Gowrie, or, The king's plot

BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY

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•

GOWRIE;

OR,

THE KING'S PLOT.

BY G. P, R, JAMES, ESQ,

AUTHOR OF

'SIR THEODORE BROUGHTON," "THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES," "THE CONVICT," "RUSSELL,
"BEAUCHAMP," "MARGARET GRAHAM," "HEIDELBERG," ETC.

N'EW YORK:

rIARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
329 & 331 PEARL STREET,

FRANKLIN SQUARE.

1864.

* ' 9+,

o£>

.M

,

BOSTON
PUBLIC

LIBRAE

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

CHAPTER I.

On the 15th of August, 1599, a young man
was seen standing on one of the little bridges
in the town of Padua. He was plainly dressed
in an ordinary riding habit of that period, having
a short black cloak over his shoulders, a tawny
suit of cloth below, and a high crowned hat
with a plume of feathers falling on one side.
In most respects his apparel indicated no high-
er station than that of a respectable citizen, and
indeed citizens of his age, for he could not be
more than two-and-twenty, very frequently dis-
played more gaudy feathers, although the bird
they covered might be of inferior race. There
were, however, one or two marks about him
which seemed to point out a superior station.
Instead of a large fraise or ruff round his neck,
which was then still common, he wore a falling
collar of the richest and most delicate lace, tied
in front of the throat by a silver cord and tas-
sel ; and though the sheath of his long rapier
was merely of black leather, the hilt of the
weapon, as well as that of the dagger to his
girdle, was of silver exquisitely wrought. His
large buckskin gloves, too, were edged with a
silver fringe, and embroidered upon the back.
In person he was tall and finely formed, with a
highly intelligent and expressive countenance,
somewhat stern and determined, indeed, for one
so young, but yet with a strange mingling of
lofty thoughtlessness and careless ease. He
was perfectly alone, though on that day the citi-
zens of Padua were all in full holiday, the bells
of the churches- ringing, and the cannon firing
from the ramparts. Every one seemed to have
got a companion but himself; and all the streets
in the interior of that city of numberless ar-
cades, were thronged with groups celebrating
the holyday, the Assumption of the Blessed
Virgin, while he stood alone on the little bridge,
as I have said, near the Ferara gate, which was
left to comparative solitude by the populace,
who were flocking to the churches. He re-
mained in the same spot for more than a quar-
ter of an hour, sometimes leaning his arms on
the parapet of the bridge, and gazing down in-
to the shining water, or watching the labors of
a stout, man, less devout than his neighbors,
who still continued his work in one of the boats,
with his white shirt and his bright blue breeches
reflected in the painted mirror below — some-
times looking up the street which led to the
bridge, among the arches of which, groups of
men and women in gay attire were seen, ap-
n^aring and disappearing as they crossed from

\

one side to the other. The bright sunshine of
Italy was pouring in oblique lines through the
openings of the street, and as it caught from
time to time upon the brilliant dresses of the
passing inhabitants, the effect was strange and
pleasing ; and a city, the narrow streets and
dim arcades of which generally rendered its as-
pect somewhat gloomy, was now all life and
gayety. The young stranger did not seem to
take part in the general merriment : not that he
looked sad or even grave, for when he turned
his eyes up the street, and caught sight of any
of the moving groups which it presented, a
smile came upon his lip, somewhat sarcastic it
is true, as if he regarded with a certain portion
of contempt the rejoicings of the people or the
occasion which called them forth, but yet cheer-
ful and free, as of a mind, untroubled which
could afford to find amusement in the little fol-
lies of others.

When he had remained in that same spot for
nearly a quarter of an hour, the loiterer was
joined by another, a much more gayly habited
cavalier. The latter was about the same age,
or perhaps a year or two older, not quke so tall
as his companion, though still a tall man, dark-
er in complexion, and powerfully though light-
ly made. His step was free, his look open and
sparkling ; and though his features were not
strikingly handsome, yet his countenance was
exceedingly pleasing, and not the less striking
from some degree of irregularity.

"Ever exact to time and place, Signor Jo-
hannes," said the latter, grasping the hand of
him who had been waiting — " and now, I dare
say, you have been accusing my tardiness and
want of punctuality ; but upon my life, what
between folly in the morning, study at mid-day,
business in the afternoon, and emotions in the
evening, I have had my hands full ; so be not
angry, good my lord."

" Heaven forbid," replied the other ; " he that
were angry with want of punctuality in you,
Hume, would quarrel with a lark for singing, or
an owl for hooting, and might spend his whole
time in fretting his spirit at the nature of his
friend. Besides, you made no promise to be
here. I wrote, fixing my own hour, and taking
my chance of its suiting you."

" But why all this mystery, and why this
sober suit 1" exclaimed the other, taking hold
of his cloak, with a gay laugh ; " this smells
strongly of Geneva ; and your brown jerkin is
worthy of a true disciple of Beza. In pity,
John, do not let him affect the outward man.
Be as rigid as you will in resisting the powers

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

of the Babylonian lady on your heart and mind,
but do not carry your religion into taffeta, or
suffer tenets to interfere with silk and satin.
The religion that kills one innocent joy, is not
the religion of Him who more than once told
us to rejoice ; and I can not help thinking, that
those who prescribe particular clothing for par-
ticular ceremonies, and those who proscribe
it upon all occasions, are equally foolish and
wrong." 4k

" And sotIo I," answered his companion —
" you wilf not find me altered in the least in
those things ; but the cause of my homely suit,
and the mystery of my coming is the same,
and very simple. I did not wish to be recog-
nized by any of our good teachers here in this
learned university, nor by any of our old com-
panions but yourself. To show you, however,
that I am no fanatic, know that I am even now
on my way to Rome, to see the wonders of the
eternal city and his holiness the Pope, though
I shall not certainly ask his blessing, from a
very strong doubt of its doing me any good."

"There I agree with you," replied his friend
— " though the blessing of a good man can never
do one any harm, and there might be worse
men than Clement ; but what have you done
with your retinue 1 Where are all the servants,
where the famous tutor, Dominie Rhind?"

" Gone on to Monseliu," replied the other,
" there to wait for my coming, if they can find
room in the little inn, and if not, to travel far-
ther to Rovigo. But you have my messenger
with you, have you not 1 I bade him wait my
coming."

" Good sooth have I," answered the other,
" and the mad knave has kept the whole of
Padua in an uproar for the last three days.
What between jeering the men, making love
to the women, and playing with the children,
he has made friends and enemies enough to
serve a man a lifetime.1*

" He is incorrigible !" said his friend, with
an air of vexation. " I was forced to send him
away from Geneva, for Beza would not tolerate
him, and I loved not to see the good old man
distressed. But the fellow promised amend-
ment, and he is so attached and faithful, that
his virtues and his vices, like a Spanish olla,
are blended into a very savory dish, though of the
most opposite ingredients. I laid strict injunc-
tions upon him to be discreet, and above all,
never to mention my name."

" That last point of discretion he has most
strictly maintained," replied the more gayly
dressed cavalier ; " for even to me he has never
pronounced the forbidden word, always express-
ing his meaning by some periphrasis, such as
' the noble gentleman you wot of,' ' the worship-
ful writer of the letter,' ' him who shall be name-
less,' and so forth, ever eking out the sense
with a raised eyebrow and thumb jerked back
over his shoulder, as if he were speaking of the
devil, and owned Beelzebub for his master.
But now let us to your inn, where supper and
a small room are provided for you according to
your behest, and there you shall tell me what
has brought you back to this fair Italian land,
and I will relate what has occurred to me since
last we met."

" My errand in Italy is soon told," said his
comrade, with a sveite* " I come to buy some

pictures to adorn my poor house at Perth. It
were a shame to have dwelt so long in Italy,
and not to carry back something of the Carac-
ci's handiwork. I will see Annibale, and Ludo
vick too, and Caravaggio. I have heard, too,
of a young painter named Reni — Guido Reni
they call him, who is now making some noise
at Bologna. One picture said to be his 1 have
seen, full of grace and beauty, and if he so paint
he will soon be famous in all the world — why
do you laugh 1"

" Because I judge pictures alone brought
you not to Padua," replied his companion :
" for in good sooth there are few worth seeing
here, except St. Anthony preaching to the
fishes."

"A very unprofitable waste of good doctrine,"
said the other ; " but let us go — yet, we will
choose the dull back streets which the students
love not, for I do not wish them to see their
late Lord Rector coming among them in mas-
querade."

" Come, then, under the walls," answered
the other ; and, leading the way, he conducted
his friend through several of the low and nar-
row streets which abutted upon the defenses,
hardly meeting any one but a laborer and an
old woman or two in miserable rags, seeking
among the piles of rubbish, thrown out here
and there in the open spaces between the walls
and the houses, for any thing that poverty
could make valuable. At length they were
obliged to turn into one of the larger streets ;
but ten steps therein brought them to a narrow
doorway under one of the arcades, where they
entered; and mounted a long dirty stair. At
the first landing was a door on the left, through
which they passed into a little ante-room, where
at a table was seated a young man dressed as
a servant, but without badge or cognizance, as
was usual with the domestics of great families
at that period. If one might judge from his
face, which was ugly enough to be funny, and
funny enough to be beautiful — I do not love
paradoxes, but I am driven into one — he was
not a personage very much given to grave con-
templations. Nevertheless, on the present
occasion he was so seriously occupied with the
piece of work he had in hand, that for an in-
stant he did not observe the entrance of the
two gentlemen we have mentioned. That
piece of work was indeed a very important and
elaborate one, at least in his opinion — namely,
the cutting out, in small blocks of soft wood, a
variety of grotesque heads, in which his in-
ventive genius displayed itself by producing
noses such as never were seen on any human
countenance, eyes of every degree of obliquity,
and chins, some retreating, as if afraid of the
portentous nasal organ which overshadowed
them, and some immeasurably protruded, as if
to domineer over the mouth that yawned above.
In truth, he showed no small skill in sculpture,
although his genius had taken rather an eccen-
tric fttrn ; and it was evident that he enjoyed
his own performance very much, for his first
salutation to his master was a loud laugh, as
he contemplated the extraordinary physiognomy
he had just carved. Then, awakening to the
more sober realities of life, he started up, laying
down the knife and wood upon the table, ai"l
saying, with a low bo%r * Welcome t^ rJa»'

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT

noble sir ; better late than rever ; nothing's
lost that is not at the bottom of the sea. It is
a long lane that has never a turning. A man
can not be too late who has time enough."

' Spare your proverbs, good Master Jute,"
repJed his master, the stranger who had been
waiting on the bridge ; " I find that, notwith-
standing all your promises of reformation and
sobriety, you have been setting the whole town
in an uproar."

"Not so, indeed, my noble lord; with the
best intentions I have not had time to get
through more than the French quarter. I hur-
ried here as fast as possible, both to do your
will and my own, seeing that I have been pent
up like a brawn in a stye for the last three
months ; but still I have not had time enough.
As for promises, although, like pie-crusts, they
aTe made to be broken, and he who vows much
performs little, yet from a silly fondness for a
whole skin and clear conscience I never break
mine -x and I beseech your lordship to recollect
that I only promised to behave well by the
shores of Lake Leman."

Well, well, we will talk more of that here-
after," replied his lord, following the other
gentleman toward the inner room. " I find
you have obeyed my injunction of not mention-
ing my name. See that you attend to it still ;
and now go and order them to bring my supper
up, for I have ridden hard and fasted long."

The man made a low bow and obeyed, while
the two gentlemen proceeded into the neigh-
boring chamber, and the traveler, casting him-
self into a seat, said, with a sigh, the source of
which might be difficult to discover, " So, here
I am, once more in Padua."

CHAPTER II.

The room was a little dingy room, lined with
black oak, carved into pannels, with some de-
gree of taste and ornament, the house having
formerly belonged to higher personages than
those who possessed it at the time ; for Padua,
even then, like all persons, places, and things
on the face of the earth, had seen its mutations ;
and Patavium had undergone, since the days
of Livy, a thousand different changes, which
had rendered fashionable parts of the city un-
fashionable, turned the houses of nobles into
the residences of boors, converted Pagan tem-
ples into Christian churches, and, with greater
propriety, had converted amphitheatres into
slaughter-houses. Among later alterations,
the house which had formerly been inhabited
by one of the mercenary followers o* Angelo,
had descended to the station of an inn, at first
well frequented and in high repute, but gradu-
ally sinking lower and lower, till it had now
become a sort of lodging-house in ordinary for
merchants who visited the town of Padua, and
the poorer class of students, on their first arri-
val. The chamber, however, was lofty ; the
window which looked into the court, large, and
opening all the way down the center, which
was then rare ; and the coolness so desirable
at that burning season was to be obtained there,
which could not be found in many a larger and
finer apartment in the city. In this room, with
several flasks of fijw wine before then were

seated, about half an houi after sunsel, John,
Earl of Gowrie, and his friend Sir John Hume.
There were two wax tapers on the table, some
plates of beautiful fruit, perfuming the whole
air, and some cakes of a sweet kind of bread,
for which Padua was then famous. The rays
of the candles were quickly lost in the dark
wainscoting around, but they threw sufficient
light upon the table and its white cloth, and
showed fully the expressions of tJ^two young
men's countenances. Both wer^Rll gay, and
laugh and jest had gone on between them
during the meal ; but every now and then a
look of deep thoughtfulness, almost amounting
to melancholy, crossed the fjace of the earl,
passing away again like the shadow of a flying
cloud cast momentary on a fine landscape.
They had been speaking of many things while
the servant of the earl and some of the people
of the inn had been coming and going. The
period of Lord Gowrie's sojourn at Padua as a
scholar had been referred to, and the high aca-
demic honor which had been conferred upon
him somewhat more than a year before, by his
election to the office of rector, had been com-
mented upon by Hume, who laughingly said,
" If I had puzzled my dull brains for seven
years, I never could have obtained or merited
such a distinction, John."

It was one of Lord Gowrie's graver moments
when his friend made this observation, and he
replied gloomily, " Those who eat the fruit
early, Hume, are left with bare boughs in the
autumn. I was elected Lord Provost of Perth
before I was fourteen ; I fought in a lost battle
at fifteen ; and I was rector of this university
before I was twenty. Blighted hopes or early
death, we often find the fate of those who taste
the bitter stream of life so soon."

" Nonsense," replied his friend ; " have you
studied the sublime art of astrology to so little
purpose 1 It is but that you are born under a
fortunate star, and will go on in honor and
success until the end."

" Small success at the field of Down," re-
plied the earl ; " for a more disastrous rout
never befel brave men than there overtook
Athol and Montrose."

" But great success to you," answered Hume,
laughing ; " for you escaped where many a
brave man fel'i, and were pardoned without
inquiry, when /Jiany were mulcted of half their
goods. — Still, still your fortunate star was on
the ascendan'; ; and the devil, the king, and
the popish lords could not get the better of its
influence; aDd now what brings you to Padua !"

"By-and-fry," said the young earl — "we'll talk
of that by-and-by. Tell me, first, all that bus
happened to you, according to your promise "

" My life, good faith, has been dull enough,"
replied Sir John Hume, "till within the last
week, when I have had a little occupation for
my thoughts, besides dull problems and hard
studies. Do you remember an old man with a
gray beard, who used to wander about toward
eventide, in a long black gown and a velvet
cap] Manucci is his name, a Florentine whe
has traveled much in different lands, speaks
English like an Englishman, and French like a
Frenchman, and used to look like Titian's por-
trait, only more meager and somewhat less fresh
and lusty."

GOWRIE : OR, THE KINGS PLOT.

Lord Gowrie had twice nodded his head in
t:ikKn that he knew the person spoken of; but
Hume hid still gone on describing, till at length
the young earl said, almost impatiently, " Yes,
yes, I know him well. What of him V

" Poor man, he has been in sad trouble," re-
plied his friend ; " our reputation for magic here
has risen somewhat too high for our security.
We have had monitories from the holy office,
warning ouMlearned professors against permit-
ting forbidd^Phudies, and enjoining them strict-
ly to seek out and deliver up to justice all those
who practice black and damnable arts. Arnesi
only laughed, and said that his was a black and
white art, for that he dealt in pen and ink, but
that he hoped the white would save the black part
of the business. A number of the older signors,
however, whose wits are rather on the wane,
and who still fancy that everything they do not
understand themselves is magic, took up" the
matter far more seriously, and laying their wise
heads together in small conclave, determined
they would seek out, and hand over to the ten-
der mercies of those who roast the body to save
the soul, every poor creature to whom suspicion
could attach. Manucci had a long gray beard,
a rusty black gown, but small reverence for the
learned professors, paid no fees, kept himself
apart in solitary studies, seldom spoke with any
body, and had a keen and spirit-searching eye.
Here seemed a sorcerer at once, quite ready to
their hand. Still such appearences, without
proof, would not justify violence: but they
judged that the search for proof would ; and as
I was passing the old man's door, near the Tre-
viso gate, I saw the college beadle and three or
four more officers, making their way in against
the resistance of the poor old woman who waits
upon him, and who was assuring them, with
tears, that her master was dying in his bed."

"Dying!" exclaimed Lord Gowrie, with a
start.

" Well, I went in with them," continued
Hume, not noticing his friend's exclamation ;
" and a pitiful sight I soon beheld."

" In the.name of heaven, what 1" demanded
the Earl of Gowrie, with a pale cheek and an
eager eye ; and then feeling how completely the
whole expression of his countenance must have
changed, he added, " I was much interested in
that old man. I knew him well, loved him well,
and was going on a long promise to see him
ihis very night."

" Indeed !" said Hume, before he proceeded
3 finish his story, musing, as if sorne intricate
problem was placed before him. " Ha ! Well,
a» I was saying, I went in, following the offi-
cers— a few steps behind, I might be, and then,
when we came into the little back room, I saw
a bed with a crucifix at the foot, and the old
man lying on it, the image of death. His long
beard was stretched upon the decently-com-
posed bed-clothes, hard to say which was the
whitest ; his left hand was folded quietly on his
breast, and his right was stretched out over the
side of the bed, with tight pressed upon it the
lips of the most beautiful girl I ever beheld in
my life — with one sole exception," he added.

Lord Gowrie was evidently very uneasy. He
played with the hilt of his rapier, clasping and
unclasping his hands tight upon the sheath ;
he gazed eagerly in his friend's face, as if he

would fain have interrupted' him, but yet hesi-
tated to do so.

»*"Well," continued Hume, "the officers at
'first seemed a little touched, but they are folks
not easily moved, and the waters of pity soon
subside with them, when agitated for a moment
by the unwonted wind. One of them took him
by the shoulder, and said, ' Come, signor, you
must get up, and deliver all your papers. We
are sent to examine every thing, by the counci
of the university, which has strong reason to
believe you guilty of magic and sorcery.'

" ' My thoughts are there,' said the old man,
meekly, pointing towards heaven ; but the young
girl by his bedside started up, and gazed at the
officers with wild and frightened eyes. These
men, now, were very zealous Christians ; but
they thought it a point of piety to interrupt a
dying man's preparation to meet his Maker, and
to hurry him away to death — for nothing else
could have followed — before that preparation
was complete." «

The Earl of Gowrie bent his head upon his
hands, covering his eyes with his fingers ; but
his friend could see that he shook violently,
either with anger, apprehension, or some other
strong emotion. He went on, however, saying,
" I thought it best now to interfere, John, know- '
ing that I am somewhat a favorite with the good
officers of the university, being too dull or too
light to be taken for a conjuror, and too free
with my purse for a dealer in the things of dark-
ness. I therefore stepped quietly forward, ana
representing that the old gentleman was evi-
dently too ill to be moved, suggested that it
would be better to make a preliminary examin-
ation of the papers, in which I offered to assist.
I had some difficulty in prevailing ; but at length
it was agreed that all suspicious documents
should be carried at once before the senate, and
those that were plain and straightforward left,
while one officer remained in the house, to pre-
vent a man from escaping who could not stir a
step. The search was somewhat curious, and
certainly thece were sundry writings of which
I understood not one word ; but I pressed the
old man's hand, and told him in English to
make his mind easy, asking for one word of ex-
planation in regard to the strange tongues I
had found there writ^n. ' Some are Armenian,'
he answered, ' some Syriac, and some Gaelic,
which you, at least, should understand.' Hap-
pily-I did, for one of the first papers examined
was an old song of our own Highlands, describ-
ing the hunting of a stag. I could have laugh-
ed, had the matter not been serious, to see the
puzzled faces of the learned doctors. The Ar-
menian and Syriac they knew at least by the
characters, and afraid of showing their brief
extent of knowledge, they pronounced them all
very innocent ; but the Gaelic was in the high
road to the Holy Inquisition, though written in
the Latin character, when I begged to see the
paper, and read aloud and laughed, and read
and laughe.d, and read again, with as strong a
twang of the old Erse as I could bring my
mouth to utter. A dozen voices called for an
explanation of the strange sounds I was pour-
ing forth. On which I assured them that the
fancied magic was but a poem in one of the
languages of my own land, of which I would
give a translation if they would lend an. ear.

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

( ou know that some such songs in the moun-
tain tongue are not of the most cleanly. This
was one which soon set the reverend doctors
grinning, and I returned' in triumph with mes-
sages of peace to the poor man's bedside."

" Did he die V demanded the earl, in a tone
subdued almost to a whisper by his eagerness.
" Nay, he is better," replied Hume ; " for
having saved his life in one way, I now be-
stirred myself to save it in another. I sat with
him through that livelong night ; I tried to cheer
and comfort him, and finding from the beautiful
creature who was the companion of my watch,
that of late he had denied himself almost neces-
sary sustenance, what with poverty, what with
study, I sent for wine to my own house, and
forced it upon him, till the flame of life rose up
bright once more above the fresh-trimmed lamp."
A curious change had come over the young
earl during the utterance of the last few sen-
tences. " Now I will warrant," he said, with
a laugh, strangely contrasting with the deep
emotions he had lately displayed, " that the in-
flammable heart of John Hume has taken fire at
this fair girl's bright eyes, and that they have
led him every day to the small house near the
Treviso gate."

Hume gazed at him for a moment with a
grave look ; and then, moving his chair a little
nearer, he laid his hand upon that of Gowrie.
" I have gone every day," he said, "but not for
those bright, dark eyes, for I have not forgot-
ten a pair, blue as the twilight sky, that dwell
at Perth ; but I have gone out of pity to the old
man — pity for the young girl — and affection for
John Ruthven."

The ear! gazed at him for a moment, then
started up, and cast his arms around him, say-
ing, " You have my secret, Hume ; but how
you learned it I know not ; for until this hour
it has rested in my own bosom, which I ever
fancied the only sure casket for the treasure of
one's own thoughts."

" Good faith, my noble lord," answered
Hume, "there are other languages than words.
Looks and acts, for these who mark them,
speak as plain as the best orator. Here, during
the last year of your stay at Padua, each night
you stole away in private to visit the house of
an old man, learned indeed, and doubtless full
of mighty secrets in nature and art, known for
an astrologer, and suspected of practices with
things less full of light than the bright stars.
Your devotion to knowledge no one doubted,
but such regular attendance at her shrine
seemed more than natural in a young man of
twenty ; and I sometimes doubted that you
were wooing a fairer and a warmer lady than
cool Dame Science. When you went away
from this poor place, too, you were wondrous
sad, and with a sadness different from that with
which we part from the calm pleasures and dull
tasks of youth to take part in the eager strifes
of manhood. 'Twas a passionate sadness, not
a thoughtful one. Well, when I saw her who
must have been the companion of many of your
hours of study in the old man's house, I easily
discovered that they had not been cold ones ;
and as I knew that you proposed to return, for
a time at least, to Italy, I studied, for your sake,
i show all kindness to those whom you hacl
ved. Nay, more, I ventured even to seek a

confirmation of my fancies ; throwing out your
name in conversation, as we cast a gilded fly
upon the water to see if the shining salmon will
spring up to catch it. I said that, to my belief,
it would not be long ere you returned to Italy."
"What did she say 1 How did she look]'
demanded Gowrie, eagerly.

" At the first mention of your name she
sighed," replied Hume, " and her cheek turned
a shade paler than before ; but when I talked
of your return, the retreating blood rallied back
into her face with double force, conquering the
paleness in its turn, and dyeing the whole with
crimson."

" Indeed !" said Gowrie, thoughtfully. " It
is strange ! I knew not that it was so."

" Not know it ! Not know what, Gowrie "!"
exclaimed his friend.

" That there was one feeling in her heart
toward me," answered the earl, "which would
make her heart's pulse beat with a faster stroke,
or vary the color in her cheek a shade. You
are mistaken, Hume, in thinking that she was
the companion of the hours I spent at old
Manucci's house. I seldom saw her ; but
gradually there came a passion into my heart,
which made the chance ofone of those rare, short
interviews, attraction strong enough to lead me,
night after night, to where they might be had.
Not that I did not struggle against growing
love, restraining myself by prudent, worldly
thoughts ; and I would have quitted Padua
sooner, but that my station as Lord Rector
held me here. You, who know me, can well
judge, I think, that while thus debating with
my love in my own heart, I would not do that
sweet girl such a wrong as by word or look to
seek her love in return."

" You could not hide your own, Gowrie,"
replied Hume ; " yours is not a nature that by
cold exterior can cover over the fiery heart
within. Your actions you may rule, and do so
often with great power-; but your looks and
tones refuse such rigid sway."

" It may be so — it may be so," said the earl ;
and he leaned his head upon his hand, and
thought. " And so the old man is better,"
continued the earl, after he had remained silent
for a few minutes, during which his friend had
not ceased to gaze at him without speaking,

" Better, but not well," answered Hume ;
" what he chiefly needed was strengthening
food and wine ; but he had a sore disease, foi
which I know no cure — old age, I mean — all
other things but that we may fend off or
remedy ; but that slow creeping sickness of
old age may often be hurried, but never delayed.
In short, his last attack has shaken him much.
He sits up, however ; and his appetite has re-
turned. A superstitious notion, too, has aided
to his recovery so far, even when at the worst.
He told his grandchild that he was certain he
should not die before the morrow of the
Assumption."

Lord Gowrie laid his hand upon Sir John
Hume's arm, saying, in a marked manner,
" Because he expected to see me to-night ; and
I must go to him, Hume ; but be'fore I go, tell
me, truly and sincerely, has your own heart
remained firm against the beauties and the
graces of this fair being with whom you have
been so much?"

[0

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

• See what a thing is love !" said Hume ;
"you can not fancy that any one can escape
the bow which has wounded you. Have I not
said, Gowrie, that I have not forgotten the deep
blue eyes in Perth, and never shall forget them!
I am as constant as a fixed star."

" What, little Beatrice," exclaimed the earl,
" of whom you brought me such a glowing
picture two years ago 1 But she is still a mere
child."

" You think her so, because she was one
when you left her," answered Hume ; " but let
me tell you, Gowrie, when I saw her she was
a woman, and rich in all a woman's graces.
Your mother thought that it would be well
to wait a year or two, but nothing now is
wanting but your consent. We have stood
even the trial of absence, and are both still of
the same mind."

Lord Gowrie pressed his hand, replying at
once — "My consent is yours, Hume, whenever
you choose to claim it. It is strange," he con-
tinued, with a smile, " I can but think of Bea-
trice as the curly-headed child, who, seven
years ago, wiped the blood and dust from my
brow, when I came back from the field of
Downcastle. Hark ! the clock is striking nine,
I must set out."

"I will go with you. nearly to the door,"
replied his friend ; " and you had better have
your man to wait for you. The streets of
Padua have proved somewhat dangerous since
you were here ; and on the night of a high
festival, the excellent Christians of this part
c< the world think it no crime to put a dagger
in a friend's back, if they have saluted the
blessed virgin as they passed the church."

" Well, call him in," replied Lord Gowrie ;
and having rung a small bell that stood upon
the table, they were joined immediately by the
earl's servant.

" Get your beaver and your cloak, Austin
Jute," said the earl ; " we are going out into the
streets, and you must follow. Take broadsword
and dagger, too. I know you can use them
well upon occasion. Have you them at hand 1"

" A good workman never wants tools, my
lord," replied the man ; " and as to using them,
heaven send the opportunity, and I'll find the
means. A man that threads a needle ought to
be able to stitch ; and I, who have hammered
hot iron in my day, should be able to use it
cold, though men say practice makes perfect,
and I have had but little in your lordship's
service. However, what is early learned is
long retained ; and a hand that is well ac-
quainted with a cudgel remembers its use as
well as the back that bears the beating."

The earl and his friend both laughed. " There,
there," cried Sir John Hume, " in pity's name,
good Austin, content yourself with ready-made
proverbs, and do not eke them out with your
own manufacture."

"All as old as the King of Spain's wine,
worshipful sir," replied the man ; " though all
old things are not bad, a new doublet is better
than a worn cloak, and proverbs, like lenten
pie, may get musty by keeping. I shall have
my pinking iron on before your worships are
down the stairs ; and God send you a safe
journey to the bottom, as I shall not be there
to take care of you."

CHAPTER III.

When the Earl of Gowrie had parted Iron;
his friend at the door of Hume's lodging, he
walked on, followed by his servant, for some
four or five hundred yards farther, till the wider
and more fashionable street deviated into a
number of narrow and somewhat intricate
lanes, each, however, having its arcades on
either side, with the three or four upper stories
of the houses built over them, so that two
people might have shaken hands from window
to window. At the last house of one of these
lanes, where the street terminated at a canal,
with a bridge over it leading to the Treviso
gate, the young nobleman stopped, and using
a great bar of iron which hung upon the door,
knocked three times aloud. He had to wait
some time, however, before the door was
opened, and was just about to knock again,
when an old woman, with a lamp in her hand
dangling by a long chain, appeared to give him
entrance.

" How are you, Tita 1" he said. " I am sorry
to hear that Signor Manucci has been so ill.
Can he see me to-night 1"

" Oh yes, sir, he expects you," replied the
woman, "and will go into his own private
study to receive you, though the signora thinks
it may hurt him."

The young lord's countenance fell at her re-
ply ; for he might fancy that the old man had
determined upon receiving him alone, and to
say sooth, he had come to see another also.
He followed the woman, however, up the nar-
row stairs, telling his servant to wait below ;
and he was well pleased to find that his guide
turned at once to the right ; for he was well
acquainted with every step in the house, and
knew that she was conducting him first, to a
cool little room where Manucci and his grand-
daughter usually sat in the vehement heat of
summer. He was even more fortunate than
he expected to be; for when the door opened,
the light within showed him that, for the time,
the chamber was tenanted by one person pnly>
and that the one he most desired to see. It is
a strange passion, love, often agitating the
strong in frame and powerful in mind more
than the weak and gentle. It were vain to
deny that the young lord was greatly moved as
his eye fell again upon the fair being whose so-
ciety the ordinary principles of worldly pru-
dence had taught him to believe might be dan-
gerous to his peace. Nevertheless, he ad-
vanced straight toward her, holding out his
hand with eager, agitated pleasure. Nor could
she meet him without emotion, too plainly vis-
ible, notwithstanding all that inherent self-
command which is one of the first qualities in
a modest, well-regulated woman's heart. The
color varied in her cheek. The fine chisc.'od
lip quivered in the vain effort to speak ; and
the dark, bright eyes, as if afraid of their own
tale, vailed themselves beneath the long lashes,
avoiding the glance of tenderness of which she
had caught a momentary sight.

The instant he had entered the room, the
wise old woman left him and closed the door ;
and he stood for an instant silent, with the la-
dy's hand in his. A moment after, he slowly,
raised her hand, and pressed his lips upon it j

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

11

It was in those days but an act of ordinary
courtesy, implying nothing but friendly regard
or reverence ; but they each felt that there
was a fire in that kiss, and both were more
agitated than at first.

" Julia," said the young earl, at length — '* Ju-
lia, you are much moved ; and so am I, indeed
— we have been parted long "

She sank slowly down into her seat again ;
but she felt that she must speak to welcome
him, or let silence confess all ; and she an-
swered, " I have had* much, very much, to agi-
tate me lately. It is not wonderful that I am a
good deal moved, in seeing an old friend after
a long absence."

"And is that alii" said the earl, almost
sadly. " I had hoped it was something more.
May I not trust that the agitation of both has
the same source — that in absence we have
learned to know our own hearts, and to feel
that our happiness depends upon each other'!"

" Hush ! hush !" she said, raising her eyes
to his face, with an expression which was an-
swer enough. " I must not hear you. I must
not reply upon such subjects — at least not now."

"And why not now?" demanded the earl.
" Who can say when the opportunity may pre-
sent itself again 1 Who can say what obsta-
cles may intervene between us, if we do not
seize the moments which fate has given 1 —
Say, Julia, why not now?"

" Because I have duties to perform," she
answered, " from which nothing should es-
trange me. The time may come — nay," she
added, sorrowfully, " it must come, and that
but too soon, when I shall have no one to think
of but myself, no one to ask or to consult with,
in regard to what I should do ; but now I would
mt, if I could help it, take a thought away from
him who has bestowed for long years all his
thoughts upon me. I have even reproached
myself, when I saw him suffering and sinking
Defore my eyes, for having but too often let
those thoughts, which should have been all his,
wander away to other things."

" And did they seek me in their wanderings?"
asked Gowrie, iaking her hand again, and gaz-
ing into her eyes.

She answered not, but averted her look,
while the rose deepened in her cheek ; and as
Lhey thus sat, the door opened suddenly, and
the old man appeared. It made them both
start ; but Gowrie was strong in honesty of
heart and purpose ; and advancing frankly, he
took Manucci's hand in his, saying, "I have
longed much to see you, my old friend, and
your dear Julia too. We have been long part-
ed ; but my affection for neither has decreased."

