by Jane Porter
Chapter XIII.
Banks of the Clyde.
Two days passed drearily away to Helen. She could not expect tidingsfrom her cousin in so short a time. No more happy dreams cheered herlonely hours; and anxiety to learn what might be the condition of theearl and countess so possessed her that visions of affright nowdisturbed both her waking and sleeping senses. Fancy showed them inirons and in a dungeon, and sometimes she started in horror, thinkingthat perhaps at that moment the assassin's steel was raised against thelife of her father.
On the morning of the third day, when she was chiding herself for suchrebellious despondence, her female attendant entered to say, that afriar was come to conduct her where she would see messengers from Ladymar. Helen lingered not a moment, but giving her hand to the goodfather, was led by him into the library, where the prior was standingbetween two men in military habits. One wore English armor, with hisvisor closed; the other, a knight, was in tartans. The Scot presentedher with a signet, set in gold. Helen looked on it, and immediatelyrecognized the same that her stepmother always used.
The Scottish knight was preparing to address her, when the priorinterrupted him, and taking Lady Helen's hand, made her seat herself."Compose yourself for a few minutes," said he; "this transitory lifehourly brings forward events to teach us to be calm, and to resign ourwishes and our wills to the Lord of all things."
Helen looked fearfully in his face. "Some evil tidings are to be toldme." The blood left her lips; it seemed leaving her heart also. Theprior, full of compassion, hesitated to speak. The Scot abruptlyanswered her:
"Be not alarmed, lady, your parents have fallen into humane hands. I amsent, under the command of this noble Southron knight, to conduct youto them."
"Then my father lives! They are safe!" cried she, in a transport ofjoy, and bursting into tears.
"He yet lives," returned the officer; "but his wounds opening afresh,and the fatigues of his journey, have so exhausted him that Lord Aymerde Valence has granted the prayers of the countess, and we come to takeyou to receive his last blessing."
A cry of anguish burst from the heart of Lady Helen, and falling intothe arms of the prior, she found refuge from woe in a mercifulinsensibility. The pitying exertions of the venerable father at lastrecalled her to recollection and to sorrow. She rose from the bench onwhich he had laid her, and begged permission to retire for a fewminutes; tears choked her further utterance, and, being led out by thefriar, she once more reentered her cell.
Lady Helen passed the moments she had requested in those duties whichalone can give comfort to the afflicted, when all that is visible bidsus despair; and rising from her knees, with that holy fortitude whichnone but the devout can know, she took her mantle and veil, andthrowing them over her, sent her attendant to the prior, to say she wasready to set out on her journey, and wished to receive his partingbenediction. The venerable father, followed by Halbert, obeyed hersummons. On seeing the poor old harper, Helen's heart lost some of itsnewly-acquired composure. She held out her hand to him; he pressed itto his lips. "Farewell, sweetest lady! May the prayers of the dearsaint, to whose remains your pious care gave a holy grave, draw downupon your own head consolation and peace!" The old man sobbed; and thetears of Lady Helen, as he bent upon her hand, dropped upon his silverhair. "May Heaven hear you, good Halbert! And cease not, venerableman, to pray for me; for I go into the hour of trial."
"All that dwell in this house, my daughter," rejoined the prior, "shallput up orisons for your comfort, and for the soul of the departingearl." Observing that her grief augmented at these words, he proceededin a yet more soothing voice: "Regret not that he goes before you, forwhat is death but entrance into life? It is the narrow gate, whichshuts us from this dark world, to usher us into another, of everlastinglight and happiness. Weep not, then, dear child of the church, thatyour earthly parents precede you to the Heavenly Father; rather say,with the Virgin Saint Bride, 'How long, O Lord, am I to be banished thypresence? How long endure the prison of my body, before I am admittedto the freedom of Paradise, to the bliss of thy saints above?'"
Helen raised her eyes, yet shining in tears, and with a divine smilepressing the crucifix to her breast, "You do indeed arm me, my father!This is my strength!"
"And one that will never fail thee!" exclaimed he. She dropped uponone knee before him. He crossed his hands over her head--he looked upto heaven--his bosom heaved--his lips moved--then pausing a moment--"Go,"said he, "and may the angels which guard innocence minister to yoursorrows, and lead you into peace!"
