlovers. Also most of the sicknesses that come on the children ofmen are the result of the ill-will of some witch, even as ye haveseen in the case of the son of the laird of Park, that was liftedby your friend Margaret, and in the case also of Mistress Jean,that was lifted by yourself. Ye can do many things by thismoon-paste.'
'Once more, love, tell me--that I be sure I forget nothing. Willye be with me when I make it?'
'Nay, that I may not. For efficacy ye must make it alone andunassisted. But I shall be near, and when Hecate comes down, thenthe process is complete, and I may come to ye, for I know that thenthy beauty will be far beyond the beauty of mortal woman.'
'All such poor beauty as I have is for thee,' she whisperedsoftly.
'Remember, then, the seven fountains, these thou must findthyself.'
'Lord! they are all found.'
'And the three kirks?'
'They also.'
'And all the herbs? Be particular as to this. I shall not bethere to remind thee. And see that thou forget not one word of thespell. For thousands of years hath this mighty spell been worked.In ancient Thessaly did my faithful ones draw down the moon fromheaven, to aid their magic and enchantments. And there hath been novariation in the spells from that time even until now, save only inthe language; the ideas and the forms are the same.'
'My lord,' she said, 'wilt thou not tell me who thou art? Wastthou indeed on earth thousands of years ago?'
'Nay, love! that thou must not ask. Be content that for thee Iam very man and thy lover. A student, who has learned some things,I am he whom men call the Devil. Yet they know not what they meanthereby.'
His word was law to Isabel. He bade her not seek to knowconcerning him. And in truth she was very content so to leave thematter. Yet a little she wondered still. He was a man when shenestled in his arms in infinite content. He was the wild noble andchieftain when he led the coven in mad revelry, hunting andfeasting and dancing; but at times he seemed almost as a god. Shecould not fancy the earth without him, she could not think of himgrowing old, or as ever having been any other than he was now.Meantime there was this wonderful spell he had taught her, and thetime was drawing very near to put it into practice, and to win thepower that would make her more than a queen, almost the secretarbiter of destiny to all the countryside.
In her room at the farmhouse there was a new plaid of a darkgreen tartan laid over something that looked like a long box. Inold days Gilbert would have inquired curiously concerning this, andhave rated her soundly for extravagance in buying anything withouthis leave; but now he came rarely to her room, and when he did, itwas apologetically and not venturing to remark or criticise aughtthat he saw there. In fact he was, as Margaret Brodie had saidwould be the case, greatly changed.
To himself he said that his wife had now at last repented of thesins of her former life; she had renounced the errors of papistry,and since the godly Master Harry Forbes himself was pleased toapprove her judgement, and even to ask her opinion concerning hispulpit discourses, it was not for a mere elder to find anyfault.
Yet in truth, had John Gilbert but been honest with himself, hewould have admitted that he did not find fault because he darednot. When he was in his wife's presence all his dour, bullyingnature was cowed. He felt a force he could not understand, and whenMaster Forbes spoke of the force of godliness, he was glad toaccept that explanation.
The night before the full moon was clear with a touch of frostin the air. For days Isabel had been preparing for the great work.She had gone not out with the coven, nor had she even ridden withher lover. The spell of 'Horse and hattock' had not been worked,and her attendant sprite, the Red Reiver, may well have languishedfor lack of employment.
As the time drew near she grew anxious and nervous. Almost shewished to give up the enterprise. Then something would stir anewher hatred of the laird of Park, and she feverishly longed for themagic powers.
She had retired for the night, but not to sleep. She drew offthe dark green plaid and examined carefully a new kneading troughwhich she had recently bought. Then she replaced the plaid, andtook the besom that had served her well before, and laid it in thebed, chanting as she did so:
'I lay this besom in the Devil's name,
It shall not stir till I come again.'
Almost to herself she could fancy that the brown twigs on thepillow took on a sort of fantastic likeness to her own fierytresses.
Then she took down a ewer from the shelf, and went forth intothe night. Her resolve was taken, there was no going back now. Buta long solitary walk lay before her, and what adventures she knewnot. Straight towards the rising moon she set her steps, along thesouthern shore of the loch and into the dark shadows of Brodiewoods. The trees looked spectral in the moonlight, and a nervousapprehension came over her. What weird, uncanny things might notlurk in those dim shadows. She knew now that there were horriblethings that had a ghastly reality. She had seen somewhat of thedoings of evil witches, and the Dark Master was not here to protecther. Vain now to take the form of hare or corby. She had her workto do, and she must e'en do it just as she was. She repeated SirRobert Gordon's saying that 'fear is failure.' She must fight.Hitherto, since she had met the Dark Master, she had not known whatfear was. In fact, she had relied on his strength, but now she feltsomehow that she was alone, as he had said she must do this spellalone and unassisted. Brodie woods became a mysterious haunt ofhorrors. On the path before her the moonlight lay in silver pools,inlaid with a fretwork of crossing lines of shadow from theintertwining branches overhead. These made fantastic shapes whichthe fancy might well imagine to be weird elemental forms. But itwas in deeper shadows behind that dangers lurked. She could liftthe spells of inferior witches, so she kept constantly tellingherself. But somehow it did not ring true now. Either her power inmagic seemed to have left her, or it had never existed, and all wasa mighty delusion, only the perils were real, and they were not theperils of witches, but of something unhuman, monstrous, andunknown. Witches seemed by comparison to be familiar things andharmless. She said to herself now that she had experienced andproved all that there was in witchcraft, and there was nothing, infact all her experiences had faded to sort of simulacrum, and shesaid to herself that she just imagined a few odds and ends out ofromances she had read. But here in the depth of the woods were realhorrors. The ancient, ghastly, decaying evil that haunted theshadows before the birth of man upon the earth, waiting to springupon her and enmesh her in the old primeval magic, from which therecould be no escape in time or in eternity.
She had to visit seven wells, and at each to meet and overcomethe guardian demon whose function is to prevent those who seek theblessing and the healing of the well from attaining it, so thatonly those who are full of faith and courage can win what theydesire. Faith and courage were oozing from her. In spite of herselffear was creeping over her. The moon, almost full, shone over thetree tops, making the shadows still darker and more fearsome. Shewas Hecate the ruler of magic and enchantments, the queen of thedead, and she was to come down from heaven in answer to the spells.A rustle sounded among the trees, and Isabel started and stoodfeeling almost paralysed, daring not to go forward or back. HadHecate really descended prematurely? There was something visible,or half visible, among the branches of a huge, dark tree thatoverhung her path. Two luminous orbs flashed into sight, large andyellow; they might be two moons. A low snarl caught her ear, and atonce she knew that it was a wild cat that was glaring at her. Butnow material terrors blended with supernatural, each increasing theother. The eye of the wild cat, she had been taught, was the symbolof Hecate, waxing and waning with the moon, and these were thematerial presentment of the powers of necromancy, which she hatedand dreaded. Moreover, the wild cat was a savage beast, that mightreadily attack and even kill if irritated; and this to herimagination magnified itself to a personification of the powers ofthe immemorial evil haunting the depths of the woods. The magic ofHecate wielding primeval cruel savagery.
The yellow orbs seemed to grow larger and more moon-like,already she fancied the fierce beast about to spring and tear herthroat. Then, with a yell and a scutter, it rushed up the tree,apparently in pursuit of another cat. She heard them crash throughthe boughs, and with weird dissonant cries retreat far into thedepths of the ghoul-haunted woods.
Trembling still, she pursued her way. She was bound for the twowells that lay between Grangehill and Culben, and the chapel ofCulben. She had to fetch water from these two wells and to dedicateit by the chapel door facing the guardian demons. And why did shedo this? she asked herself. The power and romance that had come toher seemed to have faded to a troubled dream, wherein she hadfancied things that had no reality whatsoever; and now, but halfacknowledged at the back of her mind, lay the vague hope that inthis moon-paste the glory and delight she had known might come backto her, that she might know it for a truth. What matter if she hadsold her soul to the Devil--if only that wonder of life mightbecome real again!
Brodie woods were now past, and Grangehill lay before her, andCulben, sand-covered, showed white in the moonlight. There beforeher was the thorn tree that overshadowed the well. All looked calmand peaceful, but an apprehension was over her. She wanted to dropthe ewer and run back to the farm of Lochloy, and forever get awayfrom these mad fancies. But the terror of passing again throughthose haunted woods was almost greater than the terror of theunknown that was before her, and even though she passed these insafety, what did she gain?--only that insufferably dreary existencethat she had escaped. With that thought, resolution came back. Thespells she once knew had faded. She had neither faith nor desire touse them any more. She was just an ordinary woman, trying by meansshe had been taught, but only half believed, to get to somepromised land where desire should be fulfilled.
A cloud was forming itself over the well between her and themoss-grown stone coping. Why should she fear that cloud? She couldnot tell; but as she advanced towards the rotting wooden platformwhence buckets were lowered, she felt a sick chill come over her.It was like a snow mist on an easterly wind, though the night wascalm, a nameless terror, and a feeling as of icy fingers everpressing her back. She would not be pressed back. Pride came to heraid here. She had embarked on this errand, she would carry itthrough. She summoned all her forces, and made a dash for the well,lowered the bucket, and poured a little of the water into her ewer.That instant the cloud vanished, and a voice either from the air orwithin her own brain said 'Well done! the first test is past.'
Something definite was gained at last. All that she had beentold was not a mere dream. The rapture of life might be regainedeven yet perhaps. It was but a short distance now to the well thatlay beside the chapel of Culben. She was excited and hopeful, andalmost ran. A rude stone niche covered this well, and the waterrose into a worn stone basin. It would be an easy matter to dip herewer into the basin and blend this water with that which shealready had. She stooped down below the stone lintel of the niche,and started back in dismay as gleaming green eyes glared at herfrom the back of the stonework with a concentration of malevolenthate so intense, that almost she dropped the ewer and fled anywhereto escape that deadly stare. Almost, but not quite. She rememberedthat the first test was passed hurriedly; she dipped her ewer, andwith a fierce snarl the eyes disappeared, and she had two blendedwaters.
The chapel of Culben was before her--almost a ruin now, for thelairds of this time had joined the Reformed faith. Winter stormshad carried off many of the stone slabs from the roof, leaving therafters bare, and the water had got in, rotting the walls, andmischievous boys had broken the stained glass with which the pietyof earlier generations had enriched the windows. Isabel was deadlytired, and her brain was numb, but she must hold on, and must visitthe kirk.
As she approached there was no appearance of any cloud or demon,the kirk lay clear in the moonlight, sad and desolate; but as shecame to the door there were voices. They might have been in theair, or within her own brain, she could not tell, for fear had nowgiven place to a heavy depression. 'Go back,' they seemed to say.'All is delusion. You have only dreamed. Your lover is merely anunscrupulous man pretending to great powers. Go back to thematerial life. It is the only real thing. Forget all thisdream.'
She recalled the desolation of her material life.
'Heaven forfend!' she exclaimed, and rallied all her forces.'Begone!' she cried. 'Let everything be a lie if it will. Come whatmay, I will go on.'
Above the kirk door was a small rose window; in this a littleglass still remained unbroken, and looking up to this she saw thereflection of the moon. The well-known lines upon it combined withthe lines and colours of the fragment of glass seemed to form theimage of a beautiful woman's face. She held up the ewer.
'O Hecate! if indeed it be thou, if indeed thou wilt come downfrom heaven tomorrow night in answer to my call, throw thineinfluence now into this water, and into the other waters that Ishall collect, so that the paste wherein is thine own spell may bemade, and this deadly cloud of depression may pass.'
Moved by some impulse, she knew not what, she so held the ewerthat she saw therein the reflection of the little window, and ofthe moon, and dipping her hand therein, she bathed her feveredaching forehead.
Instantly she felt renewed strength, she braced herself andturned westwards again, taking the road that led towards the kirkof Dyke.
Close to the edge of the kirkyard there were at this time threesprings bubbling up through the moss in the form of a triangle.From each of these a tiny rivulet meandered through fern and mosstill they joined in a little stream that flowed into theFionnmoniadh Burn, now known as the Muckle Burn, or at thatparticular place as the Brodie Burn. Water from these three shemust get. She seemed to have got new energy from the vision ofHecate. Physically she had the tireless strength of her time andclass, but the intense depression, and the fear through which shehad passed had sapped it, and produced the feeling of terribleweariness. Over Dyke kirk a phosphorescent light seemed to play,and she fancied she could see into the grim vault where on shelvesand on tressels lie the coffins of the dead Brodies. The kirkyarditself seemed to be transparent to her eyes, and the moulderingdead, half escaping from their rotting coffins in all stages ofghastly corruption, were gruesomely visible. The smell of a charnelassailed her senses, and the memory of that horrid dream in whichshe had watched the fearsome hags raise the body of the childrecurred to her.
The voices came again: 'This is only witchcraft. It is to thisyou have sold yourself. Go back while there is yet time.'
Almost the horror came over her again, almost but not quite. Oneof the springs lay at her feet, she stood ankle deep in the soakedmoss. Looking down, she saw the image of the moon in the water.
'Hecate, aid me!' she cried again, and immediately the voiceswere silent, the kirk looked spectral in the moonlight, but theuncanny appearances of the dead were gone, and the evil influencesseemed to have passed. She drew water from all three springs andagain held the ewer up to the moon before the door of the kirk,repeating the formula of bathing her forehead with the mingledwaters.
There now remained only to visit the spring of the holly treeand the Wishing Well at Inshoch, and to make her final invocationat the kirk of Aulderne.
As she walked along the long road from Dyke to Aulderne itseemed as though a tall silvery form that might have been fashionedof ice mists glided before her. Cold and passionless it was, but itseemed protective, and the numbness and depression vanished. Sheseemed to herself to be moving and acting mechanically without theleast personal desire to do or not to do, simply impelled by somesuperior force; she moved because she must. Hecate had obsessedher, taken possession of her, and was now leading her to the lasttwo springs, and thence to the kirk of Aulderne.
The blended water of the seven springs was now completed, andshe held up arms of invocation to the moon that seemed to float socalmly in the clear dark of the sky. Instantly the silvery figureappeared to come close to her, to enfold her in its cold strongarms, and clasp her to the icy breast. It was a chill as of death,and she lost all sense, all consciousness, till she opened her eyesto find herself in her own room in the farmhouse, half thinking shewas only just about to start on her long journey in search of thewater of seven springs, till she saw the ewer standing beside theplaid that covered the new kneading trough.
The brown twigs of the besom lay on the pillow, and she laughedas John Gilbert looked cautiously in, seeing the besom but notseeing her.
'Lazy limmer!' he muttered, 'fast, asleep still; but I daren'twake her. I'd have the minister oil my back. Nay, plague her! shemust e'en gang her ain gait, and I must do all the work, and takeall the blame too.
Still growling, he betook himself to the work of the farm, whileshe crept into bed and was sound asleep in a few minutes.
ON the night of the full moon the sun had gone down through asky of brilliant orange, crossed by a few bars of grey cloud, whichas he sank towards the horizon turned to crimson on their undersides and then all over, like fiery islands floating in a sea ofgold. The red flush that lay over the Inverness hills deepened andspread. The sea lay so still it looked strangely metallic, and thewarm glow caught the tufts of white bog-cotton on the shores of theloch, turning them to faintly coloured flame-flowers.
It was intensely still with a brooding heavy calm, that mighthave betokened a coming storm if the sky had not been so clear. Thetouch of frost had passed away, and the air had grown almostsultry, as sometimes happens in St Luke's little summer. Isabel hadslept very late that morning--heavy dreamless sleep. When she wokeat last all the folk had gone from the farm. Doggedly she had goneon with the work she had set herself to do, and now all was done.She had gathered all the herbs prescribed, and had pounded themtogether; she had taken the clay from the special place, andkneaded a lump of it and placed it over the kitchen fire to drytill it was like a brick, then she had broken it small with ahammer, and pounded and turned and sifted it, and pounded it againtill it was fine like meal; then she mixed it with the herbs andpounded it again. Now it lay all ready in an iron pot, and the ewerwith the blended water of the seven springs which she had collectedthe previous night stood beside the dark green plaid that coveredthe new kneading trough.
She sat on the edge of the bed thinking. What foolery was thisthat she was going to play at? The whole thing was quite plain toher now. A dissolute man with a strong imagination, probably someHighland bard, or some kind of a poet, had beguiled her with afantastic story that no sane woman ought to have believed. It wasall very well to play at 'make-believe' with him. He wasfascinating certainly. She liked being with him, she enjoyed hiswild stories, and his love-making. He was an agreeable relief fromJohn Gilbert, the dour and dirty. His romances, however wild, werein welcome contrast to the utter inexpressible dullness of her lifeat the farm. One or two things were queer certainly, such as thedestruction of the farm of Culben, just as and when he said itwould happen. But, after all, this might be just a coincidence, orhe might be peculiarly weatherwise and had foreseen the storm andits effects, and traded on his knowledge.
She refused to think of other things that might have carriedconviction.
For a moment she thought she would put it all to the test now,and try one of the spells she had learned. But then she said toherself that she would have none of such utter foolishness. She hadembarked on an intrigue with a strange man, she had only to go on alittle and his deception would be clear, then he would be in herpower. He could deceive all these silly women, like Margaret Brodieand Janet Broadhead, but not her. She would be queen of the crew,for she would rule him absolutely; she had only to threaten toexpose him. So she would have a tame poet, and if things got toodull she would make him take her away. But as for trying any of hisspells--it was too silly, Away in the back of her mind andunacknowledged was the fear that perhaps after all the spell wouldfail. She did not want to think what she said to herself that shedid think.
This moon-paste, then! She said to herself she did not want towork this stupid ceremony. She wanted to give it up, and just tellthe man that she had found out all about him. But then she hadbegun it, and she must go through with it; but it was the lasttime. Never again! Of course the moon would not come down fromheaven. Who ever heard of such nonsense. Just this once, becauseshe had begun, because she had promised herself that she would doit.
John Gilbert was away that night; he had journeyed to the townof Inverness to bring home some cows he had bought. It seemed likean opportunity specially made for the adventure.
Supposing she should be seen? The thought made her shiver. Theman, her lover, had told her this was impossible; but then he wasmerely a romancer, a fantastic dreamer. Still, the risk! Her wildblood stirred, there was fascination in the risk. Of course therewas nothing in the spell and the ceremony, but the hairbreadthchance of discovery was exciting. What a thing to have done!
By this time the sun had set--the amber and rose were fading outof the western sky, and to the east the first faint stars began totwinkle through the soft obscure.
Then she set about her preparations. Having first washed herfair white body all over with scrupulous care, she poured a littleof the blended water into the hollow of her hand, and rubbed itover herself, then cast a few drops on her head, calling on Hecate.Next she put on a new smock of finest Paisley linen, and sostanding, a tall white slim figure by the window, just as the moonshowed her first light over the eastern horizon, she recited thetriple invocation to the lunar forces--Lucina, who presides oversex-magic and birth, and the forces of life coming intomanifestation; Diana, the chaste and cold, ruler of all forms ofasceticism, self-sacrifice, and denial; and Hecate, mistress ofenchantments, and queen of the dead, merging again into Lucina, asdeath is the gate of life.
As the moon rose above the trees of Brodie woods and shone fullon her forehead and on her wealth of hair shed like a veil over hersnowy smock, it seemed as if a strange new understanding came toher, and in a sudden gleam of light she saw the eternalwheel--birth, and life, and death, and rebirth issuing from death,and the meaning and power of enchantments. There was no need now toask what was real, as she had questioned of Sir Robert Gordon; sheknew with a certainty that was beyond question. The great realitiesthat lay beyond this temporary material existence, and thedelusions that were around us here because we only saw it partiallyand incorrectly.
It was a momentary glimpse of eternal verities, and faded as shemoved away and turned from the window, yet leaving the memory thatshe had once known, and the conviction that that knowledge and thatcertainty might be recovered.
She looked round to see what gown she should wear, and as sheopened the kist, at the very top there lay a robe she had noremembrance of whatsoever. Yet it seemed to be associated with herlover. Had he given it to her and she entirely forgotten it? Therewere confused memories haunting her consciousness. She knew he hadgiven her some things, but what she could not recall. Perhaps hehad given her this, perhaps it had been specially intended for thisnight. She began to think that this must be the case. In any case,it seemed singularly appropriate to what she was about to do. Itwas a deep soft purple, and in shape a long robe hung from theshoulder and confined by a silver girdle, whose clasp was acrescent moon; a few stray lines of silver meandered through it,but hardly to be called definite embroidery. It was lined with somewhite fur, which, though she did not recognise it, was in fact theskin of the white fox.
Beside the robe there lay a pair of sandals, with fox-skinthongs. These must doubtless have been part of the same gift, buther memory was wholly vague concerning it; indeed trying to thinkback, she could not recall any of his gifts clearly, though she wasconscious there had been many. This robe, however, was clearly theappropriate dress for the night's adventure, so she slipped it overher shoulders, noticing as she did so the mark below the shoulderthat she had received on the night of her initiation in the kirk ofAulderne. The girdle was clasped round her waist, and the brillianthair bound with a silver snood; finally she slipped her bare feetinto the sandals, and looked forth again.
By this time the moon had climbed half through the arc ofheaven, and floated like a silver globe over the sleeping woods. Itwas time to set forth, and all the farm lay fast asleep.
It would be necessary to make two journeys to the kirk ofAulderne, for the new kneading trough must be taken there, also theclay in the iron pot and the blended water of the seven springs.She wrapped the trough in the dark green plaid, and threw it overher shoulder. The night was alive with strange beings gliding andflitting round, but whenever she paused and looked steadily at anyof them there was nothing there, only the filmy silvery figureswere to the right and left. The tombstones gleamed white andghastly in the moonlight, and seemed like weird spectral beingsmoving in a quaint dance, as though they were trying to come infront of her and intercept her passage.
The strange feeling of unreality was over her. It was thewell-known road from Lochloy to Aulderne that she had traversed,the kirkyard that was as familiar as the farm-steading itself thatshe was entering, yet almost it seemed as though it were just apicture forming in her own room in the farmhouse. The little windowthrough which the moon shone seemed at the back of all theappearance of the gaunt bare kirk and the spectral tombstones.
Nevertheless she walked resolutely forward, caring not whetherit were a dream or no, she was obsessed and quivering with thespirit of adventure. In the middle of the kirkyard she depositedthe kneading trough, and set her face backward to the farm. Therustlings of the leaves became whispers sounding behind her andsometimes close at her side. Not a breath was stirring, yet a coolair through the sultriness seemed to move her hair, unseen fingersseemed to pluck at her dress from behind She turned roundindignant, but there was nothing there. At last she gained thefarm, walking so quickly that it was almost a run. The door was onthe latch as she had left it. She lifted the ewer and the iron pot;as she turned the moonlight on the uneven glass of the littlewindow looked like a crowd of evil faces grinning and mowing ather. A chill apprehension seized her. All these beings filled witha vile curiosity would watch her while she performed the ceremony.No! She could not face it. She set down the ewer and the pot andturned back, then she remembered the new kneading trough left inthe kirkyard. Come what might, she must get that back again. Itwould be found and identified for hers in the morning. How couldshe possibly account for it. She must go back, and if she wentback, she certainly might as well take the water and the clay, eventhough she brought them all home again.
So she set forth again with a consciousness of pushing her waythrough a crowd that dared not really interfere with her, but wereinfinitely annoying. Hideous faces grinned at her and vanished,white forms scarcely more than moonlit mist, yet with a humansemblance, darted in front of her, like mischievous boys before ahorse, but were gone before she could see them properly, and thenwere whispering behind. Yet all the time they did not seem to bereal. As she neared the kirkyard they became more definite,gleaming eyes glared out of white fleshless skulls, and the bodiesbelow were faintly blue, and faded away to nothing as they nearedthe ground, so that they glided without touching solid earth. Whenshe stood still and fronted them they all vanished, to reappeardirectly she moved forward again.
At last she reached the kirkyard gate, and full in the moonlightbefore her she saw her kneading trough reposing in the midst of thekirkyard, half swathed in the dark plaid. The instant she passedthe gate all the throng vanished with a mocking laugh, she wasalone, but still uncomfortably conscious of being watched, However,she was determined now to persevere, or rather perhaps she lackedthe volition not to go on.
She remembered every detail that she had to do. She wentstraight to the trough and emptied into it the powdered clay shehad brought, with the herbs and other concomitants so carefullycollected. Then she looked up. On this night the moon at her fullwould rise exactly in mid-heaven at midnight, and now she hungclear and dazzling brilliant, almost in the centre of her arc.Isabel cast the iron pot from her, there was nothing to identify inthis, a common iron pot, many such were cast away. It rolled into abed of nettles and was lost to sight. She lifted the ewer andpoured its contents into the trough, then stooping over it shekneaded the clay with her hands into a thin paste. A little of thewater was left in the ewer, with this she washed off the clay thatstuck to them, and flung the ewer against a tombstone, shivering itinto a hundred fragments. The moon now rested on her midmostpoint.
Isabel retired to the north-east corner of the kirkyard--thesupreme moment had come--could she, dared she, go on? Halftimorously she looked all round to the right and left, before andbehind. The stillness was intense. Even the usual night sounds werehushed, all nature seemed pausing, as she thought with a frightenedcatch at her heart, to observe her. The very stars seemed to be athousand eyes, watching with shameless curiosity. Then thefascination of the daring took her. She drew a long breath, stooderect for a moment, and then loosening the clasp of her robe at theneck she dropped her arms and let the dark robe and the white smocktogether slip rustling to her knees. One second she held her armsaloft, then she loosed the silver snood and shook out the mass ofher tresses, stepped from the confining entanglement of the clothesabout her feet, and stood forth a beautiful white naked figure inthe strong moonlight.
She raised white arms of supplication, and fixing her eyes onthe moon, she moved forward mechanically, as if in a dream, towardsthe trough, chanting as she moved almost under her breath:
'Hail, Lucina! Goddess, hail!
Love hath left thee passion-pale,
Giver of the fierce desire,
Lips of love that never tire,
Kisses hot as wine or fire,
Salt with foam as in the sea,
What bright babes are born of thee?
Teach me all the lust of love,
All thy secret ways to prove,
Quit thy throne in heaven above,
Come, O come!'
Reaching the trough as she chanted, she saw how the clay hadsomewhat settled, leaving the surface clear in which she saw themoon's image. Round the trough she went widdershins and continuedher walk, finishing the invocation as she came to the wall, thenturned and walked to the south-east. Here as she faced the troughthe moon was behind her. Yet she dared not entirely lose sight ofher. Standing erect and pressing the backs of her hands against hershoulders to balance herself, she threw her head back as far as shecould, turning her eyes upward until the moon came into the rangeof her vision, and strained to the extreme in eye and in muscle shetottered forward. There was no obstruction in the path, but longgrasses and ferns brushed her legs, sharp stones hurt her feet, thestrain of the position made her giddy, but she held on till herfoot struck against the trough. Once more round widdershins, and asin turning she faced again to the south and saw the moon reflectedin the trough, as she stood in a natural posture, the relief wasextreme. She crooned this part of the triple invocation, almostunconsciously:
'Hail, Diana! Huntress pale!
Ruler of the night, all hail!
Mistress of the ebb and flow,
Goddess of the silver bow,
Let me all thy secrets know,
Cold as ice, and chaste as snow,
Let me with thee hunt and kill,
Now obedient to my will,
From thy Temple on the hill,
Come, O come!'
A little farther, leaning back, and looking at the moon over thetop of her head, with her hair falling straight back, and clear ofher white body. Then she turned, but she tottered and couldscarcely stand, for she was sick and giddy, and aching all overfrom the stress; the trees and the roofs of Aulderne waveredunsteadily before her eyes. But feeling her way from one tombstoneto another, she came immediately to the north of the trough, wherethe moon shone directly behind it. Here, as at first, she raisedher arms to the moon, and looking at it between her two forefingerspointed. She was hardly conscious, her brain felt numb as thoughshe would never think clearly again, she longed for sleep, even thesleep of death, if sleep might come in no other way, and the wholeof her spine was one continous ache. But she would finish this taskshe had begun, though she lay down on the turf to die when it wasdone. The final chant was only whispered, so weak and weary wasshe:
'Hecate! Hecate! Hecate!
Queen of the dead. The hour is sped.
Come down! Come down! Come down!
From 'thy throne on high. In the midnight sky,
With the Northern Lights thy crown--
Hecate! Hecate! Hecate!
Come down! Come down! Come down!'
So going directly towards the moon she stumbled across theintervening space to the trough, and standing a short distance fromit, so that she could see the moon reflected, she raised her eyesto the moon in the sky. But still the aching eyeballs refused tosteady themselves. She was certain the moon itself waswavering--then a brilliant meteor shot across the sky, and when shelooked again there was actually a simulacrum as it were of the moondetaching itself from the luminary and floating downwards, pale andghostlike, as though to join the image of itself in the trough.This grew brighter as she forced her eyes to follow it, and themoon itself in the heaven seemed to grow very dim as though onlythe spectre of itself remained in the heaven. Down and down tillthe reflection in the trough seemed rising to meet its image. Onlywith great difficulty could she hold her eyes open and watch thetwo images. Men under the influence of fiery Spanish wines haveseen the like. At length the two coalesced, and a mist arose fromthe trough around the brilliant orb, that was not a reflection. Itseemed as if the water was boiling, and a white foam like churningsnow was formed over the surface. It rose and spread like sea-foamdashed on a rock in a storm.
Now she remembered what she had to do--she went forward,controlling herself with strong effort, took up the dark greenplaid and with her hands gathered the foam as it boiled over. Itfelt cold as ice, and half solid like whipped cream. Handful afterhandful she threw into the plaid till all was gone. Then behind thetrough and looking at her stood a wondrous beautiful female form,pale and silvery with eyes of love and kindness, strong and sweetand vast--she was fully twice the height and size of commonhumanity. She laid cool hands on Isabel's burning brow and achingeyes, then opening wide her strong arms she folded her therein,soothing her like a tired child. The turmoil of the brain ceased,the weariness vanished. It was as though a new vigorous life werepoured into her, and all the old vitality and joy of life came backin a strong flood. She closed her eyes and let herself sink back inrapturous peace and enjoyment. The castle of Inshoch rose beforeher mental vision, and all the romance and glory of the times shehad known. There was now no doubt, all was real, all was splendid,and life, real life, was coming again.
Thrills shot through her limbs and a warm glow rushed over her.She opened her eyes again, knowing well that she would see the DarkMaster, for she felt his presence before she saw him, and thereverily he stood smiling before her.
'Well done, sweetheart!' he said. Well done! I knew ye wereworthy to be my bride and the queen of the coven. Others have wonthe moon-paste with help and with diffculty. None have ever got itthrough such difficulties as ye have faced. None have ever workedspells so potent.'
He spread his arms, opening wide the long cloak he wore, andenfolded her within and bore her to the corner of the kirkyard, orwas it a sumptuous coach of Oriental magnificence?
'Rest here awhile, sweet love--then hey for home. I will myselfbear ye there, well have ye earned all the homage that I or any ofmine can pay ye.'
Awhile they rested there, and he praised her courage anddetermination in winning the moon-paste against such heavy odds,and praised her beauty, which, as he said, now glowed fairer thanever, bright as the lily flower. It seemed he could never tire ofhis wild adulation, nor she of listening. But at last he said:
'Now, dear love! the hour has struck, we must away. Come, I willfor once be your tiring woman.'
The discarded robe lay on the grass of the kirkyard, and hehelped her put it on again, and to fasten the girdle around herwaist.
'For this very occasion did I give it thee, love. It wasconsecrated to Hecate for this service. No then, with thiswindlestraw we will away; but first gather up the moon-paste thouhast won in the neuk of the plaid; gird it round thy shoulders. So!Now then "Horse and hattock, mount and go!" And hey forLochloy!'
The great black steed stood there before them, and instantly shewas, as of old, nestling in her lover's arms, and holding the plaidin the neuk of which was carried the precious moon-paste. Thekneading trough he had but kicked with his foot and it. Itsfunction was done.
Over Brodie woods they circled, and over the town of Forres,where some who were early afoot saw a strange meteor flash throughthe sky, and told their comrades they had heard wild cries, and thetramp of a horse, whereat they were very nearly haled before themagistrates on the charge of drunkenness, but were excused on theplea that it was just a stark lie, so censorious is the worldtowards those who simply narrate what they see and hear. Then backthey wheeled towards Lochloy.
All the old ideas and desires surged over her in redoubled forcefrom their temporary suppression.
'Lord,' she whispered, 'ye will take me for a man-hunt, as yepromised?'
'Ay, love! that will I; 'tis the noblest sport. But mark yethis. We hunt on Brodie, and on Grangehill and Culben for these areof the Covenant and belong to us of nature; and we hunt onGordonstown, for Sir Robert hath given his sanction. But we huntnot on the Morays' lands nor on Tannachy. For in Darnaway we feast,and Tulloch is a good friend of the Morays. Over the Cummings'lands of Altyre at present we hunt not, for the wild Cummings havebeen good friends of mine for many a year. So our next hunt shallbe along the sea-coast.'
'Where ye will, my lord, but take me with ye.'
'So shall it be, love; and here we are at Lochloy, and the dawnis breaking. So fare ye well!'
Without knowing how it chanced, she found herself in her ownroom, and all that had passed might well have been a dream, savethat her weariness and depression had vanished as by magic, and inthe neuk of her plaid there was a curious plastic substance likevery white clay.
