by John Buchan
CHAPTER V
EAGLESHAM
It was dawning morn, grey and misty, with a thaw setting in on thesurface of the snow. Down the narrow, crooked streets, with a windshivering in our teeth, we went at a breakneck gallop. I lashed myhorse for its life, and the poor brute, wearied as it was by the toilsof the night, answered gallantly to my call. Sometimes, in a steepplace, we slipped for yards; often I was within an ace of death; and atone street-turning with a mighty clatter Nicol came down, though thenext minute he was up again. A few sleepy citizens rubbed their eyesand stared from their windows, and in the lighted doorway of a tavern, asailor looked at us wonderingly.
In less time than it takes to tell, we were at the water-edge. Herethere is a rough quay, with something of a harbour behind it, where liethe sugar-boats from the Indies, when the flood-tide is too low tosuffer them to go up stream to the city. Here, also, the ferry fourtimes daily crosses the river.
Before us the water lay in leaden gloom, with that strange, dead colourwhich comes from the falling of much snow. Heavy waves were beginningto roll over the jetty, and a mist was drooping lower and ever lower.Two men stood by an old anchor coiling some rope. We pulled up ourhorses and I cried out in impatience where the ferry might be.
"Gone ten meenutes syne," said one, with no change on his stolid face."There she is gin ye hae een i' your heid to see."
And he pointed out to the waste of waters. I looked and saw a sailrising and sinking in the trough of the waves.
"When does she return?" I cried out, with many curses on our laggardjourney.
"Whiles in an 'oor, whiles in twae. She'll be twae the day ere she'sback, for the ferryman, Jock Gellatly, is a fou' as the Baltic wi' somedrink that a young gentleman gave him."
So we turned back to the harbour tavern, with all the regrets ofunsuccess.
The man had said two hours, but it was nearer three, ere that wretchedshell returned, and, when it came, 'twas with a drunken man who couldscarce stagger ashore. I was in no mood for trifling.
"Here, you drunken swine," I cried, "will you take us across and bequick about it?"
"I maun hae anither gless o' Duncan's whusky," said the fellow, with aleer.
"By God, and you will not," I cried. "Get aboard and make no moredelay, or, by the Lord, I'll throw you into the stream."
The man hiccuped and whined. "I canna, I canna, my bonny lad. I hadower muckle guid yill afore I sterted, and I maun hae some whusky tokeep it doon. I'm an auld man, and the cauld air frae the water is badfor the inside. Let me be, let me be," and he lay down on the quay withthe utter helplessness of a sot.
"Here is a devil of a mess," I cried to Nicol. "What is to be done?"
"I'll hae to tak the boat mysel', Laird," said my servant, quietly. "IfI droon ye, dinna complain."
Indeed, I was in no mood for complaining at anything which would carryme further on my quest. With some difficulty we got the horses aboardand penned them in the stalls. Then Nicol hoisted the sail, and weshoved off, while I kept those at bay with a boat-hook who sought tostop us. Once out on the stormy waters I was beset with a thousandfears. I have ever feared the sea, and now, as we leaped and divedamong the billows, and as the wind scoured us like a threshing floor,and, above all, as the crazy boat now almost lay sideways on the water,I felt a dreadful sinking of my courage, and looked for nothing betterthan immediate death. It was clear that Nicol, who knew something ofseamanship as he knew of most things, had a hard task to keep usstraight, and by his set face and white lips, I guessed that he, too,was not without his fears. Nevertheless, the passage was narrow, and inless time than I had expected, we saw a dim line of sand through thefog. Running in there, we beached the coble, and brought the horsessplashing to shore.
The place was dreary and waste, low-lying, with a few huts facing theriver. Beyond the land seemed still flat, though, as far as the mistsuffered me to see, there seemed to be something of a rise to the right.My feet and hands were numbed with cold, and the wound in my wrist,which I got in scaling the wall, smarted till it brought the water to myeyes. I was so stiff I could scarce mount horse, and Nicol was in nobetter plight.
We rode to the nearest cottage and asked whither the folk had gone wholanded with the last ferry. The woman answered gruffly that she had seennone land, and cared not. At the next house I fared little better; butat the third I found a young fisher lad, who, for the sake of a silverpiece, told me that they had headed over the moor about three hours ago.
"And what lies beyond the moor?" I asked.
"Beyond the muir," said he, "is a muckle hill they ca' Mistilaw, a'thick wi' bogs, and ayont it there are mair hills and mosses, and syneif ye ride on ye'll come to Eaglesham, whaur the muirs end and the guidlands begin. I yince was ower there wi' my faither, aboot a cowt, and abraw bit place it is, and no like hereaways."