Helen bowed, and breathing inwardly a devout response, rose andfollowed the prior out of the cell. At the end of the cloister sheagain bade farewell to Halbert. Before the great gates stood theknights with their attendants. She once more kissed the crucifix heldby the prior, and giving her hand to the Scot, was placed by him on ahorse richly caparisoned. He sprung on another himself, while theEnglish officer, who was already mounted, drawing up to her, she pulleddown her veil, and all bowing to the holy brotherhood at the porch,rode off at a gentle pace.
A long stretch of wood, which spread before the monastery, and screenedthe back of Bothwell Castle from being discernible on that side of theClyde, lay before them. Through this green labyrinth they pursuedtheir way, till they crossed the river.
"Time wears!" exclaimed the Scot to his companion; "we must push on."The English knight nodded, and set his spurs into his steed. The wholetroop now fell into a rapid trot. The banks of the Avon opened into ahundred beautiful seclusions, which, intersecting the deep sides of theriver with umbrageous shades and green hillocks, seemed to shut it fromthe world. Helen in vain looked for the distant towers of DumbartonCastle marking the horizon; no horizon appeared, but ranges of rocksand wooded precipices.
A sweet breeze played through the valley and revived her harassedframe. She put aside her veil to enjoy its freshness, and saw that theknights turned their horses' heads into one of the obscurest mountaindefiles. She started at its depth, and at the gloom which involved itsextremity. "It is our nearest path," said the Scot. Helen made noreply, but turning her steed also, followed him, there being room foronly one at a time to ride along the narrow margin of the river thatflowed at its base. The Englishman, whose voice she had not yet heard,and his attendants, followed likewise in file; and with difficulty thehorses could make their way through the thicket which interlaced thepathway, so confined, indeed, that it rather seemed a cleft made by anearthquake in the mountain than a road for the use of man.
When they had been employed for an hour in breaking their way throughthis trackless glen, they came to a wider space, where other andbroader ravines opened before them. The Scot, taking a pass to theright, raised his bugle, and blew so sudden a blast that the horse onwhich Lady Helen sat took fright, and began to plunge and rear, to theevident hazard of throwing her into the stream. Some of the dismountedmen, seeing her danger, seized the horse by the bridle; while theEnglish knight extricating her from the saddle, carried her throughsome clustering bushes into a cave, and laid her at the feet of anarmed man.
Terrified at this extraordinary action, she started up with a piercingshriek, but was at that moment enveloped in the arms of the stranger,while a loud shout of exhultation resounded from the Scot who stood atthe entrance. It was echoed from without. There was horror in everysound. "Blessed Virgin, protect me!" she cried, striving to break fromthe fierce grasp that held her. "Where am I?" looking wildly at thetwo men who had brought her: "Why am I not taken to my father?"
She received no answer, and both the Scot and the Englishman left theplace. The stranger still held her locked in a gripe that seemed ofiron. In vain she struggled, in vain she shrieked, in vain she calledon earth and Heaven, for assistance; she was held, and still he keptsilence. Exhausted with terror and fruitless attempt for release, sheput her hands together, and in a calmer tone exclaimed: "If you havehonor or humanity in your heart, release me! I am an unprotectedwoman, praying for your
mercy; withhold it not, for the sake of Heavenand your own soul."
"Kneel to me then, thou siren!" cried the warrior, with fierceness. Ashe spoke he threw the tender knees of Lady Helen upon the rocky floor.His voice echoed terribly in her ears, but obeying him, "Free me,"cried she, "for the sake of my dying father!"
"Never, till I have had my revenge!"
At this dreadful denunciation she shuddered to the soul, but yet shespoke: "Surely I am mistaken for some one else! Oh, how can I haveoffended any man to incur so cruel an outrage?"
The warrior burst into a satanic laugh, and, throwing up his visor,"Behold me, Helen!" cried he, grasping her clasped hands with ahorrible force, "My hour is come!"
At the sight of the dreadful face of Soulis she comprehended all herdanger, and with supernatural strength, wresting her hands from hishold, she burst through the bushes out of the cave. Her betrayersstood at the entrance, and catching her in their arms, brought her backto their lord. But it was an insensible form they now laid before him;overcome with horror her senses had fled. Short was this suspensionfrom misery; water was thrown on her face, and she awoke torecollection, lying on the bosom of her enemy. Again she struggled,again her cries echoed from side to side of the cavern. "Peace!" criedthe monster; "you cannot escape; you are now mine forever! Twice yourefused to be my wife; you dared to despise my love and my power; nowyou shall feel my hatred and my revenge!"
"Kill me!" cried the distracted Helen; "kill me and I will bless you!"