Manucci was very feeble ; and, perhaps with
agitation, perhaps with weakness, he tottered
on his feet. Lord Gowrie held him firmly by
the hand, however, drew forward a chair, and
supported him till he was seated.

" I have many things to speak to you about,"
said the old man ; " many things which may
agitate me and you. But let us not talk about
them just yet. I have been very ill ; and the
little strength I have left would soon be ex-
pended if I did not economize it carefully."

•'I have grieved much to hear of your ill-
ness," replied the earl, standing beside his

cuv and gazing down upon him. " My friend,

Sir John Hume, has told me how much you
have suffered, and how you have been perse-
cuted."

" The latter is nothing," replied the old man.
" Every man, not behind his age in knowledge,
and who from that point casts his view farthei
forward than the rest, judging ol the conse-
quences of each fact by experience of the past,
corrected by a full acquaintance with the pres
ent, will ever seem criminal in the eyes of* the
fools who disbelieve, and of the knaves who
believe and dread. Persecution was to be ex-
pected when I held myself aloof from idlers
who consumed their time in mere amusement,
and from learned busy-bodies, who wasted it in
vain and fruitless studies ; but that illness was
a sturdy, stern, and less conquerable foe. He
has battered down the outworks, and the shat-
tered fortress must soon surrender."

"Yet you look better than I expected," re-
plied the earl. "Indeed, at your age, which
you have often told me is great, few men look
better."

He might, indeed, well say so, for the old
man's eye, as he sat there, was clear and
bright ; and a hue, very like that of returning
health, was in 'his cheek. He was a tall man,
and had once, apparently, been a very power-
ful one. His frame, indeed, was a little bow-
ed. His beard and hair were snowy white j
and the skin was wrinkled, except upon the
high forehead and the bald crown of the head.
All the signs of age, indeed, were there, ex-
cept that the teeth were fine and apparently
undecayed, and that the hand — which, with the
exception, perhaps, of the ear, shows the ad-
vance of age more distinctly than any other
part of the frame — looked not so knotted and
bony as it often appears at a late period of life.

The conversation easily and gradually devi-
ated into topics of a calm and tranquil kind.
The young earl spoke of many things which had
occurred to him since he left Padua. They
might afford little matter of amusement to the
reader of the present day ; but they were in-
teresting to the ears which heard him. The
old man, too, had his tale of the changes which
had taken place in Padua ; but he more fre-
quently referred to the results which had fol-
lowed his own researches in matters of sci-
ence. Deeply read, for that period, in natural
philosophy — mingled as it was at the time, be-
fore the immortal Bacon had established a
juster system of investigation, with the dreams
of alchemy and judicial astrology — he discussed
many subjects familiar to the ears of Lord Gow-
rie, whose whole family had a strong and un-
usual taste for inquiry into the secr^s of na-
ture. The old man seemed to be revived by
his young friend's presence ; and he soon re-
covered that cheerful gayety which had greatly
distinguished him in earlier years. Still, how-
ever, the earl remarked, that from time to time
his eyelid would drop and his voice become
low, as if with fatigue, and at length he said
in a kindly tone, "You are tired, my good old
friend. It will be better for me to bid you
good night now, and come to talk of other mat
ters with you to-morrow."

"No, no!" cried Manucci; "it must be to*
night, or never. I have waited for you, Ear
Gowrie, for I told you if you would return or

12

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

this night, I would read you the scheme of your
nativity — point out to you as clearly as man's
voice can show, the course by which you may
avoid the perils and secure the advantages of
life, and tell you what must absolutely happen
— what is still dependent upon courage and
conduct. For this I have studied, and pon-
dered and tried the indications of the stars
again and again ; but the hour is not yet come,
and you must wait till the clock strikes twelve.
Then I will speak ; for to-morrow, perchance,
I shall not have strength to do so."

" Nay, I trust your strength will every day
increase," replied the earl ; but the old man
shook his head, and cast a grave and melan-
choly glance upon the beautiful girl who sat
near him.

" The things of this life are waning away,"
he said j " and in truth, it is time that I should
depart. Eighty years are a heavy load ; and
the buiden is still increasing. There were
men, as you have heard, who would fain have
eased me of it ; but as it contained a few things
that are valuable, I was unwilling at that mo-
ment to part with it, like all other men, clinging
to my treasure, though it bent down the shoul-
ders that bore it."

" Methinks a life of study and the calm enjoy-
ment of tranquil thought may well lighten the
burden of years," replied the earl; "and but
for the apprehension and annoyance caused by
these foolish men, your existence, my good
friend, has been tranquil and peaceable enough."

The old man smiled sadly. " We always
fail," he said, " when we judge of the fate of
others. Life is double, Gowrie, an internal
and an external life ; the latter often open to
the eyes of all, the former only seen by the eye
of God. Nor is it alone those material things
which we conceal from the eyes of others,
which often make the apparently splendid lot
in reality a dark one, or that which seems sad
or solitary, cheerful and light within. Our
characters, our spirits operate upon all that
fate or accident subjects to them. We trans-
form the events of life for our own uses, be
those uses bitter or sweet ; and as a piece of
gold loses its form and its solidity when dropped
into a certain acid, so the hard things of life
are resolved by the operations of our own
minds into things the least resembling them-
selves. True, a life of study and of thought
may seem to most men a calm and tranquil
state of existence. Such pursuits gently ex-
cite, and exercise softly and peacefully, the
highest faculties of the intellectual soul ; but
age brings with it indifference even to these
enjoyments — nay, it does more, it teaches us
the vanity and emptiness of all man's know-
ledge. We reach the bounds and barriers
which God has placed across our path in every
branch of science, and we find, with bitter dis-
appointment, at life's extreme close, that when
we know all, we know nothing. This I have
learned, my young friend, and it is all that I
have learned in eighty years, that the only
knowledge really worth pursuing is the knowl-
edge of God in his word and his works — the
only practical application of that high science,
to do good to all God's creatures."

"Still study is not wasted," said the earl,
■'•" when it leads to such an p'evated result, when

it teaches us in the creature to see the Creator,
and in the events of existence to behold his
will, and surely the fruit of such conclusions
must be peaceful."

" Tend to peace they must," replied the old
man ; " for they must quiet strong passions,
moderate vehement desires, teach us to beat
afflictions with fortitude, and to temper our at
xieties with hope ; but yet, noble lord, neithe
philosophy nor religion can alter the constitu-
tion of our minds. We may know that God is
good and merciful. We may know that in the
end all must be well ; but we still see that on
this earth there is a world of sorrow, and we
may shrink under the anguish ourselves, 01
tremble at seeing it approach those we love."

"Fear not for me," said the beautiful girl
who was seated beside him, seeing his eyes
turned with a sad look toward her — "oh, let
not one anxiety on my account add to the bur-
den of years, and make your last days cheer-
less. Though those may deny me who are
bound to protect me, thank God, I can render
myself independent of them. The education
you have given, the arts you have taught, would
always enable me with my own hands to win
my own bread — " and then she added, in a low
tone, catching a look almost reproachful on the
earl's face, " should it be needful."

" Which it shall never be," replied the earl
at once, " so long as I have a hand and heart t J
offer, and means — "

" Hush ! hush !" exclaimed the old man, turn-
ing his eyes almost sternly from the one to the
other ; " no such rash words. You know not
what you speak of. At all events, wait till you
know what fate may be before you ; and then,
with the deliberate forethought of a man, act as
becomes a man, and not as a rash boy."

The effect of his words upon Julia were not
such as might have been expected, perhaps ; for
whether the severer part had found an antidote
in what her lover had said before, or whethe.
from some secret source in her own heart the
waters of hope swelled forth anew, she seem-
ed from that moment to cast away the deeper
tone of thought and feeling which had charac-
terized her conversation and demeanor during
the evening, and to resume the light-hearted
spirit of youth which had spread such a charm
around her in the first years of her acquaintance
with Lord Gowrie.

" Nay," she said, laying her hand upon the
old man's arm, " all other things apart, is it not
true that I can win my own bread by my own
hands 1 Can I not paint well enough to gain
the few scudi that are needful for my little sus-
tenance ! Can I not compose music which
brings tears at least into your eyes 1 Can I
not write as well as many a one who lives by
his pen ! Can I not illuminate missals, or em-
broider, or work baskets, if needs must be 1
Would I not long ago have done all this for
your support as well as mine, if you would have
let me V

" You would indeed," he answered, " but that
I could not have. Not that I hold it degrada-
tion in any one, my child, by their own industry
to remedy the niggaidliness of fortune ; but I
could not bear to see you labor for me."

" Oh, man's pride !" exclaimed Julia — " what
an obstacle it is to peace and happiness. Jle^ j^

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

13

she continued, turning to Lord Gowrie, with a
sparkling look — " here has he, for many a year,
supported, instructed, educated me — and now
he will not let me repay a small portion of the
debt I owe him by laboring for him now, al-
though he knows right well that to do so would
be my greatest joy, that the object would be
happiness and the means amusement. But
you look tired," she said, gazing affectionately
in the old man's face; "let me go and bring
you some refreshment."

"Call Tita," replied the old man; "she
will bring it ; and now let us speak of ordinary
things."

A small tray was soon brought in, with some
fruits, and bread, and wine ; and the conversa-
tion was renewed in a gayer spirit, Julia striv-
ing by her light and happy tone to cheer the
old man, and banish the gloom which seemed
to hang about him. The time thus passed rap-
idly— and some few minutes before midnight
the old man rose, saying to the earl, " I go be-
fore for a moment. Follow me speedily. She
will show you the way, but remember, in the
mean time, no rash words."

When he was gone, the earl and Julia stood
for a moment gazing at each other ; and then
Gowrie took her hand, saying, " Notwithstand-
ing his prohibition, thus far, at least, I must
speak — "

But she laid her left hand on his shoulder,
lifting her bright eyes swimming in tears to his,
and interrupted him. " Not now, Gowrie," she
said; "I am no dissembler, nor are you. My
heart is open to you, and yours to me. If we
were to speak for years we could say no more,
and any thing like promises are vain at this
moment, for nothing shall ever part me from
him but death. Now come. His lamp is light-
ed by this time ; and I fear to trust myself with
you here alone, not from doubt of you, but of
my own firmness ; and a few more words would
make me weep. I see the dark day coming,
Gowrie ; and, as I said before, I would not, for
the joy of heaven, rob him of one thought or
care, so long as his life shall last."

As she spoke she led the way to the door
without withdrawing her hand from her lover ;
and thus, hand in hand, they went along the
corridor which led to the old man's study.
There Julia left him, and the earl went in.

CHAPTER IV.

The room which the Earl of Gowrie entered
was a small one of an octagon shape, having
tall lancet windows on every side but one. It
had probably, at some period long past, been
the interior of one of those small projecting
turrets which we still occasionally see orna-
menting the angles of the ancient castellated
houses of the Italian nobility. The bridge lead-
ing toward the Treviso gate, and the small
canal were underneath ; the city walls rose up
black beyond ; but the turret was high above,
and through the windows, on every side but
that next to the city, were seen twinkling the
bright and multitudinous stars of heaven. In
the center of the room was a large oaken table
bearing a lamp, the flame of which was pe-
culiarly bright and perfectly white in color, and

over the rest of the table were cast in strange
confusion a number of curious objects. There
were books — some closed, but some open, and
displaying characters with which the young
earl was perfectly unacquainted. One page
was covered all over with ciphers alternately
of red and blue ; and one was traced with
many mathematical figures which although the
earl was well versed in that science seemed to
him strange and new. Another manuscript lay
near, which he saw at once was written in
Hebrew, but there were others rn which the
lines ran from corner to corner of the page,
with such a multitude of strokes and flourishes,
that the letters themselves could hardly be dis-
tinguished. Scientific instruments were there
too, tossed about among the papers, with the
uses of many of which the young lord was
unacquainted. There were triangular glasses
filled with sand, and glass globes, connected
.together by a tube of the same substance, half
filled with mercury. Squares and triangles of
brass covered over with curious signs were
there likewise ; and round about the room, be-
neath shelves loaded with ponderous volumes,
were several globes, and instruments of a rude
construction for observing the stars. In one
corner stood a small furnace, with crucibles
and retorts, and various other implements of
chemical or alchemical science ; and on a small
pedestal of black marble between two of the
windows was raised a crucifix of ebony and
ivory, supported by two heads of cherubim, ex-
quisitely sculptured in white marble, the one
looking up toward the cross with a bright smile,
the other with the eyes bent down, as if weep-
ing, and the whole expression sad. At the foot
of the crucifix lay a human skull.

At the moment the earl entered, the old man,
Manucci, was seated on the side of the table
opposite to the door, with a reading desk bear-
ing up a large vellum-covered book before him,
and a paper covered with a strange-looking
diagram on the table. He had a pen in one
hand, and a pair of compasses in the other ;
and, without noticing, even by a look, the young
earl's entrance, he turned his eyes from time
to time to the book and then to the paper again,
and once or twice inscribed a figure of a curious
form at the side of the diagram. Twice he
paused and listened, as if in expectation of
some sound, and then laying down the pen,
he leaned his head upon his hand, and remained
in silent meditation.

At length the large bell of the Franciscan
church of St. Antony struck the hour of mid-
night, and all the other clocks in the city
proclaimed that a day was ending and begin-
ning.

" Now," said Manucci, addressing the earl,
" come hither and sit beside me. Here is the
scheme of your nativity, drawn out carefully
according to the dates that you have given me.
Of the past I will not speak ; for, as you have
often told me the events which have occurred
to you at various periods of your life, perhaps
in drawing deductions from the aspect of the
stars, my judgment might be somewhat guided
by the knowledge I already possessed. It is
sufficient, however, that to any one who is ac-
quainted, even superficially, with this science,
it would plainly appear, that the aspect of the

GOVVRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

14

stars in the month of October, 1593, menaced
you with great danger, and that in '94, toward
the end of the year, you were clearly destined
to quit your native land. Of the future, how-
ever, I must speak more strongly ; for times of
great trial to you are coming. Look at these
menacing aspects, and judge for yourself."

" I know so little of the science," replied the
earl, " that I can not pretend to form a just
opinion ; but it seems to me, from the little I
do know, that here," and he laid his finger on
a part of the diagram, "is the promise of much
happiness, honor, and peace, and love."

" Ay," said Manucci, " but look farther.
Here is honor, and peace, and love, but hardly
has the sun of next year touched his extreme
point north, when see what menacing aspects
appear. Almost every planet is in opposition
in your house. Do you not see 1"

" I do, indeed," answered the earl ; " but
yet it is nearly unintelligible to me. I beseech
you read it, according to your skill."

" It is dark and yet clear," said the old man.
" This, however, I can tell with certainty, that
the greatest point of peril in your whole life,
lies between the end of June next year and
the anniversary of this day. The danger shall
come upon you in the midst of peace and tran-
quillity, when all things seem to promise fair.
If you escape that period, the rest, of existence
shall be bright and happy, your life shall be
long and prosperous, and fortune shall smile
upon you to the end ; but there is great peril
there."

" But how shall I avoid it 1" asked the earl.
"Can you give me no indication for my guid-
ance 1 Can you not tell me what is the nature
of the peril, from whom or whence it comes V
Manucci mused. "It is not war," he said,
"for Mars is low down. I should say that
policy had to do with it, that the danger is
more of conspiracy than of war." ■

The young earl smiled ; but Manucci went
on, in the same sort of musing way. "Love,
too," he said, "has a share in the evil, though
indirect; but conspiracy assuredly, from the
menacing aspect of Saturn. Avoid, I beseech
you, avoid all meddling with the politics of your
native land ; scrupulously and carefully eschew
treason, or any thing that may be so construed ;
listen not even to the words of conspirators,
ake no part in their counsels, drive them forth
from your presence if they seek to tempt you,
and so I trust you may escape the peril ; but
if not, you will certainly fall, for the anger of a
king evidently threatens you ; and the cause
of danger is conspiracy, goaded on by love."

" Safely and surely can I promise," answered
the earl, " for I have long made up my mind to
avoid all plots, and to take no share of any kind
in aught but the ordinary business of the day.
My family have suffered too much already from
their dealings with that foul fiend, Policy, which
ever proves the ruin of those who give them-
selves up to her, who soothes them with hopes
but to deceive them, and raises them up but to
dash them down. Neither have I ever seen or
heard of one benefit procured for the country
by the blood of all the patriots who have fallen
in defending their fellow citizens' rights, still
less by that of those who have suffered base
personal ambition to lead them into schemes

of treason and disloyalty under the pretense of
redressing grievances. There comes a pitch
of tyranny sometimes, it is true, when it is
necessary to dare all and to risk all for security,
liberty, and repose ; but it very, very seldom
happens, in the ordinary course of events, that
any thing can be gained by revolt, which can
compensate even for a few days of turbulence,
anarchy, or civil war. Nothing of the kind
exists at present, or is likely to exist to justify
any thing like conspiracy or rebellion. Make
your mind easy, then, as far as I am concerned ;
for 1 can safely promise to avoid every thing
which can afford even a reasonable cause of
suspicion."

" Thank God that it is so," answered Ma-
nucci, solemnly; but ever keep in mind what
I have said. Think of it every day. Remem-
ber it on every occasion ; for I have told you
that the peril will come suddenly, and probably,
therefore, the temptation also. If you attend
to my warning, and thus escape the danger,
you will have to thank me for long years after-
ward. Therefore now sit down here in my
seat, and copy accurately that which is there
written. Keep it constantly about you, refer
to it often, and thus will you ever be upon your
guard."

" If your warning prove effectual," replied
Lord Gowrie, " I shall owe you, my dear friend,
much indeed ; and I only wish that you would
tell me how I can repay the service."

" Perhaps I may — perhaps I may," said the
old man ; but copy that quick, then we will talk
more."

Lord Gowrie sat down to copy the paper;
but it occupied him during a longer time than
he had imagined, and in the mean time, a little
scene had taken place in the kitchen of the
house, which ultimately took a direction toward
the same subject which closed his conference
with Manucci.

Left alone in the dark, worthy Austin Jute
waited with exemplary patience till the old
woman who had opened the door, returned with
a lamp, and invited him to come and take some
supper with her in the kitchen.

" One can not have too much of a good thing,"
said the Englishman, for such he was, in his
own tongue; "but then again, another proverb
says, ' Enough is as good as a feast ;' and to
speak the truth, I have supped; but, a full bag
is better than an empty sack ; and, for that mat-
ter, no one knows when he has had enough,
and therefore I can not be supposed to be a
judge in a case of conscience."

This reasoning was addressed to himself
rather than to the old lady who stood by his
side, listening to all he had to say with an air
of the most perfect unconsciousness, waiting
for the time when it should be his pleasure to
explain himself in Italian.

" Well, ma'am, I will come," he replied, in
the latter language, which, by the way, he
spoke remarkably well. " My stomach says it
would not object to any reasonable quantity of
good food, and still less to a cup or two of good
wine. I will follow you, and if "

But the servant, accustomed to see many
strange people, and to hear many foreign lan-
guages, seemed to comprehend his meaning as
much by his looks as his words, and beckon- {

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

tr.g him tu come on before he had ended his
sentence, she led the way toward her refectory.
The fare she spread before him was not very
abundant nor very rich, but it was refreshing,
for fruit was ever cheap at Padua, and of such
consisted the principal part of their meal.
Austin Jute was a man to make himself easily
at home wherever he came, and though, to say
truth, he might have been well pleased if his
companion had been younger and prettier,
nevertheless, he was soon in full talk with the
old woman ; and when a little bell rang above
for refreshments there, he helped her to arrange

rthe dishes and place the glasses with their
long stalks, as willingly and cheerily as if she
had been sixteen.

" There now, Tita," he said, as she lifted the
tray, " put the other side with the bottles next
to you. Always, in life and on a tray, place
the load where it is easiest borne. Two hands
are enough when we know how to use them,
but four are better when work is plenty ; so
I'll go and open the doors for you, for there
seem many in your house."

As may well be supposed, Master Austin was
now in high favor with the good dame ; for
age receives as a boon what youth exacts as
a tribute ; and when she rejoined him after
carrying in the supper, she said, in a low voice,
" Well, your lord is certainly one of the hand-
somest, noblest-looking cavaliers I ever saw ;
and so frank and friendly in his way. He
always speaks to me as if I were an old friend,
and not a poor servant."

" Like master, like man, my dear," replied
Austin Jute ; " birds of a feather flock together.
Like sticks to like. That is the reason my
master and I are so fond of each other ; but I
hope there is somebody else fond of him too,
for I saw, as you came out, such a beautiful
pair of eyes outshining the lamp, that I now
understand very well why my lord came back
to Padua, and why he used to come hither
almost every night when he was here before,
with that dull-looking fellow, Martini, after
him, like an ill-conditioned cur running at the
heels of a fine horse."

" I never liked that man," said the old woman,
seating herself on her stool in the kitchen. "I
am glad your lord has not brought him to-night."

" He could not bring him if he had wished
it," replied Austin ; " he would have tumbled
to pieces by the way. He was hanged two
months ago at Geneva, for robbing a gentleman
who was in the same inn with us. My master
would never believe he was a rogue till he saw
him hanging, though, when he fell out of the
ferry-boat into the Po, and floated like a bad
egg, I told the noble earl that he who is born
to be hanged will never be drowned. They
hanged him at last, however, and made the
proverb good."

" I dare say they were quite right," said the
old woman, in a moralizing mood ; " thttugh
people who are set to do justice, often do great
injustice. Do you know they came and wanted
to drag my good old master away, who is as
honest a man and as good a Christian as any
in Padua ; and they would have done it, too,
and most likely put him to the rack, if it had
not been for the courage and kindness of one
cf your countrymen, a student here, called

15

Hume, and the wit and lightness of the Signora
Julia."

" Yes, I heard of all that Signor Hume did,"
replied Jute, " for he told my master while I
was sitting in the ante-room, with nothing but
a thin door between; for you know, Tita, though
every thing is made for one purpose, most of
them will serve two. But what did the young
lady do ]"

" The moment she heard the noise," replied
the old woman, " she ran and shut the door
across the passage which leads to the study.
So they found nothing but some scraps of old
papers that were in the room where my poor
master was ill in bed ; for that door shuts so
close that no one can tell it from the wainscot,
and having no keyhole, but a spring lock, they
thought the passage ended there. If they had
got into the study there would have been a fine
to do, for there are all manner of strange things
there, which are as innocent and as holy as the
bambino, I will vow ; but nobody understands
them but my master, and every thing people
don't understand they think wicked."

This sage and just observation did not lead
Austin Jute from the track he was following ;
for, to say sooth, curiosity was one of his
failings, and the sight of so beautiful a face as
he had seen in the room above, had stimulated
that ^ery ticklish quality till he could not resist
it. "Ah, she is a charming creature, I am
sure," he said ; " it is true all is not gold that
glitters ; and handsome is who handsome does.
The devil will take an angel's form at times.
The frocV" does not make the monk ; but still
she looked so sweet and sad, I am sure she is
very amiable. Many a one, Donna Tita, looks
gay and cheerful, and many a one looks pleasant
and merry, and is but a sour devil after all ; but
it is a good heart that looks sad for other people's
sorrows. Besides, my master would not be
so fond of her if she were not an angel. But
who is she? Is she the old signor's daughter]"

" And is your master so fond of her, then ]"
said the old woman, without answering his
question. "Are you sure he has never been
straying after other women, all this long time
while he has been away]"

" Not once, upon my word," replied Austin,
with a solemn air, laying his hand upon his left
breast. " Lord bless you, since he knew the
signora, he has become as discreet as a bell-
wether. Why, he sent me out of Geneva for
six weeks, just for pinching the cheek of
Ninette Bar, the daughter of the innkeeper,
and putting my lips too near those of Rosalie,
the smith's niece. It is true that I had to
break the head of Jerome, and whack Rosalie's
lover in self-defense ; for it came to crabstick.
But as for my lord, he passed all his time at
the house of an old gentleman called Beza,
where fewer women got in than get into a
monkery — though he used to have as gay a
heart as the gayest once on a time."

" Then why did he go away and stay away
so long, if he is so fond of her]" asked the old
lady, who had her own share of curiosity, as
well as Austin Jute.

" Nay ! gads, my life ! you must ask that of
the earl himself," replied the man, " for I am
not his father-confessor. Perhaps the lady was
cold, for you women will have your whimsies.

16

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

Dear creatures, you would not be half so charm-
ing without."

The compliment oblique is almost always
sure to go deeper than the direct ; and good
Tita, though she had long lost any external
claims to the title of a charming creature,
included herself comfortably ia the general
category, and felt her heart open toward her
companion. "No, no," she is not cold — to
him, at least ; and how should she be, when
she scarce ever saw a young man before 1 He
is not so bad-looking either, and a kind heart
too ; and as for whimsies, dear child, she has
none, and never had. She lay in my arms
when she was two years old, and that is sixteen
vears since."

" Upon my life, the old gentleman must have
taken to matrimony late in life, to have a
daughter of eighteen, when ha is eighty," said
Austin Jute, laughing.

The shot took effect.

" His daughter, you foolish knave," cried
the old lady, " she is not his daughter ! His
daughter's daughter, if you will."

" Well, there would be no great harm in it,
if she were his daughter," answered Jute ;
" so you need not look so angry, my dear ;
many a man marries at sixty for the consola-
tion of life, or at least of the little bit of life
that remains. Better late than never, men
say. I would rather come in at the end of the
dinner than see no dinner at all. It is never
too dark to see one's way, if one has but a lan-
tern ; and if we have gone on wrong from the
beginning, why should we not try to get right
at the end 1 And so the young lady's name is
not Manucci, after all."

" Her mother's was," answered Tita. "Poor
thing, I remember her well. When she gave
the child into my hands, she said, ' Take care
of her, Tita," for she will soon have no mother
to do so, and no father has she ever known.' "

" Oh, ho !" said Austin Jute, with a peculiar
expression of countenance ; but the old wom-
an's black eyes flashed fire. " Out, knave !"
she said, without allowing him to finish the
sentence ; " would you slander a saint in heav-
en 1"

The next moment, however, her face re-
sumed its ordinary expression, and she said,
" I spoke foolishly. I should have told you,
the babe's father died on the day that she was
born. The mother never held her head up
after ; and she kept her word with me too
truly ; for scarcely four months were gone by,
ere we laid her in Campo Santo."

"Poor thing !" said Austin Jute, in so natu-
ral a tone of pity, that all remains of anger
were banished from Tita's heart. " How did
the lady's husband die 1 Was it in battle or of
disease 1"

" By the ax, young man — by the ax," replied
Tita, sharply ; " a plaything with which people
in your country sport even more than we do
nere in Italy — at least I have heard so ; for I
know nothing of any other land but my own ;
but I have heard the signor say that there has
been sufficient innocent blood shed upon the
scaffold in England and Scotland, to bring down
a curse upon the country."

" Upon my life, he said true," replied Austin
Jute ; " for 1 have seen a few heads roll in my

own day, and have always thought it a pit)
that people can not find some other means of
putting those out of their way who stand in
their light, but by cutting them on the back of
the neck. Were men's heads no better than
turnips we could not treat them more careless
ly than we do in our little island. Poor child,
her misfortunes came early ; and I hope and
trust that she got over them all at once. Peo-
ple must eat black bread, they say, at one time
of their life ; and it is better to swallow it be-
fore we have tasted any other, than to eat the
white bread first, and then have the other
after."

" God send that it be so with her," said the
old woman, " for a dearer, sweeter girl never
lived."

"And, after all, what is her name?" said
Austin Jute, in that quiet sort of easy tone
which so often leads on confidence ; but good
old Tita answered quietly, with a shrewd
glance of the eye, " Julia, to be sure — the
Lady Julia. That has been enough for me all
my life ; and it should be enough for you too,
I think."

" Enough is as good as a feast," answered
Austin Jute ; but as he saw he could gain no
more information he dropped the subject, and
began to wonder at the length of his lord's
visit.

CHAPTER V.

" It is done," said the earl, " and, I think,
accurately."

The old man bent over the paper, and ex-
amined every line. " Saturn is wanting in the
third house," he replied; "and you have left
out the sextile there."

Lord Gowrie corrected the error, then folded
the paper carefully, and put it in his bosom.
When he had done so, he turned his eyes to
Manucci's face, and saw that the old man was
very pale, while a dropping heaviness of the
eyelid and a quivering of the lip seemed to the
young lord to indicate great weariness.

" I wish much to speak to you, my good
old friend," he said, " upon matters of great
moment ; but I see that you are weary, and I
must not begin now, for our conversation
might be long."

"We must begin now and end now, Gow-
rie," said the old man, looking at him gravely ;
" for who shall say what a day will bring forth?
I have learned this in eighty years, if nothing
else, that the present only is ours, the past is
gone beyond our recall, the future is in the
hand of God. Then let no man think that he
can command to-morrow, for health or sick-
ness, strength or weakness, fortune or adver
sity, are all as unstable as the wind, changing
how and why we know not. I have much to
say to you too, and on the same subject, I be-
lieve. You would speak of Julia. Is it not
so V

" It is," answered Lord Gowrie.

" And you love her. I have seen it before
this night. I have caught your eyes watching
her anxiously, as if you loved, yet hesitated ;
as if the thoughts of the world's opinion, and
friends' advice, and courtly favor, and ainhitiuus

I 1 I

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

17

dreams perchance, came like dull vapors from
the earth, clouding the star of love. You went
away ; and I let you go without one word to
stay you ; for no man can be worthy of her, so
long as one such doubt remains in his bosom.
Are they all gone now?"

" All that I have ever entertained," replied
Lord Gowrie, in a tone of some mortification :
" but you have done me some wrong, my good
friend, in your own fancies. Very few of such
considerations as those you imagined have had
influence with me. I loved, but I saw no
surety of being loved in return. I knew not
how strong my love was till I went away; and
I judged that it was but right to her to make
myself sure — before I 6trove to win her affec-
tion— that my own was durable and true. I
had often heard of boyish passion soon forgot,
of love that waxes and wanes in a few short
months, and if I have learned no other point
of philosophy, I have learned to doubt the hu-
man heart till it is tried. As for worldly con-
siderations, you do me wrong. No thoughts
of court favor, of ambition, of avarice, ever
crossed my mind. I am wealthy enough, pow-
erful enough, high enough in station, to set
such things at naught : nor did the world's
opinion influence me ; but I thought it might
be wiser and better too, if, ere I acted decided-
ly in any way, I opened my heart to my own
dear mother, one of royal race, but who has
withal a royal heart, and knows that the true
wealth is the wealth of the mind, the highest
nobility that of the spirit. Such were the only
worldly feelings I bore with me when I went
away ; but I will not deny that long before
that, when I found passion rising in my heart
toward her, I did struggle against my growing
love, though I struggled in vain. I am candid
with you, my old friend ; I tell you all ; but
now that I have the hope of being loved in
return, every other consideration is cast
away."

" Every other ?" asked the old man, gazing
at him thoughtfully.

" All, all !" replied the earl. " This is no
time to ponder or to pause, no time to seek
either consent or counsel. You have been very
ill, nearly at the gates of death, were threaten-
ed with persecution, might have been torn
from her in a moment, and she left desolate,
friendless, defenseless. What should I have
thought of myself — how should I have felt, if,
when I returned, I had found you dead or in
prison, and this dear girl cast upon the world ?
This must never be again, my old friend — if
she' will give me her heart, share my station
and my fortune, and trust to this arm for her
defense."

" Spoken nobly, and like yourself," replied
the old man. "That she loves you, I doubt
not ; for, though unconsciously, perhaps, yet
you did seek her love. That you love her well
and truly, I am very sure ; otherwise you would
not be here to-night, Gowrie, for you came not
alone to learn your fate from me. But yet I
must think both for you and for her ; and I
will place the greatest trust in you that ever
was placed in man, because I know you to be
full of honor, and that she is firm in hon-
esty and purity of heart. Yet I will exact
some promises from you both — promises
6

which, solemnly given, you will not dare to
break."

" I never yet broke one knowingly " replied
Lord Gowrie ; " and I never will, \viiere her
fate is concerned, believe me, my good friend,
a promise given would be but the more sacred."

" And you are then resolved to marry her V*
said Manucci.

" If she can give me her whole heart," replied
the earl.

" Do you ask no question as to her birth, her
station, her family ?" said the old man.

" None," replied the earl. " Love, they say,
my good friend, is blind ; but mine has not been
so. Before my feelings toward her deserved
that name, I had many opportunities of observ-
ing ; and my eyes were then, at least, open.
Small traits, which might have escaped many,
told me great secrets of her heart and character.
Her love and her devotion to yourself, seeming
to merge all feelings in her duty toward you ;
her prompt obedience to your lightest wish, fly-
ing before command, and seeming to divine your
unspoken thoughts ; her tenderness toward all,
even toward the wicked and the cruel, censure
losing itself in pity for those who are not happy
enough to be good ; that true modesty which is
without vain affectation, and ignorant of evil,
places no watchful guard against false appear-
ances. All these, and many more things of the
kind, I marked, and often thought, These are the
qualities which will only have greater scope
and shed brighter lustre in a wife ; and when to
these was added, each day, the perception of
some new grace of person or of mind, was it
possible not to love, Manucci?"