So Nicol and I, with dogged hearts and numbed bodies, rode into theblack heath where there was no road. The snow had lost all hardness andwas thick and clogging to our horses' feet. We made as good speed as wecould, but that, after all, was little. About midday we had crossed thefirst part of our journey and were clambering and slipping over theshoulder of Mistilaw. This hill is low and trivial contrasted with ourgreat Tweedside hills, but it well deserves its name, for it is one vastquagmire, where at all seasons mists and vapours hang. Beyond it, andall through the afternoon, we struggled among low hills and lochs. Wehalted at a solitary shepherd's hut among the wilds, and ate a vile mealof braxy and oaten-cake. Then again we set forth, and, in thedarkening, came to the wide moor which is the last guard of the wastesand borders the pleasant vale of the Cart.
Now here I fell into a great fit of indecision. It was clear thatGilbert and Marjory were but a little way off in the House of Eaglesham,and I had almost reached the end of my travels. But here my plans cameto a sudden end. Was I to ride forward and boldly demand my cousin tolet her go? I knew my cousin's temper; he could make but one reply, andat last some end would be placed to our feud. But with this cameanother thought. Gilbert was not a man of one device but of many. If Isought to wrest my lady from his hands by force, it was most likely thathe would be the winner. For he was ever ripe for high, bold anddastardly policies, and at such a time was little likely to bepunctilious.
So in my extremity I fell to consulting with Nicol, and between us wedevised a plan. I liked it so well that I lost all dismal forebodingsand proceeded to put it in action. Night fell just as we came to themeadows above the village, and the twinkling lights of the place servedas our guides. There was an inn there which I remembered of old time,for the innkeeper had come originally from Tweeddale. At first I wouldshun the place, but then I remembered that the man was dead thesehalf-dozen years, and all the place so changed that I was secure fromrecognition, even had I not been so disguised and clad. So without anyfear we rode up to the door and sought admittance.
The place was roomy and wide; a clean-swept floor, with a fire blazingon the hearth, and a goodly smell of cooked meat everywhere. Theybrought us a meal, which we ate like hungry men who had been a longday's journey in a snow-bound world. Then I lay back and stared at thefirelight, and tried hard to fix my mind on the things which were comingto pass. I found it hard to determine whether I was asleep or awake, forthe events of the past hours were still mere phantasmagoria in mymemory. Through all the bewildering maze of weariness and despair, andscrupulosity of motive, there was still that one clear thought brandedon my mind. And now, as I sat there, the thought was alone, without anyclear perspective of the actors or the drama to be played. I scarcethought of Marjory, and Gilbert was little in my mind, for the longseries of cares which had been mine for so many days had gone far toblunt my vision, and drive me to look no further than the next moment orthe next hour. I was dull, blank, deadened with this one unalterableintention firm in my heart, but, God knows! little besides.
About nine or ten, I kno
w not rightly, my servant roused me and bade meget ready. He had ordered the landlord to have the horses round to thedoor, giving I know not what excuse. I mounted without a thought, savethat the air was raw and ugly. We rode down the silent street out on tothe heath, where the snow was deeper, and our steps all but noiseless.The night was clear and deadly chill, piercing to the marrow. A lowsnow-fog clothed the ground, and not a sound could we hear in thatgreat, wide world, save our own breathing and our horses' tread. A sortof awe took me at the silence, and it was with solemn thoughts that Iadvanced.
In a mile we left the heath, and, dipping down into the valley of thestream, entered a wood of pines. Snow powdered us from the bare boughs,and a dead branch crackled underfoot. Then all of a sudden, black andcold and still, from the stream-side meadows and all girt with darkforest, rose the house. Through the tree trunks it looked ghostly as aplace of the dead. Then I remembered that this was the hill-front, whereno habitable rooms were; so, marvelling no more at the dearth of light,we turned sharp to the left and came on the side looking to the river.
Two lights twinkled in the place, one in the basement, and one in thelow, first story. I cast my memory back over old days. One was fromthe sitting-parlour where the old Gilbert Burnet had chosen to spend hisdays, and the other--ah, I had it, 'twas from the sleeping-room of theold Mistress Burnet, where she had dragged out her last years and drawnher last breath. But for these there was no other sign of life in thehouse.