FROM the north side of Gordonstown house a straight track ledthrough the trees and over some fields to the links, and thencecontinuing through half a mile or so of rough heather and whins tothe edge of the great red sandstone cliffs, honeycombed with caves.The moon, now decreased to half her round, shone in mid-heaven, andthe shadow of the cliffs lay on the water, where the waves lashedwhite over the dangerous skerries, the low rocks that were almostor quite submerged at high tide, and through which ran bewilderingcross currents, and at certain times a strong undertow, making anavigation such as only a very skilful sailor, and one absolutelyfamiliar with the coast, could attempt.
Sir Robert stood on the cliff's edge talking to a man dressed inhodden grey, with a blue Scots bonnet, who was often seen in hiscompany.
'To-morrow night, then,' said the baronet.
'Nay! not night, we must have light enough. An hour beforesunset we pass over here. Watch from the roof ofGordonstown--'twill be worth seeing.'
'So it is well. Look down there. Not one thing can ye see in theshadow, yet there lies the little Mermaid, she is the smallest ofmy craft, but one of the best on the seas, and there's not a man inMorayland who could take her out from there except old Danny. Tendays ago she brought over certain hogsheads of good French aquavitae. Since then she has lain at Buckie in the guise of a fishingboat. Old Danny knoweth how to disguise her till her own builderwould not recognise her. Now she comes back for the return voyage,taking advantage of the shadow of the moon for her landing here,and I warrant me old Danny will have her out and away ere yon moonshall set.'
'A clever loon, I ken that full well,' said the other; 'yet ansome of my covens were to set a spell on him and raise the wind, Itrow even he would not win out in safety, nor would the Mermaidever sail the salt seas again. Even Mistress Isabel, who hath justlearned the spells; is more than a match for your Danny.'
'Well I wot,' said Sir Robert, 'but therefore do send him forthin all confidence though the moon be ringed, and all the signs of astorm. This keeps the Lords Commissioners' sleuth-hounds at bay.They dare not venture forth with such tokens of tempests in theair. But thou and I, good gossip, know whence the tempests come,and I know they will not be loosened this night.'
'That ye may trust to. Ye have my promise. Yet the time may wellcome when ye may be glad to have a tempest raised, and MistressIsabel's help may not come amiss.'
'I like her,' said Sir Robert. 'She hath wit and culture andbeauty. And in sooth ye ken full well I like not that tear-sheetcrew of thine. Hags indeed, the most of them.'
'They serve me well,' said the other curtly. 'I like her too,'he continued, with a certain change of tone which Sir Robertnoted.
'Ay! Black Jock. Ye were ever a lover. Was it not ye thatdeceived old Adam's wife in Eden? Well; such play is not for me.Women attract me not in that manner; it is knowledge I need, andthat ye give me. I ask but leave to watch how things move, and toexplore the forces that move them. Isabel, the dear creature, isyoung. She wants to alter them.'
'So much the better for you, Robert! Ye will need her help toalter some things yet. Ye might watch them till they destroyed yebefore your time.'
Sir Robert turned round with a reply on his tongue, but theother was no longer there.
Meditatively Sir Robert walked to the edge of the cliff, andstruck a path downward that was indeed little more than a ledge andhardly to be seen.
'Before my time,' he muttered. 'Ay, Black Jock, perhaps ye haveme there; yet men have cheated the Devil before now, and there'sBirnie kirkyard. Well, well! time enough yet, I trow.'
At the foot of the path a sailor met him; one of the dark,foreign-looking men of the Broch, with ringlet curls and earringsin his ears, heavy sea-boots to his thighs, and a knitted woollenjersey of dark blue, and a stocking-shaped cap of the same.
'Good e'en to ye, Danny,' said Sir Robert. 'Ye will sailto-night. What carry ye back?'
'Saut fish and other merchandise from Findhorn, your honour. Iwent thither from Buckie two days ago. Ye ken I'm just a wee bittrading boatie, ower slow it may be for the trade. But I carry themcheap, so they will not be minding greatly. Oh, they ken me well inFindhorn. But yon's safe enough in the cave there, twenty goodbarrels, and there'll be twenty more on the next voyage.'
'And what news from the French port, Danny? Heard ye aughtconcerning young Master Hamilton?'
'Ay, did I. But none that was good. The sailors there gossipamong themselves; and the English lords are just mad to catch theyoung gentleman, and the French rebels will help them. I wot theyhave good English gold in their pouches, and more promised if theysucceed. And they are mad against your honour too. Ye ken I warnedye of that before.'
'Ay! that ye did; and ye told me of some of my own people thatwere plotting with the English to take me prisoner. Marry! I thinkthe man who puts his hand in an earth to pull out a fox has achance to get bitten. But who are they? Ye promised me theirnames.'
'I did so, your honour, and here they are.'
He pulled a dirty screw of paper from his pouch and read.
'There's John Rhind and William Rhind, James Anderson, and PeterAdam. These four and a woman with them, that's Kirsty Johnston. Shebides with Peter Adam, but I trow it's no by the leave o' thekirk.'
'Well, well! Lowlanders and Covenanters the whole lot of them.Are ye sure that these are all, and no one else knows of thisscheme?'
'Those are all, your honour, with the exception of course ofmyself. I arranged the whole plan for catching your honourunawares, and I am to lend my boat to convey your honour bound toFrance, and for this I am to have a double share of the Englishgold. Of course, ye ken my boat's but a slow one, and heavy and illto manage--oh, it's fine she can disguise herself, thetawpie!--they know that, but it does not much matter, for once wehave your honour safe on board, there will be no one of theinterfere with us, and the English frigate will watch. But ye mayrely on it, these men will tell no one; they want none to share theEnglish gold with them.'
'Well, Danny! There are many chances in life, and if these fivepersons should chance to die, take it their secret will die withthem.'
'Under favour, I wish not to die yet, your honour.'
'I said five, Danny, not six. Ye are a strong man, and used tothe sea; I think ye are likely to survive the others.'
Danny chuckled grimly.
'As your honour pleases,' he said. 'I think I may be of somesmall service yet. Well, the tide is on the turn, and the wind isright. I will e'en get me on board, and set forth while the moonserves. 'Twere ill to try crossing the skerries in the dark.'
He saluted, and the shadow of the cliff swallowed him.
Sir Robert turned and climbed the steep path up the cliff, andwalked rapidly over the links and fields to Gordonstown. Sittingdown beside his business table, he drew out a small black bookheaded 'Daily Accompt of Labour on the Lands of Gordonstown.' Thishe studied with minute care, making sundry marginal notes. 'Thatwill do well,' he said to himself. Then he wrote a memorandum,which he placed on the table for the steward's instruction in themorning--'The two Rhinds. Anderson and Adam, and the woman Johnstonto work in the fields of the Pleughlands of Drainie until the hourof sunset. These fields must all be cleansed and ploughed; all theother men to work upon my new stables. The women when the cows aretended, to busy themselves within doors, where there is much thatneeds to do.'
'Were it safe for me, I wonder, to bide at home and go on theroof, or to go abroad toamorrow?' he mused. 'I will e'en seekcounsel of Arel.'
He took his way to the western wing of the house to a vaultedstone room, where a hooded furnace was burning with a clear redglow. On to the heart of the fire he cast a powder that immediatelyflamed up with weird blue light, in which his face looked like theface of a dead man. As this died down, the glowing mass became anemerald green, with a lurid heart of red, and strange curls of bluesmoke writhed upward like serpents. Sir Robert sat on the settlegazing intently into the midst of the fire, till all else seemed tovanish, and the embers and the curls of smoke began to take onfantastic shapes, and a yellow flame that flickered and danced overthe fiery mass seemed to become a dancing figure that answered thesigns he made with his hand towards it. He looked yet moreintently, and something within his head seemed to reply to hisunspoken thoughts.
'Ha! On the roof, sayest thou. Well, I believe thou art right.Tell me now, what of Cosmo? In danger, is he? So much I deemed. Buthe will escape this time, sayest thou. But what of the future? Thoucanst not tell. The Lords of Fate! Ha! Ever they cross me. There isa power there that is mightier than any that I can yet control.Even Black Jock must bow to them. Tell me, then, can I resist theirdecree? Shall I ever be able to resist it? What is it that thousayest? Once only. And then-- Ha! Art thou gone?'
The leaping, yellow flame flickered and vanished, the vaultedroom grew dim. Sir Robert took a small hand cruisie which helighted from the furnace, and betook himself to his sleepingapartment.
The date of the sailing of Danny's boat from the port ofFindhorn is duly recorded in the ledgers of the Calders, the worthymerchants of that town, and at the same time we find that MasterHarry Forbes records that there arose a recrudescence of thegrievous sickness that had before vexed the land. For on the veryday following the departure of the slow but safe fishing boat boundfor France, wherein, by reason of the cheapness, the Calders hadplaced a cargo of unimportant matter, such as cured fish and thelike, the minister of Aulderne says it was reported to him thatfive persons, to wit, four men and a woman labouring in the fieldsof Pleughlands of Gordonstown, did on a sudden and for no visiblecause fall dead. 'I hear,' he continues, 'that the worthy laird ofGordonstown hath been most kind and considerate, and hathgenerously provided from his own purse for the families of theseunfortunate persons, and they that be dead he hath caused bury athis own charges. It is said also that there is a new outbreak ofthe wasting sickness, but of this I know not at present. And I fearmuch that a judgment of God hath fallen on this unhappy land.'
But it seems that his friend the leech was very scornfulconcerning this judgment. Though indeed his own explanation of thedeaths of these unfortunate persons, albeit couched in very learnedlanguage, and garnished with sundry Latin tags and quotations, wasby no means so clear as he would have it thought. The sum andsubstance of his opinion appeared to be that whereas certain marshylands on the margin of Loch Spynie had been left dry all the summerand were now soaked with stagnant water, there arose therefrom acertain poisonous miasma, which by reason of an electricaldisturbance, due to a peculiar configuration of the planets, wascarried over the said Pleughlands, or indeed might perchance arisefrom the very soil thereof, the same being now ploughed for thefirst time, and the ancient vapours set free, would instantly befatal to those who breathed them. Which indeed was laid down by thelearned Magister Averroes, as also by Harpocrates and Aesculapiusa.And it was specially to be noted, in confirmation thereof, that oneof the five had been a considerable distance towards Roseisle.
Be that as it may. It is certain that these persons died as wassaid, and the labourers working on Sir Robert's new stablesreported to their fellows that an hour before sunset they heard asound as of wild trampling and rushing of horses in the air, andcries and shoutings, but they could not distinguish any words. Butothers again said there had been a thunderstorm about that time,and a very fierce fall of hail lasting for some half an hour or so,and that they fancied there had been a sound of horses' hoofs, asindeed anyone might whose imagination was vivid enough. Some,however, in timorous whispers, and careful that they were notoverheard, queried of these and of the house servants whether theydeemed the wizard laird had aught to do with the matter. But thisunworthy suggestion was promptly negatived by his generous kindnessto the families of those who had thus died. Moreover, they were hisown people, and no man will thus causelessly and from wantonnessdestroy his own.
Major Whitehead, who at the time commanded the EnglishCovenanting soldiers in Elgin, wrote concerning this event to hissuperior in London. 'I beg to report, having good cause, as you areaware, to suspect Sir Robert Gordon of disaffection to theParliamentary cause, and to the well-being of the Commonwealth; yetby reason of his great influence and powerful friends, and forother good and sufficient reasons, being unable to take any activeor overt measures against him I did, as you commanded, arrange withcertain good and true men employed in his service to take himprivily and place him on board a small ship commanded by a man onwhom I could implicitly rely, who plies with honourable merchandisebetwixt here and France; to the end that, being separated from hisfriends, and none knowing his situation or destination, he might bedealt with as seemed good to the Lords Commissioners. Yet it seemedthat the Devil takes good care of his own. For the five persons towhom this charge was given did all die suddenly while at theiravocations. For which, save by the malice of the Devil and hishatred of the true principles of the Covenant, and of theProtestant faith, and the Commonwealth, I am unable to account; forI am very certain that no news of this plan of ours could by anymeans have come to the ears of the said Sir Robert. Nor can I traceany connivance of his in this sad catastrophe, and I fear it willbe hard to procure any others who will take any part againsthim.'
So many various opinions were there of this catastrophe whichcaused no small terror in the land. For though there had beensudden and unexplained deaths before, there had never been such awholesale mortality, so many at one time and place so suddenlystruck down. There was report also of a man in Kinloss who had diedsimilarly the same day while taking some stones from the old Abbeyruins.
There were two persons who could have given a true account ofthese happenings, and they were Isabel Goudie and Sir Robert Gordonof Gordonstown, but neither of these for very good reasons of theirown said anything about the matter.
It was in fact the day of the great hunt which the Dark Masterhad promised to Isabel, and to which she had keenly lookedforward.
Questioned long afterwards whether she felt no compunction orhesitation in thus going forth to take lives that had done her noill, she replied frankly that the idea had never at that timeoccurred to her. It was the sport she loved. The deer was a noblerquarry than the hare, so the man was noblest and most desirable ofall. She might kill for hatred, that was another matter. She hatedthe wolf for the ill he did, and would kill him in hatred; but shedid not hate the deer, nor did she kill for use. One might fly ahawk at a partridge and eat it afterwards, yet it was nobler sportto fly at a heron. In this way she tried to explain, but we gatherthe questioner failed to understand.
All the morning of this day she had been in a tremor ofexcitement. The whole coven were to turn out. The night before theDark Master had visited her. She had now got to know and to lovethe solemn black crow that fluttered in through the unfastenedlattice. She always left it unfastened now. John Gilbert hardlyever now came to her room, and when he did, it was with manyapologies and shamefacedly, and when the black crow hopped gravelythrough the window, his snores from the kitchen proved how deep washis slumber, nor did he ever waken, however much they might laughtogether.
This night he told her of the programme. They were not to ridetogether, for both must have their hands free to shoot whenever thequarry was sighted, but they would ride side by side, and the restof the coven should follow. Over Brodie, and Culben, Muirtown,Windyhills, and Roseisle would be their route to Gordonstown. Therethey would turn. Passing the fairy Hill of Alves about sunset, andso home. Then, as she nestled in his arms, he said:
'When I am gone, sweetheart, look in your old kist, there yewill find your hunting dress. Take it as a gift from me. One hourafter the sun touches the hour of noon, put it on. Take awindlestraw and cry "Horse and hattock," and ride eastward; on theedge of Brodie woods is our gathering place. There I will meet ye.Mind ye fill your pouch with the arrows I gave ye. I think we shallmeet with rare sport. Now to sleep, and rest ye well to gatherstrength for the morrow.'
He laid his hand on her head, and with a contented little sigh,like a tired child, she nestled down into the bed, and knew nomore.
She was fast asleep when John Gilbert left. He was well contentnow, for his farm was thriving as never before. Why, he neverinquired too closely. Harry Forbes told him it was because his wifewas now a godly follower of the Reformed Kirk, and, havingabandoned the papistical errors that she formerly had a leaning to,had become a shining light and ensample unto the district, thewhich he much desired that all good wives in Aulderne would followmore closely; and John himself had become in a certain measure morekempt and presentable.
It was a glorious day of early winter, the air keen andsparkling and full of life. The sun shone brightly over the bareboughs of the hardwood trees, and gilded the tall funereal pines.Isabel rose thoroughly rested and exhilarated and full of life andjoy of living. She eagerly opened the kist, and there lay a huntingdress such as she had hardly dared to imagine. It was a dark green,nearly the colour of the spruce fir, and laced with silver; adainty little hunting cap lay beside it, and a pouch which promptlyshe filled with the arrows she had treasured for an occasion suchas this. There also a baldrick to which was attached asilver-mounted hunting horn. She unfolded it and laid it out, butshe would not put it on till the time her lover had specified, whenthe noon had passed by one hour, but she stroked and smoothed andfondled it. Besides being his gift, it was a thing of beauty initself.
She went to the door and looked out into the sunshine.
A stoat ran across the road in front of the farmhouse, carryinga sparrow in its mouth.
'Brave little hunter!' she said. 'Ye have taken your game earlythis fine morning. Dost know that I go a-hunting too to-day. It isa glad day for us both. Methinks we are akin, thou and I. Hey! butwhat sport we will have.'
In the course of the morning Margaret Brodie came over from hercottage.
'Wot ye, my dearie, that we hunt to-day? Och hey! but 'twill befine! Ye have never hunted with us yet. I count not the rides wehave had after the deer in Darnaway. Ho! Is that your huntingdress? My word, but 'tis grand. Ye will look like the queen of thecoven indeed. Nay, fear not, I'll never touch it. And the horn too.Eh, lassie! but I'm glad. And it's proud that I am that it was Iwho held ye to be baptized. Indeed, there's not one of us can comenear ye. And now I'll tell ye news. That ill besom Toad i' the Windhath told her lover Hay of Park about ye.'
Isabel shivered.
'Margaret! what comes of this? An the tale gets abroad about us,what shall befall us? And wot ye the man hates me, for he sought tobe my lover, but I would have none of him.'
'Now nay, my dearie! ye must fear naught. Sure, ye are the DarkMaster's favourite, and think ye he has not power to protect ye. Hehath delivered Hay into your hands. Moreover, Hay dare not utter aword to any, for it would give away his mistress to be a witch, andI tell ye he is afraid of his life of her now. Och hey! it's themiserable man he is; and for all the wealth of Morayland I wouldnot be in the shoes of Toad i' the Wind. She hath angered theMaster once too often, and when he smites he smites hard. Fare yewell now. I must e'en get back to prepare for the hunt. Eh! butit's the glorious sport we'll have!'
Isabel, left to herself, soon dismissed Hay of Lochloy and Parkfrom her mind, the day was too fine and the prospect of sport toosplendid for any such unpleasant images. She trusted her loverabsolutely. Come what might, he would protect her, and Hay and hislight o' love would suffer. Perhaps she would have the extradelight of punishing them, or him at any rate--the thought was aluxury.
She took her mid-day meal with appetite and enjoyment, andwatched the sun sloping from his highest culmination in the heaven.Then at last in a tremor of delight she began to put on the huntingdress. How she loved every fold of it! She looked at herself in thelittle flawed mirror and was conscious that she was looking hervery best. The little jaunty cap with the silver embroidery, andthe curled white feather, exactly suited her ruddy locks, and thedress itself fitted her long lithe figure like a glove. Shefastened the pouch to the waist belt, and felt that the arrows werethere; then she slung the baldrick over her shoulder, and placedthe hunting horn in position, half tempted to blow a blast and trythe effect. All being complete, she stepped from the door andcaught a drifting windlestraw. Laying it on the ground, she cried'Horse and hattock, in the Devil's name!' and immediately the greatblack horse was there before her. She stepped on the dyke andthence sprang to the saddle.
'Horse and hattock! Mount and go!
Horse and pellatis! Ho, ho!'
Away to the eastward they sped. Others she saw coming along fromvarious quarters. Margaret Brodie drew up beside her on a chestnuthorse.
'Eh, my dearie! but I'm glad to see ye here; 'tis a grand dayfor a hunt, and I think we'll see fine sport.'
'How many will we kill, think ye, Margaret?'
'Indeed, I could not say. Last time we were out there was threeor four. It was a good day that. Sometimes there's but two, andsometimes none at all. There's much of chance in it, sometimes allwe see are marked "preserved," and ye ken we must not shoot atthese. But we go over good ground to-day. Hist, here we are.'
The scene looked very like an ordinary hunting meet, save thatthe horses were finer than even were usually seen at my Lord ofMoray's great gatherings at Darnaway, and all the company were gayin beautiful hunting dresses, but none so exquisitely attired asIsabel. The Dark Master, on his superb black stallion, and in thecostly hunting dress worn by men at that time, was at the openingof a glade facing the company. He cast his eyes over the riders aseach new arrival came up.
'Where is Toad i' the Wind?' he said sternly. 'I bade herspecially come.'
'Master,' said another woman from Aulderne, 'I heard her say shewas wearied, and could not hunt to-day.'
'A paltry excuse,' said he. 'She knoweth that she hath weariedmy patience by repeated disobedience and disloyalty. Nay, more, shehath broken her pledged word to me, and hath repeated the secretsof the coven to outside ears, and why? Because through a vile andcontemptible jealousy she hath sought to bring trouble on yourqueen. An I suffer this to pass, none of ye were safe See now sheshall come whether she like or no.'
Low to himself he chanted some strange words, whereof thosepresent could catch nothing, and raised his right hand with acommanding gesture, pointing it towards Aulderne.
'Come!' he called in a loud, stern voice, 'Toad I' the Wind,come! Thy Master calls.'
Instantly on the road from Aulderne, the wretched woman cameriding on a sorry horse, dirty, dishevelled and ill-favoured.
'Master, forgive!' she ejaculated.
'The time is past,' he said. 'Follow the coven. I shall havesomewhat to say to thee presently.'
'Now, sweet love!' he said, turning to Isabel. 'Forget thatmalignant hag. She sought to injure thee. But I have her safe. Dosttrust me?'
'Yea, my dear lord. In life and death, am I not thine?'
'Ride, then, beside me, and we will see the rarest sport to-day.Remember only two things for our hunting. Whenever ye shall see aglow like unto a white mist around man or woman, shoot not. Theseare preserved. It is the sign we are bound to respect. Also shootnot across water, for ye would but lose our arrows to no purpose.Keep close to me, and whatever game we sight, ye 'shall have thebest of it.'
Through Brodie woods they swept, separating along the drives,making a wide line over the open farms: but for long they saw none.Then the Lord Brodie himself passed, but the white mist was roundhim. Some cursed, but the Dark Master only laughed.
'Too young,' he said. 'Not in years, but in maturity. His timehath to come yet.'
Some men and women were working in a field, but all had the signof preservation. A man and woman were digging in a field; there wasno sign on them. Margaret Brodie and Janet Broadhead simultaneouslyloosed their arrows, but they fell short.
'Witless are ye,' quoth the Master. 'Have ye lived here all yourlives and know not the Muckle Burn yet, though it runs out of sightamong the willows? Now ye have lost two shots. Up in the air then.Let us take a wide sweep over Dyke and Culben. Perchance we mayfind something there.'
Near to Culben mansion-house they saw a man carrying a dog todrown it.
'After him,' cried the Master; 'a pestilent scoundrel!'
Elspet Nishie of Aulderne wheeled round and dashed for the man.He heard the rushing through the air, dropped the dog, and turnedand fled. She loosed an arrow in haste and missed him.
'May I shoot again?' she called back.
'Nay,' said the Master, 'ye will not get him this time. Gathertogether and fly south over Forres. We will get somethingthere.'
By the east end of Forres a man was coming out at a gate; noprotective mist was round him. Bessie Hay had seen him first; sheturned her horse and headed him off. He ran back through the gatemaking for the shelter of his house, but she was too quick for him,and loosed an arrow, striking him full in the head. He reeled overand fell. The whole coven shouted with delight at the first kill ofthe day.
'It was well done,' said the Master; 'ye shall have his ghost toserve ye.'
A thin white form hovered over the body. Bessie pounced on itand bound it to her saddle bow.
'Master,' said Isabel, as they all gathered round, 'tell me, isthat what they call the soul?'
'Nay, sweetheart. See ye! A man can but damn his own soul. Butfor the ghost we have power, if so be we can kill him. It lives buta short time. The ghost belongs of right to the one who kills.'
A crowd had collected where the man fell, and a leech hurriedup.
''Tis a stroke,' he said. 'The man is dead, Had I but been intime to blood him before he fell, he would have lived.'
'Away,' cried the Dark Master, 'We have no time to waste. Ho!"Horse and hattock!" Now, sweetheart, ye shall take the next.'
By Kinloss, as they swept eastward, two men were sitting on awall talking. Isabel sped out from the company, circling round, andblew a long clear blast from her bugle to start them. One fled intothe Abbey ruins and was in sanctuary; the other ran down the burn.In another moment he would have crossed it and baffled her shot,but she headed him, and fitting an arrow in her forefinger, sprangit with her thumb, knocking him clean over on the bank before hisfoot touched the water. Remembering Bessie Hay's kill in Forres,she rode up, and as the ghost floated over the body her attendantspirit, the Red Reiver, was on the spot, and seized it, binding itfast to her saddle bow.
'Horse and hattock!' Onward again the coven sped across thelands of Windyhills, where they found two and got one of them, andthen on for the Pleughlands of Gordonstown. The spirits of thewhole coven were wild with delight. The day was clear and bright,the air sparkling and exciting like deep draughts of good wine, thesport was splendid. Four were bagged already, and only half of theday was passed. Never had been such a hunt. They ascribed it toIsabel's presence among them. Gaily she wound her bugle horn. Shewas the only one of the coven save the Master himself who wasallowed to carry this symbol of authority.
Toad i' the Wind followed sullenly, the only discontented onethere, nursing a jealous hatred in her heart against Isabel, Asthey passed by the old hawthorn tree on Roseisle, she secretly feltin her pouch for an arrow, and watching her opportunity, shelaunched it at Isabel, as she galloped beside the Master. With alight laugh he put out his hand and caught it.
'So, Mistress,' he said. 'We have a reckoning yet to dispose ofwhen this hunt is done.' It was perhaps fortunate for her that noneothers of the coven saw her dastardly attempt, for they wouldassuredly have torn her to pieces then and there. So great wastheir pride in their queen.
'Horse and hattock!' With shouts and cheers and merry bugleblasts they sped to Gordonstown, where the five already mentionedwere at work on the fields of the Pleughlands. Ho! but the sportwas rare. Could they but bag all five! But an unforeseencomplication occurred here, for Anderson had the sight, and lookingupward he saw the whole troop careering through the clouds, as aheavy storm rolled up into the sunny air from the south over theMonaughty. A quick breeze sprang up, and the sky grew overcast. Thecoven separated and swung round into a wide circle to cut off anyescape. The five dashed in different directions, but were headedeverywhere. Four were killed, the Master himself taking one at avery long shot, but James Anderson, having the advantage of 'thesight,' knew exactly where his pursuers were and contrived to breakthrough the line and run for Roseisle. He was jubilant, for now healone was left of the plotters. He could hire a few broken men tohelp him at a small cost, and claim the whole reward of the EnglishCovenanters for kidnapping Sir Robert. A sudden rush of hail beaton him and confused him, he stumbled in a ditch, and a gleam oflightning showed him Isabel Goudie on her black horse directlybefore him. She had seen him cross the line and get away, andinstantly had dashed out alone in pursuit. The arrow sped withfatal aim. Red Reiver was by her stirrup in a moment, and the ghostof the traitor was at her saddle bow as she rode back intriumph.
Sir Robert, watching from the roof of Gordonstown, saw the lastof the plotters fall just as the storm cloud drifted away over thesea, and the sun laughed out again.
'Bear ye round by your right,' the Master shouted. 'We are forthe Fairy Hill of Alves, the Seat of Justice. We have businessthere.'
Toad i' the Wind cowered and shivered, and a cold sweat was onher cold limbs as her flesh quivered with fear. But follow shemust. So on over the fertile lowlands the coven swept, the DarkMaster and Isabel leading. The Knock of Alves rose before them,bare of trees then, and covered only with a thick growth of whinand heather. Round to the south side they circled, where there wasan immemorial beech-wood in whose recesses lay a tiny loch, whoseclear, still waters imaged the tree trunks and the flaming sunsetbehind. A few hundred yards farther on was an ancient stone circle,around which stood some giant beeches, now wholly bare of leaves.On the central moss-covered stone that looked like a giant's thronewith green velvet cushions the Master took his seat. Isabel stoodbeside him. As she did so she was aware of a dainty figure of awoman dressed in long, flowing white silk robes with a cloak ofgreen, gold-broidered, her golden hair flowing down over the cloakalmost to her knee; on her head a coronet of gold and pearlsconfined a gauzy white veil, and her face was of a rare andsteadfast beauty; beside her was a young man, slim and agile inappearance, but very stately and royal in his bearings, wearing agreen silk shirt, loose to the level of his thigh, and a green capwith a gold coronet round it set jauntily on his curly chestnuthair.
'We are on their ground,' the Master said aside to Isabel, 'andhold court here by their permission.'
The rest of the coven stood outside the circle. The Master madea sign with his hand, and two stalwart women of the band haled thewretched Toad i' the Wind to the two tallest stones that formed theentrance to the circle.
'Toad i' the Wind,' he said, 'the hour has struck. My patienceis exhausted. Long have I borne with ye, because ye were vowed tome, and ye have been of the coven. Ye have disobeyed me, andresisted my will. I have warned ye, but ye took no warning.Moreover, ye have insulted the Queen of the Coven, even the LadyHacallah. I gave ye one more chance: I gave ye for a mistress tothe man Hay of Lochloy, that ye might redeem your honour and yourplace among us. But ye have betrayed even this trust, and ye havespoken to this man of the queen; ye have said that which ye vowednever to say, and he hath repeated it to the minister of Aulderne.Thereby ye have done your best to place the whole coven in dangerwhich I shall have to ward off. Last of all, even this day, in vilespite and jealousy, which should not even be named among us, yehave dared attempt the life of the Lady Hacallah, with one of myown arrows. Did ye then doubt my power? Nay then, I will give yethe last proof ye will ever have in this world. I hereby withdrawfrom ye all that I gave, all my power and protection. You trust tomen. Very well, men shall deal with ye. Ho! rise ye now "Horse andhattock!"'
Up in the air rose the coven, their horses wheeling and circlinground. The pair whom Isabel had first noticed remained within thecircle, standing beside the mossy stone. Toad i' the Wind aloneremained crouching piteously on the ground. She caught a driftingstraw and cried 'Horse and hattock, in the name of the Devil!' butthe straw never stirred. Two men came along through the wood andspied her.
'There's one of them,' said the foremost; 'heard ye not how shecalled on the Devil? Methinks he wants her not. 'Tis an ill-fauredbesom. Seize her! Come along, ye vile witch. I trow Master Kincaidshall deal with ye. It's worried at the stake ye'll be, and luckyif ye be not burnt quick. I myself heard ye call on the Devil. Nowsee if he will help ye. Come! turn yourself to a hare, or a cat, anye can. Sheriff's men are we. Come along then. We be God-fearingmen of the Reformed Kirk, and the Presbyteries will put down allsuch accursed practices.'
Rapidly they dragged her away, vainly protesting and crying outthat she was no witch but an honest woman.
Isabel would fain have pleaded with her lover for the wretchedcreature, but he was grim and stern as she had never seen himbefore.
'Go down, sweetheart,' he said, 'and take my salutation to yonnoble pair, and my thanks for the favour they have shown me. Theymay show ye favours also, in an hour of need, should sucharise.'
She turned her horse and circled round again, descending in thecircle. Here she sprang from her horse and bowed low before theprincely pair, delivering her message. The lady bent forwardlygraciously, and laid her hand on Isabel's head. That instant therough stones of the circle seemed to be exquisitely carved marblepillars, entwined with lovely roses, unseen harps rang with sweetminstrelsy, the scent of a hundred flowers was on the air, andtroops of dainty beings were dancing.
'Lady,' she said, 'I have watched ye long. Ye are welcome toElfland. By our pact we must accord courtesy to him who but now sathere. Yet is there little of kin between us. I bid ye come herewhenever ye have need. Ye shall pass a night and a day with us, andall trouble and sorrow shall fall from ye.'
Isabel sought to thank her and speak words of courtesy, but nonewould come, only the soothing influence of the scene, the music andthe scents passed into her brain, and the memory of Toad i' theWind wholly passed from her as though such a thing had never been.And when she looked around the fairy court had disappeared, she layalone in the old stone circle, the great black horse too was gone.She must hie her home. She must overtake the rest of the coven. Awindlestraw would take her quickly. One drifted past; she raisedher hand to catch it, but she was intolerably weary. A weight layon her eyelids. She lifted a fern stem, but she could not even crythe spell of 'Horse and hattock.' Her head sank on the mossy stone,and all consciousness faded till the half-moon shining through herown chamber window woke her. But days afterwards she came to knowthat Maggie Wilson was missing from the little house in Auldernevillage, and that five men who had plotted to kidnap Sir RobertGordon had died suddenly of some mysterious sickness in thePleughlands of Drainie by Gordonstown. So then it was notaltogether merely a vivid dream as it seemed to be at first.
MR. PATRICK INNES relates that his friend Harry Forbes told himof a very serious illness that befell him about this time, wherebyhe was kept in his bed for several weeks, and was unable for somemonths to resume his duties as a minister of the gospel. It was ayear, he said, of very grievous sickness throughout the land. Fornot only had men been suddenly struck dead who had previously beenquite hale and strong, but there had been a fresh and mostlamentable outbreak of 'the wasting sickness.' wherewith the eldestson of the laird of Park and Lochloy had been attacked, and otherforms of disease had been prevalent besides. It chanced also, hesaid, that at the same time a notorious witch, one Maggie Wilson,who lived in his own parish of Aulderne, had been taken in the veryact of invoking the Devil beside the Knock of Alves, and close tothe heathen temple that is there; which things were proved on thesworn testimony of two good and true men who were Sheriff'sofficers, and heard her call on the Devil, who, however, they said,came not to her aid. Wherefore being taken to Elgin, they did placeher in the Order Pot to undergo the ordeal by water, whereupon bythe aid of her wicked sorcery she floated on the said water; andthereafter John Kincaid, called the witch-finder, or sometimes thecommon pricker, being in the town of Elgin, was desired as a personhaving some skill and dexterity in trying of the Devil's mark inthe persons of such as were suspected to be witches, to use histrial of her, as he had done of others, which, when he had done, hefound the Devil's mark a little below her left shoulder, which,being pricked with a long pin, she neither felt the pin, nor didany blood come when it was taken out again.