" You have, indeed, watched closely, and
judged well," replied the old man ; "and, with
one who can so justly estimate, I have no fear
of my dear child's happiness. Now listen ; and
though weary, I will tell you sufficient to
show you that, even according to the world's
usual judgment, you have not chosen so far
amiss. By the side both of father and of mother,
she is your equal in rank. Though an exile
from my native city, I am of a race which can
count its generations back almost to the days
of ancient Rome. That she is the child of my
only daughter you know, for you have often
heard me say so ; and, by the father's side, she
is descended from a race, if not royal, as you
have said of your mother, often more powerful
than the kings they served. They, too, are of
your own land ; and their blood has mingled
with that of your own ancestors. Your family
and hers have fought, and plotted, and achieved,
and sat together on many a field, in many a
cabinet, at many a council board. Her father,
indeed, she never knew, for he died by the hand
of the executioner on the day when she was
born ; his lands were confiscated and given to an-
other ; and I fled from Scotland with her mother
and herself, trusting that, at some future time,
and by a more wise and just sovereign, that
portion which was secretly settled on my poor
child, as her dowry, and which no confiscation
could touch by law, might be restored to its true
owner. These papers, which I will give to you,
will tell the rest and prove the whgle ; and now
listen to me, Lord Gowrie — you must soon re-
turn to your own land "

"Not to leave her here," replied the earl,

10

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

interrupting him ; " that I can not do, my
friend."

"Peace, peace," said the old man; "you
must hear before you can understand. She
shall go with you — but not as your wife, impa-
iient boy-~under the charge of your honor, and
under your solemn promise to me, not even to
seek to wed her till one of two things has come
io pass. You shall endeavor to the utmost of
your power, to restore to her the estates which
were reft from her and from her mother by the
hand of oppression. The papers I am about to
give you will prove her title, and all that she
demands is justice. If you succeed, then in
God's name, if you so will, make her your wife ;
but if not, you shall wait patiently till after the
last day of September in the next year. Then
the danger will be over."

" But what will become of you, my good
friend 1" demanded the earl ; " I should never
desire Julia to make such a sacrifice as that :
nor would she, I am sure, accede, even if I were
to demand it."

" Before that time," replied the old man, " my
head will rest upon an earthy pillow. The
blood is freezing in these wintry veins, and it
will soon cease to flow. You said you were
going farther on — to Rome, to Bologna, to Flo-
rence. Go on ; and by the time you return,
she may need protection and support. I know
that I shall die within these two months ; and
although the precise period I know not, yet de-
pend upon it, you will be still in Italy when that
event happens. Then take her away at once
from scenes which must have their bitterness,
place her in honorable ward with your mother,
who, if I know her right — and I remember her
well — will be zealous in the cause of the orphan
daughter of her husband's friend ; and when
her rights are established, or the day of danger
for yourself is passed, then be to her as true
a husband as your noble father was to Dorothea
Stuart. Will you promise me all I demand ?"

" I will," answered the earl. " I do most
solemnly ; but as yet, my good friend — " and a
slight shade of doubt came upon his face, " I
am not sure that she herself will consent. I
think — I trust she will ; but there is no promise
between us, no assurance upon her part, that
she can love me as I love her. I must see her,
I must ask her, before my heart is fully at ease.
I will come to-morrow, for doubtless she has
retired to rest ere now."

" See her at once," said the old man, with a
smile. " Her answer will soon be given, or I
know her not. Nor will she seek her pillow
while I am waking. See her now. It were
better, I think, that you proceeded on your
journey to-morrow, so that when the hour
comes, you may be ready to act at once."

" My journey can be postponed, or given up
altogether," replied the earl. " It would be one
full of care and anxiety, if I thought that she
might be left here suddenly, without friends or
support. I speak plainly, because, my noble
friend, I know that you fear not death, and are
prepared for its coming. Were I to follow out
the plan I had proposed, she might be left here
for weeks without comfort or assistance."

" No, no," answered Manucci, " I will not
have it said, that your love for this dear child
made you linger on here when you had other

objects before you. As to her fate, fear not for
that. I see what you dread ; but there you are
misled. I am very poor, it is true ; but I have
made myself poorer than I am, in order that
she may be richer when the moment comes.
In that cabinet are two thousand golden ducats,
saved from my small means by the utmost par-
simony. That will be sufficient, and more than
sufficient till she is under the protection of
your mother. She must not go back to her
native land altogether as a beggar ; and she
must hire one or more maidens to attend upon
her by the way. Neither must she, my good
lord, be dependent upon you ; for that might
give occasion for busy tongues to bruit about
rash suspicions. Let her pay her own serv-
ants ; let her de-fray her own expenses ; there
will be still enough and to spare. Now go and
speak with her. I will wait you here."

The young earl rose with a faint smile, and
moved toward the door ; but ere he reached it
he turned, and approaching the old man, grasp-
ed his hand, saying, "Many, very many thanks
for all your confidence ; but yet there is one
more boon which I must ask, and I shall not be
satisfied unless you grant it. My friend, Sir
John Hume, whom you already know well, the
affianced husband of my young sister Beatrice,
will remain here for a fortnight. Should need
be, Julia must trust in him, till I can reach her.
He is the soul of honor, and kindly and gentle
in feeling. But I must also leave a servant
here, who shall attend everyday at your house,
and if events should require it, will either stay
to assist his master's promised bride or seek
and find me, with wit and diligence such as few
can show. His character is a very mixed one,
with faults and virtues in excess ; but he has
proved his devotion to me many a time, and
of his honesty I am well assured. Say you
agree to this ! Then I shall go in peace."

" Well, so be it," answered the old man.

And leaving him for the time, the young earl
hurried away toward the room whither he had
been first conducted. His first steps along tho
passage were eager and impetuous. It seemed
as if he could riot too soon hear the words
which were to decide his fate : but as he ap
proached the door, his feet relaxed their speed ,
and he paused thoughtfully, with his hand lifted
toward the lock. What was it that made him
hesitate ] Let his own words answer. " No,
no; studied speech is vain," he said at length.
" I will pour my heart into hers, and if the feel-
ings within it but find voice, no eloquence can
match them."

Thus saying, or rather thinking, he opened
the door and went in. Julia was seated at the
table with a book before her, on which her eyes
rested not, with the lamp casting its pale light
on the fair white forehead, the jetty hair, the
long fringed eyelids, and the sweeping arch of
the mouth. Her eyes were turned away, gaz-
ing on vacancy; but the first step of her lover
in the room roused her from her reverie, and,
with a start, sudden but graceful, she rose, ex-
claiming, " Where is hel — Is he ill V

" No, dearest Julia," replied the earl ; "but
I have come from him to you, to speak a few
words, which, with your answer, must decide
our fate 'or life."

As he spoke he took her hand, and led het

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

19

back toward the chair from which she had
risen ; but she shook her head mournfully,
without resuming her seat, and said, " Have I
not answered already ! I have told you that I
can not, that I must not, speak now."

" Nay, listen to me," said the earl, " for I
seek not to take you from him, nor even to
bind you to quit him ; but he and I have now
spoken of all ; and we have made promises to
each other, which it remains but for you to
ratify ; for upon you depends the execution of
his plans, as well as the fulfillment of my
hopes."

She bowed her head in silence and with tear-
ful eyes, looking like a flower bent down with
heavy dew, and the earl gazed at her tenderly
— almost sadly, for a moment. "I am about
to leave you again, dear Julia," he said, at
length ; " but I go this time with very different
feelings from those which I experienced when
last we parted. I then knew not all that was
in my own heart ; I knew nothing of yours. I
felt love, without being aware how powerful it
was, and without even hoping it was returned.
But now I comprehend all the strength of my
own attachment ; and I do entertain hopes
which it is for you to confirm or to destroy.
Painful as it is, I must mingle sad images even
with the expression of my brightest hopes. A
time must come, Julia, and you yourself see
that it is coming fast, when you will be left
alone, bereft of kindred support. I have offer-
ed, I have promised, to supply to you the place
of him whom death may soon, and must event-
ually, take away. Nothing that you can now
say can make that promise void. It shall be
executed fully, sincerely, with my whole heart
and my whole energies ; but it is you who must
decide how it is to be executed by me — wheth-
er as the promised husband, plighted to you
till death, with mournful happiness soothing
your sorrows, sharing your grief, and with a
right indefeasible to protect and comfort you,
till your lot is blended by the marriage vow
with his "

The color had come warmly up into her
cheek as he spoke ; and Govvrie paused an in-
stant, doubting what were the emotions in
which the blush had its source. " Or — " he
added, " or as the true and sincere friend, ful-
filling toward you the promise made to one
loved, esteemed, and mourned by both ; but
with deep and bitter disappointment in his
heart, pouring shadow and darkness over his
whole after-life."

Julia started, gazed at him for an instant, and
then exclaimed, "Oh, no, Gowrie, no! Can
you have doubted 1 Can you really have paint-
ed such a picture to your own fancy 1 Can
you think me so ungrateful — so base]" And
she let her forehead fall upon his shoulder, while
his arm stole round her waist.

" Thanks, dearest girl, thanks !" he said ;
"but tell me — tell me, Julia, is it with your
whole heart V

She looked up, with her cheek burning, and
replied, in a voice hardly andible, " Do not
doubt it ! When he is gone, there will be
none to share with you ;" and Gowrie pressed
her tenderly to his bosom.

'Enough, enough," he said; "now I shall
be quite happy."

" Oh, vain words ! Oh, rash anticipations !
What mortal has ever had the right to infer
that he shall be happy, even for an hour]
Any man may learn how much stronger hope
is than fear in the human heart, by examining
whether his expectations of joy, or his appre-
hensions of sorrow, have been most frequently
disappointed.

CHAPTER VI

It was a dull and heavy day in the month of
September. The sky had been covered each
evening, for the last week, with dark flocculent
clouds, high up in air, but still leaden and low-
ering, and now the rain descended in the city
of the ten colleges in a perfect deluge. The
country round Padua rejoiced, for the summer
had been very dry and hot, and the land yearn-
ed for the dew of heaven ; but the streets of
the town were almost impassable, except under
the arcades on the west side — where any street
was fortunate enough to have a west side —
for there was a strong wind blowing, which
drifted the large drops under the arches to
the east, and a torrent flowed down the middle
of each street, increased every two or three
yards by a gushing spout projecting from the
house-top.

There was, however, sunshine in one of the
dwellings of the town, for Julia's heart was
happier than she almost liked to own. She
sat with a letter before her from Gowrie, an-
nouncing that he would be speedily back in
Padua ; and she herself was writing to him,
telling him part of the feelings which arose in
her own bosom — for she had not yet taken
courage to tell him all — and conveying to him
the glad tidings that her aged relation had en-
tirely recovered from his late serious illness,
and was looking better than she had seen him
for many a month.

Manucci himself was sitting beside her, busy
with some abstruse problem, and from time to
time raising his eyes to watch her write, or to
mark the varied expressions which passed over
her beautiful face, with that calm and heavenly
satisfaction which spreads through the breast
of age — when the mind is well regulated and
the heart generous — at witnessing the hopes
of youth and the joys which no longer can be
shared.

Julia wrote on. The old man bent his head
over the papers ; and a few minutes after Tita
entered to tell her master that a man with sea-
fish was at the door, and to ask if he would
purchase any. She spoke tc him, but he did
not answer ; and Julia suddenly turned round
and gazed at him. He was very pale, and his
head rested upon one of the great wings of the
chair. Starting up with a low cry of fear, his
grandchild ran rounc', and raised his head. The
eyes were closed, but he still breathed hard and
noisily. His limbs, however, were motionless,
and he was evidently insensible. Assistance
was called, and he was removed to his room
and laid upon his bed. Tita ran away at once,
first for a physician and then a priest ; and
both came nearly at the same lime. The man
of art applied the remedies usual in those days,
while the good priest, watched narrowly to take

20

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT

advantage of the first return of consciousness,
to perform his functions likewise. Extreme
unction was given while he was still insensi-
ble ; and ahout two hours after the attack
Manucci opened his eyes for a moment, and
the priest eagerly advanced the crucifix toward
him. Whether the motion was voluntary or
involuntary, who can tell 1 but old Manucci
raised his hand, and it fell upon the cross. It
was the last effort of expiring life. The next
moment a sharp shudder passed over his frame,
and he was a corpse.

" He has died like a good Catholic," said the
priest, who was a man of a kindly and a liberal
heart.

Julia wept, but replied not ; and the old
man, coming round to the side of the bed
where she stood, tried to comfort her to the
utmost of his power. She pressed his hand
gratefully, but still remained in silent tears ;
and the priest drawing the physician apart,
they conferred together for several minutes in
a low tone.

" The sooner the better," said the physician,
" lest the suspicions that have been abroad
should make them stop it."

" You're a witness he died as a good Catho-
lic, with his hand upon the cross," rejoined the
priest.

" I am," answered the physician ; " but it
will be better to say as little, either of his death
or any thing else, as possible, till the funeral is
over, otherwise we shall have a scandal, and
perhaps a disturbance."

" You are right, you are right," said the
priest. " My dear child," he continued aloud,
turning toward Julia, who was kneeling by the
dead man's bed-side, while Tita stood weeping
at the foot, " you had better come with me
into another room. There is nothing here but
the clay. The spirit which you loved has
departed in peace to our Father which is in
heaven. There are sad duties to be perform-
ed ; but trouble not yourself with them. I
and your friend here, Signor Anelli, together
with good Tita, will care for all that ;" and
approaching her side, he took her hand, and
gently led her away.

The funeral was performed as secretly as
possible, and as speedily ; and it is always
speedy in Italy ; and Julia sat alone in the lit-
tle room, where she had been writing, when
the old man was struck by the hand of death.
The two letters were still open upon the table ;
and, as her eye fell upon the very last sentence
she had been writing, in which she spoke of
Manucci'syrecovered health, the tears flowed
fast and long.

" I must write him another tale now," she
said, tearing the letter ; and then rising, she
inquired whether Austin Jute, whom Gowrie
had left to assist her in case of need, was in
the house, for Hume had by this time left Pa-
dua.

The man was in her presence in a moment,
and Julia told him that she wished him to set
out immediately to seek his lord at Bologna,
and tell him what had occurred.

" Disobedience is a great sin, dear lady," re-
plied Austin Jute ; " but I must either disobey
you or my lord. He told me to leave you on
oo account whatever ; and to say sooth, I be-

lieve, as things go, I can be of better service
here than at Bologna, for Sir John Hume has
gone to join my master, and there is no one but
me to take care of you. If you will write a few
lines, however, dear lady, I will see that it goes
by a sure messenger."

Nor was Austin Jute wrong in his conclu-
sions, though at that moment he did not choose
to tell the lady all he had heard. Rumor had
been busy in Padua, and of course from the
moment it was generally known that old Signor
Manucci was dead, some one of her hundred
tongues was busied in manufacturing a new
falsehood every instant. Citizens and shop-
keepers talked. Tutors and professors laid
their heads together. The heads of the col-
leges met and consulted, and thought fit to call
in the advice of a commissary of the holy office.
They had made such a bustle about it, however,
before that secret and discreet functionary had
any thing to do with the matter, that a report
of what was going on had spread far and wide.
Austin Jute had his ears and his eyes open ;
and, as he knew many of the servants of the
colleges, he soon learned much that was taking
place, and determined to watfch all the more
eagerly over her who had been committed, in
some degree, to his charge. Such were the
motives of his answer to Julia ; and ere even-
ing he had cause to rejoice that he had not un-
dertaken her mission, for one oversight, or
rather act of neglect, on the part of the inquisi-
tor, afforded him an opportunity of turning his
stay in Padua to the greatest advantage. Some
one suggested, in the meeting of the heads
of colleges, that it would be expedient, before
proceeding further, to examine the priest who
had attended Manucci on his death-bed. The
commissary of the holy office was either tired,
hungry, or busy ; and he left the worthy doc-
tors of the university to make that investiga-
tion themselves. Had the good father been
examined by the inquisitor, he would have
dared as soon chop off his right hand as givo
any intimation of what was likely to take place.
For the mere scholastic dignitaries he had no
such fear or reverence ; and the moment he
quitted them, he hastened to the house near
the Treviso gate. The first person he saw
was Tita, but immediately behind her stood
Austin Jute ; and a short conference was held
by the three, so brief, indeed, that the old ser-
vant did not catch half of the good priest's
meaning, for he was too much alarmed to re-
main more than a few moments.

As soon as he was gone, Austin laid his 4
hand upon the old woman's arm, saying, "Not
an instant is to be lost. We must take Time
by the forelock. We shall never catch him if
he once gets on. I must go and prepare means.
You go and bring the young lady down into the
garden, and by the steps to the gate. Tell her
to take whatever money she has, gold, or jew-
els, or any thing else, and as few clothes as
possible, packed in a small space. Lock and
bar the door of the house as soon as lam gone,
but keep the garden gate upon the latch, and
mind you do not open the front door, whatevei
knocking or hammering you may hear."

"But what is it, what is it?" exclaimed Ti
ta. " I did not understand what the good fa
ther meant."

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

21

" That your sweet lady will be handed over
to the inquisition within half an hour, if you do
not do as I tell you, and quickly," replied Aus-
tin. " Remember, a minute lost is never re-
gained. Time and tide wait for no man.
Haste, haste, Tita. But stay ! It were well
if the lady had some disguise. Where could
cne get a novice's gown and vail]"

"Not nearer than ai the stall by St. Anto-
ny's," repl^<l the old woman ; " out I've got
my festa gown and a large black hood, that
would cover her head and shoulders. The
gown is too big, but no matter for that, it'll go
on the easier."

" Away, then. Dress her in it, and bring
her down. But mind, lock and bar the door,
and open to no one." Thus saying, he set out
at full speed.-

With trembling hands Tita fulfilled his di-
rections in regard to securing the front en-
trance of the house. As soon as that was ac-
complished she hastened to her young mistress,
whom she found writing a few sad lines to
Gowrie. The agitation and terror in the wo-
man's fatfe at once caught Julia's attention ;
and she started up, exclaiming, " What is it
now] What new misfortune has happened]"

" Oh, dear lady, you must fly !" said Tita.
" Austin Jute, my young lord's man, says there
is not a moment to be lost ; and he understands
what the good father said better than I do. I
only heard him say they were coming here im-
mediately to search ; but Austin says you
must get all the money you have, and every
thing that is valuable, and put on some dis-
guise, and come down as fast as possible to
the garden gate, where he will join us; they
will put you in the inquisition else."

The beautiful girl seemed to comprehend
her danger at once ; and the thought of being
deprived of liberty, and cut off from all power
of communicating with the only being on earth
whom she now sincerely loved, brought a look
of terror into her face.

" A disguise !" she exclaimed. "Where shall
I find a disguise ] I have none but my ordin-
ary clothes]"

"Never mind that. I will bring that in a
minute," replied Tita ; " only you get ready
without delay. Get the money and the jewels,
and all that is worth carrying, and don't open
the door on any account till I come down, how-
ever they may knock."

Thus saying, she ran away to her own room,
and soon descended with her gala dress, which
was that of a Lombard peasant. By this time
her naturally sharp wits had recovered from
the first effect of fear and agitation, and now
she was all promptness and decision. Throw-
ing the dress she had brought over her young
mistress, she fastened the bodice as tight as
she could, and gathered together the large folds
of the petticoat. But before she covered her
head with her black hood, which she had like-
wise brought, she could not forbear gazing at
her for an instant, and kissing her cheek, say-
•ng, " Bless thee, my child. Thou art as beau-
tiful a little peasant as any in all the Vero-
nese." The rest of the preparations were
soon made. Some few articles of dress were
packed in a small bundle ; the money taken
from the drawer in which it had been placed ;

and a heart cut in red cornelian, and set round
with large diamonds — the only trinket which
Julia possessed, with the exception of the gold
pins for her hair, and a brooch to clasp her
mantle — was taken from a casket and placed
in her fair bosom. All this being arranged,
they hurried down the stairs toward a door lead-
ing into the garden, their steps being acceler-
ated by a considerable noise in the usually quiet
street. In the passage of the house, however,
Tita stopped, saying, " I had better take the
key," anil approaching the door, she drew the
key forth quietly, and hastened after her mis-
tress, who was by this time at the small door
leading into the garden.

I should, perhaps, have mentioned before,
some particulars respecting the situation of the
house, in explanation of the directions which
Austin Jute had given. It was, as I have said
before, the last house in the street, and close
to the bridge which led over the little canal,
toward the Place d'armes within the Treviso
gate. As that gate had been one of much im-
portance in former times, a good deal of pains
had been taken to strengthen it against an ene-
my, and at the side of the canal, a work of
earth, faced with masonry, with a regular plat-
form and parapet, had been formed, command-
ing the bridge on one side, and the Place
d'armes on the other. As quieter times had
come, this work, abutting upon the house of
Signor Manucci, had been neglected ; and the
space within, had been cultivated by him as a
little garden. The whole level was considera-
bly higher than that of the water, and a short
flight of steps arched over, descended from the
garden to a small sally port in the wall, which
led to a narrow path not more than two feet
wide, by the side of the canal, at a spot distant
some sixty or seventy yard3 from the bridge.
The house itself was, in fact, included in the
fortification ; and the turret, in which the poor
old man's study had been placed, overlooked
the wall and the country round, and had prob-
ably, in former times, served the purpose of a
watch tower. The little garden, however, ex-
cept at one point, was only visible from the
turret when a person stretched his head far out
of the windows in the massy walls ; neither
could the steps be seen which led to the sally
port.

With all these particulars Austin Jute, whose
disposition was naturally inquisitive, had made
himself thoroughly acquainted ; but he had for-
gotten to warn the fugitives not to cross that
one part of the garden which was visible from
the windows above ; and Julia, as soon as
she had passed the door, was running straight
across, when Tita stopped her, calling, " Under
the wall, my dear — under the wall, and behind
the fig tree and the mulberries. — I will lock
this door though. — Heaven ! we are not a min
ute too soon. They are knocking in the street
there, as if they would have the door down.
Well, let them try. It will take them some
time, I warrant, for it is good strong oak, clasp
ed with iron."

With this reflection she followed her young
mistress, and keeping among the shrubs as
much as possible, they reached the top of the
steps, and descended to the sally port. That
was soon unlocked, and there they remained

22

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

for nearly a quarter of an hour in a sort of semi-
darkness, hearing, faint and dull, the sound of
heavy blows proceeding from the street, as the
officers of the university and the holy office,
when they found that no gentler means were
effectual in obtaining admission, had recourse
to sledge-hammers to effect an entrance. At
the end of that time a loud crash was heard,
and Tita whispered, "They've got in now."

Julia trembled very much, but a compara-
tive silence succeeded, which lasted some five
minutes more, and Tita tried to cheer her, say-
ing, " Perhaps, after all, they won't find their
way to the study this time either. I pulled to
the door in the passage as I came along, and
the spring's not easily seen."

Hardly had the words been pronounced, how-
ever, when the sound of voices coming through
the windows above, showed that her hope was
fallacious ; and Julia said, in a low tone, " Had
we not better go out to the bank of the canal 1"

" No, no," replied Tita ; " we shall hear them
if they come into the garden, for they must
knock that door down, too, or force the lock."

A moment after the. latch of the sally port
was lifted, and the door opened. " Come out,
come out," said the voice of Austin Jute ; and,
like lightning, Julia darted through the door,
and stood beside her lover's servant on the
bank of the canal.

" I'll lock this door, too," said Tita, taking
out the key and placing it on the other side.

" Safe bind, safe find," said Austin ; " but
the proverb is not true at the other side of the
house, for they've dashed the door in, and the
whole street is filled with a mob. So much
the better for us. There will be fewer people
in the other places."

" But which way shall we take 1" asked Ti-
ta ; " if we go to the bridge, we must cross
the end of the street ; and all the neighbors
know me right well."

"That would never do," replied Austin.
" Take the other, way to the bridge higher up.
Then we can cross there, and come back to
the gate from the other side. It's longer ; but
it can not be helped. The farthest about is
sometimes the nearest way home. I have
bought three asses, and they have just gone
through the gates, to wait for us at the little
wine-shop half a mile on."

Tita took a few steps in the direction which
he indicated, leading the way, for the path was
not wide enough to admit of two abreast ; but
then she stopped suddenly, saying, " I think
two asses would do, Signor Austin."

" How do you mean 1" asked the man.

" Why, I mean that it will be much better for
me not to go away from the city," said Tita ;
" if they find us all gone, and should afterward
catch the signorina, they will be sure to say
that she ran away because she knew she was
guilty of something. Now, a plan is come into
my head, and as soon as I've seen you out of
the gates, I'll just go round by the market, buy
a basketful of things, and go back with the
koy, as if I knew nothing that has happened."

" But, Tita, they may shut you up in prison,"
cried Julia.

" No, my dear, they wont," replied the old
woman, calmly ; " they'd only have to feed me
there if they did ; so they'll know better. lean

tell them, with a safe conscience, *l.a' 70U were
gone before they ever came to the house ; and
if they ask where, I'll say you tool/ the Treviso
way. The truth is, my child, I am net fit now
for running any where in a hurry ; and if I
were to go with you, I should only delay you,
and, perhaps, lead to your being found out ; for
many people all round know old Tita, and there
is scarcely any one in the town has ever seen
you. I know you will think of me when you
are away ; and when you are safe and happy
again, perhaps you may send for the old woman
who nursed you in your youth."

" That I will, Tita," replied Julia ; " but I am
terrified to leave you with these people."

"No fear, no fear, my child," answered the
old woman. " They can say nothing against
me, for I went to confession every week. But
you would never go, you know, my child, be-
cause neither you nor the signor thought it did
any good ; and, indeed, I don't think you had
any thing to confess. They can't hurt me ;
and they won't, I am sure, for I'm neither too
wise for them nor too good for them^and have
always done what the priest told me ; said my
prayers, and counted my beads ; and if that is
not being a good Catholic, I don't know what is."

" But you must have some of this money, at
least," said Julia, as Tita was walking on
again.

" Give me two ducats," said the old woman ;
"that'll keep me a long while."

But Julia insisted on her taking much more ;
and when that was settled, they proceeded on
their way, without difficulty or obstruction. It
was not without some tears that Julia parted
with her faithful old servant, nor without much
emotion that she went forward on an untried
path of life, protected by a man whom she had
known only a few weeks ; but there seemed
no other course before her, and she strove not
to show any doubt or dread. The asses were
found ready at the spot where they had been
appointed, and telling the man who brought
them that " the other girl" would not come,
Austin Jute placed his fair companion on the
pad with which one of them was furnished, be-
strode the other himself, and led the way for
about a mile farther on the Treviso road.
Then, however, he turned to the left, and,
circling round the city, endeavored to regain
the highway to Bologna.

In the mean time, good Tita re-entered the
town by one of the other gates, bought herself
a new basket as she went along, and leisurely
took her way to the market, where she stopped
at several of the stalls, and, as the following
day was a fast-day, bought herself a portion ot
fish and vegetables sufficient for the frugal
meal of one person, and no more. She laid the
key between the articles of food and the side
of the basket, and was, with the same calm,
deliberate step, proceeding homeward, when a
man, who was passing through, exclaimed,
with looks of wonder and surprise, " Ha, Tita,
you take matters wonderfully quietly ! Do you
not know that they have broken into your
house, upon a charge of sorcery against your
old master, and are now seeking for proofs
among his papers, I understand 1 Orders have
been given, they say, to apprehend your young
lady, for all men admit that she never came to

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

Mi

tonfession or absolution, and some would have
one believe that she is but, alter all, a familiar
spirit, which your master consented to have
dealings with, in order to get at unheard-of
treasures."

" I had her in my arms when she was two
years old." said Tita, sturdily; "and she was
more like flesh than spirit, and good Christian
flesh, too."

This answer seemed irrefragable to the good
townsman, who replied, " Well, you know best ;
» never saw her."

"And Tita replied, with a toss of the head
and a scornful air, " Unheard-of treasures, for-
sooth, when the poor old man died as poor as a
rat ! Sorcery must be a poor trade, I trow,
and the devil be very uncivil to his friends and
acquaintances."

With this answer, she walked quickly home-
ward, as if she had heard, for the first time, of
what had occurred. When she reached the
door of the house, she found the whole passage
filled with people, many of whom were anxious
to get up Jhe stairs, and see the inside of a sor-
cerer's dwelling, in good company ; but the of-
ficers of the inquisition, the beadles and serv-
ants of the university, and some half-dozen of
the company of soldiers, to which the garrison
of Padua was now reduced, kept back the
people with brandished partisans and staves,
till at length a shout was raised by some one
who knew her, of " Here is old Tita ! here is
old Tita ! A faggot and a tar-b-arreWor the old
witch !"

Now Tita had sufficient experience in the
ways of the world to know that the attacking
party always has a certain advantage ; and,
consequently, making her way through the
crowd as best she could,. she assailed the of-
ficers, high and low, with great volubility.
Could they not wait for her coming back, she
said, when she had only gone out for half an
hourl What was the need of breaking down
the door, when they had only to wait a minute
or two, and it would have been opened for
them 1 But they must needs be making work
for the smith and the carpenter.

She insisted, as if it was a right she demand-
ed, instead of a fate that was certain to befall
her, to be carried immediately before the illus-
trissimi upstairs ; and even when in their
presence, she assumed all the airs of towering
passion, and poured forth, upon the commissa-
ry of the inquisition himself, such a torrent of
vituperation, that, for a moment or two, he was
utterly confounded. As he recovered himself,
however, he reprehended her with dignity, and
demanded how they could tell she would ever
come back at all. To which Tita adroitly
rejoined, "What right had you to suppose I
would not 1 Had not I got the key with me 1"
and she instantly produced it from the basket
which she carried on her arm.

Whether logic was not in its most palmy
state in Padua at the time, or whether the
functionaries of the holy office were not accus-
tomed to deal in the most logical manner with
questions brought before them, I know not ;
but assuredly, the commissary regarded the
anger, the apostrophe, and the key, as very
convincing proofs of Tita's ignorance and inno-
cence. He, nevertheless, proceeded to Question

her in regard to the departure of the Signora
Julia, who, he informed her, was gravely sus-
pected of having aided her late grandfather in
unlawful studies, of which pursuits, on his part,
they had discovered irrefragable proofs.

" Lord bless you, illustrious signor," replied
the old woman, with a very skillful sort of dou-
ble dealing, not exactly falsifying the matter of
fact, but giving it a color altogether different
from that which it naturally bore, " my young
lady went out before I did. Why, she set off
on the road to Treviso some time ago ; and she
is gone to see a gentleman to whom she is to
be married, I understand ; but I don't know
much about the matter, for she does not talk to
me greatly about such things ; and all I know
is, that a better young lady, or a better Chris-
tian, does not live. As to my poor master's
dealing in magic, I don't, believe a word of it ;
for I never saw a ghost or a spirit about the
house, and I am sure it would have frightened
me out of my wits if I had. I'll tell every
thing I know, and show every cranny about the
house, for that matter, for I've swept it every
bit from end to end many a time, and I never
saw any thing about the place except what
I've heard gentlemen call philosophy, which I
thought was something they taught at the uni-
versity, God forgive me !"

This reply produced an unwilling smile, and
the great readiness which Tita expressed to
tell all she knew perhaps saved her from many
after-questions, for but a few more were asked ;
and then the commissary and those who were
joined with him departed, sweeping away all
the papers, and many of the instruments of
poor Manucci, Tita following them to the very
street, and teazing them vociferously to have
the door mended.

CHAPTER VII.

It was a sultry autumnal day — one of those
days of early autumn when the summer seems
to return and make a fierce struggle to resume
its reign, when the leaves are yet green, or just
tinted with the yellow hue of decay, when the
grape is still ruddy on the bough, and the fig
looks purple among its broad green leaves.
The air had seemed languid and loaded all the
day, as if a sirocco had been blowing, though
the wind was in the west, and a hazy whiteness
spread over the wide plains through which
wander the Po, the Mincio, and the Adige.
The silver-gray cattle strayed lazily through the
fields, sometimes lifting their heads, and bellow-
ing as if for fresh cool air, sometimes plunging
among the sedges, or actually swimming in the
streams. Not a bird was seen winging its way
through the air, the very beccaficos were still
among the vines, and the horses of a large party
of travelers who were approaching the banks of
the Po, hung their heads, and wearily wended
on, oppressed more by the languid heat of the
day than by the length of the way they had
traveled.

The travelers themselves, however, seemed
gay and full of high spirits : the three gentle-
men who rode in front jesting lightly with each
other, though one was an elderly man of a staid,
though somewhat feeble-looking countenance ■

24

GOWRIE: OR, THE KINGS PLOT.

and the seiva ts behind chattering in various
languages with no very reverent lowness of
tone.

"Do you remember, Hume," said one of the
former, as they rode on, "our first journey by
night through these plains?"

" Yes " replied the other, " and your plung-
ing yout horse into the Mincio, vowing we had
all got off the high road."

"Because we had nothing but fire-flies to
light us," replied Gowrie, " and Mr. Rhind took
the first we saw for falling stars."

" Though there were no stars in the sky to
fall," cried Hume ; "or if they had fallen, they
would have been caught in the thick blanket of
cloud, and tossed up again."

"Well, my young friend," said meek Mr.
Rhind, " they were the first I ever saw, you
know, and every man may make a mistake."

" I wonder you did not take them for the
burning bush," said Hume, a little irreverently
-" for, my dear Rhind, you had had the Old
Testament in your mouth from the moment we
left Mantua, and you had paid our bill to the
Moabitish woman who cheated us so fearfully.
You called her by every gentile name you could
muster, simply because she would have twenty
ecudi more than her due."

" Well, I own I loved her not," replied Mr.
Rhind.

" But she did not want you to love her !" re-
torted Hume ; " she wanted Gowrie to love her,
and he would not ; so she charged the twenty
scudi for the disappointment ; and all she want-
ed with you was to pay the money."

"Which I certainly would not have done, if
I could have helped it," replied Mr. Rhind.

