Part 20 (1/2)
”What do you want with us?” he said in a tone of mingled sulkiness and bravado. ”Let me tell you, I am one of His Majesty's dragoons, and you'll pay well for any ill you do to me. I care not a fig for you, for all your gentrice. If you would but lay down your pop-guns and stand before me man to man, I would give you all the satisfaction you want.”
The fellow was a boor but he spoke like a man, and I liked him for his words. But I replied grimly:
”I will have none of your bragging. Go and try that in your own stye, you who shoot at women. I will give you as long as I may count a hundred, and if before that you have not stripped off every rag you have on and come forward to me here, by G.o.d I will shoot you down like the dogs you are.”
And with this I began solemnly to count aloud.
At first they were still rebellious, but fear of the death which glinted to them from the barrels of the pistols won the mastery. Slowly and with vast reluctance they began to disrobe themselves of belt and equipments, of coat and jackboots, till they stood before me in the mild spring air as stark as the day they were born. Their faces were heavy with malice and shame.
”Now,” said I to Nicol, ”dismount and lay on to these fellows with the flat of your sword. Give me your pistol, and if either makes resistance he will know how a bullet tastes. Lay on, and do not spare them.”
So Nicol, to whom the matter was a great jest, got down and laid on l.u.s.tily. They shouted most piteously for mercy, but none they got till the stout arm of my servant was weary.
”And now, gentlemen, you may remount your horses. Nay, without your clothes; you will ride more freely as you are. And give my best respects to your honourable friends, and tell them I wish a speedy meeting.”
But as I looked in the face of one, him who had been so terror-stricken at the outset, I saw that which I thought I recognised.
”You, fellow,” I cried, ”where have I seen you before?”
And as I looked again, I remembered a night the year before on the Alphen road, when I had stood over this very man and questioned him on his name and doings. So he had come to Scotland as one of the foreign troops.
”I know you, Jan Hamman,” said I. ”The great doctor Johannes Burnetus of Lugdunum has not forgotten you. You were scarcely in an honest trade before, but you are in a vast deal less honest now. I vowed if ever I met you again to make you smart for your sins, and I think I have kept my word, though I had the discourtesy to forget your face at first sight. Good morning, Jan, I hope to see you again ere long. Good morning, gentlemen both.”
So the luckless pair rode off homeward, and what reception they met with from their captain and their comrades who shall say?
Meanwhile, when they were gone for some little time, Nicol and I rode back by a round-about path. When I began to reflect, I saw the full rashness of my action. I had burned my boats behind me with a vengeance. There was no choice of courses before me now. The chase would be ten times hotter against me than before, and besides I had given them some clue to my whereabouts. You may well ask if the danger to my love were not equally great, for that by this action they would know at least the airt by which she had fled. I would answer that these men were of Gilbert's own company, and one, at least, of them, when he heard my name, must have had a shrewd guess as to who the lady was. My cousin's love affairs were no secret. If the man had revealed the tale in its entirety, his own action must necessarily have been exposed, and G.o.d help him who had insulted one whom Gilbert cared for. He would have flayed the skin from him at the very mention.
To my sober reason to-day the action seems foolhardy in the extreme, and more like a boyish frolic than the work of a man. But all I knew at the time, as I rode back, was that my pride was for the moment soothed, and my heart mightily comforted.
CHAPTER VIII
OF OUR WANDERINGS AMONG THE MOORS OF CLYDE
If there had been haste before in our journey there was the more now, when in a few hours the countryside would be alive with our foes. I hurriedly considered in my mind the course of events. In three hours'
riding the soldiers, all stark as they were, would come to Abington, and in three more the road to Douglasdale would be blocked by a dozen companies. It was no light thing thus to have set the whole h.e.l.l's byke in Clydesdale buzzing about my ears.
We were not long in reaching the cave. Here to my joy I found Marjory all recovered from her fright, and the wound hurting her no more than a pin's scratch. When I spoke of immediate progress she listened gladly and was for setting out forthwith. I did not tell her of the soldiers'
discomfiture, for I knew that she would fall to chiding me for my foolhardiness, and besides she would have more dismal fears for my future if she knew that I had thus incensed the military against me.
It was with much regret that I bade farewell to Master Lockhart and the old man; nor would they let me go without a promise that if I found myself hard pressed at any time in the days to come I would take refuge with them. I was moved by the sight of the elder, who laying his hand on my lady's head, stroked her fair golden hair gently and said, ”Puir la.s.s, puir la.s.s, ye're no for the muirs. I foresee ill days coming for ye when ye'll hae nae guid sword to protect ye. But lippen weel to the Lord, my bairn, and He'll no forsake ye.” So amid the speaking of farewells and well-wishes we rode out into the green moors.
How shall I tell of that morning ride? I have seen very many days in April now, for I am a man aging to middle life, but never have I seen one like that. The sky was one sheet of the faintest blue, with delicate white clouds blown lightly athwart it. The air was so light that it scarce stirred the gra.s.s, so cool that it made our foreheads as crisp and free as on a frosty winter's day, so mild that a man might have fancied himself still in the Low Lands. The place was very quiet save for a few sounds and these the most delectable on earth-the cries of sheep and the tender bleating of young lambs, the rise and fall of the stream, the croon of rock pigeons, and the sterner notes of curlew and plover. And the gra.s.s was short and lawnlike, stretching in wavy ridges to the stream, seamed with little rush-fringed rills and patched with fields of heath. Only when we gained the edge had we any view of country, and even then it was but circ.u.mscribed. Steep fronting hills, all scarred with ravines; beyond, shoulders and peaks rising ever into the distance, and below us the little glen which holds the head waters of Tweed.
We crossed the river without slacking rein, for the water scarce reached above our horses' pasterns. And now we struck up a burn called the Badlieu, at the foot of which was a herd's s.h.i.+eling. The spirit of the spring seemed to have clean possessed Marjory and I had never seen her so gay. All her past sorrows and present difficulties seemed forgotten, and a mad gaiety held her captive. She, who was for usual so demure, now cast her gravity to the winds, and seemed bent on taking all the joys of the fair morning. She laughed, she sang s.n.a.t.c.hes of old songs, and she leaped her horse lightly over the moss-trenches. She stooped to pluck some early white wind-flowers, and set some in her hair and some at her saddle-bow.
”Nay, John,” she cried, ”if you and I must take to the hills let us do it with some gallantry. It is glorious to be abroad. I would give twelve months of sleepy peace at Dawyck for one hour of this life. I think this must be the Garden of Perpetual Youth in the fairy tale.”
The same mad carelessness took hold on me also. Of a sudden my outlook on the world changed round to the opposite, and the black forebodings which had been ever present to distress me, seemed to vanish like dew before the sun. Soon I was riding as gaily as she; while Nicol, as he ran with great strides and unfaltering breath, he too became light-hearted, though to tell the truth care was not a commodity often found with him.