Being therefore brought before a commission of worthy andrespectable men, she did stoutly deny her said wickedness, but onbeing put to the question, she confessed all, and declared that shehad caused all the said sickness in the country. But beinginterrogated as to who were her associates herein, she could answernaught. She said she had associates, but could by no means remembertheir names, and being straitly questioned, she did give the namesof sundry ministers of the gospel in the county of Moray.Wherefore, being brought to an assize, she was condemned to beworried at the stake, and thereafter her body to be burned, thewhich was duly carried out at the West Port of Elgin; and manythought that by reason of her contumacy she should have been burnedquick, and that the judges showed overmuch mercy in permitting herto be worried at the stake.
But Master Harry Forbes himself, in this his sickness, did forthe time entirely lose his memory, the which at the time grievedhim sorely, for ever he knew that some important statement had beenmade to him which he should communicate to the authorities, butwhat it was he could by no means recall; nor could he rememberanything that had chanced to him before his illness. But the leechwho attended him said that ever he cried out lustily that his roomwas full of witches, that he saw the Devil standing opposite to hisbed, and a number of women who crouched on their knees before him,with their hair all hanging about their faces and over their eyes,and that they had a bag which they swung against him. And the leechsaid that he was in a delirium from the fever, for it was clearthat no witches were in the room, he himself being present at thetime and seeing none; and, moreover, that there is no such thing asa witch, as is well known to science, but that the season wasunhealthy, and the worthy minister had but contracted a sicknessthat was common in the country. But with regard to the son of thelaird of Park, not all his professional skill, nor the learningwherewith his opinion was adorned, availed at all; for ever the boygrew worse and wasted away, and complained sorely of the fever thatbeset him, and of pains that were like to pins being continuallyrun into him.
And concerning this David Hay of Park, an unexpected lightoccurs in a letter written by one John Innes, a Notary Public, toMr. Patrick Innes of Banff, to whom he seems to have been some sortof cousin, telling how Hay had sought his professional advice. Inthe light of subsequent events and other documents, the details ofthat interview may be fairly well pieced together. It appears thatHay was very greatly concerned about the disappearance of MaggieWilson from Aulderne, and also as to certain statements she hadmade to him concerning other women in the district, and especiallyconcerning Mistress Isabel Goudie, the which he considered oughtimmediately to be communicated to the proper authorities, for theyhad to do with the infamous crime of witchcraft and dealings withthe Devil. Whereupon Mr. John Innes had shrewdly counselled him tolie as quiet as he could, and say nothing whatever to any humansoul.
'For,' he said, 'Mr. Hay, I would have ye token, that ye areyourself a man suspect. This same Maggie Wilson that ye speak ofhath been apprehended and taken before the Justice Depute in Elginon a charge manifestly proved of witchcraft. This thing I ken wellfor a fact, for the depositions were signed before me onlyyesterday. And I may tell ye that your own name was mentioned ascompanying with this woman; and well ye ken, or gin ye do not, yeshould, that the companying with witches, or having recourse untothem, is a crime almost as grievous as witchcraft itself; and onewitness deponed to having heard ye call on the Devil to send ye amistress. But I stoutly averred, as of my own knowledge, that thiswas clearly a lie, considering your position, and I referred untothe godly minister of Aulderne, who could speak to your decent andhonest repute. Moreover, I said that, if this woman were a witch,as said is, that the fact was certainly unknown to ye, and thatyour interest in her was but due to your well-known kindness ofheart and charity.'
Hay felt ice going down his spine, and his red face grew grey asashes,
'But good God, man!' he said, 'I have already spoken to theminister on this matter. What can I do?'
'Then, sir, ye may thank the Lord for your good fortune. For Ihear that Master Forbes hath fallen on a dangerous sickness, whichis prevalent now, and for the time hath entirely lost his memory.He desireth to say some things, but cannot remember what they are.Moreover, the leech hath deponed that he is suffering from suchlikestrong delusions that his depositions can by no means be received.And as to Mistress Isabel Goudie, I would warn ye to beware also,for in all the neighbourhood she is counted as a most godly andexemplary woman, and gin ye bring any charge against her, it willrecoil on your own pate.'
'She is a most pestilent strumpet, to my own knowledge.'
'It may be, laird. It may be. I am not saying. But ye must e'enbear in mind what the folk say in the country. For this will theassize heed, and not what ye may declare. I have heard it publiclyreported that ye made court to her, and, because she would havenone of ye, that ye have persecuted her; and the talk is all in herfavour and against you. Now then, if ye have spoken of this matterto none save the minster, and if ye will keep a still tongue inyour head, I think it may all yet be well. But ye must rely on me.In my position as Notary Public, and having charge to take all thedepositions, I can help ye out of this complexity, and none othercan.'
Hay thought ruefully of the worthy notary's scale of charges,but he saw no other way out.
'I will do as ye say, and I thank ye kindly for your help. Butthink ye now of my son, an ill-mannered loon and a mischievous one,that I grant ye, though his mother will not hear it said. Well, hewas set on by other loons to fire the stacks on John Gilbert'sfarm, for which I would have skelped him; it was just devilry. ButMistress Goudie saw him and warned him off, and the loon threw astone at her, and called her foul names. I'm not denying he gotthat from me; and ever since that time he has sickened, and theleech can do nothing for him.'
'Well, well, laird. I tell again, gin ye ascribe aught o' thisto Mistress Goudie ye will have the whole countryside against ye,and seeing that they are talking of ye now, it may go ill wi' ye.So, as I said before, haud ye a still tongue. We will set down thissickness also to the score of Maggie Wilson. For she will be burntany gait, and one thing more or less will make no differ. She is inthat mood now that she will confess anything. Ye might think tohear her she was the author of all the evils in Scotland for thelast ten years, but she would have ye believe that she dideverything by herself, for of who were with her in her misdeeds sheeither cannot or will not speak; so hath she never mentioned yourname, nor that of any other; nor even by the extreme question canshe be made to do so.'
Hay turned on his heel. Intrinsically selfish, the plight of hislate mistress only affected him in so far as it implied a loss ofwhat he was accustomed to, and he was relieved that for some reasonshe could not, or would not, tell of her relations to himself, andhe was quite content that whatever had to be placed on anyshoulders should be placed on hers. Moreover, the notary hadpromised him safety. But in the meantime he must be very carefulnot to mention the name of Isabel Goudie.
Now, all these statements, collected from old documents, andrecording what appeared to be perfectly natural though unfortunatehappenings, go to prove the truth of the old saying, that the Deviltakes care of his own. For clearly because Toad i' the Wind,through spite and jealousy, babbled to Hay of Lochloy concerningIsabel, the whole coven was in danger, and there were variouspersons who must be silenced. Not only these two, but Hay hadindiscreetly spoken before his boy, who, boylike, would be sure totell all his companions; and he had also circumstantially toldMaster Harry Forbes the minister. The minister would believenothing against Mistress Isabel Goudie, for did not his ownknowledge inform him without doubt that she was a most godly woman,a lamb snatched in time from the errors of the papacy, and now amost faithful adherent of the true Reformed Kirk of Scotland.Plainly it was impossible that a woman who so regularly attended atthe weekly diet of worship, and listened with such evident profitto his own pulpit discourses, could have any dealings with theDevil--the thing was absurd. Nevertheless, of course, there werewitches. No one was so foolish and blasphemous as to doubt thatfact, unless perhaps some poor, feckless bodies like the leech,puffed up with their own conceit; and there might be some even inhis own parish of Aulderne who dealt with the Devil, and it was hisduty to inform the authorities of what he had heard.
But all these were outside appearances of things. What actuallychanced has been recorded by Isabel herself, and from her statementit is clear that the things which the worthy minister saw in hisfever were real happenings; albeit the leech set them down to thedelusions of delirium. And this I am assured may often chance, forthe brain and the senses, being greatly exalted by the ferment ofthe blood, the man is able to perceive things of which in hisnormal state he would be unconscious. Such at least was the opinionof Mr. Patrick Innes' father, the eminent chirurgeon.
Some members of the coven were accordingly cited to meet atJanet Broadhead's house, for she and her husband had a specialgrievance of their own against Master Harry Forbes, inasmuch as hehad publicly reproved them for their non-attendance at kirk on theblessed Sabbath day. For which cause Janet had shot at him oncewith the Arrows of Death, but had missed him, and the Dark Masterhad said she should not have his life, but that sickness might belaid on him. And at that meeting Isabel and the Dark Master asusual occupied the seats of honour, which on this occasion were twosettles beside the inglenook, the others sat on either side of thelarge deal table in the farm kitchen, John Taylor, Janet's husband,sat at the farther end of the table facing the Master, and midwaydown on his right-hand side was Alexander Elder of Earlseat, a fatflabby man, who was a sort of butt of the others. These were theonly men present.
'Now, my faithful ones,' said the Master, 'ye know well thatthere hath been treachery among us, and ye must use your powers toprovide for your own safety. I myself have dealt with Toad i' theWind, for she was my servant and pledged to me. But with the othersye must deal, and ye have powers sufficient thereto. But mark yethis. Ye may not have the life of Master Harry Forbes. It shallsuffice that he be sick. Therefore ye shall not use the Arrows ofDeath, neither would an image be fit for this purpose.'
'An I could but have a witch bag,' said Janet Broadhead. 'My mangave me one lang syne, before I joined the coven. I could gar himlie sick and forget everything. But I burnt that lest it should befound.'
'I could make another,' said John Taylor; 'but 'twould take owerlong to collect the materials.'
'Let me speak,' said Margaret Brodie eagerly, 'I will steal mymother's bag. The auld limmer hath a fearsome thing. This I willgive ye, and we will all go and see ye use it.'
'Ye have spoken,' said the Master. 'So let it be; and I willmyself be there to see how ye acquit yourselves. Now for the lairdof Park.'
'Dear lord,' whispered Isabel eagerly, 'ye promised him tome.'
'I did so, my love; well hath he been tormented by Toad i' theWind. But ye shall fulfil your own curse on him. Mind ye what itwas?'
'Ay, right well do I. That he might never have male children tocome after him. And that boy, my lord, hath stoned me and called mefoul names, and hath tried to burn our stacks.'
'This shall ye do,' said the Master, 'by means of thatmoon-paste which ye made, and some of these here present shallinstruct ye. For, though queen of the coven, ye are yet young atour spells. I taught ye myself to make the paste, but I would thatsome of my faithful ones should teach ye the use thereof, that yeall might have practice. For the laird himself, it needeth no spellto keep his mouth close. Fear will do this, and well ye wot thatfear is often as potent as any spell we can devise. And now have wetalked long enough. Tonight we hunt the red deer in Lord Moray'slands and we feast in Darnaway. We shall join another coven therewho are returning from Strathdearn. Hey! but we will have a merrytime. Ho, there! Horse and hattock!'
The coven swept away in wild glee, up into the lonely moors ofthe Moray's lands, and through the white mists in the hush of thestarshine. The great stags fled before them, but not so swiftly astheir horses. Sometimes the Arrows of Death brought them down. Butwhen a magnificent royal was started, Isabel and the Master spedfast in pursuit, and in a lonely corrie, where towering craigsshowed dimly through the mist, they drew level with him, one oneither side, and Isabel leaned over from her horse and with herhunting knife she stabbed him behind the shoulder, and the greatbeast threw up his head, faltered in his stride, staggered,tripped, and fell. Whereupon, with a little cry of triumph, sheleaped from the saddle, and, dabbing her fingers in the blood, shesigned herself on brow and breast. The Master gave a shout--
'Verily, sweetheart, thou are mine own child! Blood whips theeto delight. Yea, blood is the Devil's wine.'
He sprang from his horse, and caught her in his arms.
'And proud am I to be the Devil's love,' she cried.
Swiftly they fled after the rest of the coven, and royal thatnight in Darnaway was the feast and the dance and song, and of thevenison they had taken that night they left more in the castlelarders than all that they ate. For the Master had a kindness tothe race of the Morays. It was the next night after this thatIsabel was awakened by the now well-known fluttering of the corbyat her window, and the Master bade her rise and come away to visitMaster Harry Forbes.
'See ye, sweetheart! ye must come with me to help your gossip. Iwish not that ye should work any ill on this man, for, indeed, heis very serviceable to us. Ye can always look to him for a goodreport. Wherefore I have said that his life is safe. But he mustsuffer sickness for a while, and ye shall see the working of thewitch bag.'
Southward over the fields to the manse of Aulderne flew the twocorbies. But as walking gravely and discreetly Isabel and her loverentered the garden gate they met various others of the coven.Margaret Brodie came up carrying a bag.
See,' she said, 'I have stolen the auld limmer's bag while sheslept. There's fearsome things in it that she got from the corpseof yon man that was hanged and a child she dug up, and bits oftoads, and hair and nails, and dear knows what else. And I havepitten the spell on him, so now he is sick in bed, and I ken theleech is with him, for I saw him go in. So unless we do something,the minister will be well the morn. Take ye the bag then,' shecontinued, as she handed it to Janet Broadhead, 'and do what yewill; we will help ye.'
The door opened before them, and the party passed up the stairsto the minister's bedroom, but his old housekeeper, bustling out ofthe kitchen, saw nothing of them, only she said:
'Guid sakes, what a cold draught! and the minister, puir man, ina burning fever, Now, who has left the door open? Sure and I lockedit fast after the leech came in, and he's not gone yet. Well, well!There's something of an ill smell too. Maybe I forgot to lock itafter all. I'm just getting foolish in my auld age. There, it'ssafe enough now, anygait.'
Upstairs the minister was in bed, and the leech sat besidehim.
'Now, Master Forbes, I'll just wait a little to see the effectof the draught I've given ye, and tomorrow I'll come round and letblood, and ye will soon be well again; 'tis but a slightattack.'
'Master Leech,' said the sick man, 'think ye I can traveltomorrow.'
'Tomorrow! Is the man mad? Tomorrow forsooth! Nay, not for threedays. What want ye?'
'I must get me to Nairn tomorrow. I have important business--'he hesitated. His business was not such as he could convenientlydisclose to the leech. 'Parochial business, ye understand; I mustsee the Moderator.'
'Well then, an ye must, I'll bring the Moderator to ye here. Butout of this ye do not stir till I give ye leave.'
Master Forbes did not want the Moderator, but did not know howto say so; he was growing very sleepy and beginning to dream, theroom grew indistinct, and the leech's figure sitting by his bedsidemixed itself fantastically with its shadow on the wall and ceiling,thrown by the cruisie lamp. But what was that other figure standingbehind him? Dark and powerful with blazing eyes, and a lambentlight around him.
'See there, Master Leech, who is that? There, behind yourchair.'
'Pooh, pooh! Ye are dreaming, man. There's no one there. Come,wake up.'
'But I tell ye there is. It is no dream. Turn him out. Protectme, for God's sake! Eh! Master Leech, it is the Devil! There's awoman beside him. Oh! don't leave me.'
'Be sure if there's a woman there, the Devil is not far off.Come, come, Mr. Forbes. Ye have no business to have women in yourbedchamber. I shall have to acquaint the Moderator with this.'
He spoke lightly, intending to divert the sick man's thoughtsand bring him back to his waking common sense. But in vain. Thefever fit had come on again in spite of his febrifuge. He regrettedhe had put off the blood-letting, and had not brought hisimplements with him. The sick man cried again--
'There are more of them, the room is full of them! Women,fearsome hags they be, with their hair all hanging over their eyes,squatting on their hands and knees before the Devil! One of them isswinging a bag towards me. Witches they are. I know it. I amoverlooked. They are chanting something. I can hear no words.'
Isabel and the Master smiled to each other, but the leech wasseriously anxious, the access of fever and delirium had been suddenand violent, just when he thought it was subdued. It was useless toreason with the minister, he was shaking with fear and with thefever.
'Fool! to come without my lancet,' he muttered. 'A littlevenesection or cupping would relieve him. No matter, he shall havea strong sleeping mixture, I wot Mars is now combust with the Sun,and this hath caused the attack. Here now, man, drink this.'
Janet Broadhead swung the bag towards him, chanting:
'He is lying on his bed; he is lying sick and sore.
He shall lie intil his bed two months and three days more.'
'That will do,' said the Master. 'Come away. We have still workto do.'
The leech rose and opened the window,
'He must have air,' he said.
Something whirled past him and out into the night.
'Confound it! A flittermouse. How did it get in? Why, there mustbe a dozen or more out there. I never saw them abroad at thisseason before. They should be sleeping long ago.'
He turned to look at the sick man. The fever had subsided assuddenly as it rose.
The minister was breathing quietly, and looked sleepy; thedraught had evidently taken effect, and the leech congratulatedhimself on his skill.
'They are all gone. Sir Leech, thank ye. I will sleep now inpeace.'
'What was it ye desired to say to the Moderator, Mrs Forbes? Imay bring him tomorrow.'
'Eh! I wished no Moderator. I have naught to say to any man. Howcame I here? I have forgotten. There was something I had to say tosomeone, but 'tis all gone now. Who was it was talking with me thismorning when I met ye?'
'Ye had but just parted from Mr. Hay of Lochloy.'
'Hay! Who is Hay then? I ken no one of that name.'
'Save us,' muttered the leech to himself, 'his memory is cleangone. Well, he will sleep sound tonight, and tomorrow we willsee.'
Nevertheless he still sat on by the bedside, for the caseinterested and puzzled him, and besides, the minister was a closefriend, though they quarrelled incessantly, and each held the othera fool.
Meantime the coven sped rapidly over the fields to the farm ofLochloy, and some farmers returning from a night carouse wereamazed, as the leech had been, at seeing a swarm of bats flying inearly winter, and finally decided that the aqua vitae must havebeen more potent than usual.
Three bats flew in through Isabel's chamber window, the othersfor the time hanging under the thatch. Isabel turned drowsily andhalf raised herself from her bed. John Gilbert could be heardsnoring stertorously in the kitchen, at the foot of the bed stoodthe Dark Master and John Taylor of Belmakeith.
'Come,' said the Master, 'my Lady Hacallah, we have need of yeyet. One is silenced. The minister will not speak of what he hasheard for two months and three days. But there still remains thelaird of Park, or rather, I should say, his son, for he will saynaught.'
'My dear lord,' she cried, 'this is my task.'
'Ay, sooth it is. Therefore have I brought this man to ye. Forhe shall carry off the moon-paste to his farm of Belmakeith, andthere we will teach ye to prepare it. See now, in yonder vessellies the stuff; take ye sufficient thereof in the neuk of yourplaid, and come with us.'
'Eh, lord! What a dream I have had,' said Isabel. 'Methought wevisited the minister in his manse.'
'Yea, but by this and that 'twas no dream, as the minister willfind. And woe be to poor men, who know more than they were meant toknow, for ever they find trouble at the tail thereof.'
John Taylor by this time had stowed a certain quantity of theprecious moon-paste in the neuk of his plaid and walked out of thedoor with it. Isabel and the Dark Master fastened the door afterhim, and the two bats fluttered from the window, rousing the restwho were hanging under the eaves.
In the old farm kitchen of Balmakeith that night were weirddoings. The moon-paste, which was plastic like damp clay, waskneaded by John Taylor, and placed in a large ashet. Then Isabel,who in her girlhood had been taught a little modelling which atthat time was considered an accomplishment which young ladiesshould possess, undertook to make an image of the laird's eldestson and heir. She had very skilful fingers, and the little figurewas most artistically made, and a creditable likeness of the boy.All were loud in praise. While she was working Margaret Brodie witha ewer in her hand kept constantly moistening the paste. The DarkMaster approaching, held both hands above hers, chanting:
'Pour this water among the meal
For lang dwining and ill-heal.'
Then, as it was finished, he said, laying his left hand on theimage--
'I baptise this image, in my own name, young David Hay theyounger of Park. As befalls to it, so befall it to him.'
Three times he repeated the words. Then the coven all fallingdown on their hands and knees before him with hair hanging abouttheir eyes repeated the words. Then it was laid, still on theashet, in front of the fire, which glowed red and very hot, and allchanted after the Master.
'We put this image intil the low
That it may be burnt both stick and stow.
It shall be burned with our will,
As any stickle upon a kill.'
It shrivelled slightly with the heat, and turned red. Then theMaster thrust a pin into the side of it, and it was taken up andlaid carefully away in a case prepared for it.
'Take heed now all of ye, and remember this, for it is a matterof great power. So long as ye preserve this image ye can bringsickness and death on any of the laird of Park's male children.Till it be broken, the virtue is in it, and it can only be brokenby human hands. Cast it over a kirk it will not break. But it canbe broken with an axe or suchlike tool in a man's hands. Whateverye do with it will happen to the child till he die. And this spellfrom the beginning of the world have my disciples put forth on allwho offended them, and thus have sicknesses been caused, and willbe caused till the sun is cold, nor will men ever discover whencethey come, nor will leeches ever be able to heal them. Nor will menever believe in the power, yea, though ye confess and bring proof,yet will they not believe, for their eyes are blinded, and this isour greatest spell. Now hie ye home, the coven is dissolved.'
In divers ways the coven dispersed, and bats were seen in theearly morning flitting through Brodie woods, which things wasnoticed and recorded in the diaries of several of the moreobservant persons as a strange phenomenon, never before seen atthat time of year.
Isabel lying awake in her bed in the farmhouse of Lochloy wasexcited and jubilant. All the scorn and indignity put upon her bythe laird of Park recurred to her mind, and she gloated over it andfed her hatred. She recalled the insults of the boy. An overweeningsense of self possessed her. That they should have dared to treather thus. It was intolerable. Her own personality, her ownimportance filled her mind, to the exclusion of all else. It didnot seem vanity or conceit. But simply no one else existed. She wasthe one person, and she had been insulted and played with, and nowshe was to get even. Her hatred was fierce and unbalanced as herlove. The thought was thrilling rapture.
As that grey dawn was breaking, the leech, leaving the mansewhere the minister seemed now a little easier, and able to sleepfitfully, was met by a hurried messenger bidding him to themansion-house of Park with all speed, for the laird's son was sickand like to die. Racked with fever pains, so the messenger said,and unable to utter any connected words.
At the same time there rode up to the farm of Lochloy Sir RobertGordon's groom on his black horse with a note for Mistress IsabelGoudie, which ran thus:
'To my dearest Isabel,
'By our love I beseech you, help me. When I was sick you cameand healed me. Now, I pray you, do something an you can for mybeloved Cosmo, for he is in sore straits. He is not safe in France.The rebels there seek his life. Nor he is not safe on the seas, forthe English Admiral will take him if he can. Nor he is not safehere in Scotland. It seems there is no place on earth where he canabide in safety. The world is cruel, when two who seek but to livetogether in peace, and trouble none, and just be forgotten by theworld, should be so hard bested. I think that you can help us,indeed, my uncle so sayeth, and gin you can, I know well that youwill. Fare you well.
'These from your ever loving and most unfortunate,
'J EAN G ORDON .'
Isabel's moods swung rapidly from one extreme to the other.Hatred gave way to love. For Jean Gordon she would do anything. Butwhat to do? She had asked Margaret Brodie and got littleconsolation. Love came not within her purview. She would ask herlover, and if he could or would do nothing, there were still thosebeautiful elfin beings that she had seen on the Fairy Hill ofAlves. They had promised aid, and bade her visit them again.Playing with this thought in her mind, she sank into a calm andpeaceful sleep, and dreamed of fairies dancing in the woods, and ofMaster William Shakespeare's ingenious Midsummer-Night's Dream.
THE thought of poor Jean Gordon's pathetic letter hauntedIsabel's mind all next day. Somehow, something must be done to keepCosmo from harm. Jean trusted to her. What she could do she knewnot, but she would not fail the friend who had stood by her whenthere seemed no other. She called up the Red Reiver, and sent amessage begging the Master to come to her at the old castle on theWards of Inshoch, and then as the sun was setting she walkedthither. It was the first time she had gone to him with a requestthat was not connected with himself or the coven, and she felt acertain shy reluctance. The bringing in of any outside wishes orideas to their romance seemed to strike a new note, which shesomehow feared, she knew not why.
At the gate of the castle he stood awaiting her, looking just ashe had done at their first meeting, the grave scholar who had grownto the ardent lover, and all her old love and trust in him wasundiminished in force.
'Ye have something to ask of me, sweetheart,' he said; 'askwhatsoever ye will. Ye ken I have power, and all that I may I willgive ye.'
Hesitating and doubtfully she told him the story of Jean Gordonand Cosmo Hamilton, and begged his aid.
'I know, I know,' he said. 'My old friend Sir Robert Gordon hathtold me of their plight, and fain would he aid them. But what hehath sought from me is not power of this description. Though he cando many things, he cannot do this. Therefore, saith he wisely, thatye can aid where none other can. Now this is one of the virtues ofthat moon-paste. Which ye have. This, then, ye shall do. Get fromMistress Jean a locket with the portrait, and take a small portionof the paste, knead it up well, and as ye knead it say thus:
"Whosoe'er this charm shall wear,
No man may take, no man may snare,
Unscaithed shall he stay--
Till have passed a year and day."
Put a little of it in the back of the locket, and let MistressJean convey it to him. So long as he wears it he is safe, for ayear and a day; after this its virtue is gone. This much I do forlove of ye. Though not often do I aught for any save those who arepledged to me.'
He caught her in his arms. He had become the lover again.
'Verily, sweetheart, ye have asked a hard thing of me, and anunusual; not oft do folk desire of the Devil works of love and ofkindness. Yet, truly, I do think ye are of my own kin, and for ye Ieven forswear my own nature.'
'But, lord, ye love me. Is it not so?'
'Aye, sweetheart! so it is. And now come, we have talked longenough. Shall we ride together thou and I, and none other with us.Let us go to thy home and fetch the moon-paste, and then away toGordonstown and see if we find Mistress Jean and deliver ourerrand. And wot ye well, 'tis for your sake I do this; and yet notwholly, for I ken that the Laird of Park still plotteth to get herinto his power, and it is his scheming that hath raised all thisstour anent her lover.'
'Lord! to baffle him were as sweet as to help my dear Jean. Oh!ye are wise, my dear lord, and right well ye can read a woman'sheart, and ye know that hate is as deep as love, and I hate him,hate him! Ask me not why. I ken no more than I ken why I lovethee.'
'Thou art my own bairn, and my queen. Now come! Ho! Horse andhattock! We will ride together, thou in my arms; as we have riddenoft before.'
To Isabel that ride in the brilliant sunset light was the bestand most glorious she had ever known. Alone with her lover, claspedclose to his breast, while the great horse, arching his proud neck,plunged and curvetted beneath them, as rejoicing in his burden, andher errand satisfied the two cravings of hate and love at once. Shewould baffle Hay of Park, and she would do for Jean Gordon thatwhich most she desired.
In her own little room in the farmhouse she took a small portionof the moon-paste and kneaded it well, chanting softly to herselfthe spell he had taught her, and this she placed in a tiny trinketbox, and laid in her bosom. As she did so she caught sight of theold homespun gown in whose bosom still was sewn the little goldcrucifix. It recalled Jean, but also and more poignantly itrecalled that terrible evening when after her visit to Gordonstownshe had seemed so utterly separated from him. She had never worn itsince, but she could not make up her mind to part with it. Somemories revived for a moment. Then she remembered that soon nowJohn Gilbert and his men would return. She must not be missed. Onceagain she laid the besom in her bed. He should think she hadretired perhaps a trifle indisposed. She smiled to herself as shechanted the old spell over the birchen twigs, and half fancied shesaw herself or some dim reflection of herself lying there; then outat the door, a step on to the dyke, her hand was in her lover's,her foot on his, and she sprang into his arms and nestled down incomplete comfort.
'Horse and hattock! Mount and go!'
The sunset streamed out from the Inverness hills as theythundered through the woods. Peasants returning from their workwere oddly conscious of something, but what it was they knew not.Physically they neither saw nor heard. But by some strange innerperception they knew that something passed, and something they wereafraid of. They skirted the eastern boundary of Darnaway forest,and rose in the air to pass the Findhorn. Through the High Streetof Forres they sped, and the hoofs of the good steed struck firefrom the cobble stones, 'Ho there! Horse and hattock!' Some boysplaying round the muckle kirk heard the sound, and a few of themlooked up and caught the words. 'Horse and hattock!' they cried intheir play, and one boy was lifted into the air, and dropped on theground.
'Those are my own bairns,' said the Master. 'Warlocks they willbe some day.'
Past the mouldering ruins of Kinloss Abbey they galloped. Dimblue lights flitted round the old walls. It is said that grizzlyphantoms haunted the place, that the ivy rotted off the ruins, andno birds would build there, only the owl hooted by day. A shadowlay over it, and mostly the people were afraid to go near it. Thenon past what had been the chanter's house of Windyhills. On overthe fertile lowlands by various ruined castles, Hempriggs by theshore, Burgie and Aslisk to the south, Duffus and Spynie beforethem. Then they rose in the air again and circled like hawks overthe Gordonstown woods.
All the west was still a mass of purple and gold and crimson.The deep blue outlines of Wyvis were clear cut against a backgroundof pure amber, and the clouds above were rosy on their under sides.So fast they had sped that the sun which was sinking even Whenfirst the Dark Master had cried 'Horse and hattock!' in the Wardsof Inshoch had not yet sunk out of sight.
Down below them, along one of the straight drives planned by SirRobert around Gordonstown, they saw a slim figure walking slowly,her white dress trailing on the ground. Isabel gave a little cry ofjoy. It was Jean. Then she closed her eyes. A sudden turn ofgiddiness seemed to come over her; for an instant she forgot whereshe was; then suddenly she was walking along the drive, and JeanGordon was advancing to meet her. She was alone; the Dark Masterand the horse were gone. It was like walking from a dream with onlya confused idea of where she was, or how she got there. But clearlysolid earth was beneath her feet, the crisp winter air blew in herface; she was verily here in the Gordonstown woods, however she gotthere, and there was her dear Jean. In another instant they wereembracing each other.
'Oh, Isabel, it's blithe I am to see ye; but how gat yehere?'
'It was your letter brought me, Jean, that and a friend's horse.When I heard ye were in trouble I could not bide away. Now tell mewhat is all asteer? Is anything new since I saw ye last?'
'Deed it is the same, and yet much worse. Ye ken how the LordsCommissioners persecute my poor Cosmo. And God alone knows why.Still he bides at Montfaucon, but day by day the nets are closinground him, and I ken well it is Mr. David Hay of Park, your ownlaird, that keeps them aware of all his movements. Of course we allpray always that King Charles may be restored to us, and thisbitter tyranny ended before our dear country is ruined entirely bythe rascal knaves who now govern her, to her shame. And Cosmo hathbeen in the counsels of the royalist party from the beginning. Theytrust him, and he knoweth more than any of the party, and hath muchinfluence besides. But none knew this till Mr. David Hay, throughLord Brodie got it conveyed to the Lords Commissioners in London.But what David Hay hath to do with it, or why he should do thiscruel thing, and persecute my Cosmo, passeth my poor comprehensionentirely. So, ye see, Montfaucon is not safe for him any longer,and we know not what place is. If he should leave France theCommissioners will take him, either on the seas or within theKingdom of Scotland, and ye ken that if they take him they have nomercy. Indeed, I hear that free Scotsmen have been sold as slavesto the American plantations, for no other crime than being loyal totheir king, and resisting this cursed government.'
Isabel pondered a moment.
'He must not leave France just now,' she said. 'Have ye aportrait of yourself, Jean?'
'How strange you should ask me that! See! I have just had thisdone. It is for Cosmo, and Uncle Robert's Danny is to take it withhim on his next voyage, and procure it to be conveyed privily toMontfaucon.'
She drew from her bosom a little golden locket, and, touching asecret spring, it flew open, disclosing an exquisite miniature ofherself.
Isabel took it and examined it with minute care. There was atiny box at the back, the existence of which would have beenunsuspected by anyone who had not been shown the secret opening.Isabel carried it into an open space under pretence of examining itmore carefully in a better light, and there, unseen, she rapidly,with skilled fingers, moulded and manipulated a fragment of themoon-paste, which she dropped into the cavity.
'Will you let me send this also to your Cosmo with my love, if Imay so far venture?' she said.
'Of course, Isabel dear? What is it? Do let me see! A fragmentof bone, is it not? A relic, surely?'
'Yes, a relic, Jean. And one of peculiar sanctity. Given to meby a very dear friend. I know not of what saint, nor what history.But I know that so long as one wears it, it is a sure protectionagainst arrest; whoever wears it can never be taken by his enemies.Convey this to him, bid him for thy sake to wear the locket alwaysnext his heart. But tell him not of the relic or its virtue. Thatmust be a secret between me and thee. But can ye be sure it reacheshim? I would not it fell into any other hands.'
'Ay, that can I! Father Blackhall returns to France in Danny'sboat. He shall convey it, and deliver it safe to Cosmo's own hands.Oh, he hath ways and means. The Father hath passed in disguisethrough the midst of his bitterest enemies and none have known.What we poor Catholics would have done without him in this bittertime I cannot think. He hath been all through Scotland, saying theMass in cottages and places, on lonely hillsides, and whenever afew could be gathered together. He hath been a soldier, and asailor, a billman in the very Covenanting armies, a field labourer.There is nothing he hath not been. And all the crew of the Covenanthave searched for him but could not find him.'