" But you could not, my dear sir," said Lord
Gowrie ; "depend upon it, Rhind, there is no
striving against woman, circumstances, or an
innkeeper's bill ; and it is only waste of words
and time to contest a point with either."

" I am sorry you find it so, my dear lord," re-
plied Mr. Rhind, somewhat tartly, for he had
been rather hardly pressed by his young com-
panions' gay humor during the morning. Lord
Gowrie only laughed, however, for his heart
was very light. He was returning to her he
loved ; he had known few sorrows since his
very early years, and each step of his horse's
foot seemed, to hope and fancy, to bring him
nearer to happiness. He could have jested at
that moment good humoredly with a fiend —
and certainly Mr. Rhind did not deserve that
name. The young earl, however, saw clearly
that his former preceptor was somewhat annoy-
ed, and he consequently changed the subject,
stretching out his hand, and saying, " Behold
the mighty Po. I know not how it is, but this
river, about the part where we are now, though
less in course and in volume than either the
Rhine, the Rhone, or the Danube, always gives
me more the idea of a great river than they do.
Perhaps it may be even from the lack of beau-
tiful scenery. With the others we lose the
grandeur of the river in the grandeur of its
banks. Here the broad stream comes upon us
in the dead flat plain, without any thing to dis-
tract the attention or engage the eye. I am in-
clined to believe that a river, as a river, is al-
ways more striking when there is no other great
•biect to be seen."

"And yet to me," said Hume, " tne ocean
itself as the ocean, without storms to lash i*
into magnificent fury, or rocky shores to hem
it in, like a defending and attacking army, but
seen from a plain sandy shore upon a calm day,
is not half so sublime a sight as poets and en-
thusiasts would have us believe. There is a
great deal of quackery in poetry, don't you think
so, Gowrie 1 Poets bolster themselves and one
another up with associations and images, till
they believe things to be very sublime, which
abstractedly are very insignificant. I remem-
ber once standing upon a low beach, and putting
the whole sea out, by holding up a kerchief at
arm's length. I have never since been able to
think it sublime except during a storm."

" Take care how you try other things by such
standards," said Gowrie ; " I am afraid, my dear
Hume, that the same kerchief would have equal-
ly reduced the finest, the noblest, and the best
of all the things of earth. It is he who extends
his vision, not he who contracts it, that learns
to judge things most finely, and also, I believe,
most really."

As these words were passing they were slow-
ly approaching the banks of the great river,
which at that spot is broader perhaps than at
any other point of its course. The land on
either side was bare and dusty, and the heat
became more and more intense from the want
of verdure around. At length a proposal was
made that instead of crossing at once in the
ferry boat,*md pursuing their journey on horse-
back from the other side, they should hire a
boat and drop down to Occhiobello, leaving the
horses and grooms to rest for an hour or two at
Massa, and then follow down the stream in the
course of the evening, when the weather would
be less sultry. The proposal came from Mr.
Rhind, who was evidently a good deal fatigued
— and the Earl of Gowrie, ever anxious to con-
tribute as much as possible to his old tutor's
comfort, acceded at once, although the plan
might cause a few hours' delay, and he was an-
xious to hasten on as fast as possible, impelled
by love and the expectation of speedily meeting
her for whom his affection seemed but to in-
crease by absence. There was some difficulty,
indeed, in procuring a boat ; for although the
large ferry boat, which, like Charon's, had car-
ried over many a generation, was lying at its
accustomed mooring place, yet no small boats
were near, and they had to ride slowly down
the bank of the stream for more than a mile be-
fore they came to a village where they could
procure what they wanted. There, however,
they engaged a small skiff of a rude kind, then
commonly used by the peasantry ; the three
gentlemen embarked without any of their at-
tendants ; and the boatmen, after a little con-
sultation among themselves, put off from the
shore.

"What were you talking about just now while
you were looking at the sky every minute '!"
asked Lord Gowrie, in Italian, addressing the
master of the boat.

" We were saying that we should not get
back without a storm, signor," replied the man.
" 1 should not wonder if we had to stay at Oc-
chiobello to-night, for when the Po is angry she
is a|ihorough lion."

"T hope the storm will not come before w«

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

25

land," said Mr. Rhind, who was 4ft" a timid and
unadventurous nature.

His two young companions only laughed,
teazing him a little with regard to his fears, for
they were at that age when a portion of danger
is the sauce of life, giving a higher flavor to en-
joyment. The boatman assured the old gentle-
man that the storm would not come till evening

and away they went down the full, quick
stream, having for the first half-hour the same
hot and glaring sun above them, shining with
undiminished force through the thin haze which
lay upon the landscape. If they expected to
find fresher air upon the water they were mis-
taken, for not a breath of wind rippled the cur-
rent of the stream, and the reflection of the
light from its broad, glassy current rendered the
heat more intense and scorching than on the
land. Sir John Hume amused himself by tak-
ing Mr. Rhind to task for the bad success of his
plan ; but Lord Gowrie good-humoredly remark-
ed, that at all events they were saved the trouble
of riding. The boat dropped down the stream
more rapidly than usual, for there was a large
body of water in the river at the time, and the
current was exceeding fierce and rapid ; but at
the end of about a quarter of an hour the wind
suddenly changed to the southeast, and blow-
ing directly against the course of the eager wa-
ters, tossed them into waves as if on the sea.
The change was so sudden — from almost a per-
fect calm, with the bright, smooth, glassy river
hastening on unrippled toward the Adriatic, to
a gale of wind and a wild, fierce, turbulent tor-
rent— that good Mr. Rhind was nearly thrown
off his seat, and showed manifest symptoms of
apprehension. The boatmen showed no alarm,
however, and Lord Gowrie and Sir John Hume
contented themselves with looking up toward
the sky, which in the zenith was becoming mot-
tled with gray and white, while to windward
some heavy black masses of cloud were seen
rising rapidly in strange fantastic shapes. The
air was as sultry as before, however, and after
blowing for about a quarter of an hour suffi-
ciently hard to retard the progress of the travel-
ers very much, the wind suddenly fell altogeth-
er, and a perfect calm succeeded. The waters
of the river still remained as much agitated as
ever, and Lord Gowrie called the attention of
Hume to a very peculiar appearance in the sky
to the south.

" Do you see that mass of leaden gray cloud,
Hume!" he said, "lying upon the black ex-
panse behind. See how strangely it twists it-
self into different forms, as if torn with some
mortal agony."

" Agony enough," answered Sir John Hume,
" for the poor cloud looks as if it had the colic ;
but I have remarked that it always is so when
the wind is in the southeast. We shall see
presently, if there be thunder or any thing else,
for it is nothing strange to witness a conflict of
the elements at this season of the year, espe-
cially in this dry and arid country, where the
sun seems to reign supreme, without one green
blade of grass to refresh the eye, or one cheer-
ing sound to raise a heart not utterly deprived
of feeling for its fellow creatures."

The young gentleman spoke in English ; but
the elder boatman, a man who had numbered
many years, and who, with his three sons, was

now still following the profession in which he
had been bred in his early youth, seemed to re-
mark tbe direction of his eyes, and to divine
the subject of his thoughts and conversation.
" Ah, sir," he said, " I should not wonder if
there were an earthquake before night. You
are staring at that queer-looking cloud ; and I
have rarely seen such a fellow as that working
away as if it were twisting itself into all sorts
of shapes rather than begin the devastation,
without its ending in something very sharp."

The two young men, who comprehended
every word, though spoken in the broad Man-
tuan dialect, looked at each other in silence;
but Mr. Rhind, who, notwithstanding his long
residence in Italy, had with difficulty mastered
the common terms of the language, remained
silent, merely observing, " Well, it is pleasant
that the wind has gone down, although the river
is still tossing about in a strange way ; I am
half-inclined to be sick as if I were at sea."

Half an hour passed without the prognostica-
tion of the fisherman being fulfilled. The same
lull in the air, the same agitation of the water
continued ; Occhiobello was in sight, and the
sun was sinking far away over the Piedmontese
hills, surrounded by a leaden purple color, in
which it was difficult to say whether the dull,
stormy gray, or the crimson glow of evening
predominated. In the south, the same heavy
clouds were seen, somewhat higher than when
the wind fell, cutting hard upon the blue sky
overhead ; and the large mass of vapor, the
peculiar appearance of which I have already
mentioned, lay contorting itself into a thousand
different forms every moment. On the right
bank, not far behind them, when they looked
back, the travelers could see their horses and
servants coming at an easy pace down the
course of the stream, the slow progress of the
boat having given an advantage to the party on
land ; and in front, a little more than half way
between them and Occhiobello, a row boat was
perceived crossing the broad river from the left
bank to the right, apparently with great diffi-
culty, and heavy laden.

"That is Mantini's boat," said one of the
boatmen to the other.

"Ay, he'll get himself into a scrape some
day," said the old man. " You see he's got
horses in it now !"

" How is that likely to get him into a scrape?"
asked Lord Gowrie ; " Is the boat not fitted
for horses 1"

" Oh yes, signor," replied the man ; "but it
is not that I spoke of. The law says, no boat
shall carry horses, oxen, or asses, except the
regular ferry boats."

" Few would get across, then, by any other
conveyance," said Sir John Hume ; " for this
infernal tossing is beginning to make me think
that none but asses, would go in a small boat
when they could get a big one. Come, row
on, row on, my men ; for if you lose time grin-
ning at my joke, I shall not take it as a compli-
ment."

The men put their strength to the oar, and
the boat flew on a good deal more rapidly ; for
a gav> good-humored manner will always do
more with an Italian than either promises or
commands. The boat before them was rather
more than half way across the river, while they,

26

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

in the mid-stream, were rapidly approaching it.
when suddenly the old boatman, starting up,
pushed his way to the stern between the earl
and Mr. Rhind, and thrust his oar deep in the
water, somewhat in the fashion of a rudder,
exclaiming, " It is coming, by St. Antony ! keep
her head on, boys — keep her head on !" and
looking out along the course of the stream,
Lord Gowrie saw a wave rushing up against
the current, not unlike that which, under the
name of the Mascare, proves so frequently fatal
to boats in the Dordogne. Toward the middle
of the river, the height of this watery wall, as it
seemed to be, was not less than seven or eight
feet, though near the banks it was much less,
and all along the top was an overhanging crest
of foam, snow-white, like an edge of curling
plumes. A loud roar accompanied it ; and the
fierce hurricane, which was probably fehe cause
of the phenomenon, seemed to precede the bil-
low it had raised by some forty or fifty yards ;
for the heavy-laden boat which they had seen,
and which, having approached much nearer the
bank, was much less exposed to the force of
the rushing wave than their own, was in an in-
stant capsized by the violence of the blast, and
every one it contained cast into the rushing
water.

Horses and men were seen struggling in the
stream ; and with horror the earl beheld a wom-
an's garments also. " Toward the bank ! — to-
ward the bank !" he cried, " to give them help ;"
but the boatmen paid not the least attention,
and scarcely had the words quitted his mouth
when the wind struck their boat also. One of
the young men, who had been standing up, was
cast headlong into the bottom of the bark ; those
who were seated could hardly resist the fury of
the gale ; and the next instant the wall of water
struck them with such force, that instead of
rising over it, as the old boatman had hoped,
the skiff filled in a moment, and went down.

For an instant, the earl of Gowrie saw noth-
ing but the green flashing light of the wave, and
heard nothing but the roaring of the water in
his ears ; but, accustomed from his infancy to
breast the dangerous billows of the Frith of
Tay, he struck boldly out, rising to the surface,
with very little alarm for himself or for his com-
panion Hume, whom he knew to be a practiced
swimmer also. His first thought was for his
good old preceptor ; but he soon saw that Mr.
Rhind was even in a better condition than him-
self, having somehow got possession of an oar,
over which he had cast his arms, so as both to
hold it fast, and to keep his head and shoulders
out of water. The old boatman and his two
sons were seen at some little distance striking
away toward the shore ; and Hume, never
losing his merriment even in the moment of the
greatest peril, shouted loudly, " Get to land,
Gowrie — get to land ! I will pilot Rhind to
the bank, if he will but keep his helm down,
and his prow as near to the wind as possible."

As Hume was much nearer to the worthy
tutor, Lord Gowrie followed his advice ; but
the first two strokes which he took toward the
land, drifting, as he did so, part of the way
down the stream, showed him at a few yards'
distance a scene of even greater interest than
that which actually surrounded him. It was
that of the boat which had been capsized by the

first rush of the hurricane. It nad not sunk at
once as his own smaller craft had done, and
one or two men were clinging to a part of it
which appeared above the water. Close by, a
horse's head and neck protruded above the
stream ; and the hoofs were seen beating the
water furiously, in the poor animal's violent
efforts to reach the land. Considerably nearer
to the earl was a group of three persons, two
men and a woman. One of the men, only a few
feet distant from the others, and apparently but
little practiced in the art of swimming, was
struggling furiously, with energetic efforts, to
reach a better swimmer, who was not only
making his own way toward the shore, but sup-
porting coolly and steadily with his left hand
the head and shoulders of the girl beside him.
She herself was dressed in the garb of a peas-
ant ; but a feeling of terror indescribable seized
upon the earl, when in the face of the man
who supported her he recognized the features
of his own servant, Austin Jute. He saw in
an instant, that if the drowning man once caught
hold of them, all three must inevitably perish ;
and swimming toward them as fast as possible,
he shouted, "To the shore, Austin — to the
shore ! Don't let him reach you, or you're
lost !"

" Here, take her, my lord," cried Austin Jute
— "take her, and leave me to settle with him.
Drowning men catch at a straw ; and he has got
hold of one of the tags of my jerkin — in God's
name take her quick, or he'll have us all down !

As he spoke, the earl reached his side. He
asked no questions, for one look at the girl's
face before him was enough. The dark eyes
were closed. The long black hair floated in
ringlets on the water, and the face was very
pale, but the small, fair hands were clasped to-
gether on the breast, as if with a strong effort
to resist an almost overpowering inclination to
grasp at the objects near.

" She lives," thought the earl, cheered by
that sign; and placing his hand under* her
shoulders he bade the servant let go his hold.
Then, with no more exertion than was needful
to support himself and her in the water, and to
guide them in an oblique line toward the shore,
he suffered the stream to bear them on. The
only peril that remained was to be encountered
in passing the boat, where the horse was still
struggling furiously ; but that was safely avoid-
ed, and then, confident in his own strength and
skill, the earl made more directly for the bank,
and reached it just as the sun was disappear-
ing in the west. For one so young, Lord
Gowrie had known in life both very bitter sor-
row and very intense joy; but nothing that he
had ever felt was at all to be compared with his
sensations at the moment when, after stagger-
ing up the bank with Julia in his arms, he placed
her on the dry turf at the foot of a mulberry tree,
and gazed upon her fair face, as she lay with the
eyes still closed.

"Julia," he said, "Julia;" and then every
thing gave way to joy as she faintly opened
her eyes and unclasped her hands. The bright
purple light of evening was streaming around
them, and glancing through the vine leaves
which garlanded the trees. There was no
one there but themselves; and with warm and
passionate joy he kissed her fair cheek agaiu

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

27

and again, ai.d wrung the water from her hair,
and bound the long tresses round her ivory
brow, while, with wild words of tenderness
and love, he poured forth the mingled expres-
sion of joy, an-d apprehension, and thankful-
ness. For a moment or two she did not speak.
I know not indeed whether it was terror, or
exhaustion, or the overpowering emotions of
the moment that kept her silent ; but even
when she could find words they were at first
but two, "Oh, Gowrie !"

A moment after they were joined by Sir John
Hume and Mr. Rhind, and, looking up the
stream, Gowrie saw a group of several persons
on the bank, busy apparently, in helping suf-
ferers out of the water.

" Did you see my man Austin, Hume 1" asked
the earl, after some other words had passed, of
that quick and whirling kind by which moments
of much agitation are followed.

" Oh yes, he is safe," answered Hume. " In-
deed, you need not have asked the question,
he'll not drown easily, though another fellow
near him did his best to prevent him keeping
his head above water."

"It was that which alarmed me for him,"
replied the earl ; " and I owe him too much
this day, Hume, not to feel anxious for his
safety. •• Are you sure he reached the shore V

" Quite sure," replied his friend, " and I trust
that there are not many lost from among us.
Fair lady," he continued, taking Julia's hand,
" I rejoice indeed to see you safe, and if Gow-
rie will take my advice, and you can find
strength to walk, he will lead you at once to
the little town down there, where you can dry
your wet garments and obtain some refresh-
ment and repose."

As the young knight spoke, Mr. Rhind turned
an inquiring glance to Lord Cowrie's face, as
if he would fain have asked who the beautiful
creature before him was, and what was her
connection with his former pupil. The earl
did not remark the expression, however ; but
Julia called his attention away by touching his
hand, and making a sign to him to bend down
his head. He did so at once, and, after listen-
ing to a few whispered but eager words, he
said aloud, "No, we will not go to Occhiobello.
There is a village up there, it will do well
enough. Have you strength to go, Julia 1 If
not, we will either get or make a litter for you."

She rose feebly, however, and though feeling
faint and giddy, declared that she was quite
capable of walking. " Let us see first," she
added, " if all the people are saved. It would
darken the joy of our own escape if any of the
rest were lost."

"Here comes your man Jute," said Sir John
Hume, addressing the earl. " He will tell us
how the others have fared."

They walked on a little way to meet the
man who was approaching ; and as soon as he
was within earshot the earl called to him, in-
quiring if all were safe.

"Two have gone to the bottom, my good
lord," replied Austin ; "the master of our own
boat for one and the same fellow who tried
bo hard to dog me down with him. For the
former I am sorry enough for he seemed a good
cheerful-minded man ; but for the latter I don't
care a rush ; and, to say truth, I believe he

may be as well where he is He followed us
down to the boat, my lord," continued Jute, in
a whisper to the earl, " anu jumped in, willy
nilly, just as we were putting off. I've a great
notion he had no good will to my young lady,
for he kept his eyes fixed upon us the whole
time, as if ready to make a spring at us as soon
as we got out of the boat."

" You must tell me more by-and-by," said
the earl. "Now let us forward."

Thus saying, with Julia's arm through his
own, he walked slowly on toward the group
which was standing on the bank, while Hume
followed conversing with Mr. Rhind, whom he
seemed to be teazing by exciting his curiosity
in regard to Julia, without satisfying him by a
single word. Such broken sentences as, " Oh,
very beautiful indeed. Don't you think sol —
Quite a mystery altogether — I can tell you
nothing about it, for I know nothing — Gowrie
has known her a long time — Her name 1 Lord
bless you ! my dear sir, I don't know her name,
I hardly know my own sometimes — " reached
Gowrie's ear from time to time, and brought a
serious smile upon his lip. At length, how-
ever, they approached the group upon the bank,
and found the whole of the Italians much more
taken up with grief for the various losses they
had sustained than with joy at their own escape
from a watery grave. The brother of the man
Mantini, who had been drowned, was sitting
upon the sand, pouring forth a mixture of
strange lamentations, sometimes' for the boat,
sometimes for his brother. The other old fish-
erman and his two sons were wringing their
hands, and bemoaning the ruinous accident
which had befallen them. The old man could
not be comforted ; and his sons seemed to in-
crease the paroxysms of his grief, from time to
time, by recapitulating the various perfections
of their little craft, and the sums of money
which had been expended upon her. Lord
Gowrie, however, contrived very speedily to
tranquilize their somewhat clamorous grief
by saying, " Do not wring your hands so, my
good man ; you lost your boat in my service,
and the best you can buy or build to replace
it, you shall have at my cost. Show us now
the way to that village, for I see no path toward
it ; and come and see whether you can procure
some lodging for us there during the night. I
dare say you know most of the good people
there, and can tell us where we can find rest
and provisions."

The old man declared that the best of every
thing was to be found in the village, though
there was a better inn, he said, at Occhiobello,
which was not above three-quarters of a mile
farther.

" That makes all the difference to the lady,"
replied the earl ; " and we shall do very well at
the village for the night."

He then approached the younger Mantini,
and attempted to comfort him as he had done
the other boatman, by promising to pay the
amount of his loss.

" That won't buy back my brother," said the
man, sadly. "I should not have cared a straw
about the old boat if it had not been for that."

" That is God's doing, not man's," replied
the earl ; " and man can not undo it. This
should be some comfort, for he deals better for

88

GOWRIE : OR, THE KINGS PLOT.

as than we could deal for ourselves ; but think
of what I have said, and let me know the ex-
pense of a new boat, this night, at the village
there. Can you tell who was the other unfor-
tunate man who has been drowned?"

"His name I don't know," answered the
boatman ; " bat when I wanted to keep him
out of the boat, which was too heavy laden as
it was, he whispered that he was a messenger
of the holy office, and told me to refuse him a
passage at my peril. He brought a curse into
our boat, I trow, or we should not have had
such a storm ; but there is no use of my sitting
here and watching the water. Two horses
and two men have gone down beside the boat,
and no one of them will ever rise again till the
last trumpet calls them out of the grave. I
may as well go with you to the village as sit
here watching the water that rolls over them
all ;" and getting up, he followed the rest of the
party with his hands behind his back, in dull
and silent grief.

CHAPTER VIII.

Do you know well, dear reader, any of those
'irge villages which are scattered over what
may be called the Mantuan plain 1 They deserve
not, indeed, the name of towns, though they
often approach them in size. I mean such
places as San Felice, Gonzaga, Bozzolo, San-
guinetto, ana\others of that class, which now
present a number of small scattered stone
houses, with gardens generally around them,
and a road running through the midst ; and
here ana* there a much larger house falling
rapidly to decay, with no windows to keep out
the storm or the tempest, and very often the
roof completely off, while the tall square tower,
which is certain to be found stuck somewhere
about the building, rises one, if not two stories
above the rest. The church is generally placed
upon any little rising ground, sometimes at one
extreme of the village, sometimes in the middle,
with the priest's cottage close by ; but in any
of these at the present day, you might as well
look for an inn as for the shop of a diamond
merchant, unless you chose to call by that
name the little hovel, surrounded by a garden,
where, on festival days, the peasantry go to
drink their glass of Rosolio and water, wine,
lemonade, or, since the Austrians have bestrid
the land, vermuth.

In the days I speak of, however, when jour-
neys were almost always performed on horse-
back, and cross-roads shared more liberally
with highways in the patronage of travelers,
those larger houses which I have mentioned,
were all inhabited by wealthy contadini, who
often combined with their ordinary occupation
of farmers the more lucrative calling of inn-
keeping. The large farms which they held
furnished abundance of provisions for any acci-
dental guests, and the upper parts of the house,
though scantily decorated, were kept ready for
the reception of travellers, in case the blessing
of heaven, the plague in a neighboring town,
or the bad reputation of the high road, brought
the wayfarers to villages in preference to cities.
Very different, indeed, were the customs and
habits of such inns at that time, from those

which have prevailed within the last century
or, perhaps, even more ; for though not more
than two hundred and fifty years have passed,
yet from the end of the sixteenth to the begin-
ning of the seventeenth century, were times
of great change in the habits and manners of
all the nations of Europe ; and at the small
village inn in Italy, instead of seeing waiters
tapsters or drawers, or even barmaids anc
chambermaids, all running eagerly to receive
the unexpected guest, the landlord would rise
up from under his fig-tree or his olive, with a
courteous salutation, and his sons and daughters
would be called upon to attend his guests.

Such was the reception of the Earl of Gowrie
and his companions, at the little inn in the
village which I have described upon the banks
of the Po. One of the first houses they met
with was a large building, such as I have
described, with its tall square tower of five
stories at one corner, the whole situated at a
distance of a hundred yards from the roau, with
a farm-yard in front. On the left of that farm-
yard was a vineyard, rich with grapes ; and
from a pole leaning over the wall, hung sus-
pended a garland, as indication sufficient that
hospitable entertainment was to be found with-
in. The host himself was seated under a tree
in the vineyard, pigliar la fresca, as he called
it himself; but no sooner did he see the party
enter the court-yard, than up he started, not-
withstanding his age and his fat, both of which
were considerable, and hurrying forward to do
the honors to his guests, called loudly for
Bianca, and Maria, and Pietronillo, to assist in
making the visitors comfortable. The whole
house was bustle and confusion in a moment ;
and although it could not afford accommodation
to all, yet the Earl of Gowrie and his own
immediate companions found every thing they
could desire. Austin Jute was immediately
sent back to bring his fellow-servants, who
were coming down the river with the horses ;
and the boatmen were lodged in the neighbor-
ing houses, to fill the pitying ears of the villagers
with moving tales of disasters undergone.

Such details were not wanting to excite the
interest, and in some degree the wonder of the
host, his daughters, and his son. There was
something in the air, the countenance, and
even in the dress of the gentlemen who made
the house their temporary residence, which
seemed to show that they were foreigners ; yet
two of them spoke the language with the most
perfect purity even of accent, and not the
slightest tone of their fair companion indicated
that she was not a native of the country. But
then, in her case, her dress was that of a mere
Paduan peasant on a gala day, while her lan-
guage, her manners, and her whole appearance,
denoted a much higher station, and from time
to time she spoke to her companions in another
tongue, without the slightest appearance of dif-
ficulty or hesitation. The pretty country girl,
too, who aided her to change her wet garments
for others which she kindly and willingly sup-
plied, brought down the report that every part
of her dress but the mere gown and bodice,
were of the very finest materials, and that she
had taken from her bosom a trinket shaped
like a heart, surrounded with what seemed to
her jewels of inestimable value.

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT

2f

The rooms which were assigned to the trav-
elers were somewhat difficult to allot, for each,
as was and is still very common in Italian
houses, opened into the other ; and the young
earl had determined that thenceforth Julia
should be guarded by himself. When he
pointed o'ut, therefore, as they passed through
them, the. end chamber of the whole suite as
that which was best suited to her, and took
possession of the next for himself, good Mr.
Rhind's severe notions seemed a little shocked,
and though he did not venture to make any
observation, he looked exceedingly grave.

Lord Gowrie took no notice, though he did
not fail to remark the change of expression,
for from the few private words which had
passed between himself and Julia, he felt that
the time was come when it would be necessary
very speedily to give whatever explanation he
thought needful. It could not, indeed, be
afforded at the moment,' but a few minutes
after, stopping one of the daughters of the
host, he said, " Stay a moment, Bianchina.
The signora may be alarmed at sleeping in a
strange house alone. You must kindly take
the other bed in her chamber."

" With much pleasure, sir," replied the girl,
and tripped away. This being arranged to the
satisfaction of Lord Gowrie, and even to that
of Mr. Rhind, there remained another feat to
be accomplished, which was, to obtain a quiet,
unwatched, private conversation with Julia, in
which he might learn all that had befallen her.
The few words which she had spoken on the
bank of the river had given him a general
knowledge of the greater misfortunes which
had happened, but to a heart that loved as his
did, the smallest particular, the most minute
detail, was interesting. He longed to hear her
tell all, to comfort her for all, and his imagina-
tion, which was quick and eager, painted all
that she had endured — the sorrow, the terror,
the agitation. He grieved bitterly that he had
not been present to protect and to console her at
the time when si»h evils had overshadowed,
and such difficulties had obstructed her path of
life, and he thirsted to pour the balm of sym-
pathy and affection into the gentle heart so
bruised.

Many an obstacle presented itself, however,
during the next hoor, to any private communi-
cation. The whole house was in a bustle ; beds
were to be made, rooms arranged, supper pre-
pared. Julia had to change her dripping gar-
ments and to obtain others ; the earl to give
various orders, and to bestow the promised
compensation upon the boatmen ; the host, his
son, his daughters, and a maid were running
from room to room, and chattering with every
body ; the servants who had been left to follow
with the horses arrived to increase the numbers
and the confusion, and some time after Austin
Jute made his appearance, bearing the little
packet which Julia had carried with her from
Padua.

" Nothing is lost," he observed, " but what is
at the bottom of the sea. Search saves seek-
ing. All deep things have a bottom."

It was easier to obtain speech of him than of
Julia at that moment, and the earl soon learned
all tint Austin himself knew — the death of good
old Manucci. the wild and absurd rumors which

had spread after his decease, and the risk which
the beautiful gid herself had run of being com-
mitted to prison upon the charge of taking part
in the old man's supposed unlawful arts, and
being imbued with heretical notions. The
means taken to effect her escape were then de-
tailed, and Austin Jute went on to say " We
got on very well that night, my lord, and leach-
ed a little country inn which I remembered well,
at Battaglia, where, although the accommoda-
tion was poor enough, I thought we should be
in safety. I was forced to tell many a lie, it is
true, and say that the young lady was my sis-
ter, which the people believed, because we
spoke nothing but English to each other, al-
though the family likeness is not very great,
and she was dressed like an Italian girl. The
next morning, however, I found that there were
people out in pursuit of us. One of the spar-
row-hawks had stopped at the inn in the night
to refresh his horse and himself, and refreshing
himself somewhat too much, he chattered about
his errand, for when the wine is in, the wit is
out, my lord. The people of the place were all
agog about it, for they had not had a bit of sor-
cery and heresy for a long time ; and from their
talk I found that he was going toward Rovigo,
to give orders at the ferries and the bridges for
apprehending us. That forced us to turn out
of our way, and cross the Adige higher up ; but
I made up for lost time by selling the two asses,
and buying two good horses, and we crossed
the country between the Adige and the Po
quick enough. The difficulty was how to get
over this great river, for I did not doubt that
our picture had been painted at every passage
house ; and besides, I had seen, two or three
times, a man who seemed to me watching us.
I went along the bank, therefore, till I found
the boat in which we did try to cross just ready
to start with some of the peasants. For a higt
bribe the man agreed to take us and our horses,
though it's against the law ; but just as we were
putting off, down came the black-looking fellow
whom I had seen several times following, jump-
ed off his horse, tied the beast to the boat post,
and forced his way into the boat. All the rest
you know, my lord, and all I can say is, if he
was upon a bad errand, the fellow has gone to
answer for it. He tried hard to drown me, but
I would not let him."

Such was Austin Jute's brief tale ; and in a
few minutes after, the boatman, Mantini, came
in to receive what had been promised him
His calculation regarding the value of the boat
which had been lost seemed to be just and even
moderate; and after having paid him his de-
mand, the earl added ten Venetian ducats
more.

"I can not recall your brother to life, my
good friend," said Gowrie, "nor can I compen-
sate for his loss to you and others ; but if he
has left any children, distribute that small sum
among them, on the part of a foreign gentleman
who sincerely commiserates their misfortune."

The rough boatman, with the quick emotions
of the south, caught his hand and kissed it, say-
ing, "God bless you, sir !" He then turned
away toward the door, but paused before he
reached it, and coming back, he said in a low
voice, " I hear you know the signora who was
in our boat ; and I think, from the way you

30

COWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT

looked at her, that you love her. If so, start to-
morrow morning at daybreak, avoid Ferara and
all this side of Italy, and get into the Parmesan,
or some place where they will not look for you."

The earl gazed at him for a moment in silence,
and then replied, "This is indeed a valuable
hint, my good friend, if you have just cause for
suspecting any evil intended against us» So
far I will acknowledge you are right : the young
lady is well known to me, and her safety is
dearer to me than my own."

" I have just cause, signor," replied the man.
" The river has delivered the signora from one
of those who were pursuing her, but there are
others watching for her at Ferara, and all along
the course of the stream. The man who came
into our boat just as we were putting off — he
who was drowned, I mean — told me, in a whis-
per, that he was a messenger of the holy office,
and bade me run to Occhiobello at once, to ask
the podesta for assistance to apprehend the lady
and the man who was with her, as soon as we
landed from the boat. It was that made me
say he brought a curse with him, for he seem-
ed to rejoice as much at the thought of catching
a poor young thing like that, as others would
at making her happy. I heard all about the plans
they had laid for taking her ; and he said it was
the duty of every orui to give instant informa-
tion. I shall give none, and you are safe for
me ; but there are other people here who will be
chattering, and the noise of the loss of the two
boats, and the drowning of two men, will bring
plenty of inquirers to-morrow morning. If I
can put them on a wrong scent, however, I will."

The earl thanked him warmly for his infor-
mation, and then held a hurried consultation
with Hume, to which, at the end of a few min-
utes, Austin Jute was called. It was evident,
no time was to be lost in preparing for a very
early departure on the following morning.
Horses had to be purchased, to supply the place
of those which had been drowned ; and it seem-
ed also needful to procure a different dress for
Julia, as it was now clear that the persons in
pursuit of her had obtained information of the
costume in which she had left Padua ; and
moreover, her traveling in the garments of a
peasant girl, with three gentlemen in a high
station in society, would assuredly attract atten-
tion at every inn where they stopped. Where
or how this change of apparel was to be obtain-
ed, proved a very puzzling question ; for al-
though the use of ready-made garments was in
that day much more common than at present,
yet it was not to be expected that the village
could supply such, nor that even Occhiobello
possessed a shop where any thing of the kind
could be obtained.

" I will go and talk to one of the girls of the
house about it," said Hume. " There is supper
being served, I see. You go in, Gowrie, and
partake, while I seize upon Bianchina, or her
sister, and try to discover what is to be done."

He was more fortunate than might have been
anticipated, for he found the two daughters of
the innkeeper together, and quite willing to
enter into conversation or gossip upon any sub-
ject he chose. Nevertheless, it was not very
easy to explain to them what he wanted, with-
out explaining, at the same time, Julia's danger-
ous and painful situation ; but when he had at

length accomplished the task, well or ill, the
younger girl looked at her sister with an expres-
sion of intelligence.

" So," she said, " the lady wants a dress,
does she 1 and that is all. Well, I think that
can be easily procured for her. Don't you re-
member, Biarrca, the Venetian lady who was
here last year, and left a coffer behind her?"

