Part 29 (1/2)
As we went Nicol talked of many things with a cheery good humour. His was an adventure-loving mind, and there were few things which he would not brave save the routine of settled life. Now, as the November sun came out, for the morn was frosty and clear, his face shone with the sharp air and the excitement of the ride, and he entertained me to his views on the world and the things in it. The ground was hard as steel underfoot, the horse's hooves crackled through the little ice-coated pools in the road, and a solitary thrush sang its song from a wayside wood and seemed like a silver trump calling to action and daring.
”What think ye o' the hills, Laird?” said my servant. ”Ye've been lang among them, and ye'll ken them noo in anither way than if ye had just trampit ower them after wild-jucks or ridden through them to Yarrow or Moffatdale. I've wandered among them since I was a laddie five 'ear auld, and used to gang oot wi' my faither to the herdin'. And since then I've traivelled up Tweed and doun Tweed, and a' ower the Clydeside and the Annanside, no to speak o' furrin pairts, and I can weel say that I ken naucht sae awfu' and sae kindly, sae couthy and bonny and hamely, and, at the same time, sae cauld and cruel, as juist thae green hills and muirs.”
”You speak truly,” said I. ”I've seen them in all weathers and I know well what you mean.”
”Ay,” he went on, ”thae lawlands are very bonny, wi' the laigh meadows, and bosky trees and waters as still as a mill-pound. And if ye come doun frae the high bare lands ye think them fair like Heev'n. But I canna bide lang there. I aye turn fair sick for the smell o' moss and heather, and the roarin' and routin' o' the burn, and the air sae clear and snell that it gars your face p.r.i.c.k and your legs and airms strauchten oot, till ye think ye could run frae here to the Heads o'
Ayr.”
”I know all of that,” said I, ”and more.”
”Ay, there's far mair,” said he. ”There's the sleepin' at nicht on the grund wi' naething abune you but the stars, and waukin' i' the mornin'
wi' the birds singin' i' your lug and the wind blawin' cool and free around you. I ken a' that and I ken the ither, when the mist crowds low on the tap o' the hills and the rain dreeps and seeps, or when the snaw comes and drifts sae thick that ye canna stand afore it, and there's life neither for man nor beast. Yet wi' it a' I like it, and if I micht choose the place I wad like best to dee in, it would be in the lee side o' a muckle hill, wi' nae death-bed or sic like havers, but juist to gang straucht to my Makker frae the yirth I had aye traivelled on. But wha kens?” and he spurred up his horse.
”Nicol,” said I, after a long silence, ”you know the errand we go on. I have told you it, I think. It is to find my cousin and Mistress Marjory.
If G.o.d grant that we do so, then these are my orders. You shall take the lady home to Tweeddale, to Dawyck, which is her own, and leave me behind you. I may come back or I may not. If I do, all will be well.
If I do not, you know your duty. You have already fulfilled it for some little time; if it happens as I say, you shall continue it to death.
The la.s.s will have no other protector than yourself.”
”E'en as ye say,” cried he, resuming his hilarity, though whether it was real or no I cannot tell. ”But dinna crack aboot siccan things, Laird, or ye'll be makkin' our journey nae better than buryin'. It's a wanchancy thing to speak aboot death. No that a man should be feared at it, but that he should keep a calm sough till it come. Ye mind the story o' auld Tam Blacket, the writer at Peebles. Tam was deein', and as he was a guid auld man the minister, whae was great at death-beds and consolation, cam to speak to him aboot his latter end. 'Ye're near death, Tammas,' says he. Up gets auld Tam. 'I'll thank ye no to mention that subject,' he says, and never a word wad he allow the puir man to speak.”
So in this way we talked till we came to where the road leaves the Clyde valley and rises steep to the high land about the town of Hamilton.
Here we alighted for dinner at an inn which bears for its sign the s.h.i.+p of War, though what this means in a town many miles from the sea I do not know. Here we had a most excellent meal, over which we did not tarry long, for we sought to reach Glasgow ere nightfall, and at that season of the year the day closes early.
As we rode down the narrow, crooked street, I had leisure to look about me. The town was in a ferment, for, as near the field of Bothwell Brig, where the Whigs had suffered their chiefest slaughter, it had been well garrisoned with soldiers, and the news of the Prince of Orange's landing put the place into an uproar. Men with flushed, eager faces hurried past with wonder writ large on their cheeks; others stood about in knots talking shrilly; and every now and then a horseman would push his way through the crowd bearing fresh tidings to the townsfolk or carrying it thence to the West country.