'The very man!' said Isabel; 'and ye say he will do this forye?'
'Aye will he, Isabell Ye are strangely good to me. My heart islighter now, for needs must I believe in ye, since that day when yehealed me when I lay so sore sick. Indeed, Isabel, I think ye mustbe a saint yourself. But ye will come within, and see my uncle. Hethinks great things of ye, and he would be sorely disappointed ginhe were to hear that ye had been here and not seen him. Then ye cancall your horse and return when ye will.'
'It grows late, replied Isabel. 'Natheless I will give greetingto Sir Robert.'
She was growing a little anxious, for the Dark Master and thehorse had utterly disappeared, and she dared not breathe the spellof Horse and Hattock in the presence of Jean; nor did she quiteknow how she should return to Lochloy. The sun had now quite set,only a rosy glow in the west still remained to mark where he hadsunk below the distant hills. Before them were the strange roundstables, built to Sir Robert's design, for the purpose, he said, ofdriving their cattle to a place of safety in the event of aHighland raid.
'See,' said Jean, 'how curiously the mist hangs over thestables! I never saw it like that before.'
In truth there did seem to be a faint blue cloud floating overthe stable. Isabel rubbed her eyes to see more clearly, forgettingfor the moment the remains of the moon-paste on her fingers.Instantly the cloud became a flight of grey spectral figures,floating round and round in quaint gyrations, and standing on thehighest point of the building was the form of the Master, as thoughhe were swaying and directing them.
She remembered the virtue of the paste to make one see, but shewondered greatly what her lover was doing there among these ghostlyforms. It was a new and unfamiliar aspect of him. Was it somethinghe was doing for Sir Robert, protecting him from some evil? or wasit something that threatened him? Who were these grey figures?Somehow, without knowing why, she feared them.
At the hall door stood the baronet himself, full of cordialwelcome to Isabel.
'Come within!' he said. 'Come within! It's blithely welcome yeare to my poor house. I heard of your coming, and I kenned well yewould not part without a greeting. Faith, we owe ye much, MistressIsabel. Ye shall e'en drain a stoup of claret ere ye go, and yourfriend will join us. Jean, give us room, an ye please, my dear! Yehave had Mistress Isabel to yourself for long enough.'
With a graceful curtsy Jean retired, and immediately, Isabelknew not how, the Dark Master sat there by the great oak table inthe hall, and beakers of the finest French claret stood beforethem.
'Some of Danny's last cargo,' said Sir Robert. ''Tis the bestthat the fair land of France produceth. Come, Mistress! let me fillye a cup to drink to the future of young Cosmo. Ho! Black Jock, Iken ye love better the fiery wines of Spain. But crush me a cup ofthis, and gin it go not off in steam in your throat, as well itmay, ye shall find it soft as the best Genoa velvet, whereof too Ihave a pretty store down yonder. How say ye, Mistress, is thisequal to the Earl of Moray's Malvoisie? Oh! I know of yourcarouses. Youth will be merry, and Jock there hath a liquorishtaste.'
'I have done ye a service this night, Rob,' said the Master. 'Yeknow much, but ye cannot always do all ye know. It's a fine magiccircle ye have made with those new stables of yours, and ye haveset my seal in the midst, and drawn the elemental spirits of theair, but ye have not controlled them. Now, I have disciplined them,and gin ye need a foggy night, ye can have it. But mind ye, for theraising or laying of storms or the like ye must come to MistressIsabel here--the Queen of the Coven.'
'I saw them,' cried Isabel, 'I saw them, and I saw ye, my lord,ruling and directing them. Tell me what are they? I never saw thelike before.'
'Every element hath its spirits,' the Master answered, 'Andthese are the spirits of air. Ye must ken that all the elements aremy kingdom. Therefore can I give the children of men all that theydesire if they will but believe in me, and follow me faithfully.Here in this life--that is. Afterwards--well, we shall see.'
Sir Robert shuddered slightly, and drained another cup ofclaret.
'At least ye have given me joy such as I never dreamed ofbefore,' said Isabel, 'and come what may, I say 'twas worthit.'
'Bravely spoken! That is my true bairn, Queen of the Coven. Comenow, we must away. One more bumper, Rob. Fill up. No heel taps!Drain it to the Devil's kingdom on earth, that shall endure as longas the earth itself, and as long as man knoweth the world ofpleasure.'
By the hall door they stood for a moment.
'Why ride ye not with us, Rob?' said the Dark Master, 'ye knowthe spell well enough.'
'Ay, and I know what men count for in your covens, as ye callthem. Nay, Black Jock! Keep your limmers for aught I care. MistressIsabel is the only one ye have ever gotten that was worth the painsof getting. I ken the spells well enough, and that is all I need; Iput them not forth.'
'Well, well, maybe we will ride a race yet one day, Rob.'
He snapped his fingers:
'Horse and hattock! Mount and go!
Horse and pellatis! Oh ho!'
The great black stallion under his double burden rose in the airand disappeared over the roof of Gordonstown House. At the samemoment Father Blackhall came from the door and stood beside SirRobert.
'Is that he whom ye call the Devil?' he queried. 'I would fainhave speech with him for a few minutes. If it be he indeed, he andI are old acquaintances, old foes I may say. But I know not thisappearance of him. Oh, never fear, I will not be discourteous to afriend of yours. Even Michael the Archangel, ye know, brought norailing accusation. He knew a gentleman, and so treated him. Ileave Master Luther to hurl ink-pots. Such well befitteth theProtestant temper. We know each other and respect each other, ifhim indeed it be.'
Jean came from the house.
'I sought for ye, Father,' she said, 'but the house was alldeserted. Not one of the serving men or the lasses to be seen.'
'It is not wise that they come when a certain friend of mine ishere,' said Sir Robert simply; and Jean, who knew by this time thenecessity for secrecy in many of Sir Robert's affairs, nodded anacquiescence. 'I will ask ye, Father, to be my messenger, an I mayburden ye so far, to carry this to Montfaucon and give itpersonally to the hands of Cosmo.'
'That will I do right gladly, and 'twill be easy, for I am boundfor Montfaucon so soon as I reach France. I go as a Genevapreacher, and I think the Lord of Montfaucon will wish to turn meout, and will not dare because of the Frondeurs, who will insist onmy remaining in the chateau. When I come to Scotland again, I mayhave some comedy to narrate.'
Isabel, nestling in her lover's arms, recalled the elementalspirits she had seen about the round stables, and queried further.It seemed that a new world was opening to her. A world peopled bybeings of whose existence she had been entirely ignorant. Werethese the fairies whereof Master Shakespeare wrote, the mermaidsand mermen of her girlhood's romantic dreams, and of the Highlandtraditions? Was it possible they could be real, actual beings, andnot the mere baseless fabric of a dream? They were passing over thefairy-haunted Knock of Alves. She remembered the strange andgracious forms she had seen there, who had so courteously biddenher welcome, Could they be of the same kindred?
'Ay, he said. They are of the same race, but between them and methere is but little in common. They are altogether too fine. Wefeast and drink and dance and love. They seem to pass their daysand nights in dreaming of the delights that we enjoy. But thosewhom ye saw over the stables are my subjects, and shall be yours.Ye shall learn the spells to conjure them.'
'But, my dear lord! these in the hill have asked me to visitthem.'
'And so ye shall, sweetheart, an ye have a mind too. Indeed, ifever danger should threaten ye, 'twere a safe retreat. Now here weare again back at your home, and ye can throw the old besom backinto its corner again. Eh! but, by this and that, never shall Iforget old John Gilbert cursing that besom for a lazy limmer, Iwould not have missed that sight for half my kingdom.'
They laughed merrily together, and the grey dawn was alreadybreaking when a corby flew out from the little window of thecottage, and flapped his way out over the forest of Darnaway.
In the archives of the Castle of Montfaucon was long preserved adiary composed by the old seneschal in the time of the Fronde,wherein is recorded how a Lutheran preacher from Geneva came onenight late to the castle. The times were very perilous, for Mazarinhad fled, Condé was in open rebellion, Mademoiselle de Montpensierwas holding Orleans for her father Gaston, from whom the Lutheranpreacher bore dispatches, to the effect that if he were notreceived and made welcome, the armies of the Fronde would razeMontfaucon to the ground. The following page commences with thewords, 'The Lutheran preacher afterwards was known to be really--'The remainder of the page is roughly torn off, as though the writerhad written more than he intended. But on the next is recorded thatMass had been said in the chateau for the first time for somemonths, the old chaplain having died, and priests being afraid tocome there on account of the disturbed state of the country. Alsothere is a note that when the Lutheran preacher arrived the Countappeared to be furiously angry, and said he was to be thrown out,but that none of the serving-men moved to execute the order, andthe Count did not enforce it, which was so contrary to his usualtemper, which was somewhat violent, that the old seneschal thoughtperhaps it was not seriously meant. But he adds naively, 'These bematters I may not meddle with.'
In a subsequent part of his diary he speaks of young CosmoHamilton, who seems to have been a very welcome guest. TheFrondeurs, he says, were always anxious to arrest him, and one daywhen he had ventured too far from the chateau unattended, theyactually seized him, as they thought, but when they brought himbefore Condé's aide-de-camp, it was found that they had arrestedone of their own spies, who had somehow got access to the chateau.Whereat, as the old chronicler says, there was great laughter,inasmuch as it was the second time that another man had beenarrested in mistake for Cosmo, the first being in Elgin, as we haveseen. Moreover, he continues, anxious as they were, they seemedquite unable to arrest him, for on one occasion walking near thechateau, he met a company of Frondeurs and walked past them, theytaking no notice of him whatever till he was close to the greatgate of the chateau, then they turned and ran hard to catch himbefore he got in, but could not run fast enough. So many of theFrondeurs' men got into sad disgrace.
Louis XIV's attainment of majority and the return of CardinalMazarin to Paris made matters easier at Montfaucon, but did not inthe least diminish the anxiety of the Lords Commissioners to layCosmo by the heels.
Meantime Danny came back to Covesea, and reported that he hadconveyed Father Blackhall safe to the Port of France; and returningfrom a subsequent voyage, he brought letters from the Fatherhimself, telling of how he had got safely to Montfaucon in theguise of a Lutheran preacher from Geneva, and carrying missivespurporting to emanate from Gaston de Montpensier, and how the Countde Montfaucon had feigned a great rage, but his serving men, whowere forewarned, took no account thereof, and of the laughterafterwards when the family, being alone, the pretended dispatcheswere solemnly burned. Also how the Father used to go forth from thechateau to the villages round, most of which were sympathisers withthe Fronde, and preach them political sermons, dilating much on thewickedness of the Regent and the Cardinal, and on the hardships hewas put to in the chateau, where, however, he was determined tostay in order to find out the counsels of the royalists. All ofwhich gave him as much enjoyment as it gave to his hearers, and wasa source of infinite amusement to the family at Gordonstown.Mistress Jean especially rejoiced over the efficacy of Isabel'srelic. Sir Robert, in his conferences with the Dark Master, learnedthe true nature of the moon-paste that had been set therein, andadded yet more to his great store of knowledge.
Yet, sooth to say, several obscure hints dropped by his comradehad begun to cause him no little apprehension. He had boughtknowledge, and now it seemed that the price might be exacted someday in the not very distant future. Yet, as he wisely said tohimself, men had cheated the Devil before now, and might do soagain.
CONCERNING the history of the time following the arrest andexecution of Maggie Wilson there is very scanty information. Mr.Harry Forbes seems to have told my great-grand-great-grandfather ofhis serious illness, which is also recorded by the Presbytery, andit appears that other ministers supplied his place in the pulpit atAulderne, but he himself could remember very little of the time.The son of the laird of Park lay long grievously sick of 'thewasting sickness,' occasionally recovering a little, and then beingtaken with a relapse and renewed fever, and constantly growingweaker after every attack. The laird himself too, according tocontemporary letters, seems to have been strangely changed. He nolonger caroused with his boon companions, and no longer gossiped inhis cups; on the contrary, he had become curiously reticent, andwas but little seen abroad. Some of the old ladies wrote to theirfriends that he was grieving greatly for the illness of his son,and it was like to cause a reformation in his character. ButMistress Hay, writing at this date, says that he showed no naturalaffection at all, and hardly even took the trouble to inquire afterthe boy's state, but was constantly closeted with Master JohnInnes, the Notary Public, whom she cordially disliked. This appearsin a letter to Elizabeth, the sister of Lord Brodie, who hadmarried Colin Campbell of Ardersier, who had before her marriagebeen her dearest friend and confidante. A fragment of a businessaccount from the said John Innes, found among his papers, showedfrequent consultations. But the details had either been torn off orcarefully obliterated. Moreover, some said he looked always like aman oppressed with some haunting fear.
Through the country generally there were many curious anduncanny happenings, and much suffering, which the ministersascribed to the power of the Devil, allowed, as hath been said, tovex the elect for a season. The godly Covenanters, of whom, as Mr.Patrick Innes said, the world was not worthy, wrought strenuouslyto overthrow the kingdom of Satan, but all in vain; for terriblemurrain fell on the cattle, the cows refused their milk, the grainthreshed in the barns proved to be mostly mere empty husks, thebeer had no strength in it. Men fell sick or died suddenly andmysteriously. None knew when misfortune might overtake them. So itwas that a great terror fell on the land. It was well known thatthere were many servants of the Devil who were very active in doinghis evil will, but notwithstanding all the efforts of the godly,they were ill to find. Some indeed were caught who professed tocure sicknesses, and who were indeed proved to have done so. Andothers who were heard to repeat the Hail Mary, which, as is wellknown, is a special popish spell taught by the Devil; and these ofcourse being apprehended, were taken to Master John Kincaid, whofailed not to find the Devil's mark on them. Indeed, in this heseems never to have failed, as may be read by the curious in thepublished records of the time; which proves the great frequency ofthis most abominable and unnatural crime, and incidentally accountsfor Master Kincaid's wonderful prosperity. For we know he grew veryrich, as a man should who detects a crime so secret and so hard todiscover. For many of those who were pricked by him and so detectedwere held to be good and kindly persons, intent only on helpingthose in trouble, and relieving sickness and sorrow, so subtle isthe Devil in casting a glamour in men's eyes.
But though these, when apprehended, were worried at the stake,or often after the extreme question were burned quick, and weremost righteously tortured here in this life for the salvation oftheir souls, as is averred by many ministers of the Reformed Kirkof Scotland, and by divers other discreet and godly men, yet wasthe evil by no means abated, and throughout the land there werelots to restore the corrupt house of Stuart, and to bring back allthe evils of the popish superstition which our forefathers hadsuffered and bled to purge out for ever from this land. And so nowonder that all men were troubled in their minds, and fear laidhold on them, and they were ready to devise any kind of terriblepunishment for any who were suspect of such unlawful dealings. For,as was well said, until all the servants of the Devil be drivenforth from this land of Scotland, there can be no safety for anyman's property, or indeed his very life.
The doings of the covens meanwhile have been recorded in afashion by Mistress Isabel Goudie, and by others, and serve now tothrow some light on what was dark and mysterious at the time. Therewere frequent meetings and many hunts over the woods of Darnaway,feasting and frolic in the great hall of the castle. Many newspells were taught them by the Dark Master, and there was muchmerriment over the terror that reigned in the land, and the reasonsthat were given for the mischances and troubles and sicknesses thatbefell, and the causes whereby the Devil had such power andlicence. They were taught how to draw away the milk from cows byplaiting a rope the wrong way in the Devil's name, and putting itbetween the cow's hinder feet, and out between the fore feet, andthen milking the rope they could take all that cow's milk. Also howbefore Candlemas at Kinloss they yoked a plough with puddocks, andthe traces were of dog grass, and the coulter was a ram's horn, andas they went up and down they cried to the Devil that they mighthave the fruit of the land, and that thistles and briars might growthere; whereat the land did in fact produce only straw and emptyears, and great quantities of thistles and weeds, but the barns ofthe coven were filled with good corn in due season. Such matters, Iam told, do happen even now, but are ascribed to other causes.There were spells of healing for wounds, for fevers, and especiallyfor the bone-shave, now called sciatica, which over all the worldis well known to be healed by magic art. This was done by gentlystroking or massaging the painful limb, using for the purpose thetwigs of the hazel, such as diviners use for the finding of water,or the bark of the same tree macerated and boiled, and on thataccount called the witch hazel. And these things also are commonlydone now, and without offence, but in the time we speak of, it wasdeemed a sure proof of unlawful intimacy with the Devil if anyshould thus heal another, and many were burned for this causealone, for the ministers of the true Reformed Kirk of Scotland,having more accurate knowledge of the Devil and his powers than anyhave now, did surely understand that only by the aid of thearch-enemy of mankind could such works be accomplished.
They learned also the various spells whereby they might assumethe form of cats, or hares, or corbies, or the like, and if in suchshape they chanced to be pursued and caught by dogs, or struck by aman, they could never be killed, but the witch would be foundwounded in bed; and by this means too were many taken, and beingproved by Master Kincaid, were condemned and burned. Hence thecoven were warned to be exceeding careful not to be caught in suchalien form. Indeed, Janet Broadhead had a narrow escape. Being inthe form of a hare, she was pursued by a dog before she had time tosay the words that should bring her back to a woman's shape.Wherefore running into a neighbour's house, she slipped behind abig chest, and while the dog was nosing about, she managed to stealout and get into the back room, where she quickly said the wordsthat undo the spell. So, coming forth in her own form, just as theowner of the dog appeared at the door, she upbraided him roundly,telling him that his dog had chased a hare into the kitchen, andupset and broken several cups and platters in his eagerness. Theman apologised and called the dog off, but was not satisfied in hismind, and thus again the coven began to be talked about. Spellsalso there were to draw the fish from the fishers' boats at thePort of Findhorn, when they came in with a good catch, and theymust steal a fish, or somehow get one fish for nothing, and thenthey have all that catch; though the boat seems to be full of fish,yet when the fishermen come to divide it they find it is nothingbut foam and seaweed. And they learned how to raise or to lay thewind, so that they could produce storms at sea. And this Isabelparticularly loved to do.
But most of all, the memory of the fairies at the Knock of Alvesfascinated her. There was something about them so fine and daintythat by comparison the revels of the coven often seemed coarse andunsatisfying. Moreover, in the times when she was not in herlover's arms or riding with him on one of their wild hunts, shelonged feverishly for some new adventure. He had said this would bea safe retreat for her if danger should threaten, and there seemedto be some danger ahead now that the coven was again beginning tobe talked of. It would be useful at any rate to know how to getinto communication with them. But how? The Dark Master either couldnot or would not help her in this. There seemed to be little incommon between him and them.
It was in this perplexity that there fell into her hands aquaint old book containing the romance of Sir Thomas of Erceldoune,called Thomas the Rhymer, and the Elfin Queen, the manuscriptwhereof may still be seen by the curious in the Advocates' Libraryin Edinburgh. Sitting beside her window when all the men were awayand the farm deserted, she devoured the story of how Thomas laybeside the huge old moss-covered stone at the foot of the Eildonsnear by Melrose, and saw the Elfin Queen come riding by, and how hewas rapt away and stayed with her for what seemed but a singlenight--but meanwhile seven years of earth time had passed over. Asshe brooded over the quaint pictured page, the intervening fivecenturies seemed to roll away, and she fancied she saw the Rhymer'sGeln, as it is called now, and the poet expectant beside the stoneat the edge of the wood at the foot of the Eildon Hills, which onlya hundred years before had been cleft into three by the power ofMichael Scott the wizard. Folk said the Devil aided him. Was itindeed the Dark Master himself, she wondered. Men and women alsoseemed to visit the Court of Elfinland then. Things were not sovery different, and all the happenings that had appeared to her soextraordinary had happened before, only they did more wonderfulthings then, and they were not burned or tortured.
So as she read, and visuallised the pictures conjured up by thewonderful romance, she became conscious of the Queen of Elfinlandwith her attendant train riding along under the shadows of the woodin spring-time, and the wild birds sang blithely in the wet boughsof the hawthorn that was white with the frost of its blossoms, andscented the air with a heavy sweetness. And then the flower, andthe bird's song, and the scent seemed to fade away to unreality inthe presence of the wondrous fairies, and she saw how the Queenalighted from her milk-white jennet, and met Thomas and embracedhim, and her hair that was like burnished gold glowed round him,and somehow she knew the spells that had brought him there, and shesaw the little plaque of gold that he wore on his breast, and knewthat it was a protective emblem. The design of it was roughly drawnon the margin of the book she was reading. 'Oh,' she thought, 'TrueThomas, if only thou wert alive now, to tell me how to winthere!'
Long she sat there under the window in the fading light, thesunset gleaming on her fiery hair. Margaret Brodie passing by sawher, and saw also a marvellous dainty and graceful man standingbehind her, in a curious roseate light. Whereat she marvelled, forthis was no apparition that had ever come to her own ken, but sheheld her peace and went her way.
Isabel remembered a small gold disk given to her long ago in hermaiden days by one of her admirers as a token. It had been the backof a miniature or something of the kind, and she had kept it inmemory of the giver, but had forgotten it until now. Could shescratch the design on it, she wondered. She took it out and hung itround her neck when she went to bed, still haunted by the visionsof the fairy court and Thomas of Erceldoune.
Dreams came to her. She was at the foot of the Eildons. She sawMichael Scott the famous wizard talking with the Dark Master. Therewas no doubt that it was himself and no other. She saw thegathering blackness, and heard the rush of the storm, and felt theshattering tremor and heaving of the earthquake that cleft thesingle hill into three. Then, as chances in a dream, the chaos anddevastation of the earthquake seemed to melt into a smilinglandscape, and Thomas the Rhymer was walking to meet her under amighty beech tree. There in the woods of dreamland they wanderedtogether, and Thomas told her stories of the Elfin Court, and howto get there, and the precautions to take. Above all things, neverto accept anything from the fairies unless assured that it is afree and unbound gift. And for the protective symbol, it was toensure her return home, as otherwise they might keep her for asmany years as they pleased. He himself had been seven years there,but it was because he so wished, and they passed as one night, buthe could have returned when he pleased. She woke next morning in aquiver of excitement. A new adventure opened before her. Sooth tosay, she was growing a little weary of the doings of the coven, andonly her love for the Dark Master preserved her interest in them.She could not help knowing that they were all common and ignorantwomen compared with herself; but in Elfinland was all the beautyand poetry of her early dreams and aspirations. Here was the worldthat Master Shakespeare had so well pictured, and which had seemedso baseless, so far removed from all reality, now suddenly become,or about to become, actual.
The year had turned, the feeling of spring was in the air, thebirds sang over their mating. A gossiping herd-lass coming backinto the farm kitchen from milking the cows told her scraps ofnews. Master Harry Forbes had recovered, and was to occupy his ownpulpit the next Sabbath. The laird of Park's son had laininsensible for several days, and might die at any time, and thesecond son had sickened in the same way, maybe had caught thedisease from his brother. The laird himself was a broken man, buthe still busied himself about politics, and had even been to Londonto see my Lords Commissioners.
Isabel guessed the reason, he was still persecuting CosmoHamilton, and the momentary regret she had felt for the variousmeetings of the coven and roasting of the little clay figurevanished before the rush of hatred that the mention of the lairdrevived in her breast. Gladly would she slay all his male issue,and purge the land of an evil breed.
Her hand fell on the little golden disk, and she remembered howshe had determined to scratch on it the device she had dreamed of,worn by Thomas of Erceldoune, and which was also drawn in themargin of the book she had read. Now she was impatient that thegossiping herd-girl should go about the farm business, that shemight set about it. She hunted for a tool wherewith she mightengrave the lines on the soft gold, and at length found a cobbler'sawl, with which Gilbert used to repair his heavy boots. For afarmer in those days had to be able to do all things forhimself.
Left to herself at last, she sat down as she had done now formany days past beside the window, with the old book before her, andthe gold disk on a settle beside her knee. Very carefully shetraced the device upon it. It was like the capital letter Y, with acontinuation of the upright stem upwards between the two arms. Thenhaving marked and measured it, and compared it with the drawing inthe book, she began laboriously to cut the lines with the awl,gradually deepening them, as the design grew under her hand, Forover an hour she laboured at this work, until she got it to hersatisfaction; then she took a coin, and an old trading token of theCalders from the Port of Findhorn, and using these as guides, shetraced two circles round the design. As she was completing this,she was conscious of a shadow that passed behind her, and dimmedthe light of the window, then an arm thrown round her and lookingover her shoulder, her lover himself was watching her work.
'So they have taught ye that,' he said. 'I am glad. So will yewin the middle kingdom. 'Twill be a safe refuge for ye, and may beneeded ere long.'
He gathered her into his arms, and for some minutes she laythere in tranced delight. Glad to be with him again, glad that heapproved her efforts to reach Elfinland. At least then she wouldnot lose him in this new adventure, and if she left the coven for awhile, at any rate she would not grieve overmuch.
'How mean ye that it may be needed, my lord?'
'Times are perilous. We silenced the stour when Toad i' the Windwas taken, but there remaineth always the seed of this gossip. Allwho were ever seen with her are suspect; and now Master HarryForbes is well again after two months and three days illness, aswas decreed for him by the spell of the witch bag, and now he hatha vague memory of the tales told him by the laird of Park. Thelaird's mouth is shut by fear for his own skin, but Master Forbesis suspicious, and will be set on inquiry. Also, though the boy isalmost dead, and will say no more, he has dropped some hints to hisfellows, and the boys of Forres and of Nairn begin to talk ofwitches, even as boys will. Then again Janet Broadhead'sunfortunate experience when she was out as a hare set gossip afloatagain. The man who owned the dog that chased her only half believedher story. None of these things alone would matter at all, but allput together they cause the coven to be watched and suspected. Onlyto a certain extent can I protect them. But for thee, my dear love,there is a sure refuge with the fairies of the Knock. There can yebide till safer times shall come. For your sake, I would fainprotect your Mistress Jean Gordon, and the moon-paste will secureMaster Cosmo Hamilton from arrest for one year and a day. By thattime I trust the danger will have passed. See ye now.' He pointedto the little gold disk with its engraved lines. 'This line to theleft is mine, and that way at present danger lieth. But this middleline leadeth to the middle kingdom, and there is safety. Mind yewear this always, and never part with it on any pretence. Now come,once more, let us ride as we have ridden so often. Up toStrathdearn and the Monaliadhs. We will chase the great red deer bymoonlight, we will start the wolf, and the fox, and returning wewill meet two covens, who are to hunt over Brodie and the Moraywoods, and to-night we will feast at Darnaway, and dance until themorning's light. Ho then! hattock! Once more, if never again.'
'Once more, dear lord! Hey then! If we never ride together more,ye have given me such joy of life as never did I deempossible.'
'Dear love! ye have there the Rhymer's spell. I kenned him well,though he was not servant of mine. But Master Michael Scott and Ihad many a merry bout together. Sooth but men were men in thosedays, and there was joy on earth! Sir Robert is the only one nowwho is like the old crew, and he is too grave and solemn. Moreover,his time is nearly done. Once he got the best of me, at Salamanca.We have a final round to play.'
It was a wonderful and glorious ride. All the wild excitement ofthe previous autumn when she had first known the new life and thepower of the Dark Master revived. He appeared as the great chief,strong and terrible, yet infinitely tender, and she clung to thebelt that girt him, and pressed against his breast, longing to growcloser and closer to him, till her very body should melt into hisutterly, and no part of her should be separate. So she hated thelaird of Park, and all his race, with an intensity that seemed thereflection of his hatred. All the tricks of the coven, the drawingoff of the substance of milk and corn, the sickness of cattle andof men, the burning of farm-steadings, even the shooting of menwith the Arrows of Death, seemed but playful mischief as a boymight torment a captive mouse. These were trifles, but here in herunion with the Dark Master was reality, transcendent blinding joy.And she knew now that he had lived and been the same through thecenturies. Therefore he would still live on when the present aspectof things and all that now lived should have passed away. And if helived, why should not she live with him? If she only became reallya part of him as she desired. She thought of herself as twininground him like a serpent, and then he too was a serpent, and shesought hungrily for ever fresh points of contact with thatking-serpent. So far up in Monaliadh Mountains among dim corriesand deep mist-filled glens they hunted the great stags, and withthe sacrament of their blood the fierce excitement grew.
'Lord! now the power is on me, I could do anything,anything.'
'Ay! and so ye could, sweetheart! See there.'
Down below them was a lonely shieling, the rotten latch hadgiven way and the door was slightly ajar. In the room a baby withinwas sleeping peacefully in its cradle; outside a fierce, hungrywolf stole up, and was gathering itself for a spring. Already thecruel jaws were open. The fangs gleamed white. The feet weregathered to launch itself on the sleeping child. In anotherinstant--
'Stop that wolf!' he cried suddenly.
'Haltl!' she called. The wolf had already sprung. He turned inhis jump, as though from a powerful blow, and fell on the cottagefloor, then turned and slunk away with a snarl of intensemalignity.
'See ye now,' he said, 'how the magic power rushes full throughye. When ye are mad with joy, ye can do all that ye will. Mydisciples in eastern lands know this well, hence they have greatpowers, but in these cold northern lands it is but little they cando.'
Returning over the MacIntosh lands, they fell in with the twocovens who were hunting there, and with wild shouts the whole partyswept eastwards in a mad gallop. Passing over Nairn some boys whohad been poaching in the Cawdor heard the cries and looked up.
'Ho there! a witch-hunting,' cried one of them.
Isabel, twining one arm round her lover's neck, shouted, 'Horseand hattock with yon boy.' Immediately he was lifted up in the air,and carried as by a whirlwind out of sight. He was found afterwardswandering in the Brodie woods, and they said he had lost hismemory, and knew not whence he came or how he got there. Shelaughed merrily at the success of her spell, but the Master lookedgrave.
'These are warlocks by nature,' he said. 'They have seen us, andthere is no more safety. Dear love! ye must begone to the middlekingdom, as soon as ye may. Be ready by the full moon. It will bein three days from now. But to-night is safe. Ho, then Horse andhattock! We are for Daranaway. To-night is for feast and song anddance. Let to-morrow bring what it may.'
The following day the remains of the same excitment were stillon her, and an enthusiasm for the new adventure of her visit toElfinland, now seeming doubly desirable because it was his wishthat she should go there for her own safety's sake.
Diligently therefore she laboured all the next day at the littlegold disk. On the back of it, as laid down by Thomas the Rhymer inhis story of Elfinland, and also in her dreams of him, she wroughtwith care and exactness a six-pointed star or Hexagram, as used inmagic operations from the time of King Solomon, and maybe muchearlier, and then the disk was polished and the lines smoothed andperfected.
Next she took a pair of sandal shoon without heels, and cutcertain small rods of wood which she fitted neatly together into afive-pointed star or Pentagram, and these she fastened to the solesof the sandals, using the awl and waxed thread. One of these sameshoes was afterwards seen by Mr Patrick Innes, who, however, had noidea who they belonged to, or what was their purpose, but wasstruck by the peculiarity of his own family cognisance on the soleof a shoe. He attributed it to an intentional insult on the part ofone of the Dunbars, who had thus presumed to trample on the mullet,but Mr. Harry Forbes told him that these were known as the wizard'sfoot, and were probably connected with some of the unholy dealingswith the Devil that were rife in the county about that time.
Her preparations being thus far complete, she looked out fromher kist the filmy, shimmery French robe that on that night, thatnow seemed so strangely far away that almost it might have belongedto another life, she had put on to try and fascinate John Gilbert,with such disastrous results. It was a pale watery green, withdelicate gold lines faintly traced in needlework. This she laidwith an overdress of a darker green that seemed to blend thecolours of the young grass with those of the spruce fir.
Now all was ready, and the day of the full moon had come.Evening was closing in, the men had returned. John Gilbert wasalready about his supper. The farm was active with preparation forthe night. She looked round on her little room, would she ever seeit again, she wondered. All the loneliness and the sorrow she hadknown there in the old days, all the romance and glory of the pastsix months. Her belongings were all stowed away in the oaken kist,locked and fastened with two heavy padlocks, the keys hung to hergirdle, a dark purple cloak covered her green dress, the sandalswere thrust into the girdle. So she stepped out into the road thatran past the farm. A short distance she walked till a dyke took herout of sight of the house. There by the dyke side stood the Master.Without a word he took her in his arms, and kissed her hair, hereyes, her lips, long and close.
'Two of the coven were taken last night,' he said. 'Their ownfault--they will not follow my rules. All are in danger now. Ye goto safety. Farewell, my love, for a time, we shall meet again whenthis trouble is overpast.'
He called up the great steed, and gently lifted her to itsback.
'Hey for the Knock of Alves!' and away they sped towards therising moon.
At that moment two men rapped loudly and imperatively at thedoor of the farmhouse of Lochloy--
'Open in the name of the Commonwealth.'
'We seek Mistress Isabel Goudie--Sheriff's men we be.'
'She hath but just stepped down the road. What want ye withher.'
'Charge of accompanying with notorious witches.'
'See ye here,' said Gilbert in high wrath. 'My wife is an honestwoman, and well respected, a godly member of the Kirk, as MasterHarry Forbes can testify, and all the elders of Aulderne parish.Get ye forth. Ye come not into my house. Get out, ere I call thefarm hands to throw ye forth into the road. Witches, forsooth! Thatye should dare to use such a word in connection with my wife, apretty state the country is coming to with your Englishry. Now,will ye go at once in peace, or will ye not?'