" Well," replied the other sister, looking
shrewdly at Sir John Hume, " I thought, when
first I set eyes on her, that the signora was not
peasant born. Now, I'll warrant me, she has
stolen away in disguise from home, some dark
night; to meet her lover here ; and the wild
river had well nigh given them a mournful
bridal bed — 'tis very strange that all the ele-
ments seem to make war against love. I never
yet heard of any of these stolen matches going
forward without being crossed for a while by
storms and accidents."

Sir John Hume thought it might be no bad
policy to suffer the turn which the light-hearted
girl had given to the fair Julia's flight and dis-
guise, to remain uncontradicted ; and he replied,
laughing, " Well, thou art a little divineress.
Don't you think I'm a proper man for any fair
lady to run away from home to mate with 1"

" No, no," answered the girl, with a shrewd
glance ; " it is not you she came to mate with,
it is your friend ; and you stand by, like the dog
by his master's chair, watching the good things
provided for him, and only taking what scraps
he gives you. Ha ! ha ! gay signor, have I
touched you V

" By my faith you have, and hit hard," re-
plied Sir John Hume ; " but I will have a kiss
for that, Bianchina, before we part."

" It must be in the dark, then," cried the girl,
laughing ; " for fear I should see your face ana
not like it."

" But about this Venetian lady's goods and
chattels, my two pretty maids," said the young
knight, recurring to the subject. " We can
not break her coffer open and steal her ap-
parel."

" Trouble not ycur brain with that, gay sign
or," answered the girl Maria. " We will not
make you take part in robbery."

" Unless you steal my heart, and I lose it
willingly," replied the knight.

" No fear of that ; it is not worth stealing,"
replied the girl. " If it has been bestowed on
every country girl you meet, it must be well
nigh worn out by this time. As to the apparel,
it belongs to us, now. That sweet lady's case
was mueh of the same sort as this one's. She
fled from a hard father at Venice, and came
hither to meet her lover, and fly with him to
Bergamo ; but by some mischance, it was nine
whole days before he found her, and all that
time we hid her close, though the pursuers
tracked her almost to our door. We used to
sit with her, too, and comfort her, and talk of
love, and how fortune often favored it at hst,
after having crossed it long. At the end of the
nine days, the young marquis came and found
her ; but as they were obliged to fly for their
lives on horseback, the coffer was lfeft behind ;
and when she got home and was married, she
wrote to bid us keep it far her love, and divide
the contents between us. They are not gar-
ments fit for such as we are ; long Mack robes

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

31

which would cover our feet and ankles, and
trail upon the ground, mantles and hoods, and
vails of Venice lace. We cut up one velvet
cloak, to make us bodices for holidays, but that
is all we have taken yet ; and we can well
spare the lady garments enough for her jour-
ney, and more becoming her than those which
now she wears."

This was very satisfactory news to the young
Earl of Gov/rie, when his friend joined him at
supper, after parting from the two gay girls
above, with an adieu belter suited to the man-
ners of that day than to our notions in the
present timas. As soon as supper was over,
he hastenedw»ith his friend and Julia to con-
clude the ban&in for the contents of the Vene-
tian lady's c%Ter ; and, to say truth, though
good-humoredffctely, and kind-hearted, the inn-
keeper's two daughters showed a full apprecia-
tion of that with which they were parting, and
did not suffer it to go below its value. To
make up, however, for this little trait of in-
terestedness, Maria and Bianchina set instantly
to work with needles and thread and scissors,
to make the garments jit their new owner ; and
leaving Julia with them, after a whispered pe-
tition that she would, join him soon in the gar-
dens, the earl wen? down again to the eating
room, purposing at once to enter in explanation
with Mr. Rhind, in order to save grave looks or
admonitions for the future.

He found his former tutor, however, sound
asleep, worn out with the fatigues and anxieties
of the day, and soothed to slumber by a hearty
supper, and a stoup of as good wine as the vil-
lage could afford.

" Faith, Gowrie," said Sir John Hume, " I
could well nigh follow old Rhind's example ;
but I may as well stroll through the village
first, and see what is going on. There is
nothing like keeping watch and ward. Will
you comer'

The earl, however, declined, and strolled out
into the gardens, which extended to the banks
of that little river, which, taking its rise some-
what above Nonantola, joins the Po not much
higher up than Occhiobello.

CHAPTER IX.

The moon was clear in the heaven, the skies
in which she shone were of that deep intense
blue, which no European land but Italy or Spain
can display; there was an effulgence in her
light, which mingled the rays with the deep
blue woof of the night-heavens so strongly, that
the stars themselves seemed vanquished in the
strife for the empire of the sky, and looked out
but faint and feeble.

In a small arbor covered with vines, on the
bank of the stream, sat the Lady Julia and her
lover. The bright rays of the orb of night
floated lightly on the water, changing the dark
flowing mass into liquid silver, while a hazy
light poured through the olive, the fig, and the
vine, giving a faint mysterious aspect to the
innumerable trees, and enlivening various spots
upon the dull, cold, gray earth, with the yellow
radiance of the queen of night.

I believe it is as fruitless as difficult to try to
analyze the feelings of the human heart, when

that heart is strongly moved by the impulses
implanted in it by nature, called into activity by
accidental and concurring circumstances. That
nature has laid down a rule, and that the heart
always acts upon it with more or less energy,
according to its original nowers, I do strongly
believe ; but it seems to ii,e fruitless, or at all
events but little beneficial, to investigate why
certain bosoms, especially those of southern
climates, are moved by more warm and eager
feelings than others. The operation of man's
mind and of his heart are as yet mysteries ;
and no one who has ever written upon the
subject has done more than take the facts as
they found them, without at all approaching
the causes. We talk of eager love ; we speak
of the warm blood of the south ; we name
certain classes of our fellow-beings, excitable,
and others, phlegmatic ; but we ourselves little
understand what we mean when we apply such
terms, and never try to dive into the sources of
the qualities or the emotions we indicate. We
ask not how much is due to education, how
much to nature ; and never think of the im-
mense sum of co-operating causes which go to
form that which is in reality education. Is
man or woman merely educated by the lessons
of a master, or the instructions and exhorta-
tions of a parent ] Are not the acts we wit-
ness, the words we hear, the scenes with
which we are familiar, parts of our education !
Is not the Swiss, or the Highlander of every
land, educated in part by his mountains, his val-
leys, his lakes, his torrents 1 Is not the in-
habitant of cities subjected to certain permanent
impressions, by the constant presence of crowds
and the everlasting pressure of his fellow-men'?
Does not the burning sun, the arid desert, the
hot blast, teach lessons never forgotten, and
which become part of nature to one class of
men ; and frozen plains, and lengthened win-
ters, and long nights, other lessons to the na-
tives of a different region 1 Give man what
instruction you will, by spoken words or writ-
ten signs, there is another education going on
forever, not only for individuals, but for nations,
in the works of God around them, and in the
circumstances with which his will has encom-
passed their destiny.

Perhaps no two people upon earth had ever
been educated more differently than the two
who sat together in that garden, and yet,
strange to say, in the character of each had
been produced traits which, while they left a
strong distinction, disposed to the most perfect
harmony. Gowrie, born amidst rich and wild
scenery, had passed his earliest days in troub-
lous and perilous events. Constant activity,
manly exercises, dangerous sports, and wild
adventures, had been alternated with calm
study ; and acting on a mind of an inquiring
and philosophic turn, and a frame naturally
robust, had increased and early matured the
powers of each. Thus had passed his days to
the age of seventeen, and then a perfect change
had taken place in his course of life. Removed
to Padua, he had devoted himself for some
years solely to the cultivation of his under
standing ; and had followed eagerly, and with
extraordinary success, inquiries not alone into
the lore of ancient days, but into those physical
sciences which were then known but to a few.

1 \

32

G0WR1E : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

and often perilous to the possessor. Love had
come at length to complete the education of
the heart, just when the education of body and
mind was accomplished.

Julia, on the contrary, had been snatched, at
a period beyond her memory, from the dangers
and difficulties which had surrounded her in-
fancy. She had passed the whole period of
early youth in calm and quiet studies, directed
to unite every grace and accomplishment with
strength of mind and firmness of principle. No
tender, no gentle affection had been crushed ;
her spirit had been embittered by no harshness ;
her heart had been injured by no disappoint-
ment; no rankling memory of any kind was in
her bosom, and her affections had been culti-
vated as well as her understanding. Bright and
cheerful, deep-feeling, and true by nature, a
sonse of duty had been given her as a guide,
and not a tyrant ; and her attachments and her
enjoyments, limited to a very small sphere, had
gained intensity from their concentration upon
Tew objects.

And there they now sat, side by side," with
tier hand locked in his, telling and hearing the
ia.\e of the first great griefs which she had ever
known. Youth forms but a faint idea of mor-
tality till the dark proofs are placed tangibly
before its eyes. We know that those we love
must die ; but hope still removes the period, and
draws a vail over the terrors of death. She
had sometimes sat and thought of it — especi-
ally when her old relation had pointed out that
the great enemy of the mortal frame was ap-
proaching more and more closely to himself —
but she had never been able to realize the grim
features as they appeared to her now, when she
had seen them near; and now, when she spoke
of the loss of him in whom, for so many years,
all her feelings and her thoughts had centered,
she leaned her head upon Gowrie's shoulder,
and the tears flowed fast.

It was natural — it was very natural, that she
should cling with but the stronger affection to
him who now sat beside her. The first strong
love of woman's heart had been given to him,
and that is intense and absorbing enough ; but
he was now the only one ; there was no par-
tition of affection with any other being in the
world ; neither brothers nor sisters, nor parents
nor friends, shared her thoughts or divided her
attachment. The cup of love was full to the
brim. Not one drop had been spilled ; and it
was all his own.

Nor were his feelings less intense toward
her, though different ; for man's part is ever
different in the great moving passion of youth.
To protect, to defend, to befriend, is his allot-
sd portion of the compact between man and
woman ; and to feel that he was all in all to
her, thut she had none to took to but him, that
then and forever her fate rested on his power
and his will, that his arm must be her stay, his
spirit her guide, his love her consolation, ren-
dered the deep passion, which her beauty, her
grace, her gentleness first kindled, but the more
warm and ardent. It was pure, and high, and
noble, too. He forgot not at that moment the
promises which Manucci had exacted from him.
He proposed not to himself or her to break
them. He told her all that had passed ; and
though he expressed regret that such delay

must interpose before he could call her his own,
and showed how much easier, safer, and hap-
pier their course would be, if she could at once
give him her hand at the altar, yet he express-
ed no desire, at that time, to deviate from the
conduct pointed out. Pledged to follow it, it
seemed to him but as a road traced on a map,
which, though circuitous, would lead in the end
to happiness, and from which they could not
turn aside without losing their way entirely
It was only how they could best tread that
path that they considered; and there, indeed,
much was to be thought of and provided for.
The first object was to place the fair girl in
safety; for although a sad smile came upon her
countenance at the absurdity of the accusation,
when she spoke of the suspicions entertained
against her, yet those were days when inno-
cence was no safeguard, and the unreasonable-
ness of a charge was no security. The only
course to be followed seemed that which had
been pointed out by the boatman, Mantini —
namely to ascend the river as rapidly as possi-
ble, without venturing into the Venetian terri-
tory, and then to pass straight through Piedmont
and France, to England.

"We shall have time enough, as we go, dear
girl," said the young earl, " to examine the pa-
pers which your grandfather gave me, and to
judge what our course must be when we reach
Scotland. The first thing to be thought of,
however, is security, and therefore we had bet-
ter set out by daybreak. Doubtless my good
man Austin can procure a couple of horses be-
fore that time, and if not, two of those which
bear the baggage must carry a saddle, and the
packages follow by some other conveyance."

" I will be ready when you bid me," replied
Julia, " and do what you bid me, Gowrie ; but
there was one injunction which he whom I have
lost, laid upon me, when he told me to accom-
pany you to Scotland. He bade me to engage
some women to go with me as servants, say-
ing that it might seem strange if I journeyed
with you all alone. — I know not why it should
seem strange," she continued, raising her eyes
to his face ; " for whom have I to trust in but
you 1 and who, but you, has any right to pro-
tect and guide mel"

Gowrie smiled, and kissed the fair, small
hand he held in his ; but he answered at once,
" He is very right, dear Julia. It would seem
strange ; and men might make comments more
painful even to me than to you. The harsh,
hard world neither sees, nor tries to see, men's
hearts ; but wherever there is the opportunity
of evil, supposes that evil exists. Our poor
friend was right ; maids you shall have to go
with you ; but it is impossible to engage them
here : nor, indeed, would it be prudent to at-
tempt it. At Mantua, or Piacenza, we shall be
more free to act ; and in the mean time, I will
tell good old Mr. Rhind of the exact situation
in which we are placed, to prevent him from
coming to any wrong conclusions — I mean the
gentleman who sat next Sir John Hume at sup-
per ; he was formerly my tutor, and will return
with us to England."

" Oh, yes ; tell him — tell him," replied the
lady, eagerly. " He gazed at me often during
the meal, and I felt the color coming to my
cheek, I knew not why. It seemed as if he

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

3S

doubted me, and did not like my presence with
you."

" Nay, it is not exactly so," replied her lover.
"He is a good and gentle-minded man, only
somewhat too much a slave to the world's opin-
ion. As soon, however, as he knows all, he
will be quite satisfied, and aid us to the best of
his power. And now, dear Julia, seek your
rest ; for you will have but little time to repose ;
and we must make quick journeys and long
ones, till danger is left behind."

The earl did not calculate altogether rightly
upon Mr. Rhind's ready acquiescence. Wheth-
er it was that he had been suddenly awakened
in the midst of his sleep by the landlord light-
ing the tapers in the eating hall, or whether it
was that the portion of wine he had taken,
though not sufficient to affect his intellect, had
been enough to affect his temper, I can not tell ;
but certain it is, that he assumed a tone with
his former pupil which roused some feelings of
anger.

" I wish to speak with you, my lord," he said,
as soon as Lord Gowrie entered the room alone.

"And I with you, my dear sir," answered
the young earl. " What is it you desire to say 1"

" Why, there is something very strange here,
my lord," said the other, while Gowrie seated
himself. " You are suddenly and unexpect-
edly, as it seems, joined by a young woman of
very great beauty, with whom you are evident-
ly very well and intimately acquainted, but
whom I have never seen or heard of before.
Now, my dear lord, neither my character nor
my principles will permit me "

" Stop one moment," said the earl, interrupt-
ing him. " I wish to guard against your say-
ing any thing that may be offensive to me, and
which you would yourself regret hereafter.
Already you have used the term 'young wom-
an,' when you should have said ' young lady,'
for her manners, as well as her appearance,
should have taught you what her station is.
However, as I came here to explain to you my
own position and hers, I may as well go on, and
save you needless questions. She is a lady of
birth equal to my own, with whom, as you say,
I am well acquainted, and have been so long.
She is plighted to me to be my bride ; and but
for the loss of her nearest, and indeed only
kinsman in this country, I should have gone on
to find and claim her at Padua, and would there
have introduced you to her under more favor-
able circumstances."

He paused in thought for a moment, doubtful
as to whether he should tell Mr. Rhind the ab-
surd suspicions under which she whom he loved
had fallen ; for he knew his good tutor well,
and did not believe that those suspicions would
appear so ridiculous in the eyes of his compan-
ion as they were in his own.

Mr. Rhind, however, instantly took advan-
tage of his silence to reply. " What you tell
me, my lord, alarms me more than ever. What
will your lady mother — what will all your
friends and relations think of your marrying a
strange Ralian — a runaway, as it seems, from
her home and her family, a follower, of course,
of Popish superstitions and idolatries, a wor-
shiper of the beast, a disciple of the anti-
christ of Rome ? I must desire and insist "

" You will insist upon nothing with me, Mr.
C

Rhind," replied Gowrie, in a low, but some-
what stern tone. " Pray do not forget your-
self; but remember that yoar authority over
my actions has long ceased to exist — had, in-
deed, ceased before I made this lady's ac
quaintance. Old friendship, respect for your
virtues, and personal affection, may induce me
to condescend so far as to give you explana-
tions of my conduct and my purposes ; but it
must be upon the condition that you lay aside
that tone altogether."

Mr. Rhind found that he had gone a little too
far ; but yet he did not choose altogether to
abandon his purpose, and he replied, " Well,
my lord, my part can very soon be taken. It is
true, as you say, that you are your own master ;
but still I have a duty to you and to your fam-
ily to perform, which I must and will fulfill, and,
having done so, we can then part upon our
several ways if you think fit. That duty is
to represent to you the consequences of a
course "

" Of which you know nothing," answered
the earl, " being utterly and entirely ignorant
of the whole facts, and assuming a number of
positions, every one of which is false. Your
logic and your prudence have both failed you,
my good sir ; and as you still speak in a tone I
dislike, I think it will be much better to drop a
discussion which seems only likely to end in a
diminution of both my respect and my friend
ship."

" You are very hard upon me, my lord," re-
plied Mr. Rhind. " I am not conscious of hav-
ing deserved such treatment, and all I can say
is, if I have done so, I arn ready to make any
atonement in my power, as soon as you show
me that such is the case."

" That I can show you instantly," answered
Lord Gowrie ; " for I am sorry to say that you
have undoubtedly erred in every one of your
conclusions, and should have known me better
than to suppose that I would act in a manner
derogatory to my character, to my station, and
to the faith in which I have been brought up."

"The passions of young men," said Mr.
Rhind, gravely, "will often lead them to act
contrary even to their own judgment."

" I might reply to that observation somewhat
severely," said the earl, conquering a strong in-
clination to retaliate ; " but I will not do so,
and will merely show you how you have suf-
fered prejudice to warp your own judgment.
You have said the lady is an Italian. On the
contrary, she is my own countrywoman, the
daughter of a house as noble as my own. You
have said that she is a papist, a worshiper of
the beast, a follower of the antichrist of Rome.
These are harsh words, sir ; and they are all
false. She is a Protestant. Her father was a
Protestant, her mother, her grandfather. As to
the latter, by whom she was educated, he was
driven from his native country on account of
his testimony against the superstitious vanities
of that very church of Rome — do not interrupt
me. You have said that she is a runaway
from her family and friends. There you are
as much in error as in all the rest. She has
fled to me, on the death of her only surviving
relation in this country, to escape persecution ;
and one of the principal charges upon which
that persecution is ^bunded, is that she could

34

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

never be brought to attend upon the supersti-
tious observance of confession, or ask absolu-
tion at the hands of a mortal like herself. And
now, my good sir, having heard the facts, let
me tell }'ou my intentions. I have undertaken
to escort this young lady back to her native
country of Scotland ; to claim for her, and if
possible to restore to her the estates of which
she has been unjustly deprived ; and I have
promised to make her my wife at the end of
about twelve months from this time. All this
I will perform to the letter. Nay, more, I
should conceive it a duty, in the situation in
which she is placed, to urge her at once to give
me her hand, had I not bound myself solemnly
to refrain till the period I have mentioned is
past. This promise I will also keep, though in
keeping it I render the rest of the task I have
undertaken more delicate and difficult; but of
course I shall consider it a duty to take every
means in my power, by all tokens of outward
reverence and respect, to shield her, not only
from reproach but from suspicion, while trav-
eling under my protection to her native land.
You may aid me to do so if you will, and»in so
doing, I believe you will be performing a Chris-
tian act ; but still, if after what I have said
you entertain any hesitation, I do not press
you to do so, and leave you to act perfectly as
you think fit."

Mr. Rhind had bent down his head, feeling,
with a good deal of bitterness, that he had
placed himself greatly in the wrong ; and that
although he might still entertain great objec-
tions to the course the young earl was de-
termined to pursue, and be anxious to urge
upon him considerations to which he attached
great importance, his arguments would seem
weak and without force, after the injustice of
his first conclusions had been so completely
proved. There was a little struggle in his
breast between mortified vanity and the con-
sciousness of having shown himself rash and
prejudiced ; but various prudential considera-
tions arrayed themselves on the side of humil-
ity, and he answered in a low and deprecatory
tone, " I grieve most sincerely that I have done
the young lady wrong ; and I rejoice most sin-
cerely, my lord, to find that whatever other
objections may exist, your affections have been
fixed upon one so sincerely attached to the Prot-
estant faith. My only apprehension now is, as
to what your lady mother may think of such an
engagement entered into without her knowl-
edge and consent."

" Leave me to deal with my mother, my dear
sir," replied the earl ; " I know her better than
you do, and entertain no fear of the result.
She is far too wise a woman to assume author-
ity where she possesses none, but that which
affection and reverence give her. Nay, more,
she is too kind and too noble not to approve of
what I have done and what I intend to do,
when she finds that no reasonable objection
stands in the way of my affection, and that the
object of my love is in herself worthy of it.
Do I understand you right that it is your pur-
pose to bear me company as heretofore, and to
assist me in escorting this young lady to her
own land with decency and propriety V

" Most assuredly, my dear lord," replied Mr.
Rhind, " if you will accept my services ; and I

do hope and trust that you will not mention to
the young lady the prejudices I somewhat rash-
ly entertained, for it might lose me her favor,
and make her look upon me as an enemy in-
stead of a friend."

Lord Gowrie smiled, and gave him his hand,
saying, "Make your mind quite easy on that
score. I will make no mischief, my dear sir.
And now we had better all perhaps seek repose
as it will be needful for us to set off by day-
light to-morrow, and to alter our whole course,
taking the way toward Piacenza, as I dare not
cross any part of the Venetian territory, lest
my beautiful Julia should fall into the hands of
the hateful inquisition."

" God forbid !" exclaimed Mr. Rhind, to whom
the inquisition was an object of the utmost
terror and abhorrence. " If she runs such
risks for conscience sake, well may the dear
lady merit the love and reverence of all good
men."

The treaty of peace thus concluded, the earl
and his former tutor parted for the night ; and
Gowrie proceeded to inquire what had become
of Hume, and to ascertain the result of Austin
Jute's efforts to procure horses for their journey
of the following day.

CHAPTER X.

On one of the spurs of the Apennines, where
that large chain, which forms, as it were, the
spine of Southern Raly, approaches most close-
ly to the Mediterranean at its northern extrem-
ity, just about half-way between the fair town
of Piacenza and the frontiers of Piedmont, there
stood in those days, and there stands still, an
inn, to- which the inhabitants of the neighbor-
ing city frequently resort in the summer months,
to enjoy the cool upland air and the beautiful
scenery. It is situated a little higher up than
Borgonovo, and then bore the name of La Festa
Galante. The scenery round is wild and un-
cultivated, but full of picturesque beauty, with
myrtle-covered hills sloping down gently to the
wide plains of Lombardy, which lie stretching
out to an immense extent till sight is lost in
the blue distance. Ten days after the events
which I have related in the last chapter, the
Earl of Gowrie and his fair companion were
seated on the slope of the hill, at about a quar-
ter of a mile from the inn, gazing down with
delight on the splendid landscape beneath them,
while the setting sun poured his last rays over
the mountains and the plain, and gilded the
steeples and the towers of Piacenza, making
the city look much nearer than it really was.
The distance might be some seventeen or
eighteen miles, and the period of the year had
passed when the inhabitants of the town were
accustomed to come thither to escape the heat
ed streets and crowded thoroughfares. There
were no other guests in the house but the ear
and his party ; and a more quiet and secluded
spot could not well have been chosen for fugi
tives to rest after a long flight, or lovers to pass
a few days of happy repose. The proximity of
another state, too, by crossing the frontier of
which security could soon be obtained, might
be one reason why the earl had selected that
spot as a place of temporary sojourn ^fter the

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

35

Tatigues and anxieties which Julia had lately en-
dured, for Voghera was not farther distant than
Piacenza, and the actual boundary was within
two miles of the inn.

All was calm and still around them. Mr.
Rhind sat reading a little farther down the hill.
A servant girl, who, with a sort of adventurous
spirit which often characterizes the peasantry
of that part of the country, had agreed to quit
her home at Borgonovo, and accompany the
strangers into distant lands, was plying the busy
needle within call. The sleepy evening sun-
shine and the blue shadow crept in longer and
longer lines over the short turf and the scatter-
ed myrtle bushes, and overhead, stretched out
like a canopy, the broad dark branches of four
or five gigantic pines, while, at a little distance
along the face of the hill, was seen peeping out
a Palladian villa, with large chestnut trees, serv-
ing rather to break the hard straight lines than
to conceal that a house stood there. The villa
indeed was uninhabited, for its owner had re-
tired into the city for the cooler and more rainy
months of winter ; but still it gave to a scene
unusually wild that air of habitation and society
which, under most circumstances, is pleasant
from the associations, produced.

Their conversation was not gay, but it was
cheerful — far more cheerful than it had been
since last they met ; for memory of the dead
had darkened the horizon behind them, and fre-
quent apprehension had spread clouds over the
prospect before. At several places where they
had stopped by the way, causes of alarm had
occurred ; and even at Piacenza they had found
reason to doubt their security. A man, who
had known Mr. Rhind in Padua, had met him
in the streets, and told him a distorted tale of
poor Manucci's death and Julia's flight, declar-
ing boldly that the old man had been addicted
to unlawful arts, and that it was suspected his
grand-daughter had aided him in their pursuit.
He added, however — what neutralized in the
mind of his hearer the effect of his tale, as far
as poor Julia was concerned — that she was
clearly guilty, because she had never been
known to come to confession or seek absolution
of the priest. Now, however, both Gowrie and
her he loved felt in security, for he had taken
measures to guard against surprise ; and the
memory of the loss she had lately sustained
had been somei hat softened by time and the
rapid passing c^ iny stirring events. Gowrie
strove to cheer 8te$, to remove apprehensions,
to efface the traces of the first deep sorrow she
had known ; and though gayety would have jar-
red with her feelings, yet a cheerful tone min-
gled with deep thought, will often find its way to
a heart which would reject direct consolation
and fly from painful merriment.

On the preceding day she and Gowrie had
read together the papers which had been in-
trusted to him by Manned, and the perusal had
been sad ; for there she found the tale of all that
her parents had suffered, and though she could
not but rejoice to feel that no disparity between
her own rank and that of her husband could
make his friends look cold upon her, yet the
impression — at least the first impression — was
melancholy.

He had marked it at the time, and would not
recur to the subject now, but spoke of other

things of a lighter nature, but which had more
or less connection with deeper and stronger
feelings.

" It is indeed a fair spot of earth, this pleas-
ant land of Italy," he said, as they gazed over
the scene before their eyes — " and yet, my lov-
ed Julia, there is always something sad in it to
my sight. The memories of the glorious past
contrast so strongly with the painful realities of
the present, that I can never enjoy these bright
scenes without wishing that a happier lot had
been assigned to those who inhabit them."

" But there are bright things here still," re-
plied Julia; "if the glory of arms is gone, the
glory of arts still survives."

" And policy has succeeded liberty," said
Gowrie, with a faint smile ; " but let us not,
love, dwell upon regrets. How gloriously the
rays of the setting sun are painting, almost
with ethereal splendor, that high campanile and
the old castle by its side, while the purple shad-
ow, resting upon the village below, marks it out
upon the illuminated bosom of the hill. There
may be more peace, perhaps, under that obscu-
rity, than in the sun-lighted towers above. I
am resolved, dear girl, to seek no glories.
See ! — even now the splendor is passing away,
and the gorgeous fabric is almost lost to sight.
No, no ! content and happiness are jewels bet-
ter worth the seeking than all that ambition can
offer or power can give."

" Thank Heaven you feel so," answered Julia
— " but tell me, Gowrie, something of your own
land — of my land too — of our land. I fear me,
from the way in which you admire the scenes
we pass through here, that it wants that beauty
which charms you so much."

" Oh, no !" answered Gowrie ; " it has beau-
ties of its own, far different, but not less great.
Its skies are often full of clouds, and its air of
mists ; rugged and stern are many of its fea-
tures, and its winds are cold and strong. But
those clouds give infinite variety to all they pass
over ; and if it be not a land of sunshine, it is at
least a land of gleams. The shadow and the
light wreath themselves in airy dance over the
prospect, and the purple heath and yellow
broom supply to us the myrtle and the gentia,
hardly less fragrant, and in naught less beauti-
ful. Then, the gray mists — let them not scare
you — for when they rise in the morning rays
from out the valleys, winding themselves round
the tall hills, they look like a gray cloak trim-
med with gold, wrapping the limbs of the giant
genius of the land. Then, though the features
of the landscape are, as I have said, bold and
rude, they attain in the sublime what they lose
in the beautiful, and striking the imagination
elevate the mind. Yet there are many beau-
ties, too, soft and gentle, and pleasant to look
upon ; for it is not all the deep dim lake, the
rocky mountains, the roaring cataract ; but
there are scenes as sweet and placid as any
even in this bright land ; and where you find
them, they seem like a smile upon a warrior's
face in a moment of peace and repose."

" I shall love it, I am sure," replied Julia ;
"for though I have seen but little of this wide
world, yet I have often gazed at beautiful pic-
tures with feelings that I can hardly describe—
a love and a longing to penetrate into the deep
glades, to roam among the rocky hills, to

56

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

trace the glistening river through the woods,
to see how the lake ends among the mountains,
to solve all the mysteries which the painter has
left to be the sport of fancy. But I have ever,
though pleased with both, loved those pictures
best which show me grand and striking scenes.
They seem to lift up my heart more directly
unto God. The rocks and mountains seem the
steps of his temple, his altar on the summit of the
hills. But what like is your own place at Pert hi"

" Our place," said Gowrie, pressing the small
hand that lay in his ; " 'tis a large old house in
one of the most beautiful cities in the land,
with wide chambers and long galleries. But
look, my Julia, there is a horseman coming
along the road from Borgonova, and spurring
hither at great speed. It may be my good fel-
low Austin, who is watching there ; and lo !
there are two others following at a somewhat
slower pace. Hola, Catharina, call out the
men ! We need not fear the coming of two
men, if there be no more behind. I think that
second figure looks like Hume. He does not
ride in the Italian fashion. But still he could
hardly have reached Padua, and followed us
hither so soon. The first is certainly Austin,
and he spares not the spur.

They stood and watched him, while some
three or four servants, well armed, as was the
custom of that day, came out and ranged them-
selves near their lord. In the mean time, the
first horseman was lost to their sight, plunging
in amid some brown woods which lay at the
bottom of the slope. Then, reappearing again,
he rode more slowly up the steep hill, while
the other two who followed were in turn con-
cealed by the wood.

In a few minutes, Austin Jute sprang to the
ground by his lord's side, saying, "Sir John
Hume, my lord, is coming up ; and I rode for-
ward to warn you."

" You should not have left the village, Aus-
tin," said the earl ; I bade you stay, unless you
saw cause for apprehension."

"True, my lord," answered the man ; "but I
have other tidings, too. Bad tidings make the
messenger ugly, so I told the good first. I fear
you will have to move in the cool of the even-
ing, for there is a fat Dominican, a slink official,
and two servitors down there below, who, I
wot, seek no good to the signora. I talked
with them easily, and made myself as simple as
a dove for their benefit. But there need be no
hurry and no fear, lady," he continued, seeing
Julia's cheeK turn somewhat pale, with that
sick-hearted feeling which comes upon us
amidst the anxieties of the world, when we
have known a brief period of repose, and the
fiend of apprehension appears at our side again.
" Cheer up, cheer up ! there are only four of
them, and we more than double their number.
They wont get much help from the podesta,
who is an atheist, thank Heaven ! Besides,
full barrels roll slow, and they are now filling
themselves with both meat and drink. It was
their first call, and I bestowed on each of them
a bottle of a wine which I knew to be neady on
an empty stomach."

" Here comes Hume," said the earl. " Keep
watch on that point of rock, Austin. In half
an hour it will be dark ; and methinks they
will not travel after sun-down."

" If they do," answered Austin Jute, " I will
undertake to rob them of their breviaries, and
make them think a single man a whole troop of
banditti ; for, being cruel, they must be cowards ;
at least I never saw those two bad things apart."

"Nothing of the kind, if you please, Jute,"
replied the earl, who had little doubt, from long
knowledge of his servant's character, that he
was very likely to execute in frolic what he
proposed in jest. " Go where I have told you
and watch the road well till night falls, or till 1
tell you to return."

" I suppose, if I see them trotting up, I may
ride down to bid God speed them, my lord,"
said Jute, taking two or three steps away. " I
heard one of the learned professors at Padua
say, 'Always meet a coming evil ;' and he add-
ed some Latin, which I don't recollect."

The earl did not reply, but turned to meet his
friend Hume, who, as gay and light-hearted as
ever, shook his hand with a jest, saying, "Here
is a letter for you, Gowrie ; may it bring good
news, though it came last from an evil place.
Dear lady, you may well look lovely, for you
have turned the heads of all the doctors in
Padua, only it unluckily happens that the effect
of beauty, like that of the sun, is changed by
what it shines upon, bringing forth fruits and
flowers in the garden and the field, and hatch-
ing viper's eggs upon a dunghill. They all
declare you are an enchantress ; and though
Gowrie and a great many more may think the
same thing, it is in a very different sense."

" They do me great wrong," answered Julia,
sadly ; " and they did wrong to him who is
gone, for his whole mind was turned to doing
good to his fellow men, and certainly never
dreamed of evil. If all people were as innocent
of guile as he was, we should have a more
peaceable world."

"They are not very peaceable in Padua,"
replied Hume, " for there has been a riot, and
many broken heads. I have to thank it, per-
haps, for being here, however, for the worthy
counsel of asses had well nigh made up their
minds to cause my arrest for having pronounced '
Gaelic, Gaelic ; and I do believe, if they did
not understand Italian, they would pronounce
it magic also. Well, what news, Gowrie 1 If
your epistle be as placable as mine from the
same hand, your affairs will po smoothly, and
happiness have a green turft lo canter over.
For my part, I shall go throug'ff Ihe rest of Eu-
rope like a shot out of a culverin, till I stop
rolling at dear Beatrice's pretty little feet."