We crossed the snowy slope to the black shadow of the wall, where wehalted and consulted. By this time some life and spirit had come backto my movements, and I held myself more resolutely. Now I gave myservant his orders. "If so happen we get Mistress Marjory safe," saidI, "you will ride off with her without delay, down the valley to theClyde and then straight towards Tweeddale. You will get fresh horses atHamilton, and till then these will serve your purpose. Once in her owncountryside there remains nothing for you save to see that you do herbidding in everything. If God so will it, I will not be long inreturning to you."
Then, with no more words, we set our faces to our task.
The light in the window above us still shone out on the white ground.Many yards to our left another patch of brightness marked where theother lamp burned. There was need of caution and stillness, else themaster of the place would hear. I kicked my shoes from my feet, thoughit was bitter cold, and set myself to the scaling the wall. Thedistance was little, scarce twenty feet, and the masonry was rough-hewnand full of projecting stones, yet I found the matter as hard as I couldmanage. For my hands were numbed with the excessive chill, and the cutin my wrist still ached like the devil. I was like to swoon twentytimes ere I reached the corner of the window. With a sob of exhaustionI drew myself up and stared at the curtained window.
Very gently I tapped on the pane, once, twice, three times. I heard aquick movement of surprise within, then silence once more, as if theoccupant of the room thought it only the snow drifting. Again I rapped,this time with a sharp knock, which men use who wait long outside a gatein a windy night. Now there could be no doubt of the matter. A handdrew the curtains aside, and a timid little face peered out. Then of asudden the whole folds were swept back and my lady stood before me.
She wore her riding-dress still, but a shawl of some white stuff wasflung around her shoulders. There she stood before my sight, peeringforth into the darkness, with surprise, fright, love, joy chasing oneanother across her face, her dear eyes sad and tearful, and her mouthdrawn as with much sorrow, and her light hair tossed loosely over hershoulders. It was many lone and dismal months since I had seen her,months filled with terrors and alarums, and heart-sickening despair.And now, as she was almost within my reach at last after so many days,my heart gave a great bound, and with one leap the burden of the pastshook itself from my shoulders.
"Open the window, dear," I cried, and with trembling hands she undid thefastenings and swung the lattice open. The next moment I had her in myarms, and felt her heart beating close to mine, and the soft, warm touchof her neck. "Marjory lass," I cried, "how I have missed you, dear!But now I have you and shall never leave you more." And I drew hercloser to me, while she could only sob the more.
Then, with a mighty effort, I recalled myself to the immediateenterprise. The sound of the horses shuffling the snow without forcedon me the need of action.
"My servant is without with horses," I said. "You must go with him,dear. It is our only safety. By to-morrow you will be in Tweeddale, andin a very little while I will come to you."
"But do you not go just now?" she cried, in anxiety, still clinging tome.
"No, Marjory dear," said I, soothing her as best I could, "I cannot comeyet. There are some things which need my special care. If you thinkyourself, you will see that."
"Is it aught to do with Gilbert Burnet? Oh, I dare not leave you withhim. Come with me, John, oh, come. I dare not, I dare not." And thepoor child fell to wringing her hands.
"Marjory," I said, "if you love me do as I bid you. I will come to noscaith. I promise you I will be with you at Dawyck ere the week isout."
So she put a brave face on the matter, though her lips still quivered.I went to the window and looked down to where Nicol stood waiting withthe horses. Then I thought of a plan, and, finding none better, I criedto him to mount to the window-sill, for I knew his prowess as a climber,and the uncommon toughness of his arm. The horses were too jaded andspiritless to need any watching.
I caught up my lady in my arms and stepped out upon the ledge. Thenvery carefully and painfully I lowered myself, still clinging to thesill, till I found a foothold in a projecting stone. Below us wereNicol's arms and into them I gave my burden. I heard him clamberingdown by degrees, and in a very little, for the height was small, he hadreached the ground. Then I followed him, slipping the last few feet,and burying myself in a bank of snow.
I had brought a heap of warm furs from the room, and these I flung roundmy love's shoulders. My heart ached to think of her, weary from theday's hard riding, setting forth again into the cold of a Novembernight.
"Oh, John," she said, "no sooner met than parted. It is ever our fate."
"It will be the last time, dear," I said, and I kissed her face in herhood.
Then, with many injunctions to my servant, I bade them good-bye, andwatched the figure which I loved best in all the world, disappear intothe darkness. With a sad and yet cheerful heart I turned back andclambered again into the chamber.
There were Marjory's things scattered about, as of one who has come froma long journey. Something on a table caught my eye, and, taking it up,I saw it was a slip of withered heather. Then I minded how I had givenit her one summer long ago on the Hill of Scrape.
I kicked off my boots, and in utter weariness of body and mind, I flungmyself on the bed and was soon asleep.