Several of the farm hands were running up, hearing his angrytones, and the men walked sullenly forth, muttering low words ofdeforcement and the like. As soon as they were safely off thepremises, John Gilbert locked the door and ran out at the back towarn or protect his wife, with half a dozen of his men at hisheels. But nowhere was she to be seen, and neither there noranywhere for long weary months did he see her again coming andgoing about the farm of Lochloy.
FOR what follows we have only Isabel's own account to guide us,and that is imperfect. All that can be distinctly verified is thaton the night of the visit of the Sheriff's men to the farm ofLochloy she disappeared, and for a long time all traces of her waslost. Her own story seemed so inherently improbable that it wasrejected by those who heard it, as we shall see, and there weresome who roundly stated that she had become delirious and, beingtaken care of and nursed in concealment in a shepherd's hut, haddreamed all the wonderful things whereof she had read in theRhymer's book and verily imagined they had chanced to herself.
At the same time, the remarkable similarity of her allegedexperiences to the recorded adventures of many others in othercountries and their accounts of the kingdom of Elfinland seem topoint to something more than a mere dream. For these accounts shecould by no means have read, and there is much therein notcontained in the Rhymer's story. The episode must be left among theunsolved problems. Her own story was as follows:
While the Sheriff's men sought for her vainly at Lochloy, thegood steed that bore her halted on the south side of the fairyKnock of Alves, where a tiny mere lies amid tall trees at the footof the hill. She stood under a graceful birch tree, and, mindful ofthe instructions she had so carefully learned, she plucked a branchthereof and looked around her in wonder and delight at theexquisite beauty of the scene. A light cloud veil spread over thesky, dimming slightly the full radiance of the moonlight, andforming a white luminous background against which the branches ofthe trees showed in an intricate network. The landscape to thesouthward, seen through the delicate thronging stems, seemed astudy in silver greys. The rushes on the margin of the mere showedclear against the still luminous water.
She stood to the north of the pool, facing the moon, and therethrew off the purple robe she had put on over her green dress. Thenshe opened the dress itself, and the moonlight shone softly on theshimmery garment beneath, through which the warm white wealth ofher body shone. Thrice she saluted the moon, and then, drawing fromher girdle the sandals whose soles bore the wooden pentagram shehad afixed thereto, she cast off her thick shoes, and put them on.Then she advanced to the edge, and dipped the birchen bough in thewater, and, drawing it out, she cast a shower of drops upwardstowards the moon.
Then she dashed the bough into the water till it was quitesubmerged and waved it wildly upwards, sending showers of drops allaround, chanting as she did so:
'The streamlet from the mountains
Flows downwards to the plain,
The cloud that floats in heaven
Comes back to earth in rain.
Beat the water! Hurl the water! Beat and hurl amain!'
The last words were uttered in a sort of chanting fury:
'The mists that veil the edges,
The cloud-wreaths on the plain,
Rise from the trembling sedges
And float to heaven again.
Beat the water! Hurl the water! Beat and hurl amain!'
The air was full of falling and scattering drops like fine mist.Behind her was an upright stone heavily covered with cushions ofgreen moss. All the ground around was soft and spongy, and thewooden pentagrams on her feet left definite marks in the mud. Sheturned about after the scattering of the water and walkedwiddershins round the stone three times, carefully at each steppressing the pentagram into the earth. Coming back again to thewater's edge after the third circumambulation, she again repeatedthe spell, casting the water still more energetically into the air,till it seemed full of a white mist. Looking at the circle herfootmarks had traced, she saw, or seemed to see, pale and shadowyforms, as if formed out of the white mist of the flying drops ofwater that she threw aloft. They seemed to be examining thefootprints. Once more she made the three circles, and againrepeated the spell of 'Beat the water! Hurl the water!' The mistnow grew so thick that the trees were scarcely visible, but theforms around the circle had grown much more definite and werestooping over the marks she had made. Yet once more was the formularepeated, and now she halted and turned into the centre of hercircle, facing the moon, and standing beside the mossy stone,raising her branch on high like a sceptre, she recited herinvocation to the fairy forces of Luna:
'By the lily and lotus
Bleached white in thy rays,
And the broad leaves that float, as
Green rafts of the fays.
Queen of the night,
Pause in thy flight,
Gleam on the lake,
For the fays are awake.
Thy spirit entrancing
Shall wrap us in dream,
For fairies are dancing
By lochan and stream.'
As she chanted, the moonbeams in the mist seemed to coalesce andgrow more solid, forming themselves into a slim, graceful figure,standing facing her, that became clearer and clearer as she lookedat him. He stretched a hand of greeting to her. But before she tookit she parted her under-robe and showed him the little golden diskthat lay on her breast.
He then saluted courteously, and said:
'Lady! I bid you welcome. I am sent to bid you to the Court ofthe King of this realm. Will you take my hand that I may guideyou?'
'Yea! that will I right joyfully, since I see you know thissymbol.'
'It should be the badge of our Order. But I pray you let meexamine it more closely to be sure that it is indeed what I believeit to be. Take if off for one moment, gracious lady.'
'Nay, that I may not. It is personal to myself. But you can lookat it as closely as you please, while it lies on my bosom.'
'It is well, lady! Come with me! I have the King'scommands.'
She took his hand, and turned around towards the hill. Beforeher was a portal, with the doors thrown wide open, and within was asplendid hall. The air was full of music and the scent of lovelyflowers; wreaths of flowers twined round the pillars and hung infestoons. Bright, dainty beings were gliding to and fro, and manywere dancing to the strains of aerial harps. On a dais at the endsat the King and Queen as she had seen them before, on the nightwhen Toad i' the Wind was judged in the old stone circle. Thecourteous guide led her by the hand up to the foot of the dais, andthe King rose from his throne and came forward himself to meet andgreet her, saying:
'Welcome, lady! I bade you come here in any time of trouble ordanger. Now you are free of Elfinland, and any explanations thatyou desire shall be freely given to you. For first you come to uswith one to whom we are to some extent bound by treaty, and by thelaw of our being. His servants come not here; there is littlebetwixt us and them. But you are not wholly his servant, and insome ways you belong more truly to us. Therefore you are welcomehere, and having the sign of Thomas of Erceldoune, you are free tocome and go as you will.'
Multitudes of the fairy beings thronged round her. They kissedher and caressed her, and they let down her wonderful hair andcombed it, and bathed her brow with some delicious liquid whichthey said was the essence of the roses; and all care and fear andtrouble fell from her, and nothing was left but a blissful content,and a desire never again to leave these happy, peaceful beings.
Then she bethought her to ask concerning all the strange thingsthat had chanced to her during the past six months, and concerninghim with whom she had first come to that wonder-world whereof shewas now made free. But the King answered shortly:
'Presently I will show you some of the wonders of this kingdom;now you have but to rest and enjoy. Yet this much I will tell younow. He is the lord of all material life in which there is no soul,in which nothing is sought but the pleasing of yourself. This isthe kingdom of earth, and to him it is given. Deny and cast out thedivine spirit, and in this world you shall have whatever you crave:physical enjoyment to the very highest; knowledge, if you desireit; power, if that is what you want; all the kingdoms of the worldand the glory of them. But it is only for one short life, only thejoy of the body. Afterwards, when the immortal spirit is freed fromthe body and the eternal joy should dawn, the spirit knows what ithas lost. But of this we will not speak now. It is tooterrible.'
'But what are you, then; are ye not of his ministers?'
'Nay! We are the spirits of the life of nature. We cause theflowers to bloom and the sap to flow in the plants and trees. Webring in the life from the sun and distribute it to make the worldbeautiful. We teach the birds to sing, and the great trees towhisper their lullabies in the evening air. We bring dreams to thepoet from the lady-moon. But we are ever under the dominion andrule of the great Spirit of the Universe. He with whom you firstcame here is the lord of unbalanced force. We are like unto thechildren of men in shape and form, for we also are human, though wefell not with the fall of Adam. But come! sweet lady, you shalljoin in our dances, and listen to the strains of our music; youshall sup of the essence of the flowers, and shall know thedelights of a land where sin hath never been.'
The gentle fairies came thronging round her, claiming her astheir playmate, and carried her off to show her the wonders oftheir lovely kingdom. One of them, with the sweetest smile, offeredher a bouquet of the most exquisite flowers. But, mindful of whatshe had been taught, she declined the gift with gracious courtesy,saying:
'Nay, sweet friend, I may take nothing, unless you will assureme that it is entirely a free and unbound gift, under noconditions.'
She touched the little protective symbol as she said this. Thefairy who offered her the flowers smiled and said:
'I see that you know our conditions, and the rules of ourexistence. We are bound to try and retain among us all who come tous. But we desire not to coerce any, and we gladly welcomeunconditionally all who know enough, and are strong enough, to cometo us as friends, and on equal terms. Be content then, I offer youa gift freely as you desire, and I pray your acceptance. You arefree of Elfinland.'
Graciously then she took the bouquet, and as she inhaled thesweet fragrance she seemed to herself to become one of the fairies,partaking of their kindly and beautiful nature, yet without losingher own individuality. But she knew, too, how easily in thatperfume she might have lost herself altogether, and forgotten herearth life and remained there always.
The scene of the tale must now shift back to Lochloy, after thesheriff's men, being turned off the farm by John Gilbert, walkeddown the road and searched all round the farm in hopes of pouncingupon her somewhere near. For they felt convinced she must be hidingclose by. But nowhere could she be seen, and at length they decidedto go on to the mansion-house of Park, believing that from thelaird they might get some information. Though at one time he hadbeen a man suspect, yet the exertions of Master John Innes hadsucceeded in freeing him from this suspicion, and obviously he knewsomething of the movements of the suspected women, several of whom,indeed, were tenants of his own.
They were ushered into what was called the laird's businessroom, though in fact the business seemed mainly to consist ofSpanish wines, of which he had already imbibed somewhat more thansufficient; and he remained seated when they entered, possibly froma doubt as to his own stability. But of the object of their errandhe could or would tell them little.
'As to witches, gentlemen, I know nothing. My leech, indeed,assures me there are none such. There was a poor woman in whom Iwas interested, and whom I befriended, who was haled off to Elgin,and burned, so they tell me. A barbarous thing, I hold. But whowere her associates, I know not. As to Mistress Isabel Goudie, Ican say nothing. It were better you should ask Master Harry Forbesthe minister. She is well thought of, though I find the man atroublesome tenant myself. Do you say she has left the farm?Indeed, I knew nothing of it. But in these days, when the popishabomination rears its head again and men plot to bring back theinfamous Stuart kings, we can wonder at no wickedness. Let me tellyou, gentlemen, while you seek to arrest foolish old women, therebe plots going on under your noses that ye take no account of. Seehere, now! I have the fullest information in these papers of thecomplexity of young Cosmo Hamilton to restore Charles Stuart, andwith him of course all the popish superstitions, and all thedebauchery of that foul Court, and at Gordonstown House is the verycentre of his intrigues. For there the lady to whom he is betrothedbides with her aunt, and with Sir Robert Gordon. Fie, then! Why doye not strike at the head of the viper? See ye these papers. Theywere laid before my Lords Commissioners. But of course they donothing. We who live here know, but in London they are so filledwith their own importance they will believe none but themselves.See to it, gentlemen, arrest ye papists and adherents of theStuarts, they are your real witches. Arrest Sir Robert Gordon, anye dare. There is the first criminal.'
He had handed the men a collection of memoranda in his ownhandwriting. They were, sooth to say, somewhat weary of hisdiscourse; wine had made him loquacious, but his speech was thickand halting. But one scrap caught their attention as they languidlyand perfunctorily turned over the papers he handed to them. It wasa torn fragment of a letter he had written and not sent to MasterForbes, before that worthy minister fell sick.
'See,' said one of them, 'this is important. Here be names.'
The other thrust it in his pocket.
'This is sufficient,' he said.
'I pray you, gentlemen, what have you there?' said the laird, aflash of caution gleaming through his intoxication.
'Merely a note of some names, contained in this most admirableand lucid account you have written of the plots. Sir RobertGordon's and others. We are to acquaint the Sheriff with all thisthat ye have told us, and he will deal therewith.'
The names on the paper were actually those of companions ofMaggie Wilson, but the sheriff's men did not think well to say so.The name of Isabel Goudie had been on the paper, but this had beentorn off. Three names, however, remained legible. Meanwhile theother had been turning over the papers, the laird regarding his ownhandiwork with a certain drunken satisfaction.
'See here,' said the man who was examining the papers, 'here beimportant matters. This letter clearly involves Sir Robert Gordon,and this memorandum, professing to be written by Cosmo Hamilton,seemeth to give all details of a plot against the Commonwealth andthe Reformed faith. Under your favour, Mr. Hay, we must takepossession of these. They are for the Sheriff to deal with.'
'Nay, gentlemen,' cried the laird, with a sudden access ofcaution, 'I cannot part with those papers; they are the verybackbone of the information I have collected with infinite pains,and have not yet been seen of any. I am to make my own terms withthe Lord Commissioners for the production thereof. They enable thegovernment to arrest Cosmo Hamilton as an arch-traitor. If I losethose, I lose all. Give them back.'
His voice rose to a scream. He staggered from his chair,attempting to seize the papers from the sheriff's man, who howeverevaded him, and the laird, reeling forward, fell heavily on thefloor. The men gathered up their papers and departed. Just at thatmoment Mistress Hay entered the room pale and distraught.
'David,' she said, 'come quickly! The bairn is dead, Oh! David,do not delay. For God's sake, come!'
But David Hay neither moved nor spoke, he lay on the floor in adrunken stupor.
The two men meanwhile walked back to Aulderne, not ill pleasedwith the results of their visit to Park.
'This should be worth good money to us in some way,' said one ofthem.
'Ay, we hold the cards, an we can but play them wisely. Methinksthe Lords Commissioners will pay well, or failing them, Sir RobertGordon will pay to save his own skin, or to save this youngspringald, for whom he seemeth to have an affection. I think weshall hold these papers for a while till we see who desireth themmost.'
'Ay, truly! Tell me, what can we make of this Sir Robert? I kenbut little of your affairs in this county as yet.'
'Sir Robert liveth mostly alone at Gordonstown, which hedesigneth to make a great family mansion, and they say his ownfamily cannot thole him, for he doeth many things that arequestionable, and men say the Devil helpeth him. For my part, I ama plain man, and I know not of these matters. An the Devil willhelp me to a good stoup of ale and a warm bed, I had as lief itwere him as another. But none of Sir Robert's family bide atGordonstown at the present. His wife is a daughter of the Lord ofGlenluce; she hath not been seen here this long time. His sonLudovic stayeth mostly with his dear friend Dunbar of Hempriggs,the which is nigh to the lands of Windyhills. At this time hiscousin the Lady Mary Gordon keepeth house for him, and with herbideth her niece, who is betrothed to this same Cosmo.'
'Marry! herein is a matter for good profit as it seemeth,Methinks we can deal with Sir Robert. Sooth, I fear not his Devil.Let him save him if he can; but I think these papers will be moreto the point. Come now, good gossip! here we be at Aulderne, andhere an I mistake not is the house indicated to us. Let us keekthrough the window. By my troth, there is a light there. See ye!three of them crouching over the fire. What do they? By the name ofBeelzebub, they be roasting something. It must be one of thosefigures, whereof the last witch that was taken spoke in herconfession. Marry! but here is proof enough. Break the door, andseize them. Comrade, we have done well this night.'
'What will we do with them when we have them?'
'Sooth, there is but one thing to do. We must take them toForres. 'Tis a long tramp, and the Findhorn is in spate, but thereis no other thing. An we go to Nairn we lose all our profit of thecatch, for Dallas of Cantrey is sheriff and we have no commission.In Forres we can house them for the night, and then to Elgin themorn, Now, comrade. Down with the door, and rush.'
Three weary, draggled women, roughly driven forward by the twosheriff's men, toiled through the Brodie woods under the clearmoonlight, past Dyke and Grangehill, making for the ford of theFindhorn. As they neared the river, the roar of the waters provedclearly that she was coming down in spate and the crossing would beperilous.
But not till they came in full sight of the ford was the dangerfully evident. The river rolled black under the moon in waves likea turbulent sea with white crests. Boughs torn off the trees weretossing on the flood. At the ford the dark brown peat-stained waterrolled tumultuously over the stepping-stones, the moon low in thewest showed the debris carried furiously downward. The rising windthat had almost become a tempest tore off the crests of the wavesand swirled them into the air. The two sheriff's men looked at eachother in dismay.
'What's to do?' said one.
'God save us! there's naught to do but try it. Gin ye stick tothe stones, it's not more than ankle deep on them. Oh! we'll winover safe enough, and though we lose these limmers, it's naught butmissing that reward, and we'll get plenty from Sir Robert, e'en letthem drown an they will. Get on, ye besoms--into the water withye--your master gars ye float, so they say, and ye can hold us up.The foul fiend catch ye. Ye'll be wanting water badly enough whenthey have ye at the stake.'
Urged by threats and blows the wretched women plunged throughthe water to the first stepping-stone, and thence jumped to thenext, whose top showed now and then between the waves that lashedover it. The men followed. But as they reached the midmost stone adull roar made them look upstream; a towering wave was sweepingdown, and in their abject terror they seemed to see a mightythreatening form riding on its crest. The two men squealed likehares in a trap in their mad fright, shrieking out a mixture ofblasphemy and prayers and entreaties, indifferently to God and theDevil, to save them from imminent death. The women raised theirarms and cast themselves towards the oncoming wave. In anothersecond it was on them, and the whole five were swept away, whirledhither and thither on the tossing flood, struck against the snags,battered on the stones, entangled in the floating branches of thetrees. Eventually the bodies of the two men were recovered by thePort of Findhorn, knocked and smashed out of all recognition, butidentified by their clothes, and by the papers found upon them. Soit chanced that the precious papers which they had taken from Hayof Lochloy, came to the possession of Dunbar of Westfield ashereditary sheriff, and he as a prudent man, notwithstanding thedoubts that then existed as to who was the actual sheriff, havinggot possession of the papers, retained them, and said nothing ofthe matter to anyone until he should see which way his ownadvantage lay.
Of the three women, however, not a trace was ever found. Therewere some in the Port of Findhorn who roundly averred that they hadseen three witches floating out to sea in eggshells, and thissaying was commonly reported among the boys of that port for many ayear afterwards, and never would they leave an eggshell withoutmaking a crosswise hole in the bottom of it, lest it should betaken and used as a witch boat; moreover, it is stated by some thatthese same three women were afterwards seen at North Berwick, or assome say on the shores of Fife, having journeyed thither in theireggshell boats. But as to this the evidence is far fromsatisfactory. There are, it is true, certain confessions of NorthBerwick witches that narrate their coming thither in eggshells, orsome say in sieves, from a distant place where they had beenpersecuted, and in their statements it seems that they knew muchthe same spells, and did much the same things as were recorded ofthe covens in Moray. But all of this proves nothing, for we knowthat the Devil taught much the same things to all of his disciplesall the world over, even in America, as is told by the ingeniousMr. Cotton Mather.
All that can be certainly averred with regard to these women isthat they were taken from the house of one of them by the sheriff'sofficers, that they were seen by one or two being conveyed downtowards the Waterford, and that the sheriff's men being indubitablydrowned, the bodies of the women were never recovered. Some therewere who said that the witches had themselves raised the spate onthe river, but others declared they had no power of water, butmight have raised the wind. Others again, and with somejustification, say that after a witch is taken she hath no powerany more. So, generally, so far as I can ascertain, the ministers,who had more perfect knowledge of the ways of the Devil thanordinary folk, concluded that it was he himself who raised thisstorm, in order to drown the righteous and godly servants of theCommonwealth, and to free his own disciples.
Sir Robert Gordon it appears somehow or other got knowledge ofthe incriminating papers that had been taken from Hay of Lochloy,probably some of his Dunbar friends may have found out somethingand let him know. He was also growing uneasy on other accounts. Forthe Dark Master had dropped sundry hints, in which there was a grimhumour, not at all to Sir Robert's taste, and his manner had growndistinctly more that of the owner who will presently claim his own.Sir Robert searched his memory for the terms of the covenant underwhich the wisdom he craved so earnestly had been given him. Helooked back to his student days in Spain, the old renegade monk whohad taught him diabolic lore, his studies of the Grimoire and ofTrithemius, the cave at Salamanca and the snatching of his higherself, which the ignorant were wont to call his shadow, knowingnothing of the real nature of that transaction. Then the pactsigned with his blood. Was the end actually near at hand, and thedread penalty to be paid?
Greatly now he desired to have an interview with Isabel Goudie,to whom instinctively he looked for assistance. But in vain. All hecould learn was that she had disappeared none knew where, and thatthere had been several arrests of notorious witches at Aulderne andthe neighbourhood, some of whom were known to have been herintimate friends. And all these matters caused him veryconsiderable uneasiness, as may well be imagined.
WINTER passed into spring, and all over the laigh of Moray thetrees came early into bud and leaf. It was an extraordinarily mildand beautiful season, little disturbed either by late frosts orwild wind storms. Even at that time the climate of the lowlands ofMoray was known as the best in Scotland. The late troubles, too,seemed to have ceased for a time.
With the last frosts of winter 'the wasting sickness' seemed tohave disappeared. Since March no new cases were heard of, and theterror that had brooded over the land seemed to have passed away.The second son of the laird of Park had died, but his other sonshad not been attacked. The laird himself seems to have become achronic invalid, and rarely moved out of his house. He was sorelyexercised over the loss of his papers, but he had no notion whathad become of them. He hoped that they had been lost when the twosheriff's men were drowned, but he dared not inquire. Better forhim, he thought, that they should be lost altogether than fall intoother hands. Dunbar of Grangehill might have enlightened him, if hewould, for he was in Westfield's confidence.
As a fact, Westfield was using the information contained inthose papers to make his position more secure with the authoritiesof the Commonwealth in London, intending to produce them at themost suitable time.
Oliver Cromwell had been made Lord Protector, and the hopes ofthe royalists were for the time dashed to the ground, though Monkstill cherished dreams of a Restoration, which however, he avowedto none.
Sir Robert Gordon continued to send Danny across to France andto receive rich cargoes of aqua vita and other commodities, theproceeds whereof went to the building of Gordonstown House. It issaid that the Dark Master aided him herein, inasmuch as his shipswere never detected nor was his trade interfered with. In fact,though it was commonly stated that Sir Robert was a notorioussmuggler, I can find no hint thereof in any of the official recordsof the time. The stories survive to the present day, and the veryhiding places are shown, but no atom of proof is forthcoming,whence I conclude either that he was supernaturally aided or thathe must have been a man of most diabolic cunning, and perhaps thetwo alternatives may not have been so very far apart from eachother. For some philosophers of the day asserted that the Devildoth not so much aid a man as endow him with wit to aidhimself.
There were times when he recalled with considerable apprehensionthe pact he had signed with the Dark Master; he could not preciselyremember its terms nor could he recall the time when the penaltyhad to be paid. Meantime they drank together in Gordonstown Hall,and the Master proved himself as ever a merry boon companion. Butever the awful shadow of impending doom hung over their meetings.Sir Robert began to feel like a man sentenced to death, who knowsnot when the summons will come and the masked executioner bewaiting for him. If only he could ascertain the time, he wouldbetake himself to Birnie kirkyard, for it was well known that thisplace was of such extraordinary sanctity that all the devils inhell cannot take a man from there. Thither he would go, and ifnecessary he would build himself a hut in the kirkyard, and defythe Devil. He looked on it all as a game, wherein he might, if hewere clever enough, again defeat the Devil, as he had done oncebefore. It was high stakes he was playing for. His salvation if hewon; hell for all eternity if he lost. But he could not find outthe time, nor would the Master tell him.
'One final throw, Rob,' he said, 'and I shall win thistime.'
However, Sir Robert was convinced that the time was not yet, andbefore it arrived he would be able to ascertain all theconditions.
With the early summer Danny's boat brought back Father Blackhallfrom France, full of stories of his adventures there and ofMontfaucon, delighting to sit in the great hall and tell Jean talesof Cosmo, his skill, his daring, and how beloved he was. Also howhe seemed to bear a charmed life, what narrow escapes he had had ofarrest, till his luck became proverbial, and the soldiers of theFronde began to say that he could not be a man at all but was somephantom. Sometimes he slipped through their very grasp when theywere sure they had him. Sometimes when they saw him quite clearly,he was not there when they came up to him. Sometimes again, withextraordinary strength and agility, he fought his way single-handedthrough a troop, for he was a master of weapons, and sword in handthere was no man in either army who could stand face to face withhim. Jean thrilled with pride and delight. But the Father came alsowith a definite suggestion, that caused her heart to throb withhope, to which it had long been a stranger. This was from no less apersonage than the great Cardinal Mazarin himself, who seems tohave formed a very high opinion of Cosmo, and sought for some meansof relieving his troubles. Cosmo, so Father Blackhall reported, hadhad a long interview with the Cardinal, in which he had confided tothe latter the story of his engagement, of the vehement persecutionof the Covenanters and the Lords Commissioners. The Cardinal wouldgladly have given him a commission near to himself that would leadto profit and advance, but Cosmo's one great desire was to retireto a quiet country life with Jean, and that seemed whollyimpossible in Scotland or England or France. The Cardinal, whosincerely wished to benefit him both from his affection for thebrilliant young man and in gratitude for his services, turned histhoughts across the Atlantic to the new world. There was NovaScotia, originally the French Acadia. It had been largely colonisedby the English from Virginia, and had been wholly claimed by JamesI. It would, he said, certainly soon be French again. In themeantime Sir Robert Gordon had a grant as the first of James'baronets of Nova Scotia of 16,000 acres of land in the finest andmost fertile part of the province. The Cardinal's propositiontherefore was that Sir Robert should make over this tract of landto Cosmo. He had influential friends with the government who would,on terms, recognise his rights. When this was done, and the landsassigned to Cosmo, the Cardinal undertook that France shouldrecognise Cosmo's title, which being thus under the protection ofboth governments would be unassailable. Mazarin having his fingeron European politics, and knowing all the moves of everygovernment, was fully aware that Cromwell, now that he had beenplaced in practically absolute power, intended to occupy thepeninsula in force. But he was also confident that before manyyears had passed it would be restored to France, when CharlesStuart came back to his ancestral throne, which Mazarin regarded asa certainty in spite of all appearances to the contrary. Cosmo'sservices to the cause of the exiled monarch, coupled with thecharters that Mazarin undertook to produce from Louis XIV, wouldensure him a peaceful and happy home and a fair fortune in the verygarden of the province, the valley of Annapolis, lying behind theprecipices that skirt the Bay of Fundi.
All depended on the recognition by the English government of SirRobert's claim under his patent, as premier Knight Baronet of NovaScotia, to these lands, and following thereon his grant toCosmo.
All of this Father Blackhall expounded minutely, and brought allthe necessary papers; Sir Robert, sooth to say, had long ceased tothink of these Nova Scotian claims. Since the murder of KingCharles, and the triumph of the Parliamentary forces, he had ceasedto take any interest in this settlement of which in its inceptionhe had been one of the leading spirits. He had settled down in theestate he had acquired from Innes of Drainie, and devoted himselfto the acquisition of the knowledge which he had so earnestlycraved. But now a new vista opened before him. If only time wereallowed him, he could defeat his enemies and provide for Jean, whomindeed he loved far more than any of his own family. Mentally hereviewed his political friends and connections. Yes! there weremany influential men on the Parliamentarian side, and all underobligations to him. He could count on their support, and they wouldsuffice. Cromwell, in his new dignity as Lord Protector, could notafford to offend them. So with no delay, missives were sent forthto several of the leading men on that side of politics. Butconsiderable time must need to elapse before replies could bereceived, and Sir Robert realised with apprehension that his timemight be short; the final throw with the Dark Master might beforced upon him before the necessary confirmations of his rightscould be obtained. He was a strong man and accustomed to beself-reliant, he was not going to play the craven now, or to whineover the pact he had himself made. He had entered on the game in agambler's spirit, and he was going to win if he could. But now moredepended on it than he had calculated on. For the sake of these twochildren he must get this business put through before the lastcontest.
'Yet another race we must ride, Rob,' the Master said in one oftheir carouses, 'and maybe I shall win this time.'
'And when will that be, Black Jock? By our pact ye can take mewhen the time is up. I never promised to give myself to ye. So yeshall e'en take me if ye can. I challenge ye to do it. And I trowye will fail again, as ye did before. But I would know when thetime is.'
He spoke confidently, but he was far from feeling as assured ashis words implied.
'Nay, Rob! that is just what ye may not know. Think ye I am sucha fool as to quit any advantage that is on my side? A man who hathbeaten the Devil once needs to be very clever to do it a secondtime. Ye have had your innings, Rob, and a right good one. Soon itwill be my turn. Drink out, man. This Spanish wine is good, thoughye do prefer your claret. Ye might have had more pleasure--women,and feasting and jollity, but ye preferred knowledge, and I gave yepower besides. But the time of our last bout I will not tellye.'
Father Blackhall came in.
'Ha!' he said, 'this is the meeting I have long desired.Sathanas, mine old adversary! whom I have never encountered in theflesh before.'
'Scarcely "in the flesh," Sir Priest. Clearly ye do not know mewell, even yet. By very many names I am and have been called amongthe sons of men. But is not your Reverence afraid to talk thus withthe Devil? I am held to have some power.'
'No power at all against the weapons I hold, replied the Father.'I know well your empire is only over material things, and as yeare well aware, material things weigh not one grain with me. Longhave I known that it is only the eternal kingdom of the divinespirit that hath any reality. But why say ye "scarcely in theflesh"?'
'See ye then, since ye know me so little--your Reverence is inthe flesh. Ye were born and ye will die, and in the meantime ye aresolidly there, and ye cannot get out of your prison of the body. Iam eternal as matter itself, whereof I am the lord, for that wasdelivered unto me. So can I change my shape even as matter changes,but perishes not. Choose, then, what I shall give ye. There must besomething ye desire for yourself or some other. Be not afraid ofasking. Well ye know it is in my power to grant anything ye wishfor. I am not in the flesh, I am eternal as ye know, therefore realas ye just now said.'
'Specious, but untrue,' smiled the Father. 'The world began andthe world will end, and ye will end, miserably as will all yourdupes. My Master came in the flesh, and will be Lord of all whenyou and your kingdom are hurled down to hell. Therefore, I fear younot, and therefore also I scorn your offers. But I desire to knowmore of your nature, that I may haply deliver some poor souls fromyour deceptions. Also it were well that ye should know that I havesome power too.' He made the sign of the cross. 'By the powercommitted unto me by my Divine Master, I order ye, lord ofunbalanced force, whom men call the Devil or Sathanas, that ye comeapart with me, and answer truly the questions I shall put toye.'
He rose to his feet, and his figure seemed to grow tall andcommanding. The Dark Master visibly shuddered, and cringed beforehim, as together they passed out of the hall.
Sir Robert had remained a passive spectator of this strangecolloquy. He had sought knowledge with untiring diligence, andknowledge had been his, far beyond what is ordinarily attained bymen. His beloved sovereign King Charles had extolled his wisdom,and had trusted him above all his counsellors, Sir Robert hadsmiled to himself thinking of the contrast between the nature ofthe saintly monarch and the source of the wisdom he praised sohighly; afterwards he grew apprehensive. His wisdom, after all, wasonly of the world. King Charles had the divine spirit, and thenobility of his death made earthly wisdom look poor and mean; yethere was a priest, pretending to no special knowledge or wisdom, bythe simple power of his orders compelling and coercing the dreadlord of all material things, the source of all the knowledge andpower he had risked his soul and his eternal life to win. He foundall his outlook on life suddenly reversed.
Well, the past could not be undone. He must go through with it.The fair prospect that opened before Jean and Cosmo was in hishands, he must get this for them, and he must play out his lastmatch with the Devil, and whatever the issue he must be worthy ofhis race.
What passed in that secret colloquy between Father Blackhall andthe Devil will never be divulged, but certain it is that after thatday the Reverend Father had a much fuller knowledge of the worksand ways of Sathanas. He grew very tolerant of many things thatpreviously he had most scathingly denounced, and on the other handhe unflinchingly condemned much that in the world hardly passed formore than the most venial fault. Some day, perhaps, a memoir of hislife may be written, and his own writings may be rescued fromoblivion, and even though, as is likely, this meeting may be setdown as a dream or fancy, its influence will be very apparent.
But Father Blackhall's increased knowledge of the diabolicnature was no help to Sir Robert. He could not tell the priest thewhole story, and though he had certainly been profoundly impressedby the power he showed when he ordered the Dark Master to followhim, and was obeyed, still he could not alter the pact that SirRobert had signed, nor extract information that Sathanas wasunwilling to afford.
Instinctively, and without quite knowing why, he wished verymuch that he could see Mistress Isabel Goudie. From the very firstmoment he had seen her he recognised something unusual about her.And though he had only thought of her latterly as Black Jock'sfavourite mistress, yet deep down in his mind he knew that heplaced her in a far different category from the covens, whom soothto say he much disliked. But Mistress Isabel had vanishedcompletely, and the most careful inquiries failed to elicit theslightest clue to what had become of her. John Gilbert thought thesheriff's men had arrested her after all, and that she had beendrowned at the fords of the Findhorn. Mr. Harry Forbes and thelaird of Park seemingly shared this view, the minister loudlyasserting that, be that as it might, she was no witch but a mosthonest godly woman, which opinion the neighbours generallyshared.