"That would be a poor vengeance," cried he; "you must be humbled, proudminion, you must learn to fawn on me for a smile; to woo, as my slave,for one of those caresses you spurned to receive as my wife." As hespoke, he strained her to his breast, with the contending expressionsof passion and revenge glaring in his eyes. Helen shrieked at thepollution of his lips; and as he more fiercely held her, her handstruck against the hilt of his dagger. In a moment she drew it, andarmed with the strength of outraged innocence, unwitting whether itgave death or not, only hoping it would release her, she struck it intohis side. All was the action of an instant while, as instantaneously,he caught her wrist, and exclaiming, "Damnable traitress!" dashed herfrom him, stunned and motionless to the ground.
The weapon had not penetrated far. But the sight of his blood, drawnby the hand of a woman, incensed the raging Soulis. He called aloud onMacgregor. The two men, who yet stood without the cave, re-entered.They started when they saw a dagger in his hand, and Helen, lyingapparently lifeless, with blood sprinkled on her garments.
Macgregor, who had personated the Scottish knight, in a tremulous voiceasked why he had killed the lady?
Soulis frowned: "Here!" cried he, throwing open his vest: "this wound,that beautiful fiend you so piteously look upon, aimed at my life!"
"My lord," said the other man, who had heard her shrieks, "I expecteddifferent treatment for the Earl of Mar's daughter."
"Base Scot!" returned Soulis, "when you brought a woman into thesewilds to me, you had no right to expect that I should use her otherwisethan as I pleased, and you, as the servile minister of my pleasures."
"This language, Lord Soulis!" rejoined the man, much agitated; "but youmistook me--I meant not to reproach."
"'Tis well you did not;" and turning from him with contempt, helistened to Macgregor, who, stooping toward the inanimate Helen,observed that her pulse beat. "Fool!" returned Soulis, "did you thinkI would so rashly throw away what I have been at such pains to gain?Call your wife; she knows how to teach these minions submission to mywill."
The man obeyed; and while his companion, by the command of Soulis,bound a fillet round the bleeding forehead of Helen, cut by the flints,the chief brought two chains, and fastening them to her wrists andankles, exclaimed, with brutal triumph, while he locked them on:"There, my haughty damsel, flatter not thyself that the arms of Soulisshall be thine only fetters."
Macgregor's wife entered, and promised to obey all her lord'sinjunctions. When she was left alone with the breathless body ofHelen, water, and a few cordial drops, which she poured into theunhappy lady's mouth, soon recalled her wretched senses. On openingher eyes, the sight of one of her own sex inspired her with some hope;but attempting to stretch out her hands in supplication, she washorror-struck at finding them fastened, and at the clink of the chainswhich bound her. "Why am I thus?" demanded she of the woman; butsuddenly recollecting having attempted to pierce Soulis with his owndagger, and now supposing she had slain him, she added, "Is Lord Souliskilled?"
"No," replied the woman; "my husband says he is but slightly hurt; andsurely your fair face belies your heart, if you could intend the deathof so brave and loving a lord!"
"You then belong to him?" cried the wretched Helen, wringing her hands."What will be my unhappy fate! Virgin of heaven, take me to thyself!"
"Heaven forbid!" cried the woman, "that you should pray against beingthe favorite lady of our noble chief! Many are the scores aroundHermitage Castle who would come hither on their hands and knees toarrive at that happiness."
"Happiness!" cried Lady Helen, in anguish of spirit; "it can visit meno more till I am restored to my father, till I am released from thepower of Soulis. Give me liberty," continued she, wildly grasping thearm of the woman. "Assist me to escape, and half the wealth of theEarl of Mar shall be your reward."
"Alas!" returned the woman, "my lord would burn me on the spot, andmurder my husband, did he think I even listened to such a project. No,lady; you never will see your father more; for none who enter my lord'sHermitage ever wish to come out again."
"The Hermitage!" cried Helen, in augmented horror. "Oh, Father ofmercy! never let me live to enter those accursed walls!"
"They are frightful enough, to be sure," returned the woman; "but you,gentle lady, will be princess there; and in all things commanding thekingly heart of its lord, have rather cause to bless than to curse thecastle of Soulis."
"Himself, and all that bear his name, are accused to me," returnedHelen; "his love is my abomination, his hatred my dread. Pity me, kindcreature; and if you have a daughter whose honor is dear to yourprayers, think you see her in me, and have compassion on me. My lifeis in your hands; for I swear before the throne of Almighty Purity,that Soulis shall see me die rather than dishonored!"
