Part 6 (2/2)
And there can be nothing done to him till the news has gone to London, and the messenger has returned with a new warrant. And that will mean time!--time!--time! And if our grandfather's letter be true: why time is all we need!”
The mother's face had turned from red to white, and from white to red.
Grizel's was hidden in the bed-clothes. Her sisters thought her overcome by the news they had brought.
”Ask me nothing, mother, yet,” gasped Grizel, when they were alone together, ”I will tell all when my father is pardoned!”
Great was the stir and excitement that prevailed when the story of the robbery became known. Lady Cochrane herself was so far uplifted by hope as to be able to leave her bed, and drive to the Tolbooth to visit her husband; and thus it came about that she had the joy of being with him when the Earl of Dundonald, who had travelled with the greatest possible speed from London, in terror and almost despair of being in time, was ushered into his son's prison, and fell upon his neck crying:
”Ah, John, John, thou hast been a sad fool, my boy; but the King's Majesty has been pleased to grant thee a pardon, thou art a free man from this hour!”
Then husband and wife fell into each other's arms and wept aloud, whilst the old Earl, after storming up and down, and rating his son for his folly, broke down and wept too; and who so proud and happy as Lady Cochrane as she led her husband home at last, and set him in his own accustomed chair before the fireside!
That night Lord Dundonald had to tell all his tale of how the pardon had been procured; bought practically for many thousand pounds, through the influence of a priest. But little cared the family for aught save the one great fact, they had their loved one home again. His life was safe.
He was theirs indeed!
But Sir John missed Grizel from the group. She had slipped away whilst her grandfather's tale was drawing to a close. Why did she not return?
It was old Donald who entered the room after a while and said: ”May it please you, master, the young man who stopped the messenger, and robbed the King's mails, craves leave of speech with you, if you will give him a brief audience.”
Sir John uttered an eager exclamation of astonishment and pleasure. His wife caught her breath, and her hands began to tremble.
”Let him come in! Oh, bring him here!” was the general cry, and Lord Dundonald added: ”Doubtless he comes for his reward, and right willingly will I give it him; for had it not been for that daring deed of his, my labour and my gold would alike have been thrown away. I could never have arrived in time. Thy head would have fallen, John, or ever I had reached Edinburgh. It was with more of despair than of hope that I rode those weary miles. Though something within me always bid me not give up.”
It was a large room in which they sat, and the farther end was in deep shadow. All turned with breathless expectancy as Donald come in, bringing with him a slenderly made youth, who wore his hat so deeply drawn over his face that nothing of the features could be seen. Perhaps it was from a lack of knowledge of good manners on his part that he did not remove it upon entering; or perhaps he was too shy to lift his eyes, and observe the presence of ladies. Shyness does occasionally go hand in hand with considerable personal courage.
”This is the youth who robbed the King's mails,” said old Donald, in a voice not quite his own.
”My deliverer!” exclaimed Sir John, rising, ”and so young and slight, and of such tender years too! How can I ever thank you enough! Pray you, dear sir, come somewhat forward, and let us see the face of one to whom we all owe this great and unspeakable happiness.”
Slowly the stranger advanced, at first with drooping head; then suddenly he flung away his downcast air, put up his hand, and s.n.a.t.c.hed off his hat!
There was a cry from all present! The mother clasped her hands together and whispered:
”I knew it! I knew it!”
The Earl stared as though he could not believe the sight of his eyes.
The sisters shrieked and broke into incoherent questioning; but Sir John opened his arms uttering no word, and Grizel went straight into them, and hid her face on his breast.
EVA VON GROSS
She lay face downwards upon her pallet bed, in the dim, narrow cell that she had been striving to regard as a home of sanct.i.ty and peace. She had torn from her head the stiff, white covering that it had worn for hard upon a year now, and which now seemed ready to stifle her. The long heavy robe of the nun which she wore fell about her in a ma.s.s of gloomy drapery. Everything was gloomy here. The narrow walls seemed to hem her in; the loophole window to admit an insufficiency both of air and light.
It was all like the narrow, narrow, pent-up life of the cloister to which she had been doomed, and which had by this time become as a very dungeon to her.
”How can I bear it? How can I bear it?” she moaned; ”I am so young, so very young. I have not taken the full vows yet. Oh, why would they not let me forth? Why may I not be free? I cannot bear the thought of the long, long years that lie before me--fifty--sixty, perhaps; who can say?
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