Isabel herself, as soon as she received the bouquet from thefriendly fairy on that night when she was made free of Elfinland,felt that she had now indeed become one of them, and gladly shewent with them to see all they had to show her, and to learn thenature of this new magic world she had so often longed to know of,and to visit.
'This is the land of thought,' they said; 'thoughts are thingswith us.'
Wonderful pictures passed before her wherein she saw therealities of things. She saw a perfectly ordered world, whereeverything obeyed a great divine law, but through this the childrenof men wandered purblind, seeing contradictions, and cruelty, andinjustice everywhere, because they could only see a part of thegreat whole. She saw how that part which they saw, and which theycalled the material world, seemed to them the reality. Only a few,such as bards and poets, could penetrate the realm of thought andsee what lay behind, and these the world termed mad. Then she sawthe doings of the covens, and that world to which she had belonged.Here nothing was real, but what the senses could perceive. Herephysical enjoyment was the only thing sought or recognised, and thehighest physical enjoyment was obtained on terms of giving up thepower to see anything beyond. This then was the loss of the soul.So then the nature and work of the Devil was clear. She saw herselfand she saw Sir Robert of Gordonstown, and knew that the conditionsof both were in fact the same; she had desired romance, adventure,and the pleasing of the physical senses; he had desired knowledge,and the satisfaction of his physical brain. She had given her soulto the Dark Master in Aulderne kirk; in Salamanca he had lost hisshadow, which was his higher faculty of perceiving the truths thatthe senses or the reason cannot penetrate.
Then she looked to see the end of these things. In the world ofthought she knew that man has an immortal part, but his body diesand decays. What then of the bodiless spirit, when the instrumentwhereby it gratifies its desire is perished, but all the desiresare still vital, the burning thirst for the water of life, whereofno single drop can touch the parched lips? Nothing left but theeternal torment of unsatisfied, unsatisfiable cravings, an eternalsolitude helpless and hopeless. She had never believed in the hellof the theologians, but this was not only true, it wasinevitable.
Even in her Catholic days, she could never fully accept thetheory of punishment for wrongdoing. But now, as the picturespassed before her, and the verities of things became clear, she sawthat there was no punishment but the certain and logical result ofa cause. If a man plucks out his eyes, we do not say that it is apunishment that he cannot see. She saw, too, that the trouble andunhappiness of the world arose from the contest of the materialworld with the world of thought, the spiritual world. The bards andpoets and the saints were happy, because the world of thought wasthe only real world to them, the material world weighed as nothing.The disciples of the Dark Master were happy so long as life lasted,for the spiritual world was nothing to them, they had renounced thefaculty of perceiving it at all, they took every material pleasureof the senses without any scruple, and in return for suchrenunciation he could give them every conceivable pleasure thattheir nature desired here in this life. But she herself had notentirely so renounced. There was her Catholic baptism, and thespirit born from that only slept; it was not and could not bekilled. She saw in picture the things that she had done, and sheknew that not in any of these lay the offence for which, as she nowclearly saw, she had come into grievous peril. In many cases theywere but natural laws, deemed supernatural because unknown. She hadused many of them unscrupulously to please herself, or gratify hervanity, such as raising storms and the like. But in the using ofthem was no sin, whatever ministers might say. But it was in thedenying and renouncing of her spiritual nature that she lost allthat life that should be hers when the material body perished, anddoomed herself to the eternal torment and solitude. Yet both forher and for Sir Robert there was still hope. For her, because thespirit of her Catholic baptism had never been renounced; for him,because he had made a pact whereby the Devil might take him if hecould. He had not given himself, and it was even possible that shemight aid him. Therefore she was here that she might see all thisclearly. New hope arose within her, and a new happiness andpeace.
Now she knew the secret of the happiness of the kindly gentlefairies of Elfinland, she could share their innocent mirth, playand dance with them, and gather renewed strength this night. On themorrow she would return to the world she had left. She knew whatshe had to do, and she would do it. So they led her back to thegreat hall, where the king had received her, and taught her theirgames and their dances, while the exquisite music throbbed aroundthem, and the scent of the flowers wrapped her like a garment.
It was a true intuition, as will be seen from her experiences inElfinland, that made Sir Robert so keenly desire her return, and ithad been a true intuition that had drawn him so strangely to herfrom the first, though of its cause he had no idea. He had, infact, dimly perceived the likeness in their experience, strange andweird as it was, and he was conscious in some dim curious way ofthe fact that she could help him, where no other could. But it wasin vain, she was gone none knew whither, and he felt sadly aloneand deserted. Many things combined to cause him uneasiness. He wasgrowing old, and the date of his last contest was uncertain. Onlyhe knew it was inevitable; and what form it would take was alsodark. There was no possibility to prepare. Then days and weeksextended themselves to months, and no answer came from thepolitical friends to whom he had applied for a confirmation of hispatent and his rights to the lands in Nova Scotia. Until he gotthis, he could not make over these lands to Cosmo, and all thecharters and titles which Mazarin had promised and which King Louishad granted would be waste paper, for all depended on Cosmo gettingthe grant from him.
The beeches of Gordonstown had shed the ruined gold of autumnover the dead grass, the great hills to the southward had doffedtheir royal robes of purple heather and flung over their mightyshoulders the ermine mantle of early winter, and still there was nonews.
By Mazarin's advice, Cosmo was coming home to get from SirRobert such documents as were possible under the circumstances,that there be no delay.
'He hath a talisman,' said the baronet, in a conversation withthe Dark Master. 'He cannot be arrested.'
'Nay, Rob! be not oversure of that. I ken well the talisman hehath, in fact it cometh from me through Mistress Isabel, and itsvirtue is but for a year and a day. Look ye back, Rob, how longago, think ye, since that talisman was given? It was when hisReverence left us last.'
A cold chill went down Sir Robert's spine, and stirred the rootsof his hair; he realised in a flash that the appointed time hadpassed. Cosmo had left France, he was unprotected. Cromwell's spieslooked for him everywhere, they surely knew all his movements. Ifnot on the high seas, they would catch him as soon as he set footon Scottish shores, and then would all the trouble be in vain, allthe high hopes would crumble to dust. It would be a deathblow toJean. Hardly was the spirit left in the old man to face his lastthrow with the Devil. Was it worth while to fight at all when theLords of Fate dealt blows like this.'
He had come too openly; grown presumptuous with his longimmunity and extraordinary luck, as it seemed to them. Far betterif he had trusted to Danny's boat and to some disguise. Danny hadbeen sent to look out and report. Cosmo was to land at the Port ofLeith, and come up from there either overland, or if he so pleased,in Danny's boat. But the last dispatch from the old sailor wasdiscouraging. The English Admiral had seen the vessel pass, he hadcertainly known that Cosmo was on board, but had taken no notice,but by the pier and shore of Leith were the soldiers of the LordProtector waiting and watching for something.
Isabel felt that she must not linger in this lovely fairyland,exquisite though it was. She was urgently needed. The picturesshown her had convinced her of this. When her work was done shemight return, meantime this one night had opened a new life forher. In a pause of their revels she presented herself again to theking and craved permission to depart on the morrow, with gratefulthanks for all she had received.
'Nay,' said the king, 'but ye shall bide with us for a littlewhile yet.'
'I may not bide, sweet friends,' she said. 'One night is allthat I may spare just now. When my work is done I will return, anye will once more grant me your courteous hospitality.'
'Know ye, he replied, 'that since ye came to us there hathalready passed a year and a day of earth time.' Dismay rushed overher. A year and a day. The charm she had given Jean Gordon, thespell of the moon-paste, was only valid for that time, its efficacywas already past. What might not have happened?
'Oh, let me go at once, great lord, I pray you. Indeed theremust be no delay. I know not what may have chanced in thistime.'
'Lady! I grieve to refuse. I cannot let ye depart. I know thatye go to trouble and suffering such as ye dream not of. For yourown safety and protection, I must keep ye here with us.'
'Ye dare not detain me,' she said, 'I bear the amulet of Thomasof Erceldoune.'
She held out the little golden disk, turning it round andshowing him the hexagram engraven on the reverse.
'With great reluctance,' he said, 'I must let ye depart andspeed ye on your way. Fain would I have saved ye, but one strongerthan I compels me. Farewell, sweet lady! I pray ye remember alwaysthe fairies of the Knock. And if the fates be kinder to ye than Ideem possible, and ye are able to return, none will be morewelcome. We shall watch and strengthen ye for that which ye have todo. Go forth then in the name and strength of those who rule bothus and you. Where will ye that ye shall awake to the earthlife?'
'On the lands of Gordonstown,' she said, 'there it is that I amneeded.'
Softer and softer and fainter sounded the fairy music in herears as the fairies flocked around, kissing her and stroking herhair as they laid her down on a couch of softest silk, and thestrains of the music died away and the whole scene grew dim. Achill and feeling of cramp oppressed her, she strove for a momentor two to open her eyes, wondering how the fairies would convey herto Gordonstown. There was a smell of salt in the air, and a feelingof winter keenness and crispness, the sound of breaking waves wasin her ears With a struggle she sat up, and looked around amazed.She had awaked on the edge of the cliffs overlooking the caves ofCovesea. A boat was rocking at anchor in the offing, and over theedge of the cliff came old Danny, Sir Robert's man, with whom shehad held many a talk in former days. He started as though he hadverily seen a ghost.
'Save us;' he cried, ''tis Mistress Goudie. Long hath Sir Robertmourned ye as dead. Faith! but I'm relieved to see ye, Mistress,for 'tis heavy tidings I have, and I ken not how I may break themto Sir Robert and the family. Indeed it is of the worst. YoungMaster Hamilton is a prisoner in the hands of the Commonwealth.Taken last night at Leith, he was. And I fear it will go hard withhim. They be bitter cruel to those they take. And he that they callthe Lord Protector hath no mercy. Sir Robert too hath been ailingthese last days. Well, the Lord be good to us! At least ye willhelp to break this ill news and to support us all.'
Isabel was pleased to notice how the faithful old man identifiedhimself with the family he had served so long.
'For that reason I am come,' she said simply. 'Take me to thehouse, good friend. Naught that I can do shall be left undone.'
AT GORDONSTOWN House there was trouble and anxiety. For long thefate of Cosmo was unknown, save for Danny's brief report. SirRobert wrote urgent letters to all his influential friends on bothsides to obtain whatever information he could, but days and weekspassed and not a word could be obtained. At last, when all weresick with anxiety, an answer came that only deepened their trouble.By the order of the Council of State fifty Scotch prisoners wereordered to be delivered to John Reid, master of the brigantineLiberty, to be transported to New England, and there to be sold.The name of Cosmo Hamilton appeared on the list. This selling ofScottish prisoners into slavery was a known practice of the LordsCommissioners, and was continued under the Lord Protector, thoughthe fact is conveniently glossed over by most historians. There isextant a list of two hundred and seventy-two who were sent over inthe John and Sara, which cleared at Gravesend 8th November 1651. Inthe previous year one hundred and fifty had been shipped in theUnity for transportation. The Scots living at Boston in 1657founded the 'Scots Charitable Society' for helping theseunfortunate victims of the party of liberty and the Reformed faith,which Society still exists and is the oldest charitableorganisation in America. And there is still among the papers atGordonstown House 'Ane list of one hundred prisoners in the "Castleof Dunatter" to be delivered to Mr. George Scott of Pitlochie fortransportation, according to ane Act of Counsell for that effect.'There are also in various family archives receipts for 'men sold.'The prices seem to have been high. No doubt Scotsmen were valuableas slaves on the American plantations.
No wonder there was deep anxiety. Jean Gordon lay almostsenseless with grief and trouble. Sir Robert himself was far fromwell, and the whole burden of the household was upon Lady Mary, forSir Robert's two sons either could not or would not come toGordonstown, and both his daughters were married. Isabel Goudiestayed on at Gordonstown, and was a great comfort and support toSir Robert, who refused to part with her.
At length, after long waiting, news came that the Liberty was toclear at Leith on the following day. All political influence thatSir Robert could bring to bear was in vain. The order of theCouncil of State was imperative, there was absolutely nothing to bedone. A single minister might be influenced or even coerced, but aCouncil is impervious. In his perplexity Sir Robert consultedMistress Isabel.
'I can help ye, Sir Robert,' she said. 'Just let me know thehour and the place of the ship's leaving, and I'll warrant ye shecomes not safe to any shore. Moreover, I will bring the loverstogether again. For well ye ken my spells work, though, in truth, Ihave seen cause to come to another mind concerning them. Butwhatever the result or the cost may be, I'll risk it this time.Only first I must revisit Lochloy.'
'My chariot and horses are at your disposal, Mistress Isabel;and most heartily do I thank ye for your kindly and timely help, asso often ye have helped us before.'
'I thank ye, Sir Robert. I have, as ye know, other and quickermeans of travelling. I believe I can go and return unseen now.There will, I think, be none about the farm at this hour.'
She stepped forth from the door to the entrance drive, and,standing on a low wall, she chanted the 'horse and hattock' spell.She had driven from her mind all doubt as to its efficacy, and sureenough there stood the coal-black horse waiting for her to mount.'Hey for Lochloy!' she cried, and they rose in the air, and spedfast over the lowlands, now frostbound in the grip of winter.
Slightly dismayed, as she approached the farm, she saw JohnGilbert, contrary to his custom, working only a couple of hundredyards to the east of the house. He was clearing out a few old thorntrees from a bit of land he had long designed to bring intocultivation. As he rested on his mattock, he saw, but hardlynoticed, a hare that ran past him in the direction of the farm.
The door was on the latch, and Isabel, after saying the words toreturn to woman's shape, stood once more in her own little room.Nothing had been changed. John Gilbert had the fancy orsuperstition common to many of his class and time to leave all thebelongings of the dead undisturbed till after burial; and there hadbeen no burial, and could not be, so for over a year the room hadremained precisely as she had left it. It was the vessel containingthe sacred moon-paste of which she was in search, and this was justwhere she had put it. Hurriedly, lest Gilbert should return, shetook a portion and hid it in the bosom of her dress. Then, moved bya sudden impulse, she took from the kist the old homespun dress inwhose bosom was sewn the little gold crucifix, and tied it up in abundle to take with her. Then she looked round the room which shehad more than half expected she would never see again.
The familiar flutter that she knew so well was at the latticedwindow; it seemed only yesterday that she had left it all; her stayat Gordonstown looked like a dream. The Dark Master stood in theroom. She laid down her bundle and was clasped in his arms as inthe old times, joying to be there. Yet now it was with adifference. Somehow now she was not looking forward to joyousadventures with him, feastings, and revels with the coven. Itseemed more like a leave-taking, but why she could not see.
'Sweetheart! ye have been long away, and the influence of theMiddle Kingdom is on ye yet, but ye will come back to me as yewere. There have been troubles, and many of the coven have beentaken. But soon this will be past, and all be as it was before.This is in the decrees of the Lords of Fate.'
'Sooth. Lord! I know not. Yet blithe I am to be with ye again.But now I may not stay; I must to Gordonstown.'
'Ay, love, make the most of your time. Sir Robert's hour hathalmost struck. By our pact I shall take him, and he shall work forthee and me. I can place thee by my side, and we shall reign theking and queen of earth--all the kingdoms of the world shall besubject unto us. In thee I have found the only woman fit to be amate for me.'
'Yea, but sooth I know not. I must fulfil mine errand.'
'Ay, and so ye shall, and all the spells of my kingdom shall aidye.'
She took up her bundle again, and as she did so he stood asideand she stepped forth again, and cried, 'Horse and hattock!' andaway. For one moment John Gilbert could have declared he saw hiswife standing as of old by the farmhouse door. Then he rubbed hiseyes, and knew it was but a trick of memory that had deceived him.A shadow and a gleam of sun on the half-open door had recalled herform. He was not wont to be so fanciful.
Back again at Gordonstown, she sat by Jean's bedside, for thepoor child was unable to sit up; anxiety had robbed her of sleep,and a return of the old delicacy had come over her. But holdingIsabel's hand she felt better and stronger, and new hope came toher through the seeming hopelessness of everything. Isabel hadprivily taken a fragment of the moon-paste on her finger, and withthis she made a cross on Jean's forehead while she stroked her hairand softly caressed her.
'Never fear, sweet child,' she whispered, 'he will come back toye. He will be safe. Never mind how hopeless it looks. I promise yeit will be well.'
'Isabel, I believe ye. Indeed, ye are a saint, of that I amsure. Already I am better and stronger. I feel somehow united withCosmo again.' Isabel under her breath had breathed a spell on themoon-paste, calling on the fragment that was in the locket Cosmowore to unite itself with that which she had placed on Jean'sforehead. For this spell, too, she had been taught, to bring partedlovers together, and the influence of this Jean felt, thoughknowing not whence it came.
That night in her chamber she made with all the care she could atiny image of Cosmo with the paste. She dashed water round it, sheblew furiously upon it, but always with extreme care, sheltering itfrom any contact with the wild forces so raised in miniaturesemblance; then she softly chanted:
'I hold thee safe in the Devil's name,
Unscathed of water shalt thou remain,
Unhurt of wind, undrowned in sea,
Safe so long as pleaseth me.'
'None other name know I to conjure with,' she said to herself,'and though lose my soul at the last, what matters it? their soulsand their happiness are worth far more, and so I trow it is welldone.'
That night, to the relief of all, Jean slept calm and tranquil,and dreamed of Cosmo.
The next morning Isabel asked of Sir Robert to tell her theprecise hour of the sailing of the Liberty, and to take her up onthe roof of Gordonstown, and point out to her exactly the directionwhere lay the town of Leith. The vessel was to clear at teno'clock, at which time the tide would serve; but, as Sir Robertsaid, it would likely be a full hour after ere they were well awayfrom the port, and towards evening before they rounded NorthBerwick. Standing beside one of the lofty chimneys, Sir Robert tooka compass in his hand, and making a careful calculation he made twomarks on the stone battlements surrounding the roof, one of whichindicated the direction of Leith, and the other of North Berwick.He then descended, leaving Isabel, by her own request, on the roof.She whistled thrice, and snapped her fingers, crying, 'Red Reiver,Red Reiver, hither to me!'
Immediately the attendant sprite was there, asking for hercommands. 'Fly swiftly,' she said, 'unto North Berwrick, to mygossip of olden days, Kirsty Simpson the gipsy. Bid her watch outfor the brigantine Liberty from Leith, bound for New England, andsend me word immediately she roundeth the shore of North Berwick.Say that the ship is doomed, and shall never win to port; and bidher aid me in that which I do. Now enough, flee! And I look to yeto bring me word when the ship is sighted.'
She waited on the roof till she heard the great horologe in thehall chime the hour of eleven. Then she descended to the laundry ofthe house and borrowed a beetle from one of the maids, saying thatshe had some things of her own she wished to wash. With this and apiece of cloth she returned to the roof, and laid it on the markthat indicated the direction of Leith. Then she sprinkled it withwater from an ewer she brought up also with her, and beat the clothwith the beetle, saying as she did so:
'I beat this rag upon this stane
To raise the wind in the Devil's name;
It shall not fall till I please again.'
A low moaning sound was heard, and puffs of wind began to blowround the chimney. She stood beside the chimney that was her mark,and looked steadfastly towards the stone whereon lay the rag ofcloth.
'Little is the breeze now,' she said, 'but 'twill be a storm erenight. Let the sailors beware passing Berwick Law.'
She went down to her chamber and carefully brought up the tinyclay image she had made of Cosmo. There was a pool of water wherethe lead of the roof had slightly sagged; this the puffs of windlashed into a mimic storm. She set the little figure beside it justwhere the fullest force of the wind fell, but somehow the drivenwater never touched it, nor, though it stood on its feet with nosupport, did the wind overset it.
'It is well,' she said; 'he will be safe.' And she descended,and sat with Jean, cheery and hopeful, till the invalid grew brightand cheerful, and almost, in spite of every evidence to thecontrary, began to believe that somehow a miracle would happen, andthat Cosmo would be rescued or would escape.
Towards nightfall she repeated the same spell, only with fargreater vigour and intensity.
Punctually at eleven o'clock that morning Mr John Reid, masterof the brigantine Liberty, had cleared from Leith and set hiscourse eastward towards North Berwick. The fifty prisoners had beenduly delivered to him, and he had given a receipt for them,undertaking to hand them over all safe and sound and in good healthto the consignee in New England; but a gusty wind from the eastrendered their progress slow, and the sun was already settingbefore they approached North Berwick. There was a greenish lightbehind the red sunset clouds, and every indication that it waslikely to come on to blow in the night. Master Reid decided that itwould be well to shorten all sail and keep as far out as possible.The ship lurched, and heaved, and pitched, and many of theprisoners were deadly sick. Cosmo bravely kept up their spirits,though his own heart was very sore within him, for he knew not howmuch his friends in the north knew of his fate, or what mightchance to his beloved Jean.
Before midnight the wind made a sudden shift to the south,throwing the ship right into the trough of the sea; a huge wavestruck her before she could right herself, and started some of hertimbers, and following almost immediately, another wave tore awaythe rudder, and she was driven helplessly before the gale. Thesailors rushed to the pumps, for there was four feet of water inthe hold.
Gangs of men relieved each other at the pumps, but with alltheir exertions could scarcely keep the water down. Then a terrificcross-blast from the east laid her on her beam ends, and it seemedas though she must inevitably go to the bottom. The water pouredout of the hold, over the decks. The sailors left the Pumps andrushed to cut away the masts, and, relieved of this weight, theship at length righted herself; but she was now nothing but a logat the mercy of the winds and tides. With some ado they had managedto stop the leak, temporarily at all events, so that she wouldstill float, till they should drift across some vessel that mightgive them help. It was useless to think of lowering the boats insuch a sea as was running. There was nothing for it but to stick tothe ship and hope for some succour. The prisoners were in hopelessmisery for the most part. Some prayed and some cursed; a few brokeaway from the guards and threw themselves into the sea. Many of thesailors shouted for grog, thinking, perhaps, that it was moredecent to die drunk, and began to make a threatening movementtowards the spirit-room. Cosmo seized an old horse-pistol from thenerveless hand of the second mate, and, dashing forward, placedhimself in front of the door; daring any man to come an inchnearer.
So on the raging gale and tide the dismantled ship driftednorthward, by some strange providence keeping well out to sea, andkept afloat by constant pumping. The cargo, of course, had longbeen jettisoned.
And thus for two weary days and nights they were driven beforethe furious tempest. The sun was sinking on the third day when thewind shifted a point or two to the east of south, and, not knowingin the least where they were, it seemed almost certain that theymust be driven on to the shore, and all hope of safety seemed tohave utterly gone. Some clamoured for the boats, and with verygreat difficulty the pinnace was lowered to the boiling sea. Thesailors crushed and crowded to get into her, several falling intothe water in their mad efforts. At length, greatly overcrowded,they tried to shove her off. But a furious wave caught her just asshe cleared the ship, and dashed her against the side, throwingevery man on board into the seething waters, where they were sweptaway in a moment.
Against the angry glow of the sunset they could now see thepurple line of the shore, and made out the hills behind Peterhead.Destruction seemed imminent, but they were helpless. All they coulddo was to keep afloat as long as possible. Master John Reid, astern and fierce old man, had by this time got his crew well inhand, and such of them as were left had managed to draw a sailunder the ship's bottom and so control the leak for a while.
Contrary to all expectation, the ship drifted past the shore,passing only a mile out from Fraserburgh, when the wind made asudden shift to the east, and carried her, rolling and tossing likea log, into the Moray Firth.
During that night the wind moderated, and though the sea stillworked tempestuously when morning broke, it was possible to get theboats away. And indeed, none too soon, for it was clear that thegood ship Liberty was settling down. The pinnace was gone, but thelong boat, the yawl, and the cutter were still available, and thesewould take many of those on board. Some, however, preferred to makea raft by lashing together the broken spars and all the wreckagethey could lay their hands on. Master Reid and his officers werewell aware that Cosmo was the chiefest prize, and that they woulddo well for themselves by securing him at all hazards. Reid, havingassured himself that there was sufficient accommodation for allthat were left after the raft had been cast adrift, held Cosmoclose to himself, and saw all the remaining souls into the boats.It was not without difficulty that this was accomplished. But Reidstood on the deck with two pistols in his hands, raving andcursing, and swearing to shoot any man who disobeyed his orders,which most of the men verily believed he would have done. FinallyCosmo was roughly thrown into the long boat, and Reid followed justas the ship, settling lower into the water, gave a final shudder asthe seas swept over her deck, and she settled down by the head andsank.
Nine men were in the long boat, besides Cosmo and Reid. They hadoars, and they managed to improvise a sail, but wind and tide keptthem out to sea, which, indeed, was fortunate, for none of the menknew the coast of Firth, and they must certainly have been dashedto pieces had they attempted to run in.
Meanwhile they had provisions enough to last for some days, anda keg of fresh water; and though they suffered grievously from thecold, still they were so far safe and alive, and they had got theirmost important prisoner secure, and they were making rapidlywestward. Reid knew in a general way that there were sandy shoresfarther up the Firth, where, with decent luck, he might run hisboats ashore, or even fall in with some fishermen or coastingvessels. So with oars and sail, aided by wind and tide, they madefairly rapid progress.
Hitherto, since the ship had sprung the first leak, they had notseen anything afloat on the wild waste of waters. Every vessel ofany kind whatsoever had either made for the open sea or run intoshelter. But as the tempest moderated there was some chance ofmeeting with something that might rescue them from their peril.
Meantime, on the edge of the cliffs above Covesea, Isabel Goudiestood with old Danny. The wind had moderated, but still blew toostrongly for any boat to live in safety on that rocky coast. Out inthe offing a boat was visible toiling along westward, and vainlytrying against a north wind to keep out to sea; bit by bit she wasdrifting in on the skerries.
'Can she live, Danny?' said Isabel.
'Ay, can she, if the wind goes down, but not otherwise,' the oldman replied. 'Even then I doubt it, unless there is those on boardthat ken the coast near as well as I ken it myself.'
'Could you win out to her, Danny?'
'Ay, if the wind dropped I might, in the coble. There's just onepassage that's possible in this sea, and I'm thinking no other manin Morayshire would try it but myself. I've done it in as bad asea, and I might again. But ye ken, mistress, it's an unchancything to try.'
'See, then, I'm telling ye. Master Cosmo Hamilton is in thatboat. An he can be saved, it saves Mistress Jean's life, and savesSir Robert, for surely he will die if harm comes to Master Cosmo.Will ye try it?'
'That I will, mistress! For Master Cosmo's own sake. See ye, Ilove that boy as gin he was my own son. An' Mistress Jean, blessher bonny face! there's naught in life I would not do for her. Aman can but die once. But think ye the wind will go down, mistress?I believe ye are more weather-wise than any of us; 'twas ye whotold me this storm was coming up, and not a sailor boy on the coastwould have thought it. Man and boy I have been nigh on fifty yearson these seas, and I would have laughed at ye had I not beenashamed when ye said yon. But ye were right.'
'Well, Danny, I tell ye again now, the wind will be all gone inless than a quarter of an hour.'
'Then I'll get out to yon boatie, mistress! I'll believe ye thistime, and to show it I'll e'en go now and get out the coble.'
He strode to the edge of the cliff, and down the narrow path tothe shore. Left to herself, Isabel took from her pocket the clothshe had beaten before, and which lay almost dry, and spread it on arock, saying:
'I lay this wind in the Devil's name,
It shall not rise till I please again.'
The wind was sinking, but not so fast as she designed. Shewhistled thrice and called, 'Red Reiver! Red Reiver! Hither tome!'
The sprite was there on the instant.
'Red Reiver! Quick! Conjure me this wind in the Devil'sname:
'May the winds lie hushed and still,
And rise no more without I will.'
There was a final long sigh from the north, and the wind droppedentirely. Old Danny below looked in wonder at sea and sky.Everything had portended a continuance or renewal of the storm, andhere, as Mistress Goudie had said, it had absolutely fallen. Dannycrossed himself, for he was a God-fearing Catholic, and this wasuncanny. All the same, he got the coble afloat. But the great wavesstill rushed with resistless force over the skerries and foamedover the wicked teeth of the rocks. The long boat came driving in.The long, flat rock known as the 'Scarf' showed its wicked crestabove the waves, there was a bump and a crash, and she was over it.But out of sight, though barely under the surface, was the'Spindle.' A huge wave hurled her on to its jagged point, and torea gaping hole in her side. It was but an instant, and all theeleven men were cast hither and thither in the raging sea. Cosmowas flung almost stunned on a small crest of rock, to which heclung instinctively, battered and bruised, with just sufficientstrength left to hang on; all the other ten, swept back by thesweep of the returning wave, were drowned. Danny in his coblestrove with might and main to reach him, and at length bysuperhuman efforts succeeded, and Cosmo, more dead than alive, wasbrought ashore, and old Danny and Isabel between them helped him upto the cliff, where he was speedily put to bed, and Sir Robert andLady Mary were made acquaint with the joyful news.
Of the whole of the souls who were in the ship Liberty when shecleared from Leith, Cosmo was, so far as it is possible toascertain, the sole survivor, and of his rescue none save thehousehold of Gordonstown knew. In the archives of the Commonwealthhis name occurs as among those who perished in the wreck of theLiberty. Cosmo recovered rapidly from the fatigue and strain of theshipwreck, and Jean, under the happiness of being reunited to herlover, and with the influence of Isabel, soon regained her healthand spirits. But the anxiety and trouble, coupled with the suddenrelief of Cosmo's reappearance, told heavily on Sir Robert. Forsome days he had seemed to wander about in a half-dazed condition,and one evening on rising after dinner he suddenly reeled and fellon the floor with a choking cry, and lay breathing heavily. He wascarried up to his room and laid on his bed, helpless andunconscious. The leech hurriedly summoned from Elgin said he hadhad a fit, and might die at any moment. It was unlikely that hecould regain any sane consciousness, though it might be possible;meantime he must be kept absolutely quiet. He let blood, and leftstrict orders that he was to be kept informed of any change.
On the following morning, the papers so long delayed came fromLondon. Sir Robert was confirmed by the Lord Protector in thepatent granting him the lands in Nova Scotia. Just too late; forSir Robert was now absolutely incapable of understanding or dealingwith them. The lands must now pass to his son Ludovick, and if, asMazarin foretold, the province were to be ceded to France, theconfirmation of the Lord Protector would go for nothing, and thelands would be wholly lost. Only Cosmo's claim would be admitted byFrance, and this could never now be made.
SIR ROBERT GORDON'S seizure would now probably be calledepileptic, but it may be questioned whether any more is known ofthis strange disease now than in the seventeenth century. It was ofa type most peculiarly distressing to himself, for after the firstattack had passed he was acutely conscious of everything thathappened around him, but utterly unable to speak or to move orrespond in any way. To all appearance he might have been dead. Infact, persons have not infrequently been buried in this kind oftrance, being aware of everything that was done, but unable to givethe slightest sign of life or consciousness.
With Sir Robert indeed, his powerful brain was even abnormallyactive, so that all knowledge he had acquired was increased andintensified, and his psychic perception was keener than ever.
Isabel sat beside him constantly, his indefatigable nurse. Cosmoand Jean were greatly occupied with each other, as was natural.There was safety now, for the Lord Protector and the government,believing Cosmo to be drowned with all the rest of those who sailedin the ill-fated Liberty, had ceased to watch for him or to troubleabout him at all. He and Isabel Goudie, both thought to be dead,were in a safe harbour of refuge at Gordonstown; nor was there oneamong the retainers who would betray their secret. Men and maidswere sometimes found faithful in the seventeenth century, andloyalty was not altogether yet a forgotten virtue.
The loss of the lands in Nova Scotia was a terrible blow tothem, dashing to the ground as it did all their pleasant hopes of ahappy life in a new country, just when everything seemed to besettled and their future assured. Whether they should still go outand try their fortunes in the land of the west, they debated oftenand anxiously. To succeed without friends, or interest, or capitalseemed almost impossible; but Cosmo was young, strong, and active,able and willing to work, and Jean was more than willing to shareall hardships with him, and to prove a veritable and ancienthelpmeet. But her delicacy of health was a serious consideration.With all her willingness, would she be able to face the roughhardships of a pioneer's life? The alternative was to accept theCardinal's offer and take service with him, or with King Louis, andembark again on the perilous seas of European politics. This, too,had its attractions. Cosmo was a soldier by instinct and training.He knew all the moves of the game better than anyone of his yearsin Europe, and was beloved and trusted by all who knew him. On theother hand, he had bitter and implacable enemies. Jean at theFrench Court would have a position of ease and luxury. No hardshipsneed be feared for her, but she was unaccustomed to Courts, anddisliked the prospect of the confinement, the artificiality, theperpetual conventions that hedged Court life and society.
On the whole, they were inclined to risk all and try theirfortunes in the new world. On Sir Robert's death they would be leftpenniless, for the whole estates would go to Ludovick, and he hadjust married, and, moreover, was by no means friendly to theroyalist party, or to the Catholics. Lady Mary would help them sofar as she could, but that was very little, for her own means whenSir Robert was gone would be but slender.
So the prospects, as discussed in family conclave, were darkenough in any direction. Greatly they longed for Sir Robert's wisecounsels, but he lay helpless, apparently unconscious, but actuallyknowing all their plans and their embarrassments, and unable togive any hint or light.