While he had been speaking, Lord Gowrie
had been examining the contents of the letter
which his friend had given him ; and although
his eye had been straining eagerly on the page
with a look almost approaching to anxiety, as is
the case with most men of strong feelings when
they receive written tidings from distant friends,
there was a smile upon his lip which showed
that the contents were not unsatisfactory. We
may as well look over his shoulder, however,
while he stands there with the letter in his
hand, and read the words that it contains for
ourselves. Thus, then, the epistle ran : —

" To the Earl of Gowrie, our dear Son,
with love and affectionate greeting •
" Son— Your letter of the 16th of August,

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

37

by the hands of a trusty messenger, reached
us with speed ; and seeing that there are
therein contained things of weight, anent which
your mind is disquieted till you shall hear from
us, I write at once to let you know the mind
of your grand-uncle and myself. Having proved
yourself on all occasions wise and prudent,
even heyond your years, you do well to write
freely of your purposes to those who have your
love and interest much at heart, notwithstand-
ing that you are now of an age both to judge
and act for yourself without control. We doubt
not, my dear son, that you show your dis-cretion
in the choice you have made, and that the Lady
Julia, of whom you write, is worthy of all com-
mendation. We might have wished you in
such a matter to choose one known to us all,
and with whose friends we might have dealt in
the ordinary way; but, as you have made your
choice, and love beareth hardly contradiction,
we are glad to find that she is one of your own
countrywomen, of suitable rank, and well nur-
tured, and also that she hath resisted stoutly
al) lures to defection in a land of idolatry and
well nigh heathenism. It is comfortable, too,
to find that you are not so hurried on by rash
snd intemperate affections as to propose to wed
this lady at once, but inclined rather to wait
tilt she has been brought among your own
friends, and has sought, if not recovered, the
lands which you say are her due : not that we
need heed much whether she come to you, my
son, with a rich dowry or not, so that the other
qualities be suitable ; but we are glad to find
that both you and she are inclined to act with
discretion, rather than hasty passion. Thus
you will understand that I have conceived a
good opinion both of her heart and her under-
standing, not only by what you write, which
might be warped by the love of a young man,
")ut by her own acts, which speak in her praise,
ifou may, therefore, kiss her for me, as her
dear mother, and tell her that she shall have
under my roof the care and kindness which is
shown to her other children by your fond parent,
" Dorothea Gowrie.
" Post Scriptum. — I trust that your coming
will be speedy, lor it is now many years since
mine eyes beheld my son. Sir John Hume
marries your sister Beatrice, who is now in
attendance upon the Queen's Majesty. I have
written to tell him he hath my consent, and
put this letter within his, in one packet, not
knowing where you may be when the messen-
ger reaches Padua."

Without answering Sir John Hume, Gowrie
gently took Julia in his arms, and kissed her
lips, saying, " I am commissioned, dear love,
to give 'you this kiss for one who is ready and
well pleased to receive you as a daughter."

" I wish dear Beatrice were here, with all
my lieart," said Sir John Hume, " then such
tokens might become the fashion. In Heaven's
name what are you staring at, dearly-beloved
Rhindl Did you never hear of a kiss being
sent in a letter before 1 and if the Countess of
Gowrie chooses to do such duty to her fair
future daughter-in-law by deputy, not being
able to perform it herself at a thousand miles'
distance, who could she choose better for the
office than her own son? — But come, Gowrie,

your mad-pated fellow has told you, doubtless,
that you have black neighbors near ; and you
have now to choose whether you will set out
to-night or wait till morning. Look, there is a
star beginning to glimmer up there. The even-
ing is warm and fair, and we can reach Vog-
hera before the gates close. What say you,
fair lady?"

*' Oh, let us go," answered Julia. " I shall
not feel in safety till I have left this land be-
hind me."

" Come, then, let us to horse at once," said
Gowrie. " We can go on with some of the
men, and the rest can follow with the baggage
after. Methinks they won't subject doublets
and cloaks to the holy office, so that we can
leave them in safety."

The plan was no sooner proposed than exe-
cuted. The host's bill was paid, the horses
saddled, and the three gentlemen of the party,
with Julia and the girl who had been hired to
accompany her, set out just as the sun had
sunk below the horizon. The stars looked out
clear and bright upon their path, and with a glad
heart Julia passed an old tower, even then de-
serted, which marked the boundary of the terri-
tories of Piacenza and Voghera, then, as now,
under distinct and separate rule. Her spirits
rose ; and though she had been somewhat
silent during the first few miles of the ride, she
now questioned Sir John Hume, who was on
her right hand, regarding all he had seen at
Padua. He answered gayly and lightly, evading
her questions, for he did not like to tell her
that the house which had been so long her
home, had been completely pillaged on the day
that she fled from Padua. She soon saw that
he was unwilling to satisfy her ; and fancy
filled up but too truly the mere vague outline
that he gave. With regard to her poor old
servant Tita, however, she was determined to
hear more ; and there the young gentleman
had less scruple in affording her every inform-
ation.

" Oh, as to dearly beloved Tita, he said,
" she Iras done exceedingly well. She fairly
and boldly encountered and defeated all the old
women in black gowns that the university could
send against her. She bullied the professors,
rated the inquisitor, and nearly scratched the
eyes out of the faces of the officers. She told
old Martinelli to his beard, that if people had
not suspected him of unlawful studies, he never
would have tried to cast the imputation upon
others ; and as to her old lord and young lady,
they had much less to do with evil spirits than
others she could mention, who, people said,
kept books written with blood, and used to raise
up the image of a child out of a pot of boiling
water. The old fool got frightened out of his
wits, and made his exit from the house as fast
as possible, not knowing what she would charge
him with next, and fearing that part of the
storm which he had helped to raise might fall
upon himself. Every one after was afraid to
meddle with bold Tita, and she remained mis-
tress of the field. She is now very comfortably
established in a small house by the market-
place, and is looked upon with great reverence
as one of the heroes of Padua."

" It is really strange how men can be so mad
and foolish," said the earl. " Spirits must be

38

GOWRIE: OR, THE KINGS PLOT.

very weak ana powerless to submit themselves
to the sway of feeble old men, or half-crazed old
women."

" Or have a very strange taste in female
beauty," rejoined Hume, " to fall in love with
wrinkles, gray hair, and more beard than is be-
coming on a lady's chin ; but these events
promise to raise a grand scholastic dispute in
Padua, for already the parties are arraying
themselves for and against the existence of
magic at all. Antonelli has announced a lec-
ture on the non-existence of magic, and when
one of the doctors hinted that such an opinion
was heretical, he turned the tables upon the
persecutors, by giving the two parties the
names of magicians and anti-magicians, so that
Martinelli and his faction are now universally
known by the title of the magicians, much to
their horror and confusion."

" But we have the warrant of Scripture,"
said Mr. Rhind, gravely, " for asserting that
magic has really existed. Balaam, the son of
Balak, when he was called to curse the children
of Israel, distinctly spoke of it as an art which
he himself practiced."

"Are you sure it was not Balaam's ass?"
asked Sir John Hume, laughing ; " I am sure
no one would practice it in the present day but
an ass. I don't know what they did then."

Mr. Rhind, however, though silenced, was
not satisfied. He had listened to the whole
conversation with great attention ; and com-
bining what he then heard with words which
had at times dropped from both the earl and
Julia, he perceived the nature of the charge
against her, and felt sadly oppressed in mind
thereby. It is true he had seen nothing in her
but beauty, sweetness, and rational devotion ;
he had discovered that she always carried with
her a Bible in the English tongue ; but still fully
impressed, as most men were in his day, with
a belief that such a thing as magic really exist-
ed, he felt grieved and uneasy on account of
his pupil's long intimacy with Manucci, who, he
now found, had been accused of practicing un-
lawful arts. He tried on the following morning,
by what he thought skillful questions, to extract
more information from Sir John Hume ; but he
was, by nature, so simple, that Hume foiled
him at every turn by a repartee, and the same
night, eager to hurry on toward Scotland by
longer and more rapid journeys than Julia could
undertake, the young knight left his companions
to follow, and hastened on toward France,
leaving Mr. Rhind to brood over his own con-
clusions with bitterness and apprehension.

CHAPTER XI.

It may seem perhaps a paradox to say that
expectation is enjoyment. Nevertheless it is
so on this earth. Fruition is for heaven. With
the accomplishment of every desire, there is so
much of disappointment mingled, that it can not
be really called enjoyment, for fancy always
exercises itself upon the future ; and when we
obtain the hard reality for which we wished,
the charms with which imagination decorated
it are gone. Did we but state the case to our-
selves as it truly is, whenever we conceive any
of the manifold desires which lead" us on from

step to step through life, the proposition would
be totally different from that which man for-
ever puts before his own mind, and we should
take one step toward undeceiving ourselves.
We continually say, " if I could attain such an
object, I should be quite contented. ." But what
man ought to say to himself is, " I believe this
or that acquisition would give me happiness."
He would soon find that it did not do so; and
the never ceasing recurrence of the lesson
might, in the end, teach him to ask what was
the source of his disappointment 1 Was it that
other circumstances in his own fate were so
altered, even while he pursued the path of en-
deavor, as to render attainment no longer sat-
isfactory1!— was it that the object sought was
intrinsically different when attained from that
which he had reasonably believed it to be while
pursuing it 1 — or was it that his fancy had gilded
it with charms not its own, and that he had
voluntarily and blindly persuaded himself that
it was brighter and more excellent than it was ?
Perhaps the answer, yes, might be returned to
all these questions ; but yet I fear the chief
burden of deceit would rest with imagination,
and that man would ever find he had judged of
the future without sufficient grounds, and had
suffered desire to stimulate hope, and hope to
cheat expectation. Yet, perhaps, if he would
but turn back and look behind, when disappoint-
ment and success had been obtained together,
he would find that the pleasures tasted in the
pursuit, especially at the time when fruition
was drawing nearer and nearer, would, in the
sum, make up the amount of enjoyment which
he had anticipated in possession. I will go to
a certain town, says a man, and there 1 will
spend this sum in my purse, in buying things
which are necessary to my comfort and satis-
faction. He travels on the road. He spends
his money here, he spends his money there ;
and when he arrives, he finds that he has not
sufficient to purchase one-half of what he pro-
posed to buy. Yet he enjoyed himself by the
way, and has no cause to complain.

If we thus decorate, as I have stated a few
sentences ago, the object of desire with charms
not its own, we may well say that we enjoy in
anticipation even while the pursuit continues,
and more especially do so where success seems
to us certain, though remote. In the case of
Lord Gowrie it was truly so. He looked to
his union with Julia as a consummation of
happiness ; and he longed for the passing of
the time till she should be his own forever ;
but yet the days were very bright which he
passed beside her in the interval. Hope went
on before them and they followed ; but they
gathered many a flower by the way. Bound by
his promise, he knew that a certain interval
must elapse before their fate could be insepa-
rably united. There was no use in hastening
their movements. There was no object in hur-
rying on toward his native laud. He felt in-
clined to linger among fair scenes, and in a cli-
mate where winter comes slowly and departs
soon, by the side of her he loved, with little
restraint but what his own feeling of right im-
posed upon him, with a sense of deep happiness
in the present, and expectation to brighten the
hereafter.

In Piedmont and Savoy, all danger was at an

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

39

end ; for while the southern and eastern parts
of Italy were still under that system of tyranny
and superstition which strove to control the
thoughts as well as the actions of men, the
states bordering on France had cast off the
bondage in a considerable degree, and the
power of the most cruel and arbitrary tribunal
that was ever founded by man was no longer
recognized.

Still there was something due to opinion,
especially to the opinion of those he reverenced
and loved. Doubts might naturally arise if he
halted without any reasonable motive by the
way ; if he detained her who was to be his
bride before she was his bride, in any length-
ened sojourn, almost alone with him, in distant
lands. They went slowly, therefore ; but they
still proceeded. They stopped sometimes dur-
ing a whole day for rest ; and for that purpose
they chose the most beautiful scenes they could
find — scenes which harmonized with the feel-
ings of their own hearts. It would have been
too much to expect that two beings, loving as
they loved, should ride post through the most
beautiful parts of Europe. Their journeys, too,
were slow and short. They sought to enjoy
every thing worth enjoying that presented it-
self. They loved to see, and to comment, and
to delight — to pour into each other's bosoms
every thought as it arose, and to blend, as it
were, their minds together as their hearts were
already blended. For the deeds that were en-
acted round them — and there were many at
that time of surpassing interest — they cared
very little. What was to them what princes
or potentates said or did 1 What was to them
the shifting scenes of policy or warl They
had a world apart within themselves, in which
every feeling and every thought was centered.
As they approached the mountains of Savoy,
however, they heard some rumors of military
movements, which caused alarm in the mind of
Mr. Rhind. He was a very peaceable man, and
somewhat timid ; but Lord Gowrie treated the
matter lightly, and Julia seemed hardly to com-
prehend that there was any danger to unwar-
like persons in the strifes of monarchs. Their
progress, however, was rendered even slower
than before, by other circumstances. Mount-
ains to climb presented themselves at every
step ; roads were bad and dangerous, towns
became few, and accommodation difficult to be
procured. The art of the engineer had not at
that time triumphed over the barriers which
nature had placed between land and land, and
the first fall of snow though scanty, had added
to the difficulties of the way.

The modern reader would derive little amuse-
ment or instruction from a detailed account of
the passage of the Alps, in the reign of Eliza-
beth. Suffice if, that after a long and fatiguing
day's journey, the party of Lord Gowrie arrived,
toward sunset, at the small town of Barraux.
Julia was weary and exhausted, Mr. Rhind was
hungry and low-spirited, and nothing was to be
obtained at the inn, in the way of food, but
some brown bread and some small fish out of
the Isere. Nevertheless, youth and hope and
love made a great difference between the two
younger and the elder of the travelers. The
tendency, 1 fear, of all the experience of age, is
selfish ; and it is strange that the nearer we

approach toward the period of quitting earth,
the more we prize its comforts. True, indeed,
there are some who preserve the finer things
of the unworn fresh heart even unto the end ;
but, of all the many trials to which man's soul
is subject in this state of probation, I can not
but think that a tendency to that apathy for
what is great and fine, and to that concentra-
tion of the mind upon the body which are inci-
dent to old age and long experience of life, is
among the greatest. Mr. Rhind could not enjoy
at all, though the scene around him, as the
reader who may have wandered that way will
know, was full of objects both to soothe and to
elevate. He consoled himself with the wine,
which was very good, while Julia and Gowrie
wandered up to the base of the old castle on
the hill, to get one last look of the beautiful
soft valley through which the Isere wanders
on, with gentle cultivated hills hemming it
round, and blue, gigantic mountains towering
up beyond, while the sun, set to them, still
tipped the peaks with purple and with gold.

They returned slowly to their light supper,
which was preparing during their absence, and
shortly after, Julia retired to rest. Mr. Rhind
was not long ere he left the room also ; but it
was a large old rambling house, which had
formerly been a priory of the suppressed order
of the Temple, standing near the center of the
little bourg — I think the reader can see it still
— and Mr. Rhind could not find his room. He
came back and disturbed the earl in a reverie,
to ask which it was ; and the landlord had to
be summoned to show him. If Gowrie was
sleepy before, the inclination to slumber had
now passed away ; and he sat for some time
longer in meditation. The landlord looked in
at length ; and remembering that he was keep-
ing up a race of people devoted to early hours,
he rose, got a taper, and retired to his own
chamber. Then setting down the light, he
looked around, and again fell into a fit of
thought.

There are times when — we know not why —
the spirit of the mind, if I may use a strange
term, seems completely to triumph over the
more corporal part of our nature, to conquer its
sensations, to make light of its necessities, to
overcome its habitual resistance almost without
an effort — times when soul seems to possess
the whole, when every faculty is subdued to
thought. Vain is it to struggle against it — vain
to say I will read, I will sport, I will sleep.
Thought replies, No ; and for the time we are
her slave. Such was the case with Gowrie
that night ; and though he gazed round the
chamber, as I have said, what it contained
made merely an impression upon the eye, which
reached not the mind within.

It was a large, wide, old-fashioned chamber,
the walls of which had no hangings, although
two wide pieces of tapestry, with which the
whole room had probably formerly been deco-
rated, were drawn across the windows. On
one side of the room was a large bed, almost
lost in the extent of the floor, and having cur-
tains of a dingy green hue, and of a silk stuff,
th-? manufacture of which had even then long
passed away, formerly called cendal. There
was a small round table in the middle of the
room, a mirror in a black oak frame standing

40

GOWR1E: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

forth from the wall, supported by two iron bars,
a washing-table in the corner, and two or three
chairs. That was all that it contained ; and,
as I have said, it was very large and very
gloomy. Nevertheless, although the year was
approaching winter, there was something close
and oppressive in the atmosphere. It felt as if
the windows had not been opened for many a
year. Gowrie did not remark it, but sat down
at the table and fell into thought again. He
remained thus for more than an hour. I have
called it thought, but yet it was of that trance-
like character wherein all things seem more
like impressions than ideas — when dead affec-
tions rise up from the tomb of memory in the
shape of living existences, and from the future
the shadows of unborn events, clad in the forms
of actual realities, present themselves for warn-
ing or encouragement. There is no continuity,
there is no arrangement, there is no operation
of the intellect. Mind sits as a spectator while
the pageant passes, called up before our eyes
by some unnamed power. — What]

Who can say] There are things within us
and without us that we know not of — that the
hardest handed metaphysician has never been
able to grasp.

In the midst of such fits the body will some-
times renew the struggle, and strive to regain
its power, especially if any thing affects it
strone'v The earl seemed to feel the oppres-
sive closeness of the room. He rose, went to
the window near the bed, pulled down the
tapestry, and threw open the rattling, small-
paned casement. It looked to the east ; and
the bright moon, within a few days of the full,
peeped in from above the Alps, pouring a long
line of splendor over the floor. He knew not,
indeed, that he had moved. The external eye
might see the casement and the moon, and the
faint line of mountains flooded with silver
light ; but the mind saw not. It had other
visions ; and, leaning his arms upon the bar on
which played the part of the casement that
opened, he remained buried in the same rev-
erie. Its tone was melancholy — not exactly
sad, but of that high, grave, stern cast which
seems to rob the things of earth of all their
unreal brightness, stripping off the gilding and
the gauds, and leaving the hard leaden forms
alone, while another light than that of the
world's day spreads around, as if streaming
from a higher sphere, and showing all the
emptiness and the nakedness of the illusions
of the earth.

How long he had remained thus I know not,
and he himself did not know, but something —
what he could never tell — made him suddenly
turn round.

How shall I tell what followed 1 Was it an
Illusion of the fancy 1 Was it a dream 1 Was
it a reality 1 — Who shall say 1 But there before
him was a face and form well known, though
never seen in life. It was that of a tall, dark,
pale man, with traces of sickness on his face,
a bloody dagger in his hand, and marks of gore
upon his arm. His portrait hung in the earl's
palace at Perth, though with a more glowing
cheek, and in unspotted robes. But there he
stood before him now, as if the grave had
given up its dead, his father's father, the slayer
of the hapless Rizzio. There w is the same

haggard look, the same ashy cheek, the s&me
rolling eye with which he had sunk into a seat
in the presence of his queen when the dreadful
deed was done, and the full horror of the act
was poured upon his conscience. There the
same gasping movement of the lips with which
he called for water to allay the burning thirst
which was' never to be quenched but by the
cold cup of death. A pale, hazy light spread
around him, and he seemed to raise his hand
with a menacing gesture. He spoke, or Gow-
rie thought he spoke, in tones low and stern —
" Shall the blood of Douglas and of Ruthven
mingle once more ?" he said. " Shall the child
of him who denied all participation in the act
he prompted, and left his betrayed friend to
perish in a distant land, unite her fate to the
heir of him who was destroyed 1 Beware, boy,
beware ! Upon the children's children the
blood of the slain shall call for vengeance ; and
the unborn of the dark hour shall seek a fatal
retribution !"

As he spoke, the earl's head seemed to be-
come giddy with awe and surprise, the figure
vanished, all that the room contained became
indistinct ; and when Lord Gowrie again open
ed his eyes, he found himself lying across the
bed with his clothes on, and with the morning
light streaming brightly through the casement.

CHAPTER XII.

The landlord of the inn at Barroux had been
up before any of his guests ; and, anxious to
show that his larder was not always so ill pro-
vided as it had been the night before, he had
contrived to procure materials for a very sub-
stantial breakfast, to strengthen the travelers
for their day's journey. It was well dressed,
too, after the fashions of that day, and good
Mr. Rhind did ample justice to its merits both
by eating and lauding it, gayly declaring that
the morning made up for the evening, and that,
according to the popish superstition, the land-
lord might claim the merit of some works of
supererogation over and above those necessary
to atone for the sins of the night before.

Gowrie himself was in no very jesting mood.
He made, it is true, every effort to shake off
the impression produced upon his mind by the
strange events lately passed. It was a dream,
he thought — an idle dream, or else a hallucina-
tion. He had been very much fatigued, had
obtained but small refreshment, and yet he had
sat up thinking, wasting time which would
have been better employed in repose. Over
fatigued, he had dropped asleep without know-
ing it, had fallen upon the bed, and imagination,
set free from all restraint, had conjured up ap-
pearances strangely connected with the pre-
vious subject of his thoughts. He strove to
eat, to talk, to jest playfully, as usual, but he
was not very successful in the attempt, and
the demeanor of his fair Julia soon put a stop
to the effort. She was exceedingly thoughtful,
grave, almost sad. She ate little, spoke less ;
and when the horses were brought round to the
door, mounted with a deep sigh.

After they had ridden some little way, the
earl asked, in a low tone, if any thing had dis-
turbed her.

GOWRIK: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

41

"Nothing of importance," she answered,
glancing her eye toward Mr. Rhind, who was
riding near ; " but I will tell you more very
soon."

She spoke so low that their worthy compan
ion did not hear what she said ; but even if he
had heard, it is probable that he would not have
altered his position in the cavalcade, for Mr.
Rhind was a very slow man at taking a hint,
and seemed to have no conception that his
former pupil might sometimes find the society
of her he loved pleasanter without ear-witness-
es. A favorable hill, however, afforded, about
half an hour afterward, as they rode on toward
Chamberry, the opportunity that the lovers de-
sired. Mr. Rhind was not fond of riding fast,
either up hill or down. He had conscientious
6cruples as to spurring his horse, and never
used a whip when he could help it. Thus,
when the cavalcade began the ascent, he suffer-
ed his beast to drop slowly behind, and in the
end took out a little vellum-covered volume
from his pocket, and began to read.

" Now, dearest Julia, let us quicken our pace,"
whispered Gowrie. " We shall be at the top
of the hill very soon, and Rhind will rejoin us
some half league after we have reached the
bottom of the descent." The lady shook her
rein. The horses sprang on. The servants,
more discreet than Mr. Rhind, followed at an
easy trot, and by the time that Gowrie and
Julia had reached a spot about one third of the
whole distance from the top of the hill, they
found themselves some two or three hundred
yards before any of their attendants.

" Now tell me, dearest," said the young earl,
"what is it has made you so grave and sad
this morning] There is no one within ear-
shot."

"It is nothing, really nothing," replied Julia.
"You will think it very ridiculous, I fear, when
I say that the only cause of my being grave, if
I have been so, was an idle dream ; but I love
to tell you all, Gowrie, to have no thought hid-
den from you."

" Ever, ever do so," replied the earl, warmly ;
"but what was this dream, love? I fear it
must have disturbed your rest, and you much
needed repose."

" I mus* have been asleep some time," she
answered; "but indeed, Gowrie, it is a thing
of no moment — merely a dream — and yet, if I
tell you, it may make you grave and sad too."

"Nay, nowyou excite my curiosity the more,"
replied her lover. " Pray, tell me all, dear girl."

"Well," she answered, with a faint smile,
" I was very tired, and glad to lie down to rest.
The little maid we hired at Borgonovo, who
slept in the same room, was very weary too,
so that her fingers would hardly do their office
in unlacing my bodice. How soon she was
asleep I do not know, for the moment my head j
rested on the pillow my eyes were closed in
slumber. I can not tell how long I slept quietly
and undisturbed ; but then I seemed to wake.
The room was the same. The aspect of all
things round me was unchanged ; but there
was a light in the chainber, and at the distance
of about a pace from my bedside I saw a stand- i
ing figure of a man, distinct and clear, but yet
so thin and shadowy, that it seemed as if every
part were penetrated with the light in the midst '

of which he stood — a colored shaaow resting on
the pale blue glare."

"What was he like] Who was he?" de-
manded Lord Gowrie, eagerly.

"He was very pale," answered Julia, "with
a face that seemed to express suffering and
sorrow more than strong passions. His hair,
cut short in the front, was jetty black, mingled
here and there with gray, and falling in dark
masses of large curls behind. He was tall,
about your own height, Gowrie, and seemingly
powerful in form, but with the shoulders a lit-
tle bowed, as if worn by sickness. He wa3
dressed in armor, but the head was bare ; and
a cloak was cast over his arm, concealing his
right hand. His eyes were bright and flashing ;
and the face and upper part of the body seemed
more real and corporeal than the lower limbs,
which I could hardly see. There was a small
scar upon his face, between the mouth and the
cheek, as if — "

" The same," murmured Lord Gowrie, " the
same ! Did he not speak 1"

"Oh, yes," answered Julia, "he seemed to
speak, or I dreamed it. He stood gazing at me
long indeed in silence, while I lay trembling
with fear. I tried to ask him what he did there
— what he wanted. I tried to rouse the house ;
to wake the maid who was sleeping near me —
but my tongue seemed tied, no sounds proceed-
ed from my lips, and I strove in vain to rise in
bed. In the mean time he stood silent, gazing
at me ; and at last he said twice, ' Poor thing '
poor thing ! Do you not know,' he asked, ' that
the blood of Morton and the blood of Ruthven
can never be mingled together till the gore that
the one shed and the other falsely denied is
fully avenged ] — Beware ! beware ! Hurry not
on your own fate. Pause ! Refrain till -the
blow has fallen, let it fall where it will — .' Do
not look so gloomy, Gowrie — it was but a dream,
for the agony of mind I suffered broke the spell,
and with a low scream I started up. The maid
woke instantly, and as I looked round I found
that all was darkness. The poor girl asked
what was the matter, and I told her then, as I
have just said to you, that it was only a dream.
I asked her, however, if she had seen the doors
closely locked. She assured me that she had,
and got out of bed to see, when she found that
it was so, and all was fast and safe. My rest
had been disturbed, however, and I did not sleep
again for some time, which is perhaps what
made me somewhat dull and heavy ; but still it
was but a dream."

" A very strange one," answered Lord Gow-
rie. and fell into a fit of thought. His medita-
tions, however, were less of Julia's dream than
of what his own conduct ought to be. He felt
unwilling to alarm her, or to create any doubts
or suspicions in her bosom as to the course be-
fore them ; but yet her frank confidence requir-
ed return ; and he felt that after she had told
him all, he ought to withhold from her nothing.
In the mean time she rode on by his side,
with the tresses of her glossy hair somewhat
shaken by the exercise, falling here and there
on her beautiful face. The dark eyes were
bent down, with the long eyelashes resting on
her cheek, as if she would not interrupt his
meditations by a look ; but at length the earl
said, " This is a strange dream, indeed, dear

42

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

Julia ; and the occurrence is the more strange,
inasmuch us something very similar happeued
to me last night also."

Julia started, and looked up. " Oh, what 1"
she exclaimed.

" The selfsame person appeared to me like-
wise," replied her lover. " I know him well
by your description, too accurate to be mistaken
— but that which is perhaps the most strange
of all is, that to me he appeared as I have never
seen him represented, but as I have heard him
described, and to you, who have neither seen
him nor his picture, exactly as his portrait stands
in my gallery at Perth."

"But what did he say to you 1 What was
the import of your dream V asked Julia.

" I am not so certain it was a dream," replied
Lord Cowrie ; " would that I were ; but his
warning to me was very similar to that address-
ed to yourself. You have told me all, dear Julia,
and I must not withhold any thing from you —
but still, while speaking with perfect, confidence
to each other, we must not let any thing like
superstitious fears affect our coi, duct or turn us
from our course. Your heart and mine, dear
girl, are inseparably linked for weal and woe.
God grant, for thy sake, that the happiness may
predominate ; but I feel that neither could know
what happiness is were we ever to part."

" Oh, no, no !" murmured Julia, in a low tone,
letting the reins fall upon her horse's neck, and
clasping her hands together, while her head
bowed down as if something oppressed her al-
most to fainting — "Oh, no, no! That hour
were death."

Gowrie soothed her by assurances of eternal
love, and then proceeded to tell her all that had
occurred to him during the preceding night. He
spoke of it, too, as of a delusion of the imagin-
ation ; but Julia fell into thought which lasted
several minutes after he had done. At length
she looked up with a brighter glance. "If you
remember," she said, " the night before last we
were looking over together those papers con-
cerning my birth, and we spoke much of my
father and your ancestor who slew the unhappy
Rizzio. The subject rested long in my mind ;
and perhaps on you also it had no slight effect.
Do you nut think, Gowrie, that in passing
through the scenes we have lately traversed,
with things exciting the imagination at every
step, weary and exhausted too, fancy was likely
to reproduce for us, in sleepy or drowsy hours,
the phantoms which had haunted us through-
out the day ?"

" Perhaps so," answered her lover, glad to
catch at any solution of a mystery so dark and
painful ; " perhaps so, my Julia ; and yet these
dreams are very like realities sometimes. The
people in my land — in our land — are given much
to superstition, and I would far rather imagine
that I had yielded to those impressions implant-
ed in us during youth, than believe that such a
warning should in our case be requisite or
given."

"But do you believe, Gowrie,, that such a
thing is now permitted as that the spirits of the
dead should revisit earth in the forms which
they bore while living 1" Julia asked, gravely,
and then added, "he who was my instructor
from my earliest years had no faith in such
events."

"Much has been said, much ever will be
said, said Gowrie, " upon that, in regard to
which little can ever be known on this side of
the grave. Philosophy, my Julia, says one
thing, and something in man's own breast erei
says another. Our knowledge tells us that we
can never see that which has no substance,
that we can not hear that which has no voice.
The spirit within says, ' There are means of
communication between me and my unimpris-
oned brethren. The eye is my servant in my
communication with earthly things, the ear is
but the portico of the audience chamber of the
mind, where the voices of earth are heard : but
for things not of earth there is another sight,
another hearing. The sovereign mind commu-
nicates with them direct, and not through hex
ministers.' "

He spoke gravely, for the subject was one oi
those in regard to which we are inclined to ap-
ply the aids of philosophy to confirm opinions
formed already without their help. Few per-
sons in the world, and very few, indeed, in
Scotland, at that time, were without faith in
dreams and apparitions ; and what is, indeed,
very strange, those who were the most skepti-
cal of the truths of revealed religion, were often
the most credulous of the tales of superstition.

Julia, however, saw that he was sad, and she
made every effort to conquer the gloom which
her strange dream had cast upon her own
mind ; for there can be no doubt that it had
made its impression — not, indeed, that she had
^received it as a real warning from another
world, for her mind had been differently tutored
in early years ; but still it had filled her thoughts
with gloomy images, and she had given way to
them more than was customary with her. Now,
however, she strove to resume her natural
cheerfulness, and quietly, easily, with that sim-
ple art which nature teaches to a kind heart,
led the conversation away, without any abrupt
transition from the subject which seemed to
give pain to him she loved.

They were now at the bottom of the hill ,
and although they had ridden more rapidly tlown
than was perhaps very prudent, they drew in
their horses' reins when they reached the level
ground, in order to let Mr. Rhind rejoin them.
He was riding slowly along, still reading ; but
a sound, which startled the whole party, and
their horses also, soon caused him to quicken
his pace, in order to get to Lord Gowrie's side
again. 'Tis a strange power which strong
minds have over weak ones. By circum-
stances, power and authority may be placed«in
the hands of the weak, and they may exercise
them till the exercise becomes habitual ; but in
every moment of difficulty or danger, the strong
mind assumes the sway, and the weaker one
takes refuge under its shelter. Mr. Rhind had
known Lord Gowrie from his infancy, had re-
ceived rule over him when he was a boy, had
been placed with him to guide him when he
was a youth. He hardly looked upon him as
more even now ; he hardly comprehended that
his tutorship was finished ; but the instant that
a peril presented itself, or an embarrassment
occurred, instead of protecting and guiding, he
sought protection and guidance from h:s former
pupil.

I left the reader waiting for a sound, or at

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

4?

least foi some description of that sound which
swnled the whole party. It was that of a can-
non shot, not very far distant either ; and before
Mr. Rhind could reach the young earl's side, or
any one could ask any questions, another and
another succeeded, till the number reached to
four-and-twenty.

" Good gracious, my dear lord, we have got
into the midst of the hostile armies," exclaimed
Mr. Rhind.

" The king must have made more rapid pro-
gress than I expected," replied Lord Gowrie, in
a calm, quiet tone. " Those guns must be from
Montmeillant or Chamberry."

"From Montmeillant, my lord," said Austin
Jute, who had ridden up. " The sounds come
from the east."

" But the wind blows down the valley," an-
swered the earl. '"' What shall we do, dear
Julia 1 Are you afraid ?"

" What is the choice 1" she asked.