Suddenly, in the throng of men, I saw a face which brought me to a standstill. It was that of a man, dark, sullen, and foreign-looking, whose former dragoon's dress a countryman's coat poorly concealed. He was pus.h.i.+ng his way eagerly through the crowd, when he looked into the mid-street and caught my eye. In an instant he had dived into one of the narrow closes and was lost to sight.
At the first glance I knew my man for that soldier of Gilbert's, Jan Hamman, the Hollander, whom already thrice I had met, once in the Alphen Road, once at the joining of the Cor Water with Tweed, and once at the caves of the Cor, when so many of His Majesty's servants went to their account. What he was about in this West country I could not think, for had he been wise he would have made for the eastern seacoast or at least not ventured into this stronghold of those he had persecuted. And with the thought another came. Had not he spoken bitterly of his commander?
was he not the victim of one of my fair cousin's many infamies? had he not, in my own hearing, sworn vengeance? Gilbert had more foes than one on his track, for here was this man, darkly malevolent, d.o.g.g.i.ng him in his flight. The thought flashed upon me that he of all men would know my cousin's plans and would aid me in my search. I did not for a moment desire him for an ally in my work; nay, I should first frustrate his designs, before I settled matters with Gilbert, for it was in the highest degree unseemly that any such villain should meddle in matters which belonged solely to our house. Still I should use him for my own ends, come what might.
I leaped from my horse, crying on Nicol to take charge of it, and dashed up the narrow entry. I had just a glimpse of a figure vanis.h.i.+ng round the far corner, and when I had picked my way, stumbling over countless obstacles, I found at the end an open court, roughly paved with cobbie-stones, and beyond that a high wall. With all my might I made a great leap and caught the top, and lo! I looked over into a narrow lane wherein children were playing. It was clear that my man had gone by this road, and would now be mixed among the folk in the side street. It was useless to follow further, so in some chagrin I retraced my steps, banning Nicol and the Dutchman and my own ill-luck.
I remounted, making no answer to my servant's sarcastic condolences-for, of course, he had no knowledge of this fellow's purport in coming to the Westlands, and could only look on my conduct as a whimsical freak. As we pa.s.sed down the street I kept a shrewd lookout to right and left if haply I might see my man, but no such good luck visited me. Once out of the town it behooved us to make better speed, for little of the afternoon remained, and dusk at this time of year fell sharp and sudden.
So with a great jingling and bravado we clattered through the little hamlets of Blantyre and Cambuslang, and came just at the darkening to the populous burgh of Rutherglen, which, saving that it has no college or abbey, is a more bustling and prosperous place than Glasgow itself.
But here we did not stay, being eager to win to our journey's end; so after a gla.s.s of wine at an inn we took the path through the now dusky meadows by Clyde side, and pa.s.sing through the village of Gorbals, which lies on the south bank of the river, we crossed the great bridge and entered the gates just as they were on the point of closing.
During the latter hours of the day I had gone over again in mind all the details of the doings of past weeks. All seemed now clear, and with great heartiness I cursed myself for errors, which I could scarce have refrained from. The steps in Gilbert's plan lay before me one by one.
The letter had given him only the slightest of clues, which he must have taken weeks to discover. When at last it had been made clear to him, something else had engaged his mind. He must have had word from private sources, shut to the country folk, of the way whither events were trending in the state. His mind was made up; he would make one desperate bid for success; and thus he shaped his course. He sent men to Smitwood with the plausible story which I had already heard from my servant, how all breach was healed between us, and how this was her escort to take her to me. Then I doubted not he had bidden the men show her as proof some letter forged in my name on the model of the one I had lost on Caerdon, and also give her some slight hint of the great change in the country to convince her that now he could do no ill even had he desired it, and that I was now on the summit of fortune. The poor la.s.s, wearied with anxiety and long delay, and with no wise Nicol at hand to give better counsel, had suffered herself to be persuaded, and left the house with a glad heart. I pictured her disillusion, her bitter regrets, her unwilling flight. And then I swore with redoubled vehemence that it should not be for long.
We alighted for the night at the house of that Mistress Macmillan, where I lodged when I first came to college. She welcomed us heartily, and prepared us a n.o.ble supper, for we were hungry as hawks, and I, for one, tired with many rough adventures. The house stood in the Gallow Gate, near the salt market and the college gardens; and as I lay down on the fresh sheets and heard the many noises of the street with the ripple of the river filling the pauses, I thanked G.o.d that at last I had come out of beggary and outlawry to decent habitation.
CHAPTER III
THE HOUSE WITH THE CHIPPED GABLES