Sometimes when Isabel sat by Sir Robert's bedside, the DarkMaster would be there too, and Isabel besought her lover to use hispowers to restore the invalid to his normal state, but this he wasunable to do.
'Ye must not blame me, Rob,' he said once, and she knew that SirRobert heard and understood. 'When ye signed that pact ye gavepower to the Lords of Fate, and both you and I are in their hands,neither of us can resist their decrees. I must take ye gin I can,and whether I can or no is in the hands of Fate. We gamble for highstakes, but we must play it out. I have kept my part of thebargain, as well ye know.'
Sir Robert stirred not and gave no outward sign of hearing, butit seemed to Isabel that in his mind he said:
'Yea, I know; and so have I, and so will I. But I will defeat yegin I can. There is nothing in the pact to prevent this.'
Sir Robert lay on the bed like a waxen figure, his fine facetaking on a new nobility from its pallid stillness. But the brainwithin was working intensely, and the perceptions were abnormallyheightened. To him now the Dark Master was as solid and real asIsabel, or any material object in the room; and not only so, butmany other forms unseen of human eyes. He knew, too, all theposition far more accurately than he had done in his wakingconsciousness, and the nature of the Dark Master was plain to him,and the terms and effect of his pact; mentally he was rapidlyevolving schemes whereby the Devil might be defeated. But in everydirection his ideas seemed to have been anticipated, and providedagainst with a diabolic cunning that he had not perceived at thetime.
Isabel also, by reason of her relations with the Dark Master,was able to know and follow their colloquies, and understand theworking of Sir Robert's brain as clearly as if he had spoken. Shewished much that Father Blackhall had been there. A strong, wiseman in whom she could trust, would be of enormous help to her nowin this perplexity. But the Father was away, visiting some of thescattered Catholic congregations in the west. To outward appearancea shepherd in charge of a flock of Highland sheep, he wanderedthrough the mountains and glens, saying Mass here and therewherever a few could be found who desired the ministrations of theChurch.
After a time a change came in Sir Robert's illness. Nightmaredreams began to beset him. Grim and grizzly horrors, in which hesaw himself hunted by legions of devils, fleeing through boundlessregions of empty space for infinite ages, growing ever moreexhausted as the foul crew gained upon him. Crossing fearsomeabysses on a single plank where volcanic craters yawned beneathhim, pits of living flame and white-hot points of rock. Thesuffocating reek half stifled him. In dreams his head swam; hereeled and fell, clutching the plank with despairing grasp. Therehe hung, and there he must hang for ever and ever, or fall into thepit of flames that stretched up hungry tongues as if to lick himdown. He struggled to raise himself once more on to the plank, andin the struggles something seemed to snap in his brain. He couldmove. To the watcher by the bedside the deathlike stupor had givenway to convulsions.
He half sat up with a choking cry; his back was arched like abow, and absolutely rigid. His man ran in at her call--a powerfulHighlander, who grasped the old man in his arms, while he struggledmadly, and with the strength of madness, babbling incoherent cries.The fit was of short duration. Almost suddenly the body became limpin the man's arms, and was laid on the bed calm and peaceful. Thenightmare dream had passed. To himself it seemed that Isabel Goudiehad bent over him while he hung on the plank over that awful abyss,and stretched out a hand that grasped his, and landed him safe on aflowery mead, where he sank to sleep. Meanwhile Isabel noted withjoy that he moved slightly after the fit had passed over, though itwas but a slight turn of the head, a little movement of one hand.In the course of an hour the leech was there, and let blood oncemore.
'Don't deceive yourselves,' he said. 'I would bid ye hope if Idared, but tell ye he can never be conscious again. This is but theprelude to his death, or if he survive he can never have his sanereason again. He will be hopelessly mad. But I surely think hecannot live more than a day or two at most.'
Once, being very weary, she slept at her post, or at any ratelost consciousness for a moment. Only for a moment, though, for amovement in the bed caught her attention at once. The patient hadraised himself and was sitting up.
'Mistress Isabel,' he said, 'I know now. My time is near athand, I have fled before devils in dream. I must flee in reality.Birnie Kirkyard is safe. Pray for me that I may get there.'
'I pray!' she gasped in amazement. She who had renounced bodyand soul to the Devil, what had she to do with prayer?
'Ay, pray ye! When my time comes, I know ye will.'
He sank back on the pillows. His man was in the room at the timewaiting to attend on him.
'Saw ye that, Duncan?' she said. 'He is better; he will recover.He sat up and talked.'
'Nay, mistress! I trow ye dreamed. The master never moved.Indeed, I ken well he never will move again. For many days now thewinding sheet hath been around him. Ay! Indeed! May the Lord havemercy on his soul! He has known more than Christian man shouldknow.'
Isabel pondered. New lights were breaking on her. Perhaps thereflection of the exalted condition of Sir Robert's brain affectedhers; she seemed to see more clearly than ever before. This, then,was the final throw of the dice. He must reach Birnie Kirkyardbefore he could be caught, and he would be pursued. In hisnightmare dreams he had been pursued. It was a forecast. He had notbeen caught then; she had helped him. How could she help him again?He said, 'Pray for me.' How should she pray? The very idea seemed acontradiction in terms; everything she had asked for had been inthe Devil's name, and the Devil could not aid here. It was againstthe Devil that she must pray, if at all. How could one bound bodyand soul to the Devil pray? To whom? She might recite the oldCatholic prayers, but they could have no efficacy. It would besheer blasphemy. And blasphemy could but invoke the Devil--so theold priest of her girlhood had taught her. From this circle thereseemed no escape.
But most earnestly she longed to help. Not only Sir Robert butJean and Cosmo depended on her doing the right thing, and she hadno notion what was the right thing, Oh, for five minutes of FatherBlackhall! But this was impossible; she must play out this gamealone. One thing only came to her mind. If he had to flee, at leastshe could provide him with a swift horse. The old 'Horse andhattock' spell worked for her as well as ever; she had proved that.And the horse she called up for herself was in nowise inferior tothat which the Dark Master himself rode; she had proved that too,in their playful races, when they rode over the Monaliadhs. Shecould mount Sir Robert on that; perhaps even she might gain him afew minutes' start. True, the Master would be angry. She might losehis favour and his love by thus interfering with his schemes. Hemight turn and claim the forfeit from her that she deprived him offrom Sir Robert, supposing for a moment she could do so. Well, whatmattered that? What was her wretched soul, compared with thesethree, all dependent on her? Yes! There was indeed something shecould do.
It was Fate, so the Master had said. A sudden flash came overher. She might once reverse the decree of the mighty Lords of Fate.Might this be the once?
She paused appalled. What was this she thought to do? To setherself, weak woman as she was, and already bound body and soul byher own act, against all the power of the Devil, and against theLords of Fate, whom none may resist; to pledge her own soul, andher salvation (if it were not lost already), as the stake in thegame she was to play for three who were dear to her. The stakeswere tremendous, all the odds were against her, and she had no ideahow the game was to be played. Beyond risking her lover's anger,and risking the total wreck of her own earthly joy, of all theromance and delight which had opened a new world to her, byproviding Sir Robert with a horse, and, if it might be, a start,she had not the least notion what further she could do. That riskshe would take, and stand by the consequences whatever they were.She would recite the Catholic prayers for him, when the hour came.They would be prayers against her lover, who had given her all thejoy she had known since girlhood's days. Perhaps even by theblasphemy of so doing she might give the Devil more power. But SirRobert had asked this of her. Come of it what might, this she mustdo. She clenched her hands and shut her teeth, and with a mightyeffort of will she cast behind her all that had made lifebeautiful. Unknown trouble and suffering lay before her, but shefelt a giant's strength to bear it all.
Two more days passed with little change, Sir Robert movedslightly now and then. His face showed recognition when any of thehousehold came into the room; that was all. But his brain was aliveand active as ever.
Then there came a night when the full moon was rising to theeastward and silvering the trees of Gordonstown. He was consciousof all the beauty of it, and longed to be able to go out as of oldand enjoy the exquisite calm of the star-spangled sky and thesleeping woodlands. He was more conscious of his body than he hadbeen at any time since his seizure. He knew at this moment all itsmechanism, all the working of every organ. The brain, with itsthousand cells, its nerves, and ganglia, lay open before him, andhe knew where lay the jar, the lesion that had paralysed him. Hesaw how an effort of will rightly directed, as he knew now how todirect it, would cure the fault, and restore his bodily powers. Hewould be well again. At this moment a voice that came from the air,from the sky, from the earth, from all around as it seemed, soundedwith dreadful clearness though it was a voice of silence:
'The time has come. Arise! Robert Gordon, and come away with thyMaster.'
A cold sweat stood on all his limbs. The dread summons hadsounded, and just as he had learned how he could recover his powerto move and act he was called on to arise and surrender himself. Hesprang to his feet. Isabel also had heard the call. She did notfalter one moment in her resolve. The window looked out on a lowroof. She flung it open and whistled thrice, crying:
'Horse and hattock! Mount and go!
Horse and pellatis! Oh, ho!
In the Devil's name.'
The coal-black horse stood there on the low roof. Sir Robert wasbehind her.
'Mount, Sir Robert! mount and ride!' she cried. 'Tarry not oneinstant! Ride like the tempest blast! Hey for Birnie! Ride! ride!Ye will win. I pledge my soul for ye.'
Sir Robert in his new-found power sprang out of the window, andin an instant was on the back of the great charger. He had been astrong and daring rider, and all the skill and strength of hisyouth seemed to have come back to him. With one mighty bound thesteed sprang from the flat roof to the ground, and gathering hisfleet limbs rushed into the shadows of the trees. The green swardglided fast beneath them, and in the excitement of the mad speedSir Robert forgot his age, his illness, everything except the wildexhilaration of the gallop.
Isabel turned. The Dark Master stood beside her.
'Woman! What hast thou done? Have I then done so ill by theethat thou must attempt to foil my will, to set thy puny strengthagainst mine. Ill will it go now with those thou hast thought tosnatch from me. I had treated him well had he come to me accordingto our pact. Now he shall suffer! suffer! suffer! through ages ofpain. This hast thou brought about by thy cursed interference. Lethim ride never so fast, I can catch him. Ay, though he had half anhour's start. Know ye not my power better than that?'
She quailed a moment. Had she indeed done him an injury by herefforts? She knew not how to play the game. Had she made a falsemove? No! For if so, he would not be angry.
'Nay, love,' she whispered, clinging close to him as of old, 'benot thus angry. Surely I know thy power, else had I not attemptedto stand in thy way. See! I have given thee opportunity to showwhat thou canst do. Look ye! no hunter worth the name will take thegame sitting. I have but started the quarry for thee, as a goodbeater; thou wilt have a glorious chase. Even such as we were wontto have over the Monaliadhs when the great red stags fled beforeus; dost remember? And how we embraced and loved one another in thecorry under the fen when the death-blow was given. When shall weride thus again?'
'Truly, thou art a very witch, sweetheart! and canst bewitch theDevil himself. Fain even now would I stay to give thee but oneembrace; but I may not. Let me but catch this cunning knave whothinks to baffle the Devil, and I return; and then for a night oflove such as we were wont to know.'
'Fly, then, my dearest lord! Ride as ye only can ride, and bringhim back at your saddle bow. Ye shall give him to me for a slavewhen ye have won this chase. Fly and win. By this kiss yewill.'
She clung to him--delaying his departure. But at last he brokefrom her, and crying 'Horse and hattock!' his own superb stallionstood beside the window, and he sprang to his back, waving her anadieu as they sped into the moonlit silences.
Sir Robert knew well how she had delayed the Dark Master, andthat he must make the most of his start. He had sprung from his bedin his night gear, but now he found himself booted and spurred andcaparisoned for riding. He bowed his head and buried his spurs inthe horse's flanks, and fast as the wind they sped over thelowlands around Gordonstown. He had heard how the Devil and thecovens were wont to rise in the air, and how the sounds of thecheers and laughter, the wild halloos, the blasts of the horn hadbeen heard in the clouds, when the storm winds swept by. He knewthe spells that they used, as he knew most spells. But to-nightthese spells were impossible. It seemed to be too material anexperience for rising to the clouds; only the furious gallop as ofan ordinary earthly charger was possible. His pursuer would be onhis track. Would he be able to rise in the air and speed throughthe clouds? If so, small chance was there for Sir Robert, for hisenemy would sweep and strike like a hawk--cruel, inevitable, andrelentless.
Faster and ever faster he urged the coal-black stallion. Theflying hoofs cast up great divots of turf. Duffus Castle, dark inthe moonlight, rose before them, and was left behind. Still therewas no sign of pursuit. His enemy was surely presuming on hisspeed, and trusting to what he deemed a certainty. His very delaycaused apprehension. Had there been any doubt of his success in thecapture, he would not thus play with his chance.
Loch Spynie gleamed before him, a sheet of thin ice. Thefugitive recalled his old adventure when he drove over it after onenight's frost. Should he risk it again or lose time in going round?Far in the distance came the beat of flying hoofs. The pursuit wasup, no time to be lost. If he turned to go round the loch thepursuer would cut him off by dashing across, and no escape werepossible. The only possible safety lay in crossing the loch on theice. A high wall rose directly in front. The great horse veered inhis gallop like a bird on the wing, and, gathering himself for atremendous bound, launched himself at the wall and cleared it by agood six inches. They were on the margin of the loch. Sir Robertrapidly recited in his breath the invocation of power to theelementals of the waters, and the horse's forefeet crashed amongthe reeds on the edge of the water. Another moment and they were onthe ice. Alarming cracks rattled like artillery from side to sideof the wide sheet of water, the ice waved beneath them like acarpet, the horse slipped and plunged, but recovered his footing.Spynie Palace rose before them, its huge bulk standing gaunt anddeserted now, a black shadow against the stars. There was BishopHepburn's Tower; he half thought the old bishop, himself a wizard,and now gone (so folk said) to his own place of torment, stoodthere wrapt in a mantle of flame, waiting to receive a new recruitto the horrors of his prison-house.
Among the reeds at the foot of the Steep bank, wherefrom thecastle walls rose sheer, two poachers were crouching, intent tocapture the wild fowl that roosted there. They looked up in wonder.Whence came this mighty black horse with his rider suddenly dashingout of nowhere, and thundering under the castle wall, followed atno long distance by another? They could not have crossed the loch,yet what other way could they have come? Were these the riders ofthe Sidhe, and was it a death warning to themselves? Trembling andscared, they dropped their traps and nets and fled home to theirhovels to pray, resolving to lead honest lives in future, if onlythey might be spared. Through Findrassie, the thundering of theflying hoofs of the pursuer was scarce a mile behind. Slowly butsurely the distance between them was diminishing.
Isabel Goudie sat by the window spell-bound. In thought, andwith a strange clarity of vision, as though she were actuallyriding with Sir Robert, she followed the wild, mad gallop, hernerves growing tenser and tenser as she noted the gradual gainingof the pursuer, and saw the confident, malignant smile on his face,as of some cruel bird of prey certain of the quarry. Half aninstant she looked back into the room. Her eyes and fancy deceivedher; she half thought she saw the form of Sir Robert laid on thebed, and tossing in fever. For a second the idea flashed throughher mind. Was it another fit coming on? Then she knew it was adevice of the Devil to distract her thought. She could aid him; shewas aiding him. She felt and knew that her intense will that heshould escape, that he should win that great race and bafflepursuit, was having its effect. It was lending him strength, givingher strength to increase his own, giving him hope and courage. Ifshe wavered for a moment, or took her attention off, he would loseground. This was what the Devil wanted. He would make her believeit was all a dream, and that Sir Robert was not really riding thatfearsome race, but was merely dreaming in his bed; and thusdeprived of the support she could give, cut off from a part of hisresources, he would be vanquished. She banished the ideas from hermind with an indignant scorn for such a contemptible artifice, andreturned to watch.
Over the Lossie sped the great steed with Sir Robert on hisback, and only two minutes later now came the pursuer. The burghersof Elgin started from sleep as the High Street resounded with theclatter and rush of the horses, and the cobbles flashed fire undertheir feet. First one, then another, at full gallop thunderingalong. The Provost looked out in his bedgown, and caught a glimpseof a white face in the wan moonlight. 'God save us!' he cried,''tis Sir Robert Gordon and another. What errand so urgent, andthis time o' night? Sir Robert lies sick and paralysed. I trow heis dead. Eh, sirs! but 'tis an awful like sight yon.' Others,however, saw not so clearly, and deemed it was two messengers ofthe Commonwealth on urgent business; and others again wereconfident that at last Charles Stuart had landed and the tyranny of'liberty and democracy' was over, and these were the firstmessengers. But no solution came to all these various questionings.The riders thundered away into the open country, and the streetreturned to its wonted quiet. Isabel's anxiety grew painful in itsintensity. She had almost lost sight and knowledge of her physicalsurroundings, and was with Sir Robert, feeling with his feelings,almost dropping with fatigue of that long race and the terror ofit. Beside the upper waters of the Lossie the pursuer was closebehind. Already in the distance Birnie Kirk could be dimly seen onthe horizon, but the pursuing horse was only now a few yardsbehind. It seemed impossible that the chase could last more than aminute or so. What could she do? She was there, she knew andfollowed every movement, every chance of the ride, but she waspowerless. Then she seemed to hear Sir Robert's voice again, 'Prayfor me.' He asked it. She must:
'Ave Maria, Gratia Plena.'
The old Catholic formula came back to her memory. Would it availaught? A gracious presence seemed to be beside her as she utteredthe once familiar words. Something that bade her be calm, forwhatever must be would be. Yet nothing seemed to alter theconditions of pursuer and pursued--the horses raced on. Birnie grewnearer and clearer, but the hinder horse was drawing up on theflank of the foremost. There could now at the utmost be about aminute and a half. Ninety seconds before they must reach thekirkyard wall, or Sir Robert's body would dangle, the prize ofvictory, at the saddle bow of Sathanas. The long lean head of theblack stallion pushed forward on the flank of the other. The cruelsmile on the rider's face became a malignant laugh of triumph.Already his arm was disengaging itself from his cloak andtrappings, the whip was shifted into the bridle hand, ready toshoot out and grasp his prey. Isabel's eyes dilated with horror;fifty seconds of the ninety had passed. The horses were almost sideby side. The contest was over, the long agony was passed. The Devilhad won. A voice came on her ear, 'So it is fated. None canresist.' An arm shot out, not a hand--a cruel, evil talon--graspinglike a steel trap, to seize Sir Robert's shoulder and drag him fromthe horse. Memory rushed across her:
'Yea! It was promised to me. I can resist the decrees of themighty Lords of Fate.'
And the voice came again:
'Wilt thou renounce everything--all thy joy, all thy happiness,thyself, thy soul? Wilt thou go out into eternal extinction?'
And firmly she replied:
'I will--I renounce them all. Only save him.'
The horses ran neck and neck straight for the kirkyard wall. TheDevil's grasp was on Sir Robert's shoulder; he felt the talonsthrough his cloak pierce his flesh like red-hot teeth. The fierybreath was in his face, he saw or felt the evil look of triumph,and read his doom there. The merry boon companion was the savageand exulting captor.
That instant his horse swerved away from the other, causing thegrip on his shoulder almost to miss its hold. The cloak was tornaway, the flesh torn and mangled, the horse rushed furiouslyagainst the kirkyard wall, knocking off some of the stones of thecoping, and the rider, too weary to retain his seat, was thrownheavily over the wall, as a great darkness closed over him, and hefelt only the impact of a heavy blow.
Isabel heard the crash--the first physical sound she had reallyheard since she followed that terrible race. Sir Robert had thrownout an arm and overset a small table. He looked at her dazed, andlike a man who has long wandered in the fields of nightmare,dreaming; and she too felt as though a horrid dream had passed. Andthe moonlight shone in through the window, and neither of themdared to break the silence that reigned.
THE next morning there was very little outward change in any ofthe household at Gordonstown. Sir Robert lay still, as he had donefor many days now, practically motionless. But yet there was achange for those who noticed closely. There was slightly more powerof movement, there was more expression in the face, and when helooked at Isabel it seemed as though it was a look of infinitegratitude, and a calm and peace such as had not been there sincehis illness began.
Jean noticed it, and said:
'Isabel, dear! I am sure uncle wants to say how much he hasloved your nursing, and all your goodness to him. He is so muchbetter for it.'
Isabel said nothing. She was struggling with the remembrance ofsome strange, terrible nightmare of a dream, which yet she couldnot recall. She seemed to have done something for him, to havegiven him something, but what was not clear. She had dozed by thewindow, and only waked when he gave a great start in his sleep ortrance, and jerked himself with a great convulsion on his bed,oversetting the little table as he did so, as a sleeper often willwhen waking from a nightmare. Then he lay quiet and still, and alook of great happiness came over his face. He seemed to besleeping. His man came in and took her place, and she retired torest. But the morning light seemed to blot out all memory of thedreams, or visions, or realities of the past night.
That afternoon Jean and Cosmo, walking together over the linkstowards the shore, met with a shepherd, rather dirty andtravel-stained, who inquired whether he might have grazing for afew nights for his sheep, travelling a long way. He was taking themto Aberdeen.
'Sir Robert Gordon is very ill,' said Jean; 'he can transact nobusiness. Yet I ween I may say for him that ye can pasture yoursheep, and welcome, on our grass lands. There are no sheep there atpresent, though we often have them at this time of year. Sir Robertdoth usually grant pasture for a few days, without payment, fortravelling flocks. He saith 'tis for the good of the country thatthe sheep should come to fair pastures in the winter months, and itis the duty of lairds to give this privilege and not to charge forit.'
'Benedicite!' said the shepherd.
Jean looked up in wonder at the salutation.
'My flock are scattered over all the highlands. But the poorshepherd gives ye thanks.'
Then she knew. Under the clever disguise it was Father Blackhallhimself.
'Welcome indeed, Father!' she said. 'We have missed you, and wehave needed you more shrewdly than I can say. My uncle lieth at thepoint of death, unable to move, and knowing and understandingnothing, and all has gone wrong. Even the proposals ye brought fromFrance have all failed, for the papers came too late.'
In brief, earnest words she told him all that had chanced sincehe had left them, as they walked together up to the house. AndCosmo expounded the matter of the papers. The difficulty there hadbeen to procure the consent of the Lord Protector, a difficulty ashe thought, and probably rightly, to be more or less due tohimself. For Sir Robert's affection for him was well known, andthough the English government dared not openly attack Sir Robert,yet they would not put it into his hands in any way to benefitCosmo, in whom they saw an adversary far more powerful than hisyears would warrant. Therefore only when they were convinced thatCosmo was finally out of the way amongst those drowned on theLiberty would they listen to Sir Robert's friends, and agree to doanything for him.
This seemed plausible enough, but it finally dashed any hope ofanything more being done in this direction. For Sir Robert clearlyneeded now no grant or help from any government, and Ludovick hadno influence, even if he could have been induced to move; and forCosmo to appear would be simply to raise the whole hue and cryagainst him. His only chance of safety was in keeping as quiet aspossible, and, as Father Blackhall said, remaining dead.
The Father was delighted to hear that Mistress Isabel Goudie wasstill a visitor at Gordonstown. His colloquy with Sathanas remainedan outstanding, marvellous fact, and her relations with the Princeof Darkness were absorbingly interesting. Something further mightbe done in this direction, and he might get to know more of his oldadversary that would be useful to him in future.
But to Isabel all seemed a hopeless despair. She had renouncedher eternal salvation for the sake of adventure, romance, andpower, and the pleasure of life; and these she had had to the veryfullest measure. Then she had renounced these for the sake of thethree who were especially dear to her. Now what was left to her?Somewhat timidly she had tried the old spells; nothing would work.In vain she cried 'Horse and hattock!' no coal-black steed came ather bidding. In vain she cried for the Red Reiver, the sprite camenot, nor was there any answer. The crisp, bright air of winter blewin her face, but roused no joy. A dull depression settled on her.There was no exhilaration in anything. There was not, and therecould never again be, any joy, any adventure in life; and when lifewas over there was the terrible prospect of--she knew not what.Torment perhaps--so the theologians said. Slavery to the Devil andthe covens--so she believed. Eternal extinction perhaps. In anycase no hope after death. She had gained what she sought for,temporary joy and material pleasure for herself--that was over anddone; the good of those who had been good to her--that was gained.For herself she had lost everything here and hereafter.
Yet she knew well that were it to do again she would do it.
It was blank depression rather than any horror that settled onher. She was simply very tired of life, and of everything. Nothingseemed worth while. Only mechanically she continued to nurse SirRobert, who lingered on in much the same state.
In this condition it was that Father Blackhall found her. Hisfirst sensation was somewhat of disappointment; for, sooth to say,he had not really regarded her as a human Christian woman, but hehad mentally set her in the same category with Sathanas, a subhumanor superhuman embodiment of evil, whom he might have theopportunity to study much as a physician of to-day might study adisease microbe, in order that, knowing its nature and conditions,he might protect those who asked his protection. But this was nowitch, this was no embodiment of evil, this was simply a weary andstricken woman, to whom his soul went out in love and pity. Whathad wrought the change? At all events she knew something of thenature and power of Sathanas. She could aid him; indeed, in hiscontest against the powers of evil, she would be a most effectivehelp if, having been a thrall of the Devil, she were now by anymeans released from his power. The Father grew mightilyinterested.
She, too, was glad to see him. An instinctive feeling told herthat here was one in whom she might freely confide.
Gently he asked the cause of the change in her.
'Father, you see one who has lost all joy in this life, all hopein that which is to come. And one who now is able to realise herloss, which she was not conscious of before. O Father! advise me ifye can, though, indeed, I doubt I am past all advice or helpnow.'
'Nay, my child! that I cannot think. But if ye deem that I canhelp you, then come to Michael's kirk with me tomorrow and confess.Only in the sacrament of confession can I aid you. But you will notknow even the simplest method of confession. They practise it notin your Reformed faith, I am told.'
'Oh! I know well, I was brought up a Catholic, and often I havebeen to confession. More the shame to me!'
'That is well, then. Now I will tell you something that willrejoice you, if I am right, and I think I am. In my travels I havehad to learn something of medicine. I have had to minister tobodies as well as souls when there was no other, and I have hadoccasion to observe the science and methods of physic abroad aswell as at home, and I am convinced that Sir Robert will recoverfrom this attack. I say not that he will ever be well again, orthat he will live more than a few weeks at the most: do not thinkso. But he will recover his powers of speech, and perhaps ofmovement, and his sane consciousness. In fact, I think he is wellon the road to recovery now, though there is but little sign of itat present. I have seen many in the same state, and have noted thesymptoms of gradual recovery which he shows. In three days I expecthe will talk to us.'
'O Fatherl heaven bless you for those words! Ye know not what itmeans to us all.'
'Ay, my child! I know somewhat. But perhaps there is more thatyou will tell me. Now go and prepare, I will give you noinstruction as to preparation. I prefer to leave this entirely toyourself.'
To Isabel, the Father's words indeed opened new spring of hope.For it had seemed to her that her great sacrifice had been largelyin vain. She had reversed the decree of the mighty Lords of Fate,and she had won for Sir Robert his second victory over the Devil;but for Jean and Cosmo, whose future she had so much at heart, allthat she had done and given had produced no effectapparently--their future was as dark and hopeless as ever, SirRobert, it is true, had escaped the dread doom that was before him,but the provision he had tried so hard to make for them was stillas impossible as ever. The papers had come too late. But if theFather was right, and he spoke confidently, the papers might yet besigned. The estates in Nova Scotia might be secured for them; hergreat sacrifice would not be in vain, as far as they wereconcerned.
Sitting there, as she watched Sir Robert, she thought shedetected a dawning power of movement, a look in his eyes as thoughat any moment he might speak, and resolve all their troubles. Butnothing came except those very slight indications.
Rapidly her mind went back over all her past life. She mustrecall every incident. She would lay the whole story bare to theFather's eyes. He would naturally turn from her in wrath andhorror. But that she must bear: it was part of the punishment shemust endure. That he could give her absolution was, of course, forever impossible. Her mind went back to her girlhood's study of theromance of Tannhauser, and how the Pope himself shook his staff athim, whose sins were far less than hers, and bade him begone.'Sooner,' said he, 'shall this dry staff break into leaf and flowerthan absolution be given to you.' Even so would the Father speak toher, and would turn his back on her for ever. Then the conclusionof the legend came to her. How the Pope sent a messenger flyingafter the knight as he wandered heart-broken away from thepresence, bearing the staff now broken into bud and leaf, a signthat absolution was for him too, and a reproof to the Pontiff fromhis divine Master. He had but stayed a while with Venus in MountHorsel. What had she done? Nay, what had she not done. Was thereany sin she had not committed?
Her thoughts ran over it all, from the first meeting with theMaster between Drumduan and the Heads. Then the reception andbaptism in the kirk of Aulderne. Her wild love for him--sensuousand self-pleasing, as she now knew. Her wild hate of the laird ofPark, equally self-pleasing this too; and the doings of thecovens--the hunting, and feasting, and revelry. The mischief shehad done, the men she had killed. Most of all now she repented ofthat. Every incident stood out in clear, pitiless light. Till shecame to the last scene of all, Sir Robert's ride and what she haddone then--it was the very last spell she had ever uttered, orwould ever utter--and that final great defiance of the Lords ofFate. They had decreed his final falling into the hands of theDevil. She had rescued him. Henceforth, then, Fate was her enemy,and the Devil, her lover, the Dark Master, was her implacabletyrant. He would never forgive her. No torture could be too bad, ortoo hard for him to inflict. She knew him. In his nature there wasno forgiveness. And to this hard, implacable master she hadvoluntarily given herself, pledged herself body and soul for alleternity to him.
'What skills it to confess,' she said to herself, when herrecalling of her life was done. 'What I did, I did willingly, and Ihave received the price. Yet perhaps, if my poor story is told, itmay be somewhat of a warning to others; and the Father desired it,perchance, for that very reason. So he shall have it.'
Sir Robert's eyes were fixed on her, and she seemed to read inthem a message that it would in some way benefit him also. So shewas reconciled. But the prayers that should go before a confessionshe could not say.
So on the morrow Father Blackhall called her, and Sir Robert'sman took her place. They went out by the door to the south into thegardens, then just laid out but not completed; they turned to theleft, and walked a mile or so to the little kirk, that was so smallit could hardly hold the household. Yet it had to serve as theparish church in Catholic days. Now it was dilapidated, almost aruin, and, buried in the woods, had been forgotten by the zealousProtestants. Sir Robert had always himself externally professed theReformed faith, though, be it said, he never went to kirk, nor satunder the godly minister who occupied the pulpit of Duffus. But hisservants were all Catholics; and whenever opportunity offered therewas Mass said in the tiny Michael kirke.
Father Blackhall sat on a stone bench to the south of the altar,that served him for a confessional, and Isabel knelt beside him,somewhat frightened indeed now to find herself again in a church,and again kneeling before a priest for confession, but otherwiseapathetic. She wanted to benefit Sir Robert, and she was impressedby the Father's confident declaration that he would recover hissane reason and power of motion. But beyond this what could she domore for anyone? She had given all, there was nothing further thatshe could surrender.
Bit by bit the whole story was told out, and Father Blackhalllistened, intensely pitiful, intensely sympathetic. Surely neverbefore in this world had an actual undoubted witch, bound body andsoul to the service of the Devil, knelt as a penitent at the feetof a Catholic priest, to recount all her experiences.
But what could he say? How could he absolve after this amazingstory? What penance could he impose? Moreover, was she penitent?There seemed nothing active or alive about her. The soul was dead,and the beautiful, passionate body was sunk in what seemed a deathin life.
He commenced, 'In nomine--' but there came a silence. Somehow hecould not speak the sacred name.
'My child,' he said, 'I must consider carefully of all this. Yetthis one thing is clear to me. Thy root sin of all hath been thelack of faith. Tell me, why didst thou leave the Catholic faith,wherein thou wast born and brought up, and join the so-calledReformed Kirk? Was it from conviction that it was the only truefaith?'
'Well, ye see, Father! it was my husband's faith.'
'A pitiful reason! Had ye really and truly believed, ye couldnot thus lightly have left the faith of your baptism. And ye foundall barren and desolate, did ye not?'
'Ay, truly!'
'Of course ye did. For ye had no faith either in what ye left orin what ye went to.'
'I had no faith, Father! I sought only what should please me,only the material things. But now I believe, for I know.'
'Nay, my daughter! Ye know because ye believe. Now in thename--'
Again that silence. He could not say it.
'Ye see, Father! it is all useless. I am past hope, past prayingfor.'
For some minutes no word was spoken between them. That silence,where the great Name should be spoken, was more awe-inspiring thaneven a terrible manifestation of diabolic power. It was so slight,yet so tremendous. The nerves of both were tense almost beyondendurance. What was that laugh by the altar? Coming in that sacredplace, and at that moment of intense feelings wrought to theirhighest pitch, that low, sneering laugh seemed both to the penitentand the priest as the voice of doom sounding from the depths ofHell, proclaiming the impotence of the Church's power, even denyingredemption itself; claiming this soul against all the might of thedivine Spirit, descending in unbroken succession from the gift ofthe first Whitsuntide even to the priest who now sat by the altarin that little chapel. It was a terrible laugh, a laugh ofconfident defiance. 'There is no God,' that laugh said. 'Poorfools!' it said, 'ye have lost all ye might have had, and now thereis nothing.' Almost Father Blackhall's own faith wavered beforethat insolent laugh, sounding by God's own altar.