" To go on by Chamberry and the Pont Beau-
voisin to Lyons, or retread our steps toward
Grenoble, and take the longer way. It is evi-
dent that a part of the King of France's army
is before us ; but we can not tell what is taking
place on the Grenoble road."

"May I go on and reconnoiter, my lord!"
said Austin Jute. " I can bring you back in-
formation, and perhaps a pass. They say it is
better to be at the end of a feast than at the
beginning of a fray, and perhaps it may be so ;
but I like a little bit of the fray, too, provided
it last not too long."

" That may be the best plan," said his mas-
ter. " Tie something white round your arm,
and prick on ; we will follow slowly."

Before this scheme could be executed, how-
ever, a party of some eight or ten horsemen
came dashing round the rocky turn of the road,
and cantered down into the meadow which lay
on the bank of the stream, before they saw the
party of the young earl. They were all in arms
except two, and evidently belonged to one or
other of the contending forces. The next mo-
ment, however, the eyes of one of those who
bore no defensive armor rested on the group
under the hill; and turning his rein suddenly
thither, followed by all his companions, he was
soon in front of the party of travelers, and
shouting in a loud, but gay and jesting tone,
" Stand, give the word !"

CHAPTER XIII.

The system of warfare carried on in Scot-
land, at the time we speak of, was not of the
most civilized character — generally a war of
partisans, which is always a bloody war. Mr.
Rhind had known no other ; and, consequently,
he was in a state of most exceeding alarm.
Julia was much less so, for the tranquil air of
the young earl showed her at once that nothing
was to be feared. The earl's servants, too,
who, with their master, had seen a good deal
of the woild, seemed perfectly quiet and at their
ease ; and Austin Jute whispered in a low tone
to one of the men, " By my lay, that is a splen-
did horse the fellow is riding, somewhat heavy
about the shoulder and the legs, but a noble
beast in a charge, I'll be bound."

" Remain quietly here," said the earl address-
ing these who surrounded him. " I will go for-
ward and speak with this gentleman. Stay
here, dear Julia ; there is not the slightest
danger."

The person whom he approached, and who
had reined in his horse, after calling to the
strangers to stand and give the word, was a
man of the middle age, or perhaps a little more,
for he had certainly, by ten years at least, pass-
ed that important division where the allotted
life of man separates itself into two halves.
Oh, thirty-five, thirty-five, thou art an important
epoch, and well might be, to every man who
thinks, a moment of warning and apprehension.
Up to that period, in the ordinary course of
events, every thing has been acquisition and
the development of different powers. Thence
forward all is decay — slow, gradual, impercept-
ible, perhaps, at first, but sure, stealthy, and in-
creasing with frightful rapidity. The stranger
might be forty-six or forty-seven years of age,
but he looked a good deal older. His beard and
mustaches were very gray, especially on the
left side ; his face was wrinkled a good deal at
the corners of the eyes ; his very handsome
forehead — the only truly handsome part of his
face — was wrinkled also, with an expression
rather of quiet and dignified gravity than with
age. His other features were by no means
good ; the mouth sensual, though good-humor-
ed ; the nose aquiline, and somewhat depressed
at the point ; and the eyes twinkling and keen,
with an expression of somewhat reckless mer-
riment. There was a very peculiar satyr-like
turn of the eyebrow, too, which was gray and
bushy, with a thick tuft about the center, where
it ran up into a peak from the nose. The dress
of this officer — for officer he certainly appeared
to be — was of very plain materials, consisting
of a brown cloth suit, with no ornament what-
ever, except a gold chain round his neek.
Above his pourpoint he wore a sort of sleeve-
less coat, or rather small mantle with arm-holes,
trimmed with sable fur ; and the fraise round
his neck was of plain linen, and so small as to
be quite out of the fashion of the times. His
leather gloves extended to his elbow, and his
large coarse heavy boots came in front higher
than the knee. There were pistol-holders at
his saddle-bow, a long heavy sword by his side,
and the whole figure was surmounted by a
broad-brimmed hat, with a tall while plume of
feathers, which kept waving about in the wind.

"Who are you, sir 1" he said in French, as
the earl approached him, " and whither are you
going? Are you aware that you are within the
limits of the camp besieging Montmeillant V

"I was not, indeed," replied the earl ; "but
being peaceably disposed, and having no con-
nection with either party in the hostilities
which I understand are going on, I suppose
there will not be any difficulty in passing by the
Pont Beauvoisin into France!"

"Upon my life, I can not tell that," replied
the other. " It will much depend upon what is
your country, what is your business, and whence
you came from last."

" I have come from Italy," replied the young
earl, " passing quietly through Piedmont, and
my business "

" Stay, stay," said the stranger. " You have

44

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT

come through Piedmont, have you? Now that
is not the country, of all others, from which
France courts visitors just now. Have you
6een the Duke of Savoy lately?"

" I never saw him in my life," replied the
earl," "unless I see him now."

" Oh, no," said the ctranger, " that you cer-
tainly do not. By your speech I should take
you for an Englishman Is it sol If it he,
pass in God's name, for if I tried to stop you, I
should have my good sister Elizabeth coming
over to chastise me with her large fan. Ventre
Saint Gris ! it does not do to enrage the island
lioness."

" No, sire," replied the earl, " I am not one
of her majesty's subjects, being a native of a
neighboring country called Scotland."

" Ha, ha !" cried the other, laughing. " What,
one of the flock of my dearly-beloved cousin,
King James ? Heaven bless his most sagacious
majesty. How went it with him, when last
you heard?"

" Right well, sire," replied the earl ; " but
it is some time since I heard any news except
referring to my own private affairs."

"May I crave your name and business, good
sir?" said the King of France, who, while he
had been speaking with Gowrie, had been eye-
ing the young nobleman's little troop. " Tis
somewhat late to travel for mere pleasure, es-
pecially with ladies in one's company."

" Business I have, unfortunately, none,"
answered the young earl, gravely, " except to
make my way back as fast as possible to my
own land,- with my fair cousin, who takes ad-
vantage of my escort even at this late season,
seeing that she otherwise might not meet with
an opportunity for some time. My name, sire,
is John Ruthven, Earl of Gowrie."

"Ha! noble lord," said Henry, with a less
constrained air. " I have heard of you before ;
an intimate of my old friend Beza's, if I mistake
not. You passed through France some five or
six years ago on your way to Padua, at least
some one of your name did so."

" The same, sire," answered the earl ; " I
trust it will be your gracious pleasure to afford
me a pass and safe conduct."

"Assuredly," answered the king, with a gay
and laughing air ; " but you must come and
dine with me, cousin, if it be but for the service
that your name will do me."

" I know not how it can benefit your majesty,"
said Gowrie, anxious to proceed as rapidly as
possible.

" As a terror to favorites," replied Henry,
with a meaning look. " The name of Ruthven,
methinks, should keep them in great awe. But
I will take no refusal. You and your fair cousin
too, and any gentleman who may be of your
party, must come and partake of a soidier's
dinner in his tent. I left the king behind at
Lyons ; and, on my life, I like the old trade
better than the new. Ay, and even found
more peace of mind, cousin, when I bad daily
to fight for my breakfast, than when I s>:t down
in a palace, surrounded by my men, some hun-
gry for my treasures, and some thirsty for my
blood."

" As the season is drawing toward a close,"
replied Lord Gowrie, without actually ventur-
ing to decline the king's invitation, " I am

anxious, sire, to proceed us rapidly as possible
toward England."

" Fie, man !" exclaimed the king ; " have I
not said I will take no refusal ? Why, if I let
you pass without some sign of hospitality, your
c-jusin and mine, worthy King James, the north-,
ern Solomon — though his descent from David
might be less honorable than clear — would
think that I had some ill-will to his high wis-
dom. And now I will ride back with you.
You, Monsieur de Chales, ride on to Rosni.
Tell him I will come to-morrow, unless he has
taken the place in order to prevent me. He is
as jealous of his king as a spoilt woman.
Come, my Lord Gowrie, introduce me to this
fair cousin of yours. We have wanted gal-
lantry to keep her waiting so long."

Thus saying, he spurred on, accompanied by
the young earl, who, obliged to give way, re-
solved to assume something of the king's own
humor, and said at once, as they rode up, " Sire,
allow me to present to you my cousin, the Lady
Julia Douglas. Julia, this is that great king
of whom you have heard ; who not only con-
quered his own throne, but the affection of his
own people ; the one by the sword of war, the
other by the sword of justice."

"I kiss your hand, fair lady," said the king.
" The Lady Julia Douglas ! What, one of the
bleeding hearts? I trust, my lord count, that
her heart is safe in your keeping."

" In which case your majesty will not try to
steal it from me," answered the young earl, to
whom Henry's character for somewhat vehe-
ment gallantry was not unknown.

" No, no ; honor among thieves," answered
the king. " Were I an officer of Cupid's court
I might stop you, having taken you in the very
act of carrying off your booty; but being merely
a poor pickpocket myself, I am not justified in
interfering. Come, let us forward," he contin-
ued, seeing that the color had risen somewhat
high in Julia's cheek; and turning his horse,
he rode on in the direction of Chamberry.

A young lover is always like a miser with a
j^wel of great price. He may feel certain of
the strength of the bolts and bars which secure
his treasure ; he may be confident that it is
safe ; but yet he never feels entirely at his
ease, when he knows that robbers are abroad ;
and undoubtedly Gowrie was somewhat less
than pleased to see the gallant attentions of
the king to his fair promised bride as they rode
along. Henry saw his uneasiness, and was
amused, though the earl concealed it well ; and
with some good humored malice — for I believe
in this instance it was no more — the monarch
strove to persuade his two young guests that
they might well spend a few days with him in
Chamberry. " You," he said, turning to the
earl — "you, sprung from a race of soldiers,
and who have probably been in arms yourself,
can you make up your mind to leave a spot
where high deeds are being performed ?"

" I feel myself obliged to do so," replied the
young earl, adding, with a smile, to point his
double meaning, "If there were nothing else,
this lady's presence would, of course, hurry
my departure from the scenes in which your
majesty takes so much delight."

" Parbleau ! there is no danger," cried the
king. " Our camo is filled with ladies. The

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

town of Chamberry is in our hands. 'Tis but
the citadel holds out for honor; and Madame
de Rosni gives a ball in the city this very night.
What say you, fair lady 1 Will you not stay
and grace her entertainment V

"It must be as a prisoner if I do, sire," re-
plied Julia ; " for duty calls me on to Scotland
as fast as possible, and, to tell truth in no very
courtly fashion, inclination too."

" On my life," cried the king, laughing, " you
must be both disciples of Rosni's. That hard-
headed Huguenot will speak his mind however
unpalatable ; and I find that the Scotch are as
blunt, though they can not be more honest.
Well, well," he continued, with a sigh, "as
you will not consent to cheer us by an importa-
tion of fresh thoughts and fresh faces, I must
even let you go, although I do believe I should
be justified in treating you both as rebels, and
shutting you up as prisoners, the one in. the
camp, and the other in the old Carthusian- con-
vent, to do penance for your offense — I acting
as father confessor, of course."

Julia looked anxiously to Gowrie, who re-
plied, with a laugh, " That would be a breach
of the law of nations, sire. Francis the First
suffered his enemy, Charles the emperor, to
pass unscathed ; and as your majesty deigns
to call me cousin, good faith, I will only treat
with you as crown to crown."

"I call many a man cousin who is less so
than yourself," replied the king, seeing that he
could not succeed in detaining them. " If I
remember right, your grandmother, or great-
grandmother, was sister to Mary Queen of
France, and to Henry, the excellent King of
England, eighth of that name, who had an ad-
mirable expedient for ridding himself of trou-
blesome wives. Upon my life, I wish it were
an inheritance of kings. Parbleau ! it would
be a more valuable privilege than that of curing
the evil by our touch, which they say we kings
possess. I would rather touch my own sore
and cure it, than that of the lame beggars who
crowd about the cathedral doors at Rheims."

" Methinks your majesty would not use it
even if you did possess it," said Julia.

" Why not, fair lady," cried Henry quickly,
for the subject was one which always excited
him.

" I mean the sharp touch with which King
Henry used to cure the ill of which you speak,"
replied Julia.

" No, perhaps not that," said Henry, musing.
" I am not cruel ; and I do not love such sharp
remedies, even with hard, iron-tempered men.
I have a notion, too, that ladies' necks were
made for other things than to bear an ax — to
bear gay jewels and bright, glittering chains, I
mean. That same fondness of the ax you
speak of, especially in the case of women, seems
a particular characteristic of the Tudor race.
Thank God, it has not come hither. I do not
think I should like the practice, even on the
worst of women ; and by my faith, the dagger
and the bowl, which we have been rather fond
of here in former years, are not to my taste
either. If I were to choose, I would rather be
the victim than the executioner. God deliver
me from being either."

There was something in the conversation,
and the course which it had taken, which

45

brought a fit of deep thought upon Henry ; and
for the next twenty minutes he said little or
nothing ; then looking up, he pointed forward
with his hand, saying, "There is fair Cham-
berry ; but it is some miles distant yet ; and as
you must needs go forward to-night — which,
after all, is perhaps better — I will send on to
bid them have my homely dinner ready, and a
few spoonfuls more pottage than is ordinarily
supplied to the king's table. I can tell you,
cousin, the kings of France are almost sure to
find their way to Abraham's bosom, for there
is much more of Lazarus than of Dives in their
condition on this earth. Things are rather bet-
ter now, thanks to Rosni; but in times past I
have often wanted a dinner, and even now, as
you may see, and will see, I am neither clothed
in purple and fine linen, nor fare sumptuously
every day."

CHAPTER XIV.

Although Henry IV. was much accustomed
to call things by their own names, the tent
which he had spoken of was a handsome house
in the town of Chamberry, his camp the wide
circuit of the city itself, though, to say sooth,
there were other tents and another camp with-
out the walls. The purveyors of the royal
household had not, it is true, been much more
careful in providing " cates divine" for the mon-
arch's table than they usually had been in times
past. Perhaps no general officer in his army
fared so ill as Henry IV., for he was too good
humored to take notice of any little derelictions,
and cared less for an offense against his own
person than one against the state. Perhaps he
was wrong ; I believe he was ; for a man who
tolerates disobedience of orders or default of
duty in one instance, gives encouragement to
the same fault in another. But still, men of
great genius have many roads open before them
to the same ends ; and the rigid rule which one
considers necessary to the attainment of his
objects, may be dispensed with by another with
out danger.

It may be true as an axiom, that the Frenck
nation can never remain peaceable and prosper
ous — considering their peculiar national char
acteristics — except under a tyrant. It may be
true that Henry IV., had he been a tyrant,
would never have perished by the knife of Ra
vaillac. It may be true, that no strong-minded
tyrant ever fell either by the hands of the as-
sassin or the judgment of his people ; that it is
the combination of weakness of character with
despotic theories, that has been the downfall of
every monarch who has succumbed to public
indignation or private vengeance : — "The roai
of liberated Rome" itself was merely the exult-
ation of a people who had been cowed for
years by a madman and a fool, at their libera-
tion from a yoke as pitiful as it was oppressive.
But there is a power in love, when excited by
a being whose sterner and stronger qualities
command respect, which is powerful over great
masses; and although Henry Quatre passed
over many small faults in those who surround-
ed him, I believe his vigor and determination in
great things would have secured him against
any thing like popular caprice or versatilitv ■

46

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

and that the only thing which he had to fear,
as a consequence of his good-humored lenity in
regard to personal offenses, was the cowardly
means of private assassination.

However that may be, the king's table, on the
day of which we have been speaking, was cer-
tainly more poorly provided than that of many
private gentlemen of moderate fortune. The
pomp and circumstance of a court waited
around ; but yet his scanty meal was no way
royal, and the Jung felt a little mortified that
such penuriousness had been displayed before
a stranger.

Immediately after dinner, Henry left the fair
Julia with Madame de Pvosni and some other
ladies, and called Gowrie away to a small cabi-
net of the house in which he had taken up his
quarters. Seating himself, he motioned his
young guest to a chair, and then said, " I take
it for granted, my lord, that what you have said
is actually the case, and that you have not seen
our good cousin of Savoy, nor know any thing
of his affairs ; but that you are simply traveling
homeward with the beautiful bird in your trap,
intending, of course, to make her your bride
when you reach your native land 1"

Gowrie merely bowed his head, saying, " I
assure your Majesty, I know nothing of the
Duke of Savoy whatever."

"Well, then," replied Henry, "there maybe
one, perhaps, whom you may be well pleased to
know — I mean Elizabeth, Queen of England.
I will therefore write her Majesty a few lin^es
in your favor ; and you will do well, when you
reach Paris, to see her embassador, Sir Henry
Neville, in order that he may second my rec-
ommendation. I can see the time coming,"
continued the king, " when favor in England
may be highly beneficial to a Scottish noble-
man. If you should attain it, use it discreetly,
for you have to deal with two people who have
their peculiarities. The one, with strong sense,
has small sincerity, with infinite policy, com-
bines many weaknesses, who can be a bitter
enemy, but not an honest friend, and who will
always sacrifice to expediency those who have
■served her — and there are none others — for
their own ends. It will be right for you to be
well with her, but not too well. The other has
the greatest wit of any man 1 know, and the
least wisdom. Cunning as a fox, his policy is
as wily as that of the beast, and as pitiful. But
his hatred is very dangerous, for it is strong in
proportion to his weakness, and will pursue
paths as obscure as his logic or his religion.
To the latter personage you must have access
from your own rank ; to the former I will give
you a letter, which will prove of good or bad
effect on your own fortunes as you shall use it.
Wait a moment, and I will write. You have
done me some wrong in your own thoughts to-
day ; but I do not bear malice long ; and I will
not tell the maiden queen that you were half
afraid to trust yourself with her brother of
France, having a fair maiden in your company."

The king looked at him with a meaning smile
as he spoke ; but Gowrie instantly ,-epIied, " It
was doing your Majesty no wrong to suppose
that you have great power over all hearts, and
to be anxious to preserve one at least from your
sway."

"Out, flatterer!" said the king; "do you

think I do not know mankind, when I have
dealt with them, fought with them, negotiated
with them, and played at cards with them for
seven-and-forty years ? I knew what was go-
ing on in your young heart better than you did
yourself, and would have teased you a little
longer, but that I know myself too, -and am
aware that it is dangerous sporting where a
fair girl is concerned — at least, with Gascon
blood in one's veins. So you shall go, and God
speed you. I knew your father in my youth,
when he was here in France, and I would have
saved his life if he had fled to me at once, as
he should have done. You are a sad race of
rebels, you Ruthvens ; but all my best friends
have been rebels in their day, and therefore I
must not exclude you."

Thus saying the king began to write with a
rapid and careless hand, while the young earl,
in whom some part of what he had said had
wakened painful memories, sat with his eyes
bent upon the ground, and his mind buried in
thought.

Henry's letter, though somewhat quaint and
formal, as his epistles to Queen Elizabeth
usually were, was conceived in a gay and light
tone, and intended, beyond all doubt, to do the
young earl service with the royal lady to whom
it was addressed. After the usual form of
superscription, he went on to say, " I have learn-
ed of your Majesty to deal promptly with ene-
mies, and therefore, though most unwilling to
have recourse to arms against our good cousin
of Savoy, being desirous to live peaceably with
all men, yet finding that he mistook us for
children, I judged it right to lead here, into the
heart of his territories, an army which, I think,
is bringing him rapidly to a better judgment.
We have taken a number of his towns and
castles, and are now here in the very heart of
the mountains, with Chamberry and Montmeil-
lant in our hands, and nothing but the citadels
holding out. In the midst of these successes,
I have been visited by the noble lord, the Earl
of Gowrie, who will lay these at your feet ;
and, as he is exceedingly desirous of serving
your Majesty, I trust my letter to his care,
being well assured of his honor and fidelity.
Moreover, as doubtless your Majesty well
knows, he is bound to honor and serve your
royal person, even by the ties of blood, being
descended, though remotely, and by the female
line, from that great prince who terminated by
the sword on Bosworth field the dissensions of
York and Lancaster. I doubt not that for his
own sake you will grace him with your favor,
and whatever may be wanting in his own
deserts to the eyes of one who judges not
lightly, I trust you will grant him, for the sake
of your Majesty's brother and grateful servant.

" Henry."

" Now, a few words to good Sir Henry Ne-
ville," said the king, looking up; "and then
I will dismiss you, Gowrie, to your journey,
that you may say, you had nothing but good at
the hands of the king of France."

He then wrote a letter, in rather a different
strain, to the English embassador in Paris,
recommending the young earl to his care and
notice, and begging him to forward to the ut-
most of his power, consistently with his duty
to his royal mistress, whatever views the en I

GOWRIE: OR, THE KINGS PLOT.

47

might have at the English court. Then start-
ing up, he said, "Now call the page, Gowrie,
and let him bring wax and silk to seal these
epistles, after which we will to horse with all
speed, for I must on the way too. I have
played Henry of France long enough to-day.
I must now play Henry of Navarre again, for I
intend to have Charbonnieres before to-morrow
night."

The letters were soon sealed, and once more
Lord Gowrie and his party set out upon their
way, the king himself accompanying them with
a small troop some three or four miles on their
road. He then took leave of them with a gal-
lant speech to the fair Julia, and a gay jest
with the young earl ; and wending onward
slowly, those whom he thus left made the best
of their way to Lyons, where some repose be-
came absolutely necessary.

As this book is not intended for an itinerary,
I shall not dwell upon the events of their
farther journey, which was very much like all
other journeys in that day, when very few
facilities were offered to the traveler for pro-
ceeding at a rapid pace to the end of his jour-
ney. Inns, indeed, were infinitely more numer-
ous in France than even at present, for the
very slowness of progression rendered it neces-
sary that halting places should be provided at
short distances ; and, of course, those inns
were sometimes very good, and sometimes
very bad, according to the quality of the land-
lord, and the class of guests whom he was ac-
customed to receive. Although it is probable,
that, from the most barbarous ages down to
the present time, some sorts of machines on
wheels, usually called carriages, have been
used among European nations, and that per-
sons traveled in them from one part of a coun-
try to another, yet very few persons in France
at that period ever adopted such a mode of
conveyance, but performed their journeys on
horseback, when they were capable of so do-
ing. I am not aware, indeed, whether the
horses which were provided for travelers at
different stations all along the high roads were
even fitted for draft ; and the usual plan, when
either dignity or infirmity induced any one to
travel in a carriage, was to proceed with his
own horses, or to hire of the peasantry beasts
of draft, which could usually be obtained at
any of the small towns on the road. For trav-
elers journeying with their own horses, the
best inns were of course always open ; and the
appearance of the party of the Earl of Gowrie
secured reverent reception from landlords and
attendants. Nevertheless, the inconvenience
and fatigue to which the fair Julia was sub-
jected during her long journey were so great,
that at Lyons Gowrie determined to purchase
a carriage and four horses for herself and her
maid, and in this conveyance they proceeded
on their way, escorted by the rest of the party
on horseback. The length of time spent on the
journey, however, was by this means, rendered
much greater than it otherwise would have
been, for — tell it not in these days of railroads
— the utmost they could accomplish on the
average was three-and-twenty miles in the day.

Who is there nowadays who would not de-
clare such a journey very tiresome 1 but yet, if
the truth must be told, neither Lord Gowrie

nor his fair companion found it so. Bee-like,
they extracted pleasure from every flower on
the way ; and an impression seemed to have
taken possession of them, which we but too
rarely obtain in life, that the present may be
rendered, if we please, the happiest part of ex-
istence. There were no particular clouds in
the horizon of the future. There was nothing
tangible which could make them dread the com-
ing days ; but they felt that they were very
happy in the society of each other ; and though
they both longed for the hour when their fate
would be permanently united, every other change
but that presented itself to imagination as some-
thing fearful. Long as the journey from Lyons
to Paris was, it was at length accomplished ;
and as they approached the barriers of the great
city, Lord Gowrie rode on with a single serv-
ant, to seek and prepare lodgings for his whole
party. He commended Julia to the care of
Mr. Rhind, but spoke a few words, before he
rode away, to Austin Jute, directing him where
to seek him in the city, and trusting, if the truth
must be told, more to his wit and capacity than
to any knowledge of the world possessed by his
former tutor.

The carriage passed the gates of Paris with-
out difficulty, and went slowly on through the
tortuous streets of the capital of France, the
way being so narrow in many places, that the
servants who rode with the vehicle were obliged
to drop behind. Mr. Rhind had. taken a place
in the coach at the barrier ; but he could not
refrain here and there from drawing back the
leathern curtains which covered that open space
which is defended by windows in more modern
vehicles, but which was then altogether desti-
tute of glass. The motive he assigned to him-
self and Julia for so doing was, to see that the
driver went right to the Place Royale, where
they were to meet the young earl ; but, in truth,
the worthy gentleman's knowledge of Paris was
much too limited to enable him to give any ac-
curate directions in case the man had gone
wrong, and perhaps curiosity might have had
as great a share in the act as caution. How-
ever that may be, the proceeding proved unfor-
tunate. The sea remains long agitated after a
storm, and the civil wars which had desolated
France for so many years, had left a great deal
of license in the capital, which not all the firm-
ness and energy of the king had been able to
repress. Just as the carriage was turning out
of the Rue St. Antoine toward the river, and
while the servants were yet behind, a gay com-
pany of young men rode by at the very moment
Mr. Rhind was about to close the curtain again.
The look which one of them gave into the vehi-
cle called the color into Julia's cheek. It might
be difficult to explain what there was in the ex-
pression which caused the blood to rush so
quickly into her face — she never could explain
it herself; but she felt that it was insolent, if
not insulting. The curtain, however, was im-
mediately drawn, and she thought the annoy-
ance past, when suddenly the clatter of a horse's
feet at the side of the carriage was heard, the
curtain was pulled rudely back from without,
and the same face which she had before seen
was thrust partly into the carriage.

The stranger said something in a laughing
tone, but Julia heard not what it was, and a»-

18

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

most at the same moment she saw an arm
stretched out, and a clenched fist strike the in-
truder a violent blow on the side of the head,
while the voice of Austin Jute exclaimed in
English, "Take that, for showing so much more
impudence than wit. Never thrust your snout
where you can't get if out."

A scene of strange confusion instantly fol-
lowed, of which she could only behold or com-
prehend a small part. She saw Austin Jute
off his horse, and the stranger in the same sit-
uation. But then Mr. Rhind drew the curtain
tight, and tied the thongs. There was a clash-
ing of swords, however, and the combatants
6eemed to run round and round the vehicle,
which, by this time, had stopped, till at length
there came a low cry and a deep groan, and
then the voice of Austin exclaimed aloud, speak-
ing to the driver, " On ! — on to the Place Roy-
ale as quick as possible !"

CHAPTER XV.

We must now change the scene for a while,
and carry the reader to a very different part of
the world. In a small cabinet in the old castle
of Stirling, sat a young man between nineteen
and twenty years of age. It was clear, and
even a warm day, though the season was win-
ter. No snow, however, had yet fallen ; the
fields were still green ; and the beautiful scene
that stretched out beneath the eye, with the
tall highlands mounting to the sky on the one
side, with the fair lowland scene spread out for
miles on the other, displaying all the windings
of the Forth on its course toward the sea, little
needed the leafy foliage of the spring or sum-
mer to render it exquisitely beautiful. It is
probable, indeed, that he who built the high tur-
ret in which the cabinet was situated, had little
thought of affording a beautiful scene to those
who occupied it, for its destination was that of
a watch-tower, and from its peculiar position it
commanded the widest possible view to be ob-
tained of the country on three sides. The
young man whom I have mentioned, paid as
little attention to the fair landscape stretched
beneath his eyes as the builder of the tower
may be supposed to have done, though he sat
near one of the four small windows which it
contained, and the casement was wide open.
In his hand — as he had cast himself back, rest-
ing against the stone- work of the window, with
his head leaning forward, and his feet crossed
over each other — was a small piece of paper,
closely written in a female hand, and oft he
gazed upon it, and oft he smiled, and once he
raised it to his lips and kissed it. There was
something that pleased him well in that paper.
Oh, false and treacherous hopes of youth, how
often do ye prove sweet poisons, which we
quaff gayly to our own destruction ! I once
saw a curious piece of ancient sculpture, rep-
resenting a child playing with a serpent, and I
have often thought that the sculptor must have
intended to typify the hopes of youth.

Still he gazed, and smiled, and played with
the paper, and fell into thought. What was it
the enchantress promised him ? What was the
golden dream which, for the hour, possessed
the palace of the soul ? I know not. Woman's

love belike, for he was as fair a youth to look
upon as ever mortal eye beheld — exceedingly
like his brother, the Earl of Cowrie, but of a
lighter and a gayer aspect.

Hark ! There is the sound of a foot upon
the short flight of steps that lead up to the tur-
ret from the large chamber below ! It is not
the step of her he loves. It is not hers, the
giver of the gay day-dream in which he has
been indulging ; for see, he suddenly hides the j

paper, and looks toward the door with a glance
of surprise if not alarm. And yot it is a wo-
man's foot, light and soft-falling ; and the form
that now appears at the door is surely young
enough and bright enough to waken all the ten-
derest emotions of the heart.

But no ! There is a slight gesture of pettish
impatience, and he exclaims, " What, Beatrice!
What do you want now? Really, you tire-
some girl, one can not have a moment's time
for thought."

" Thought, Alex ?" cried the young lady, with
a laugh; "I wish to heaven you would think,
or think to some purpose. I have come to make
you think if I can. Nay, nay, no signs of im-
patience, for I intend to lecture you; and you
must both hear and consider what I have to
say. Though I be a year younger, yet I am
older in court and experience than you are.
Oh, if you get up that way, I shall lock the
door ;" and she did as she threatened, adding,
" What do you laugh at ?"

" At your sauciness, silly girl," answered
Alexander Ruthven. " Where should you get
experience, and what right have you to assume
all the airs of sage old age?"

" I got my experience in this court," answer-
ed Beatrice, " where I have been for eighteen
months, and you but three; and as for age,
Alex, a woman of eighteen is as old as a man
of four or five-and-twenty. So now sit you down
there, like a good boy, and listen to what I am
going to say to you." ±

Alexander Ruthven cast himself down in the
seat again, with aft air in which a certain af-
fectation of scornful merriment overlaid, but
could not conceal altogether, an expression of
irritable mortification. " Well," he said, " here
I am. Pray to what do your sage counsels tend,
sister of mine ?"

" They tend to your happiness, your safety,
your honor, Alex," answered the Lady Beatrice,
a little sharply, for though she had come with
the kindest as well as highest purposes, her
brother's tone hurt her.

" Now gad's my life !" replied Alexander
Ruthven, " I do believe that no man upon earth
would suppose this to be the gay, bird-hearted
Beatrice Ruthven."

" If so, what must be the brother's conduct
which has so changed me, which has made the
gay, grave, the light-hearted, heavy?" demand-
ed Beatrice.

Her words now seemed to strike him more
than those which she had previously uttered,
for there was a deep melancholy in her tone,
which gave their meaning additional point. —
" Well, Beatrice," he said, laying his hand on
hers, " you are a dear good girl, I believe, and
love me truly. Tell me what it is in my con-
duct that you object to?"

Beatrice i-nstantlv threw her arms round hte

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

4C

neck and kissed him. " This is like my own
dear brother," she said ; " and now I'll be
Beatrice again. But to the point. Do you
know, Alex Ruthven — do you know that you
are flirting with a queen till it is remarked by
many?"

The youth's cheek turned fiery red. " Pooh,
pooh !" he cried, " this is all folly ! Can I not,
in common courteous gallantry, profess my devo-
tion to my sovereign's wife, without any evil con-
struction ? Surely the difference between our
stations is so great as to leave no ground dither
for danger or suspicion."

" The difference of station is so great as to
free her from all danger of evil," replied Bea-
trice ; " and I trust there are higher and holier
principles, too, which would keep you, Alex,
from the same ; but neither those principles nor
that difference will free either of you from sus-
picion, nor will it free you from danger even of
your life, if you and she go on as you have been
doing."

" Why, what have I done, and what ought I
to have done?" demanded the young man, al-
most sullenly.

" I can tell you better what you ought not to
have done," answered his sister. " You ought
not to take private moments for stooping over
the queen's chair, and whispering words into
her ear with low tones and sweet smiles. You
ought not, in any mask or pageant at the court,
to seek her out, and find her instantly, as if you
had some secret way of discovering which she
is, among a hundred different disguises. You
should not have pages coming to you with bil-
lets to be delivered secretly. I could tell you a
dozen more things you should not do ; but me-
thinks this is enough."

The young man's countenance had changed
expression several times while she spoke ; but
at last he answered, angrily, " Do you consider,
Beatrice, that you censure your royal mistress
as well as me?"

" Heaven forbid?" exclaimed his sister. "I
am her lady of honor ; and her honor is dear
to me as my own. No, no, what she does, and
what she permits, is, I do believe, from a
knowledge of the vast difference between her
and you — the barriers between the sovereign
and the subject, which she never dreams that
you will venture to overstep. She knows not
the danger to herself and you, even of that
which is done in all innocence ; and you, who
should know it better, go rashly on, I trust
with a pure heart, but still with an evil aspect
to the world. Nay, more, Alex, I tell you, you
are watched by eager and jealous eyes, and
that your name — which never should be — is
ever coupled in men's mouths with the queen's.
Beware, beware in time, my dear brother."

Alexander Ruthven put his hand to his head,
and gazed down on the ground with an expres-
sion no longer that of anger, but rather of sor-
row, and almost of despair. " ^new not it
would come to this," he said. " Heaven and
earth ! what is to be done ?"