"Poor young soul!" cried the woman, looking at her frantic gestureswith commiseration; "I would pity you if I durst; but I repeat, mylife, and my husband's, and my children, who are now near Hermitage,would all be sacrificed to the rage of Lord Soulis. You must becontent to submit to his will." Helen closed her hands over her facein mute despair, and the woman went on: "And as for the matter of yourmaking such lamentations about your father, if he be as little yourfriend as your mother is you have not much cause to grieve on thatscore."
Helen started. "My mother! what of her? Speak! tell me! It is indeedher signet that betrayed me into these horrors. She cannot haveconsented! Oh, no! some villians--speak! tell me what you would say ofLady Mar?"
Regardless of the terrible emotion which now shook the frame of herauditor, the woman coolly replied, she had heard from her husband, whowas the confidential servant of Lord Soulis, that it was to Lady mar heowed the knowledge of Helen being at Bothwell. The countess hadwritten a letter to her cousin, Lord Buchan, who being a sworn friendof England, she intimated with Lord de Valence at Dumbarton. In thisepistle she intimated her wish that Lord Buchan would devise a plan tosurprise Bothwell Castle the ensuing day, to prevent the departure ofits armed vassals, then preparing to march to the support of the outlawSir William Wallace, who, with his band of robbers, was lurking aboutthe caverns of the Cartlane Craigs.
When this letter arrived, Lord Soulis was at dinner with the otherlords; and Buchan, laying it before De Valence, they all consulted whatwas best to be done. Lady Mar begged her cousin not to appear in theaffair himself, that she might escape the suspicions of her lord; who,she strongly declared, was not arming his vassals from any disloyaldisposition toward the king of Engla
nd, but solely at the instigationsof Wallace, to whom he romantically considered himself bound by theties of gratitude. As she gave this information, she hoped that noattainder would fall upon her husband. And to keep the transaction asclose as possible, she proposed that the Lord Soulis, who sheunderstood was then at Dumbarton, should take the command of two orthree thousand troops, and marching to Bothwell next morning, seize thefew hundred armed Scots who were there ready to proceed to themountains. She ended by saying that her daughter-in-law was in thecastle, which she hoped would be an inducement to Soulis to insure theEarl of Mar's safety for the sake of her hand as his reward.
The greatest part of Lady Mar's injunctions could not be attended to,as Lord de Valence, as well as Soulis, was made privy to the secret.The English nobleman declared that he should not do his duty to hisking if he did not head the force that went to quell so dangerous aconspiracy; and Soulis, eager to go at any rate, joyfully accepted thehonor of being his companion. Lord Buchan was easily persuaded to theseizure of the earl's person, as De Valence flattered him that the kingwould endow him with the Mar estates, which must now be confiscated.Helen groaned at the latter part of the narrative, but the woman,without noticing it, proceeded to relate how, when the party hadexecuted their design at Bothwell Castle, she was to have been taken bySoulis to his castle near Glasgow; but on that wily Scot not findingher, he conceived the suspicion that Lord de Valence had prevailed onthe countess to give her up to him. He observed, that the woman whocould be induced to betray her daughter to one man, would easily bebribed to repeat the crime to another, and under this impression, heaccused the English nobleman of treachery. De Valence denied itvehemently so quarrel ensued, and Soulis departed with a few of hisfollowers, giving out that he was retiring in high indignation toDunglass. But the fact was, he lurked about in Bothwell wood; and fromits recesses saw Cressingham's lieutenant march by to take possessionof the castle in the king's name.
A deserter from this troop fell in with Lord Soulis' company, andflying to him for protection, a long private conversation took placebetween them. At this period, one of the spies who had been left bythat chief in quest of news, returned with a female tenant of St.Fillan's, whom he had seduced from her home. She told Lord Soulis allhe wanted to know; informing him that a beautiful young lady, who couldbe no other than Lady Helen Mar, was concealed in that convent.
On this information he conversed a long time with the stranger fromCressingham's detachment. And determining on carrying off Helenimmediately to Hermitage, that the distance of Teviotdale might rendera rescue less probable, he laid the plan accordingly. "Inconsequence," continued the woman, "my husband and the stranger, theone habited as a Scottish and the other as an English knight (for mylord being ever on some wild prank, has always a chest of strangedresses with him), set out for St. Fillan's, taking with them thesignet which your mother had sent with her letter to the earl hercousin. They hoped such a pledge of their truth would insure themcredit. You know the tale they invented; and its success proves mylord to be no bad contriver."