Almost--but only for a moment. Then he rose to his feet, Isabelstill knelt, crouching and terrified. She had heard that laughbefore. It was her sentence of doom. She had crossed the DarkMaster, and he never forgave. Eternities of torment lay before her.There was no release, no salvation ever possible. He would joy inher anguish and torture, as he had joyed in giving her all she hadasked for in the old days--both were sensations to him. She hadknown this when he seized and tortured others. Now it was herturn.
The priest stood by the altar. He had no time to palter withkeys or fastenings. He dashed his hand through the front of thetabernacle where the Holy Host was enshrined, and brought out theconsecrated wafer. He seemed to grow mighty and heroic in hisproportions. She thought he was Michael himself, the greatArchangel, actually and visibly present in his own chapel, tovindicate his divine nature. A great fear came over her. He wouldcast her forth even from this last poor sanctuary and shelter. Howshould a foot so profane as hers dare to pollute the sacred houseof the Holy Michael?
'Sathanas! Come forth!' cried the priest in loud and sterntones. 'Exorciso te, in nomine--' A moment's pause, then the spellwas broken. He fairly shouted the Divine Name in an ecstasy ofdevotion. She lay prostrate on the floor of the chapel, daring notto look up, yet imagining how the great Michael brandished hiscross of red and drew his flashing sword.
The Dark Master came forth at the priest's voice, from behindthe altar, cringing and cowering, but insolent to the last.
'What seek ye, Sir Priest? Would ye deprive me of mine own?'
'Cease to blaspheme! and cease to lie. Thou canst have no powerover a soul who hath Catholic baptism.'
'She renounced her baptism. She is mine, and I will haveher.'
'Thyself said that with her Catholic baptism thou hast naught todo. In the Name of Him whom I serve, and by this which I hold in myhand, I say to thee, take now thine own shape, that she, mypenitent, may know thee again.'
What Isabel saw will never be known. She fell on the stone floorin a dead faint, and the priest, making the sign of the cross, saidsolemnly, 'Now, by my power as a priest, and by this Holy Hostwhich I hold in my hand, and by this symbol of man's redemption, Ibid thee begone. Thou hast neither part nor lot with this woman.Observe now, for thou professest to abide by strictest justice,though thou art the Lord of Unbalanced Force, and therefore unjust,and a liar from the beginning; yet, as thou claimest justice, I maysay this to thee: thou didst persuade her by thy subtley to bartereternal bliss and satisfaction, embracing every sense, not onlyphysical but every other, for a short period of sensuousgratification. Say she made this bargain, has she had the price?All the joy of life that thou hast promised has been takenaway.'
'Yea! by her own act.'
'I know, and thou canst not assure to her even the paltry,contemptible price promised. Get thee gone for a cheat and a liar!In nomine Sancti Trinitatis, I adjure thee begone, and trouble notthis house nor them that dwell therein, nor any of them,wheresoever on the face of the earth for the time they may abide.And especially trouble not the old man, Sir Robert Gordon, whomthou hast thought to take in thy snare, nor this woman, IsabelGoudie, who foolishly made a pact with thee which thou hast brokenbecause thou couldst not keep it. Begone! or, by the power of thesesymbols and emblems which I bear, I will torment thee. I will holdthee. Thou knowest well I have the power to hold thee before me,and torture thee worse than ever thou torturest thy victims, andthis I will do an I see or hear of thee in any of these lands ofGordonstown, or vexing any who dwell herein. Now begone! and ifthou canst, joy thee in my clemency.'
The dark, evil, crouching figure was gone. Father Blackhallreverently replaced the Holy Host which he had held, and, as far ashe could, replaced the shattered fragments of the tabernacle.
Isabel still lay in a faint on the floor. She had seen the Devilin his true form, and the awfulness of that sight had burned itselfinto her brain for ever. Father Blackhall lifted her in hispowerful arms and carried her back to Gordonstown House, and handedher over to Jean, who saw her laid on her own bed.
Thus, then, for two days these two, Sir Robert Gordon and IsabelGoudie, both sworn servants of the Devil, both now released fromhis thraldom, were lying helpless and apparently unconscious, Jeanand Cosmo and Lady Mary caring for them with the most assiduousdevotion, in which they were effectively aided by Father Blackhall.For during his wanderings and his disguises over half Europe, hehad learned most of the household arts, and he could cook and servea meal, and, in fact, do the whole work of a house if need be. Sothe servants, with the exception of Sir Robert's own man, needednever to come near either of the invalids. For thus FatherBlackhall wished it to be, not knowing whether on their wakingsomething might happen, or be said, that servants, howeverfaithful, had better not hear. Isabel soon recovered. Physicallystrong and vigorous, the effect of the shock had passed away intwenty-four hours, and she was able to resume her post by SirRobert's bedside.
At length, on the third day, as Father Blackhall had predicted,Sir Robert woke from the apparent stupor that had oppressed him solong, and sat up in his bed, and began to talk quite rationally,and to inquire what had chanced. They told him of the arrival ofthe papers. This he had known in his trance, but on waking it hadpassed from his mind. Now, however, that he was told of them, allthat he had planned when he lay seemingly unconscious recurred tohis memory, and he knew at once what to do.
Master John Innes, the notary public, was summoned from Elgin,that the papers might be duly signed granting all Sir Robert'slands in Nova Scotia to his beloved kinsman, Cosmo Hamilton, andhis beloved cousin or niece, Jean Gordon, the same to take effectfrom the day of their marriage.
'And, hark ye, Master Notary!' said Sir Robert; 'one word to anyhuman soul of this transaction and I will wring your neck, and Itrow 'twill not be a great loss to any human soul.'
'And look ye, Master Notary!' said Father Blackhall; 'one wordof this and I damn your soul.'
Master John Innes shivered. Though he had no religion worthspeaking of, he had a great deal of superstition, and believed muchin the power of the Church.
'And again, hark ye, Master Notary!' said Cosmo; 'ye have done afine thing for me and my Jean, and ye shall draw our marriagecontract, and gin I succeed out in the western lands, as I hope Imay, ye shall have a lordly fee over and above what ye have earned.But an ye speak a word, I come back myself to slit thy scurvythroat.'
Whether Cosmo kept his word or no, history is silent; but itappears that Master John Innes died worth, so men said,considerably more than he was likely to have earned by the lawfulpractice of his calling.
Sir Robert regained his full mental powers and power of speech,but only partially the power of movement. He could sit up, and walkwith help, but could not write. He took all his usual interest inthe matters around him and the political affairs of the day. But ofthe strange learning and weird experiments that had formerly soenthralled and delighted him, he now took no account whatever. Hisalchemical furnace and laboratory were deserted, cold, and givenover to dust and rats. None now invoked the earth elementals in themagic circle of the round stables. Even his contraband trade withFrance was abandoned, and old Danny, though still in Sir Robert'spay, merely traded harmlessly for the Calders at the port ofFindhorn. The day of all these things was over, and Ludovick, whenhe succeeded, took no interest in them. Later on the grandson,another Sir Robert, made an attempt to practise wizardry on his ownaccount, and brought out some of the stories of his grandfather,telling them as though they were his own experiences, whereby hewas sometimes believed by the ignorant to be the actual warlocklaird of Gordonstown, and the traditions have got so mixed that itis hard to dissever the one from the other. The secret cave, whereSir Robert had stored the kegs and vats that old Danny brought fromFrance, was used in the '45 to hide the Gordonstown horses forsafety's sake, and is still called Sir Robert's stable.
But all these matters now had ceased to interest him at all. Hewas chiefly concerned about his great 'History of the Earldom ofSutherland,' a monumental work still of high repute. He wished tobring the history up to date and to add some corrections, recentlydiscovered. In this Isabel Goudie helped him materially, acting ashis amanuensis, and the latest corrections of the history in SirRobert's private copy are said to be in her handwriting. Thoughwhat has become of his copy I am quite unable to say, theGordonstown library having long ago disappeared.
With the stimulus of this work Isabel's spirits revivedsomewhat, and the cloud of dull lethargy that had oppressed herseemed to be lifting slightly, when, about a fortnight after theevents last recorded, Sir Robert died suddenly and very quietly,and was buried in the old Michael kirk.
It was long after his death that the minister of Birnie assertedthat he had been waked from sleep and seen the termination of thatwild race with the Devil, and Sir Robert thrown over the wall; andhad deemed it but a dream, until he found a broken spur in thekirkyard. But this was very probably a thing imagined after theevent. For the tales of the kirkyard of Birnie were many and SirRobert's pact with the Devil was often spoken of, especially afterhis death, and as he died quietly in his bed it was necessary tosuppose that somehow or other he got to the sacred soil ofBirnie.
But meanwhile Father Blackhall was seriously concerned over thefact that Isabel had confessed fully and completely, but had nothad absolution. Nor did he see precisely what he should do. Thecase seemed as unprecedented as was that of the knight Tannhauser,that so baffled a Pop. Yet something must be done, for Sir Robertwas dead. Ludovick would be served heir, and would come toGordonstown with his wife and his son, the second Robert, now aninfant in arms. The household of Gordonstown would have to leave,and Father Blackhall, having taken the responsibility for IsabelGoudie, could not abandon her now.
They had long talks together in which the Father endeavoured toascertain exactly what the position was.
'My child,' he said, 'it seems to me clear that you intended tobarter your eternal happiness for material and temporarygratification, not clearly understanding or believing in theeternal happiness. And hence you were persuaded to renounce yourbaptism. But this, by the goodness of God, you were not able to do.For your Catholic baptism you could not, and did not, renounce.Therefore, though you were twice cheated--first by taking advantageof your ignorance, and secondly, because the very price, the poorconsideration for so great a renunciation, was taken from you--youdid not give what you thought, and what the great enemy intendedshould be given.
'Yet you have sinned grievously. For you have done harm to thosewho never harmed you, and that wantonly and of intention. But allthe sins you have committed are sins of the body, and material;therefore, in my judgement, to be expiated in the body. They arenot sins of the soul.
'Now the condition of absolution is reparation, so far as it ispossible; and herein lies my difficulty, for there can be noreparation for much that you have done. For those whom you slewwith clay figures, for the men who died by the Arrows of Death, forthose whom you robbed of their substance--these things can never berestored.'
'See ye then, Father, how hopeless is my condition, even as Itold ye! That which I have done cannot be undone. For the evil isno reparation, and without reparation is no absolution. There canbe no forgiveness.'
'I say not so. Even when ye served the Devil ye did not alwaysevil. Ye did not always please only yourself. For ye came here andhealed Jean Gordon. Also, had your doings been all evil, and allfor the pleasing of yourself, ye could not have been admitted tothe Middle Kingdom, That is, if I rightly apprehend its laws. Andnow, lastly, ye have made a great act of renunciation for the goodof others. Ye have given all that ye had to win release for SirRobert from the power of the Devil, and fortune and prosperity forJean and Cosmo. This is a great atonement, and no good deed wasever unrecognised in our Father's sight. I say this then. Ye havesinned against humanity, against mankind, and for this man exacts aterrible penalty. The body sins, and the body pays the penalty. Sois reparation, and the soul set free. But how this may be atpresent I know not; I must think. In the meantime, if thou wiltyield thyself to me, I will place thee for the time with a smallcompany of holy women who dwell secretly in a solitary place far upin the hills, in perpetual adoration. Here in meditation and prayerthou shalt prepare thyself, and after a season I will visit thee,and I think that it will be shown thee there that which thououghtest to do.'
'Father! I will do whatsoever ye say. Do with me, whatsoever yewill, if only I may be by any means attain forgiveness. I sincerelyrepent of all I have done. And most of all I repent the loss of myfaith.'
'Then, my child, in reliance on that promise, and because Ibelieve in thy repentance, by my power as a priest I absolve thee.The way to salvation I think the Lord Himself will show thee.'
He laid his hand on her head in benediction.
The following morning they set out.
IT was a changed Gordonstown after Sir Robert was laid to rest.The household dispersed rapidly, for Ludovick was served heir andlost no time in coming to take possession. Dame Gordon, his mother,Sir Robert's widow, also came back after long absence, and with hercame her daughter, Mistress Barclay of Ury, whose husband was awell-known member of the then newly founded sect of Quakers. FatherBlackhall and Isabel Goudie were the first to leave. She now worethe old homespun dress she had brought with her when last shevisited the farm of Lochloy. This dress, with the little crucifixthat was sewn in the bosom of it, was the link with her girlhoodthat most she cherished. She had worn it on the occasion when shehealed Jean, and on saying farewell to Jean she wore it again, andshowed her how her gift of the crucifix was cherished. The Fatherput on again the garb of a shepherd which he had worn when he cameto Gordonstown, and the pair looked just like such a couple ofpeasants as you might often see at that time tramping the roads insearch of work.
But before they left, Father Blackhall had united Cosmo and Jeanin the little chapel of Michael's kirk, and a few days later oldDanny's boat carried them to France, whence one of King Louis XIV'sships took them to Nova Scotia. We have no concern to follow theirhistory further. The records of the peninsula show that Cosmo waswell received on landing, for in spite of the act of the LordProtector in occupying the province in force in the name of Englandthe whole popular sentiment was French, and, outside the garrisons,the high-handed action was much resented. Cosmo had a title thatall followers of the Lord Protector were bound to respect, for thegrant to Sir Robert was absolute and unconditional, and hisconveyance to Cosmo equally unexceptionable. And the letters andcommendations of the ex-Regent, of Cardinal Mazarin, and of KingLouis himself, ensured him a warm welcome from the French settlers.A few years later, when King Charles II was restored to the throneof his ancestors, he gave back the rich province to France, andMazarin's prophecy was fulfilled. So this pair pass out of thishistory; but for over a hundred years there were Hamiltons in NovaScotia, claiming descent from them, and for aught I know the familymay still be living and thriving there. But I am told that thelands in Sir Robert's patent cannot now be identified.
Lady Mary Gordon retired to her little cottage in Aberdeenshire,and very soon the warlock laird and his small circle of friendsbecame no more than a tradition, adorned and exaggerated as suchtraditions very readily become.
At Gordonstown itself, Sir Ludovick, who had been educated inHolland, continued the building and laying out of the mansion andgrounds, adorning it with straight canals and walks in the Dutchtaste, some of which survive to this day. But the dungeons, and oldSir Robert's furnace and alembics, and other weird implements, wereuntouched, and rotted away from neglect.
Meantime Father Blackhall and Isabel tramped together throughDallas Glen, and up into the great lonely mountains, sometimessheltering in a peasant's cottage, sometimes pausing for a day ortwo, that the Father might say a Mass for some lonely congregationamong the hills, or at the house of some laird or Chief who hadremained faithful to the old religion in spite of persecution.
In the intercourse of these days, the Father gathered a greatdeal more than he had known before concerning Sathanas, and Isabelwas instructed in the Catholic faith. Gradually, as she learned itstenets, she came to a fervent belief, and noted with wonder theintense hostility of the country-people towards the papists.
Once when they took shelter during a storm of rain in a littlecottage, a small child lay in a cot by the fire tossing in feverand ague. Isabel sat by the tiny sufferer, crooning a lullaby andgently stroking the little curly head, damp with perspiration andpain. The restless tossing subsided, the hands grew cool, and thechild sank to a sweet slumber.
'Sancta Maria--Mystic Rose,' she sang softly, as the childbreathed calmly and regularly, free from pain for the first timefor weeks. But the quick ear of the mother caught the words.
'A cursed papist!' she cried. 'Would ye mutter your foul spellsover the innocent bairn? Oh, damn ye! trow ye have healed her.Aroint thee, witch! Get out of my house ere I set the dogs on ye.What for would ye be curing the sick? 'Tis well known that this isbut by the power of the Devil.'
So furious did the woman become that they had to flee out ofthat house, though one is glad to think that the childrecovered.
But as they journeyed so through the deep glens and the greatcorries the healthy, open-air life and simple fare restoredIsabel's health, and to some extent lifted the cloud of depressionthat weighed on her. She began now to feel the dreariness of herpresent conditions, and their hopelessness, in the inevitablereaction after the exalted moods that had brought about her greatsacrifice, her confession, and her determination to go with theFather wheresoever he would lead. Spite of herself her mind andmemory wandered back over the past. What days they were! Of courseshe repented, she would gladly undo the past if she could, she hadsought absolution and vowed herself to her penance; still, therewas no harm in thinking of the wild times she had had, of theloves, and the hunts, and the feastings. Father Blackhall was verygood, but not very exciting. It could not be a great sin to recallsome of the best of the times. Not the killing of men, or thestealing of their goods, or the wanton mischief--of these thingsshe sincerely repented; but the Father had not so greatly condemnedthe feastings and frolic, and the hunts, and all the enjoyment thatdid no harm, save that she had bartered her soul for these things.So she let her fancy play.
Then, one night, there was no human habitation near, when theevening closed, and the only shelter seemed to be a lonely hut,deserted and almost ruinous. It was only two rooms, each entered bya separate door, and a shed at the end; but they gathered some dryheather to make a couch, in each room, and with a little oatcakeand bannocks that they brought from their last resting place, and adraught of water from a spring near by, they made a shift of anevening meal, and, after prayer, retired to rest. Far up in themountains they could now see their destination, a white-washed wallhardly distinguishable from the rocks and cliffs around. But Isabelwas restless. The solemn grandeur of the great hills recalled theMonaliadhs, and the merry huntings they had had there. Spite ofherself, she hungered for the keen joy of the old life.
A little roe-deer trotted in, seemingly it had been used to finda shelter there, may be it was tame, someone's pet, for it seemednot in the least alarmed, but ran up to Isabel, and laid itsgraceful head in her lap. She patted it, and pulled its delicateears caressingly.
Then something in the eyes of the beast aroused a memory and shepaused, frightened. It was not only the eyes, it was a strangelyhuman look about the head of the deer. It could not be all fancy.This must be something other than an ordinary roe-deer. Why shouldit have come in thus? Why should she have taken so keen a likingfor it? Legends of deer that appeared to the saints and guided themoccurred to her. She looked, half believing, half incredulous, fora cross between its horns, such as legends always pictured. Therewas none such there, but the head was markedly human, and theshoulders too. Why had she not noticed this before? Why was it sofamiliar? A light laugh, a tug at her heart. How was it she had notknown sooner? It was the Dark Master himself.
'Ye see, sweetheart, I could not keep away from ye. Nay! do notshrink from me, I can do ye no harm now, are ye not shriven, andholy? Oh yes, I know I beguiled ye. What expect ye from the Devil?Yet I would have been very good to ye. Ye should never haverepented. Yea, I know ye were my servant, and that ye should neverhave been, but knew not how else to hold ye and keep ye. But now yeare free, ye are shriven. We can meet as friends. I can give ye joywithout bargaining. Ye have escaped from me; I can make no terms;ye are stronger than I am now. But I forswear my own nature in thatI come to ye, for I cannot keep away. Wilt not then celebrate yournew-found freedom and rejoice? Ye are hungry for joy. I know it.Say then the word, and come. An hour of joy, and under noobligation.'
In sooth she was hungry for joy. It seemed her very soul wasstarved. She wondered he did not clasp her in his arms as of old.Then she remembered. In the bosom of her dress was the little goldcrucifix. He could not come.
'Cast if off,' he said, as if interpreting her thought, ''tis amouldy old dress, not fit for our frolic, I have here a huntingdress worthy of yea.'
'Stay!' she said. 'Joy is good, and many fair frolics we havehad. But better are the eternal joys than those that perish. Thespirit must be set above matter. He whom now I serve will give mefar better and more enduring joys than those of the materialworld.'
'Credulous fool!' he said. 'Can ye believe all the silly talesthat priest tells ye. Know ye not that he hath made up the wholestory to beguile simple women. His God and his salvation and allthe rest of it is a played-out tale fit to amuse the nursery. Whathath he ever given ye?'
'Peace!' she replied.
He sneered. 'This I can give ye and sovereignty besides. Lookye, sweetheart, I must come to ye, for ye are stronger by far thanI am. Did ye not defy and overcome the mighty Lords of Fate, towhom I must eternally bow? Did ye not snatch from my very hands thesoul of Sir Robert whom they had destined for me? I am the Lord ofEarth as ye know, but ye are the queen of me, therefore the Queenof Earth. An ye have, as ye say, nobler and higher joys than any ofmine, take me and my kingdom and give it all to the service of thisnew Lord whom thou servest. Give the whole world this knowledge andthis joy that thou knowest of. Yea, even this priest thou thinkestso much of, thou mayest give him power to spread his faith over allthe land, to be no longer hunted and despised with his life in hishand. All this Reformed Kirk may be swept out of the way at a wordfrom thee. Only say it.'
It was a tempting prospect to be able to give to FatherBlackhall what he so longed for. And she had the power--she hadexercised it. The force that had saved Sir Robert's soul, at thevery last moment, against such stupendous odds, could surely domore. She was more than human, she felt it, and knew it. Were itnot a sin to have such powers and let them lie idle when so muchwas to be done--such gigantic evil in the world to be combated? Yetwhy? If the Saviour of mankind desired them to cease to exist. Heneeded not her interference. So had Father Blackhall taught heroften. The pride that had swelled so high shrank to very smallproportions.
'Nay,' she said, 'my new Lord, as ye call Him, can do all thisif He wishes without me. I am content to leave it all in Hishands.'
'Poor credulous fool!' said he. 'It is well for that Lord andthe priests that there are women such as ye are to be beguiled.Sooth, it is not hard--scarcely worth the Devil's trouble tobeguile such a simple soul. Come now, I venture a challenge. Put itto the proof. Ye know well how I can protect ye. All the time whenthe Sheriff and the Commissioners were hunting for witches, cameany nigh to ye? Did any think ye were one of us? Can your new Lorddo as much? He can protect ye, He sayeth. Well, then, I ask ye fornothing--no pledge, no spell; come forth and ride with me, and seeif He can guard ye. I pledge ye my word, He will fail. He can donothing. I pledge ye my word also that when He fails, I will guardye, and keep ye safe. Come, sweetheart! an ye believe in Him, yewill not fear to test His power. See what a triumph for Him and forthy priest. Ye will sweep Scotland with your doctrines.'
'Nay!' she said. 'I have given my word--I believe--and 'twere anact of disbelief to try to apply a test to that which Ibelieve.'
The moon cast a shadow from the doorway. Stern and strong,Father Blackhall stood there in the silvery light.
'Vade reto , Sathanas!' he cried, lifting on high the crucifixhe wore under his shepherd's cloak. 'Exorciso te, in nomine SanctiTrinitatis. Ye have thrown your last cast, and been defeated. Savedand redeemed, she is no slave of thine any longer, but the freeservant of the Lord of Hosts.'
'Yea,' said the Dark Master, 'but through grievous pain andterror must she pass, such as might daunt the strongest, and of herown will and choice. Think ye, Sir Priest, she will do this?Indeed, I think not. She will come to me yet to deliver her fromthee, and thy pretended gifts, which are worth nothing, as thouwell knowest. Shame on thee, for deluding the credulous. Thouknowest the God that ye proclaim so boldly is but an invention ofyour own to win silly women. There is no God, and all must come tome sooner or later.'
'Cease to blaspheme, and begone!' cried the priest in stentoriantones. 'Through pain and anguish if it be necessary she will passto rest and glory, that shall endure when thou and thy kingdom havepassed like a withered leaf, and fled as a shrivelled scroll. Shortand sharp the agony; but glorious the victory, when the goldengates fly open at the blast of God's bright archangel.'
He made the sign of the Cross, and the Dark Master cowered andshrank to the earth, and fled.
The Father passed an arm round Isabel to support her.
'Well done, good and faithful one!' he said, 'needs must I leavethee to fight out this conflict alone, but I prayed diligently forthee that thy faith might not fail. Now lie down and rest. No moreshall thy sleep be broken by the powers of evil. To-morrow we reachthe home where thou shalt find rest for thy soul.'
Rested and refreshed, on the morrow they set forth again, andtowards evening they reached the little building in the heart ofthe great lonely hills. An isolated and forgotten community of halfa dozen saintly women, who preserved a perpetual adoration of theHoly Sacrament in a tiny chapel.
The Reverend Mother, a calm and stately woman, with a face ofgreat beauty and snow-white hair, belonging to one of the noblestof the old historic houses of Scotland, received them, cordiallygreeting the Father, and after hearing his story, took Isabel to acell that was to be her home till the Father should come forher.
'My child,' he said, 'I think that the Lord Himself will directthee what thou shouldst do. I shall return when I have visited someof our scattered flocks in the west. Meantime, ye are safe here.Pray and meditate, and endeavour to draw night to Him who lovestthee.'
The Father said Mass for the little community in the morning,and departed.
Of Isabel's life in that tiny convent nothing whatsoever isknown, nor how long she stayed there. Of that small religious housethere are no records preserved. Even among the Catholics itsexistence was known to very few. The neighbouring peasants suppliedthe simple necessities of life and guarded the secret withscrupulous care. We can only suppose that in the calm, regular lifeof devotion, all the restlessness and heart-hunger passed away fromher, and that the second sight which she had by nature, aided byprayer and the rigid austere rule of the community, developed intovisions such as were accorded, as legends tell us, to thesaints.
Once or twice Father Blackhall came, but he bore no message, andit seemed as though in this quiet retreat her days were to end.
Then one night as she rose from prayer a sudden glory filled hercell, and she was aware of Christ Himself standing before her.
What passed, or what message was delivered to her, can never beknown. But next morning she sought the Reverend Mother and cravedpermission to depart.
'I am called,' she said simply; and the Reverend Mother bowedher silvery head and said, 'My daughter, go in peace, it is theLord's will.'
Down the mountain path she passed, a solitary figure in thegreat solemn silences of the hills. Dressed now again in the oldhomespun gown which had been discarded for the convent robe duringher sojourn there; and the little convent with its chapel hungspectral on the mountain side, a symbol of the faith that survivedtrouble and persecution, that kept its strength and purity in themidst of the desolate solitudes, a gleaming white landmark by whichthe wayfarer might guide himself, though he knew not what manner ofthings it was that thus shone so ghost-like on the barrenslopes.
She had no idea whither she was going. All the country wasstrange to her. She knew not even the direction in which she andthe Father had come nor how far. Only now voices called her, andshe could not disobey the call.
Downwards, ever downwards, the path lay, over rough heather andthrough peat mosses, over hard boulders difficult to climb among,and across many burns. It was a road used only by shepherds, andvery few even of them. A light seemed to be around her, and a clearconviction that she was led, and could not possibly go wrong ormiss the way. She carried a small wallet with simple provisions forthe way given her by the Reverend Mother, but when these wereexhausted there was nothing. There was no cottage in sightanywhere, not a sign of any human occupation or even of humanity inany direction. The convent had long been left behind, and was outof sight. She could not find her way back. Was it the intentionthat this should be her end, to die of exposure and starvation inthese awful solitudes, or to be slain by a wolf? Was this thegrievous pain and terror she must pass through to expiate her sins?It seemed too slight for this. Nevertheless, whatever it was, shewelcomed it. It was the path the Lord chose for her, and He wasleading her along it.
As night fell she came to a shepherd's hut, a tiny mud buildingwith a thatch of heather. Only a pleasant-faced old woman wasthere; very, very old she was, and wrinkled almost beyondbelief.
'Benedicite!' said Isabel. 'Mother, in the name of the Lord, canye give me shelter for the night?'
'Yea, and dearly welcome! 'tis long since I have heard theCatholic word. Come ben then, and sup. It is but plain fare Ihave--a few oatcakes and spring water, but ye are dearly welcomefor the sake of the word ye spake.'
On again next morning, and another long tramp, so mysteriouslyguided she never had any doubt of the way she must go, though oftenthere was no visible track, the great muirs were solitary andpathless. At length she came upon a rough track by which cartscould go. She was almost dropping from fatigue, when a light cartdriven by a peddler, came along and halted beside her. It was adark-complexioned man who drove, untidy and dirty, yet with a merrytwinkle in his eyes, a brilliantly coloured neckerchief was twistedround his throat and his long black hair under his soft slouchedhat curled in greasy locks. He was one of those wanderingEgyptians, alternately patronised and persecuted by the kings ofScotland but at present fallen on marked disfavour.
'Ye look weary, lass!' he said. 'Will ye have a lift, gin yourway be the same as mine?'
'I know not where my way leads,' she replied. 'But I thank yea.Whither is your road?'
'I am for Nairn and Aulderne to buy and sell an they will letme.'
She started. She had not thought that she could be anywhere inthe neighbourhood of her old home. Was this, then, whither the Lordwas leading her?
'Surely 'tis a long way?' she queried.
'Nay, not so far, some twenty Scots miles or so--'tis safer totravel though the night, as ye may understand. By day I can hidethe cart and the beast, and sleep in a ditch. In towns they areglad to see me, but in the country there are often rough men, andmy race are not beloved just now.'
Through the night they drove, and as the grey light of dawnbegan to grow rosy over the sea, they emerged from the Cawdorwoods, and saw Nairn gleaming before them. Isabel, worn out withfatigue, had slept in the cart, despite its rough uneasy joltingover the muir track.
As they came out of the woods, two men, who were hiding in aditch, sprang out and seized the horse's bridle.
'I thought we should have him here,' said one. ''Tis MichaelFaa, the gipsy; 'tis well we caught him here, they would not let ushave him in town, faith! they would rescue him. What have we here?A woman--a witch, I'll be bound.'
'See ye not, ye gowk! 'tis Isabel Goudie whom we have sought solong. Come away, Mistress, ye are sought for, ye are denounced fora witch. One of your foul crew who was burned told on ye. She saidye had no power now, and she might speak.'
They seized her roughly.
'Therefore am I come,' she said simply. 'I pray ye lead me tosomeone to whom I may tell all the story.'
'O ho! Would ye confess then? Nay, I trow ye would tell lies asthey all do, till they be pitten to the question. Come ye away.It's in the gaol of the town of Nairn that ye lodge to-day, till anassize can meet to hear what ye have to say.'
The details of that assize which was held at Aulderne are nowpublic property, and may be read by any who choose. It was alltaken down by John Innes, the Notary Public. Master Harry Forbespresided, and beside him there sat Dallas of Cantrey, the Sheriffof Nairn, and young Brodie of Lethen, Hay of Brightmoney, theyounger brother of the laird of Lochloy, and of course a number ofDunbars. There was more truth than usual in John Innes' openingstatement that the confession was made 'voluntarily, and withoutany compulsitouris.' But what he took down was not so much Isabel'sown statements, as the directions of the various members of theassize as to what they thought it should have been.
When she came to tell how she had dreamed of the witches raisingthe dead child in the kirkyard, the Sheriff cried, 'Ye dreamed, Godwot! Ye would have us believe that ye have done no ill, but that yehave only dreamed foolish dreams. Marry! but that is a poordefence. Master Innes, write that she said "we raised anun-christened child." So we shall get the truth at long last.'
She spoke also of her visit to the Court of Elfinland, but thatdid not interest the inquisitors.
''Tis sheer nonsense,' quoth Master Harry Forbes. 'We know thatthere are devils, or a Devil at all events. But there be no suchthings as fairies. Strike out all that, Master Innes, 'tis notrelevant.'
'Tell us more of your dealings with the Devil in the Castle ofInshoch,' said young Brodie of Lethen. 'Gad, I wish I had been theDevil,' he muttered under his breath. 'Some day I'll go there andfind me a witch for myself.'
So at length, after four long sittings, the confession was dulyrecorded in the state in which it pleased the very godly assize,and forwarded to the Justice Depute, whose note, albeit somewhattorn, appears attached thereto and may still be seen. It isendorsed:--
'Considered and found relevant be the Justice depute. Tak cairof this paper. See the Justice Deputis judgement on it. Show thisto the Commissioneris.
'Having read and considered the confession of Isabel Goudiewithin conteened as particularly--Sathan, Renunciation ofBaptism--with divers malifices, I find that a commission may veriejustlie pass for her last tryall.
'(sic subscribiter) A. C OLUILLE ( Justice depute .)'
There is no need to follow out here in detail all the processesof a criminal trial in the seventeenth century. The curious maystudy every step for themselves. Even to the savage and cruel'Doom' finally pronounced, 'That ye be taken away to the town ofElgin to the West Port thereof, betwixt three and four o'clock inthe afternoon, and there that ye be strangled to death by the handof the hangman, and thereafter your body to be burned to ashes, andordains all your moveable goods and gear to be escheat andinbrought to His Majesty's use for the causes foresaid.'
Only a small torn fragment of this 'Doom' remains now to witnessto the brutality of the time.
Father Blackhall, journeying back from the west, came to thelittle convent on the hills, and learned there of Isabel's suddenresolve, and departure.
'She was called of God,' he said; 'she hath gone to herdeath.'
As rapidly as he could he made his way down to the lowlands ofMoray, and reached the town of Elgin early one morning. No need forhim now to go in disguise, for King Charles had come back, and forthe time being there was no more persecution of Catholics.
A priest whom he had known told him all the news.
He inquired of Isabel Goudie, and his friend silently, withbowed head, took him to the West Port, where a half-burned stakestood, still fast in the ground, and a heap of white ashes werestirred by the morning wind.
'Long ago,' said Father Blackhall, 'Sir Robert Gordon said to methat she was a great sinner or a great saint. It is on my mind shewas both. May the Lord have mercy on her soul!'
'Amen,' said the other.
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