" I thought you knew it not," said his sister,
"and therefore, my dear brother, I was resolved
to warn you. As to what is to be done, I think
nothing can be more easy. Get leave of ab-
sence for a while, and when you return, be
careful of all your words and looks. Of your
D

purposes and acts, I believe — nay, I am sure —
there is no need to warn you to be careful. But
remember, my brother, and ever bear it in mind,
that though yourself and though the queen may
be perfectly blameless, a cojurt is always filled,
not alone with the suspicious, but with the ma-
levolent. It must ever be so in a place where
one man can only rise by another man's down-
fall. If your purposes be true and noble — and I
will not doubt that they are so — and if your con-
duct be but prudent, the task before you is an
easy one."

The young man waved his hand and turned
away his head. "More difficult than you
know," he said, gloomily. " Oh, how diffi-
cult!"

He seemed as if he were about to go on,
but at that moment some one suddenly laid a
hand upon the lock of the door, and tried to
open it. The young man and his sister both
started, and looked at each other with an ex-
pression difficult to describe. Beatrice turned
very pale, her brother very red, for each fixed
in their own mind upon a person in that court
as the yet unseen visitor ; and in the imagina-
tion of both it was the same. Another instant,
however, undeceived them. The door 'was
shaken violently, and the voice of the king ex-
claimed, in broad Scotch, " Hout ! What's
this ? Wha's lockit in here ? Alex Ruthven,
what need to steek the door, man?" At the
same time he continued to shake the door fu-
riously, as if seeking to force his way in.

Beatrice instantly started forward and turned
the key, and the door at once flew open, nearly
knocking her down. In the door-way appeared
James himself, with his coarse countenance
flushed, and a heavy frown upon bis brow
while a little behind was seen one of his favor
ites at that time, named Doctor Herries, and
another form, the sight of which made Bea-
trice's heart beat quick. Without noticing the
young lady, James took a stride into the room,
and looked all round, with his large tongue
lolling about in his mouth, and the tip appear-
ing between his half-open teeth. It was evi-
dent that he expected to see some other person
besides those which the room contained ; but
there was no place of concealment of any kind,
and no means of exit except the door near
which he stood. The furniture itself was so
scanty, that one glance was sufficient to show
him he had been mistaken. Prefixing one of
those blasphemous oaths in which he so fre-
quently indulged, he exclaimed, "What the
de'il is the meaning o' this ? Why should
brother and sister lock the door upon them-
selves ?"

By this time, however, Beatrice had recover-
ed her self-possession, and she replied, with a
low courtesy, " It was nothing, your majesty,
but that Alex and I have had a little bit of a
quarrel, and I was determined to have it out
with him. He wanted to run away, and so I
locked the door."

" I think that's a flaw, lassie," replied the
king, coarsely ; " but gin you've quarreled with
your billy, tell me what it's about, and I'll soon
redd ye."

" It's all redd up already, sire," answered
Beatrice.

The king, however, was determined to hear

50

GOWR1E: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

more, and pressed her closely ; but Beatrice,
without any want of respect, answered him
with spirit. " I am not going to tell of my
brother, sir," she said. " When brother and
sister quarrel, it is better, like man and wife,
that they should settle tfieir quarrels them-
selves ; and ours is settled. So, with your
majesty's good leave, I'll not begin the matter
again."

"Ay," murmured the king to himself, in a
bitter tone. " These Ruthvens are all rebels.

By " he continued, turning to Doctor Her-

ries, " I thought he had got some one else
locked in here than his sister, and that there
were more sweet words than bitter ones going
on.'

Doctor Herries, a coarse, hard-featured man,
with a club foot, shrugged his shoulders, say-
ing, in a low voice, " Your majesty is seldom
wrong in the end ; but you had better not let
him see all that you suspect, and give him some
reason for coming."

" Oo, ay," said the king. " It had gane clean
out o' my heed. Weel, Alex, my bairn," he
continued, in a cajoling tone, which he not un-
frequently assumed when seeking to cozen
some one, against whom he meditated evil,
into a belief that he was well disposed toward
him, " I was just bringing you this good knight
here, who came this morning with letters from
your mother. 'Deed, his business, it seems,
is mair with your saucy titty than yoursel ;
but I thought it just as weel to let you know
what was going on before I put they two to-
gether."

Beatrice colored till the blood mounted over
tier whole forehead, but Alexander Ruthven
answered somewhat sullenly, " I thank your
majesty, and am well pleased to see Sir John
Hume. As for my sister, she is her own mis-
tress, and sometimes wants to be mine, too."

" There now," said the king, laughing, " the
bairn's in the dorts ; but what he says is true
enough, as Sir John may find out some day.
She'd fain manage us all. So now I shall leave
you three together, for I've got a world of work
to do. A crowned heed is no a light ane."

Thus saying, he retired with his club-footed
favorite, taking a look back at the door to see
the expression of the faces he left behind ; but
well knowing his majesty's habits, all parties
guarded their looks till he was gone, and the
door shut. Even then they were silent till the
heavy step of Doctor Herries was heard cross-
ing the room below, for the king's propensity
to eaves-dropping was no secret in Stirling
Castle.

As soon as they were assured that he was
gone, Sir John Hume, even before he exchang-
ed greetings with her he loved, turned to young
Ruthven, exclaiming, "In Heaven's name, Alex,
what is the mater with the kingl"

" I don't know, answered Alexander Ruth-
ven. " He does not make me the keeper of
his secrets."

" But this secret somehow affects yo*," re-
plied Hume; "and it is worth looking to, my
friend, far James's enmities are very deadly,
and his fears often as much so."

" What makes you think that he has any
ill will toward me, Huir.e !" asked the young
man, who, if the truth must be told, had been

not a little alarmed by all that had tanen
place.

" His whole conduct," answered Hume. " He
kept me below nearly half an hour talking the
merest nonsense in the world — a heap of learn-
ed trash about Padua and Livy, just like the
dawdling nonsense of old Rollock of the High
School, when he fell into his dotage. And yet
he fidgeted abuut the whole time, pulling the
points of his fcose in a way that showed me he
was uneasy. Then he called a page, and whis-
pered to him some message ; and then he be-
gan again upon Livy, and roared out a whole
page of crabbed Latin, and asked me if I could
translate it. Just at that minute the boy came
back again, and said aloud he could not find her
majesty, upon which up started James, saying,
' We'll find some one, I'll warrant. Come
along, Cowdenknows. Come along, Herries.
You must come and see the work ;' and then he
said, as if he had forgotten to say it before, ■ I'll
take you to Alex Ruthven, John Hume.' All
this time he was rolling away toward the door,
like an empty barrel trundled throi-gh the
streets by a cooper's man. I never saw him
go so fast before in my life — muttering all the
way, too, till he came to this door ; and he
seemed in such a fury, when he found it locked,
that I did not know what was to happen next ;
and a bright sight for me was the face of this
dear lady when I came in. Bright as it always
is," he added, taking Beatrice's hand and kiss-
ing it, " it never looked so bright as then."

" Nay, nay, Hume," said Beatrice, let us talk
of more serious matter, and seriously. What
you say makes me very uneasy. I saw the
king was angry about something, and your ac-
count proves that his anger was not light-
Give us your counsel. What is beat to be done?"

Alexander Ruthven had cast himself down
again, and seemed buried in bitter thought ;
but his sister's words roused him, and he start-
ed up, exclaiming, " What I will do is decided.
I will away to the king, and ask leave of ab-
sence— absence !" he murmured to himself —
"a bitter boon! He well may grant that;"
and, without waiting for reply or comment, he
hurried from the room.

" And now, dear girl," said Hume, as soon
as he was gone, " let us speak of happier
themes. Is my Beatrice changed, or does the
heart of the woman still confirm the promise of
the girl?"

" Don't you see I am changed !" answered
Beatrice, gayly. " I am half an inch taller, and
a great deal thinner. My mother was quite
right to say that she had no notion of a girl
marrying till she had done growing."

" Ay, but is the mind changed ?" said Hume .
" you have changed, my Beatrice — from lovely
to lovelier."

" Fie !" exclaimed Beatrice. " You might
have made it a superlative, and said loveliest,
at once ; but if you think I have become more
beautiful in person, why should you think I am
uglier in mind ? And would it not be so, John
Hume, to cast old love lightly away like a
crumpled farthingale? No, no; you know
right well that Beatrice does not. change ; and,
therefore, all the time that you are asking such
silly questions, you call her your Beatrice, I*
show that yoa are ijuue sure."

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

51

" And you are my own dear Beatrice, ever,"
said the young knight, throwing his arm round
her, with a smile ; " and if there was the least
little hit of doubt engendered by two long years
of absence, it was the least little bit in the
world."

"There, that will do," said Beatrice, turning
away her head, but not very resolutely. " But,
now, tell me about my dear brother Gowrie.
Where is he! What is he doing] When is
he coming back 1" *

" When last I left him, he was at Voghera,"
iep!ied her lover. "What he was doing, was
making love ; and when he will be back de-
pends upon the state of the roads, the courage
of Mr. Rhind, and the strength of the fair lady
who bears him company."

"Making love'!" said Beatrice. "I heard
something of this from my mother. A fair
Italian, is not she 1 Beautiful, I will answer
for it : for John knew what beauty is, even
when a boy ; but I do not think that he would
be taken by beauty alone. Heaven and earth !
I must get somebody to teach me a few more
phrases of Italian than I have. Can the dear
girl speak French, do you know !"

" I can not tell," answered Hume, laughing ;
" for I never spoke to her in any thing but
English, which she speaks nearly as well as
you do, Beatrice, and better than I do. There
is Florentine blood in her veins, it is true ; and
the warm south shines out in her eyes, and
glows upon her cheek ; but she is Scottish by
birth, and half Scottish by parentage. More I
can not tell you, Beatrice, for more I do not
know. She is Protestant, too, Gowrie says ;
and certainly I never saw her tell beads or
heard her say Pater-nosters. She was likely
to have got roasted for the omission ; but that,
I trust, will secure her a warm reception
here."

" From me and mine, at least," replied
Beatrice. " But if you mean from the court, I
do not know what to say. The king has his
own notions of religion as well as of govern-
ment. They are both much the same, and
both somewhat strange. I believe he would
willingly have the whole land papist, if he
might but be the pope. Indeed, he insists
upon being the pope of his own church, and
makes every one bow the head to his infalli-
bility."

" He'll find that a hard matter in Scotland,"
said Sir John Hume, gravely ; " and I almost
fear that Gowrie's humor will not suit all he
finds here — at least what I hear on my return
makes me think so. I understand the king has
forbidden three or four ministers to preach, be-
cause they would not defend his actual suprem-
acy. The days of old John Knox seem to be
quite forgotten.'

"Not quite," answered Beatrice. "There
are those who remember them, though the king
does* not. God grant that Gowrie may have
the prudence to keep quiet, for the king will
have his way. There are some men who
oppose him, and many who laugh at him ; but
by one means or another, he makes them all
bend to his will sooner or later ; and there is
generally harm comes of it, if people do not
yield readily."

" Every body is tired of the feuds we have

had," answered Hume ; '• and therefore men
give way to things they disapprove ; but Gow-
rie's is a spirit not easily bowed, and I doubt
that he will ever be a favorite here."

" Heaven grant that he never may," replied
the lady; "for it is a place of peril, depend
upon it, Hume, and one out of which I shall be
right glad to be."

" That may be when you will, dear Beatrice,"
answered Hume. " You have but to say the
day, and free yourself from the bonds that tie
you to a court."

" In order to fetter myself with others," said
Beatrice, gayly ; " but it is not so easy as you
suppose, John. When my mother's letter came
to the queen, telling her majesty that she con-
sented to our marriage, the king vowed, with a
great many hard oaths, that he would not have
it for a twelvemonth."

At this announcement Sir John Hume became
very wroth, and ventured to break the precepts
of the wise king in regard to speaking ill of
princes ; but his angry exclamations were cut
short by the return of Alexander Ruthven, with
the tidings that he had obtained leave of absence
very readily, and was about to set out. " What
must be done, had better be done quickly," he
said ; and then with a meaning look he added,
" Excuse me to her majesty, Beatrice, for I
shall not be able to see her before I go."

It is probable that the young man did not in
truth seek to deceive his sister ; but certain it
is, that some two hours after, when the king
had gone out on horseback, Beatrice, as she
looked forth from one of the windows, saw
Anne of Denmark walking unattended, between
the castle wall and Heading Hill, a little mound
just beyond the limits of the castle. I have
said unattended, but not unaccompanied, for
by her side was a form very like that of Alex-
ander Ruthven ; and Beatrice, as she saw it,
pressed her hands together tightly, murmuring,
" Rash boy."

CHAPTER XVI.

In the year 1599, the Place Royale at Paris
was a new and fashionable part of the world ;
but nevertheless, one of the best houses, form-
ing an angle with the street which led down
from the Rue St. Antoine, had been taken by
an Italian speculator, to be let out in apartments
as a sort of inn, or, as it would now be called,
hotel, though the more modest title of auberge
was all that it then assumed. Next door to
this house, was the hotel of the English em-
bassador, Sir Henry Neville ; and before the
porte cochere of each of the two houses was
assembled a little knot of four or five persons ;
in the one instance composed of servants gaz-
ing vacantly out into the Place ; and in the
other, of the master of the house, some of his
waiters, and the Earl of Gowrie, with the ser-
vant whom he had taken with him from the
gates. The young earl and the host, with
whom he had just arranged for the reception
of his party, were looking up the street, and
waiting for the arrival of the carriage, when
suddenly they saw it approaching at a much
more rapid pace than they expected, and a-
tumultuous assemblage of seveial persons fol

52

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

lowing, while Austin Jute, at a quick trot, rode
on before. The moment he arrived in the
square, he sprang from his horse, and throwing
the rein loose, approached his master, saying,
in English, " I am sorry to tell you, my lord,
that a young man has just thought fit to insult
the Lady Julia, so I ran him through the body ;
and now they are following with a guard to
catch me. I had therefore better be off, and
find your lordship out afterward."

He spoke rapidly, without any of his usual
proverbs ; but his young lord replied, " Stay,
stay, Austin ; if you are not in fault, I will
protect you."

" I could not help myself, sir," replied the
man. " He thrust his head into the carriage.
I boxed his ears. He drew his sword, and I
defended myself. There are plenty who can
prove it."

" Let him come in here," said one of the
English embassador's servants, who had been
listening. " If he's an Englishman, here's the
proper place for him. This is the embassy."

"Run in there, Austin," said the young earl.
"Tell your story to Sir Henry Neville, if he be
within, and say that I will see him in a few
minutes. Let him know that you are a subject
of her majesty the queen, and he will give you
protection."

" Come along, come along ; there is no time
to stand talking," cried the English servant ;
and hurrying after him, Austin Jute ran under
the porte cochere, and the gates were closed
just as the carriage drove into the Place, and
stopped at the door of the inn.

The servants who had remained with the
vehicle were four in number ; and they had
without difficulty contrived to cover Austin
Jute's retreat, by riding between the wheels of
the carriage and the houses of the narrow
street, though pressed upon by two mounted
gentlemen, who followed them with drawn
swords and menacing words. The moment
the carriage entered the Place, however, the
horsemen who were pursuing dashed round
the vehicle and the servants, and just caught
sight of the closing gates of the English em-
bassy. At the same time, coming down the
street, as fast as they could run, were five or
six of the town guard, with large unwieldy hal-
bards on their shoulders, which, of course,
greatly impeded their advance.

" Did he go in there"!" shouted one of the
horsemen, as soon as he saw Austin's rider-
less horse in the Place, and the gates of the
English embassy closed.

The words were addressed to no one in par-
ticular ; but he looked straight to the Earl of
Gowrie as he spoke. The young nobleman
took no notice of him, however, but calmly
handed Julia out of the vehicle, saying, " Go
straight in with Mr. Rhind, dear one. Every
thing is ready for you ;" and then, seeing that
she was very pale, he added, " Do not be
alarmed. There is no danger. Austin has
taken refuge at the English embassador's. —
Go in with the lady, and show her the apart-
ments, sir," he said, speaking to the landlord.
" I will follow immediately."

" But, my dear lord," said Mr. Rhind, who
had by this time got out of the carriage.

" Go in, go in," said Gowrie, interrupting

him, as he saw the two horsemen coming up
toward them, and the guard entering the Place.
"Go in, my dear sir, and do not leave her till
I come. Now, gentlemen," he continued, turn-
ing to the strangers, as soon as he saw that
Julia was safe in the hotel, " you seem to have
business with me."

" Sacre bleu!" cried one of the others;
" does that carriage belong to you, sir!"

" It does," replied Lord Gowrie, quite calmly

" Well, then, one of your companions has
just killed a gentleman, our friend," rejoined
the stranger, furiously ; " and we will have
vengeance upon him."

" I understand," replied Gowrie, in the same
unmoved tone, " that one of my servants — see-
ing a person, whom I will not honor by calling
him a gentleman, insult a lady — punished him
as he deserved, and then, in his own defense,
ran him through the body. Is this the case or
not!"

"Your servant !" exclaimed the Frenchman,
without giving a direct answer, but mixing a
few very indecent expletives with his speech ;
" was it a coquin of a servant who ventured to
draw his sword upon a gentleman 1"

" It is impossible to know a gentleman but
by his actions," replied the young earl ; " and
whether he were gentle or simple, my servant
would certainly punish any one who insulted a
lady under his protection, well knowing, sir,
that I would justify him and support him either
with my sword or with my means ; and let me
add more, that whoever or whatsoever you
may be, I shall look upon those who take part
with him who committed the insult, as having
shared in it, and treat them accordingly."

The Frenchman to whcm he spoke instantly
sprang to the ground ; and perhaps more seri-
ous results would have ensued, had not the
guard with their halbards come up, and thrust
themselves between the earl and his opponent,
both of whom had their hands upon their
swords.

" Where is he 1 where is he 1" was the cry ;
and the officer of the guard seemed much in-
clined to lay hands upon Gowrie himself, not
having a very correct notion of the personal
appearance of him he was to apprehend.

" You are mistaken, my good sir," said Lord
Gowrie ; " the person you are in search of ap-
parently, has taken refuge at the house of the
English embassador, being a subject of that
crown. At present, I am but scantily informed
of what has occurred. Is the person he fought
with dead, and who is he V

" He is not dead, but he will die certainly,"
said the officer ; and the Frenchman, who had
dismounted, as I have stated, finished the re-
ply by saying, " He is a Scotch lord, who has
been brought up with us at this university, the
Seigneur de Ramsay."

" I know no Scottish lord of that name," said
the earl.

" We must have the homicide out, howev-
er," observed the officer of the guard ; and ap-
proaching the gate of the embassy, he knocked
hard for admission.

It was common, in all large Parisian houses
at that period, to have a small iron grating in-
serted in the great gates, at the height of a
man's head, through which, in times of danger

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT

53

letters or messages might be received by those
within, without opening the doors. This, at
the English embassy, was covered in the in-
side with a thick shutter of wood, which, on
the loud knocking of the officer of the guard,
was withdrawn, showing the face of a burly
porter behind the grate.

" What do you want V demanded the porter.

" I want the body of a man who has taken
refuge here after committing homicide," re-
plied the officer

•'You can't have him, either body or soul,
unless his excellency gives him up," answered
the porter, gruffly.

There is in every man's mind, I believe, a
store of the comic, which, though often bat-
tened down under strange and little-penetrable
hatches, is sometimes arrived at, even in a
very obdurate bosom, by the simplest of all
possible processes. The Earl of Cowrie was
in no very jesting mood. He was vexed at
the scrape his servant had got into ; and he
was vexed to think that the life of a human
being had been endangered, if not lost. He
was vexed, moreover, then, that Julia — his
Julia, should have been insulted by any one on
her first entrance into the French capital. But
yet the braggadocio tone of the French cava-
lier had somewhat amused him ; and the reply
of the sturdy English porter, delivered in very
indifferent French, almost made him laugh,
notwithstanding the seriousness of the subject.
He had approached close to the gate with the
officer, who, for the moment, seemed com-
pletely rebuffed by the reply ; and knowing
well that the matter could not end there, Govv-
rie interposed, to procure a more just and rea-
sonable arrangement. He did not choose to use
the English language, lest any suspicion should
be excited in the minds of the Frenchmen
around ; but speaking French almost as well
as he did his native language, he said, "Be
kind ejiough, my good friend, to tell Sir Henry
NevilleUhat the Earl of Govvrie is at his gate,
and would fain speak with him ; but as French
gentlemen are very apt to take their own pre-
possessions for realities, and to suspect, when-
ever they are in the wrong themselves, that
others are in fault, it will be better, if he does
me the honor of admitting me, that he should
admit this officer of the prevot, and also this
gentleman, who styles himself the friend of
the wounded man."

"I demand that the culprit should be deliv-
ered up," said the cavalier fiercely. " The
privileges of no embassador can shelter a mur-
derer ; and as to prepossessions, we all know
that you Englishman are the natural enemies
of France, and that you have never aided any
party in this country but for the purpose of pro-
moting dissensions, and thereby nullify the ef-
forts of Frenchmen for the honor and glory of
their native land."

" His majesty, your king, might well be grate-
ful to you for the observation, sir," replied the
earl ; " and my opinion of a Frenchman's prej-
udices is not altered thereby ; but as my propo-
sal is a fair one, I am quite willing to abide by
it if it suits you. If not, I shall demand entrance
for myself alone, which I think will not be re-
fused me, as a distant relative of the embassa-
dor's sovereign."

The latter words of the earl's reply had no
slight effect upon the officer of the guard, who
thenceforth addressed the young earl as "mon-
seigneur," and took pains to explain to him that
he was only acting in the strict line of duty.
The two French cavaliers stood apart, consult-
ing between themselves, till the porter returned,
after carrying Gowrie's message to Sir Henry
Neville.

" I am to permit three to enter," he said ;
" but while I do so the rest must stand back to
at least thirty paces from the gate, that I may
open the wicket in safety."

The guard, and Gowrie's men, who had
crowded round, were ordered to withdraw to
the prescribed distance ; and the command
having been obeyed with no great alacrity, a
small wicket in the gate was opened, through
which Gowrie passed at once, taking precedence
of the others as his right, from a knowledge
that it is always dangerous to yield a single
step to a Frenchman, who is certain never to
consider it as a courtesy, but to look upon it as
an acknowledgment of his superiority. The
officer of the guard followed ; and then came
the stranger, looking back for a moment to some
half-dozen idlers who had gathered round, with
a strong inclination to call upon them to assert
the honor of France, whether impugned or not
impugned. Although Gowrie saw the glance,
and easily comprehended what was passing in
the worthy gentleman's bosom, his mind was
put perfectly at ease by the array which he saw
drawn up in the court-yard of the embassy.
Those days were not as these, when powdered
lacqueys, in the gold and silver lace which their
masters will not condescend to wear, with two
or three attaches and a few clerks hired on the
spot, are the only guards of a diplomatist ac-
credited by one court to another. Men went
prepared for any contingency, and buckler and
broadsword were as common in the suite of an
embassador as paper and pen and ink. Full
forty men, well armed and stout in limb were
drawn up in the court of the embassy, while the
secretary of the envoy himself waited at the
foot of the stairs, on the left hand, ready to
conduct the earl and his companions to the
minister's cabinet. To the Earl of Gowrie he
was particularly deferential and attentive, while
to the French cavalier who followed, and whom
he addressed as Monsieur de Malzais, he was
coldly polite. After passing through two or
three handsome saloons, the whole party was
ushered into a small room surrounded with
bookshelves ; and a tall, elegant, dignified
looking man rose up from a table to receive
them, laying down a book which he had been
reading, with the most perfect appearance of
tranquillity and ease. His eye instantly rested
on the Earl of Gowrie being in truth well ac-
quainted with the persons of the two others, and
advancing toward him, he took his hand, and
welcomed him to Paris with many expressions
of esteem and regard.

" I have had a letter from his majesty, the
king of France," he said, " informing me of
your lordship's approaching arrival ; and I only
regretted that I did not know how I might serve
you in anticipation of your coming, so that all
might he prepared for you. Pray, my lord,
be seated •" and placing a chair for him, he

54

G0WR1E: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

remained standing till the earl had taken his
seat.

We can hardly bring our minds in the present
day to believe that all this ceremonious respect,
this ostentatious display of reverence for a fel-
low man, could have any effect upon the view
which reasonable beings would take of a simple
question of Justice. But there was very little
of the old Roman left in the sixteenth century.
When men sold their loyalty and compounded
for their treason, it was not to be supposed that
justice was unmarketable. Cromwell, with all
his faults and all his crimes, was the first who
thoroughly purified the seat of justice, and
taught the world that, in one country at least,
neither rank nor wealth, nor even long conceded
privilege, could prove a shield against the sword
of justice. The immunities claimed by and
granted to embassadors were then enormous,
and the influence of high rank often amounted
to elevation above the law. The officer of the
guard, though a man sensible of his duties and
willing to perform them, was not less subject
than others to the general feelings of the age
and country in which he lived ; and Monsieur
de Malzais, though resolute even to obstinacy,
and bold to rashness, was habitually impressed
with the reverence thus thought due to high
station ; and though they had both entered the
room with a determination to require that Aus-
tin Jute should be at once given up to justice,
the honors shown to his master by the embas-
sador of the haughtiest queen in Europe, ren-
dered their demand very moderate in tone, and
not very persevering in character.

To the surprise of both, however, Gowrie
himself pressed for immediate investigation.
He had been brought up in a sterner school, in
which that spirit prevailed which afterward
shone forth with so strong a light in the higher
and purer of the puritan parly in England.

" I do not request your excellency," he said,
after the officer of the guard had stated his ob-
ject, and Monsieur de Malzais had preferred his
charge, " to throw your protection over my
servant, unless a clear case of justification can
be made out in his favor ; and then only so far
as to shield him from long imprisonment and
perhaps suffering, till it is ascertained whether
the gentleman he has wounded lives or dies. I
doubt not that the laws of the land will do just-
ice between man and man, though the one be a
mere servant and the other a person moving in
a more elevated station of life, and I shall my-
self stay to see that it is so. But, in the first
instance, as your own countryman and as my
servant, I think you have every right to inquire
whether he did, as he says, injure this gentle-
man in his own defense or not."

I shall certainly do so," replied Sir Henry
Neville ; " for I should not be fulfilling my duty
to my sovereign, were I to suffer one of her
subjects to undergo unnecessary imprisonment
for an act which he was compelled to perform.
I shall deal with the case, my lord, exactly as
if it were that of one of my own servants. If
I find he has been guilty of a crime, I shall
give him up at once to justice ; if I find he has
not, I shall protect him against all and every
one, as far as my privileges extend. To this
neither you yourself nor these gentlemen can
object."

Whatever might be their abstract notions
of the sovereignty of the law, neither of the
Frenchmen did venture to object, and Austin
Jute was called into the presence of the em-
bassador, and told his story in his own words,
which were translated by the secretary for the
benefit of those who did not understand the
English tongue.

" We were riding along quietly enough, your
excellency," he said, "much more like sheep
that have got into a strange fold than any thing
else, when three gentlemen, of whom that was
one," and he pointed to Monsieur de Malzais,
" rode up and passed the carriage. We made
way for them to go by, for they say, ' when you
meet a fool in an alley, give him the wall ;' but
then they said something among themselves and
laughed, and one of them wheeled his horse
with a demivolte, and poked his head in at the
carriage window, holding back the curtain.
As it must have been done on purpose, unless
he and his horse were both tak&n.giddy, which
was not likely, for it is rare for two animals to
be seized with dizziness at the same time, I
reminded him of the way he ought to go by a
knock on the side of the head. He did not like
that sort of direction, and jumping off his beast,
or tumbling off, as the case may be, he drew
his sword and peked at me in a way that would
have made- the daylight shine through me if I
had not slipped off on the other side. An open
enemy is better than a false friend ; and now 1
knew what I was about. A cat in a corner is
a lion ; so having no means of escape, I drew
cold iron too, and we both poked away at each
other till he got a wound and fell. Thereupon,
thinking to make my heels save my head, I got
on my beast again and came hither."

" Did this gentleman here present, or any of
the others, attempt to part you and your oppo-
nent?" asked Sir Harry Neville. \

" No," answered Austin Jute; "that gentle-
man called out, ' Well lunged, Ramsay,' or some
such name — ' punish the dog.' I know French
enough to understand that."

" Well, sir, what do you say to this V asked
Sir Harry Neville, turning to Monsieur de Mal-
zais. " If the man's story is true, it would
seem that the provocation came on the side of
your friend ; that he was justly punished for
insulting a lady, and that then he drove this
good man to defend himself."

" But his story is not true," replied the
Frenchman, in a somewhat hesitating tone ;
"the Seigneur de Ramsay did not insult the
lady. He only looked into the carriage, as anj
gentleman might do."

" That's a lie !" said Austin Jute, who had a
very tolerable knowledge of the French tongue.
" He looked into the carriage as no gentleman
would do, and pulled back the curtain with his
hand. There were plenty of people to prove
it. Ask Mr. Rhind and the other servants."

A part of this reply only was translated to
Monsieur de Malzais, who was answering
warmly ; but Gowrie interposed, saying, " I
will send for Mr. Rhind, who was in the car-
riage, and also for some of the servants. I
have spoken with none of them myself. This
man has had time to speak with none of them
either, and therefore their account will be un-
biased."

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT

55

The persons whom he mentioned were speed-
ily brought to the embassy, and fully and clearly
confirmed the account of Austin Jute. Mr.
Rhind testified that the curtain of the carriage
had been rudely and insolently drawn back, and
the head of a stranger thrust into the vehicle ;
and the servants proved that the wounded man
had drawn his sword, and made a thrust at their
companion, before Austin Jute had even un-
sheathed his weapon. That first lunge, they
said, would most probably have proved fatal,
had not Austin dexterously slipped from his
horse, and so avoided it.

While they proceeded in giving their evi-
dence, the secretary translated their replies
almost literally ; and although the French gen-
tleman did not actually look ashamed, yet he
seemed very much puzzled how to meet their
testimony. He had recourse, however, to a
means not uncommon with persons in his pre-
dicament, declaring there was evidently a con-
spiracy to .shield the offender, which called a
smile upon the lips of Sir Henry Neville, who
replied, in a quiet tone, " You have had so
many conspiracies in France lately, Monsieur
de Malzais, that you fancy almost every trans-
action is of the same nature. It seems to me,
and I doubt not also to the officer of the guard,
that no time has elapsed sufficient for these
people to make themselves perfect in exactly
the same account of the whole transaction. It
will therefore be my duty to protect this poor
man, who seems to have done nothing but what
he was bound to do in defense of his lady and
of his own life. My house must, therefore, be
his place of refuge, from which he shall not be
taken except by violence, which I presume,
nobody will think of attempting."

"Assuredly not, your excellency," replied
the officer of the guard ; " my view of the case
is the same as your own ; but neither you nor
I are judges in this land ; and I only consent
to abstain from any farther proceedings against
this person, till it is ascertained whether the
gentleman he has wounded lives or dies. Should
the latter event occur, I must apply to higher
authorities for directions as to my future con-
duct."

" That as you please, sir," replied the em-
bassador ; " but be assured, that under no cir-
cumstances will I give him up, unless I have
express directions so to do."

" And in the mean time he will of course es-
cape," said Monsieur de Malzais.

The embassador made no reply, but rose and
turned upon his- heel with a look of some con-
tempt ; and the French gentleman, with the of-
ficer of the guard, retired.

"Now, Master Austin Jute," said Sir Henry
Neville, "you may depend upon my protection
so long as you keep yourself within the limits
of this house, its courts, and garden ; but if you
venture out upon any pretext, you are very
likely to get into the little Chatellet, in which
case you might find yourself some day stretched
out consiJerably beyond your usual length, upon
an instrument called the rack, and perhaps
might never be heard of afterward ; for there
are often curious things done in this country in
the name of justice. Be warned, therefore,
and do not go abroad."

Don't be afraid, sir," answered Austin Jute ;

" I will never stretch my feet beyond the length
of my sheet. I know when to let well alone.
When the waters are out, it is better to be on
the top of a hill than in the bottom of a valley.
If the maid had kept the pitcher in her hand, it
would not have got broken ; so, with many
thanks, I will follow your advics to the letter."

With these quaint saws the good youth with-
drew, accompanied by the rest of the Earl of
Gowrie's servants, who had been summoned to
give evidence: and as soon as'they were gone,
Sir Henry Neville said, with a smile, "I trust
this young man will not die, my lord, for it might
occasion us some trouble, although his charac
ter is well known here in Paris."

" Who is he V- demanded Lord Gowrie
" There are so many Ramsays in Scotland, that
it is impossible to distinguish one from another,
unless one knows the name of the estate be-
longing to the person."

" I do not believe he has any estate to dis-
tinguish him," replied the embassador; "but
he is a cousin of Sir George Ramsay of Dal-
housie, whose brother John is page to your
own sovereign^ King James. This young man,
proving of an unruly disposition, and likely to
bring disgrace upon himself and his very honor-
able family, was sent hither by Sir George, one
of the finest and highest-minded men I know,
to study at the university here. He has ren-
dered himself, however, more famous for rash-
ness, violence, and insolence, than for learning
or talent ; and I believe the reports of his con-
duct which have reached Scotland have given
great pain to his elder cousin, though the young-
er still remains much attached to him, and has
promised, they say, to use his influence at the
court of the king for this young man's advance-
ment. But now, my good lord, by your leave,
I will accompany you to pay my respects to
your fair lady. I was not, indeed, aware that
your lordship was married."

The color somewhat mounted into Gowrie's
cheek ; but he replied, " Nor am I, Sir Henry.
The lady whom I have the honor of escorting
back to Scotland — her grandfather, with whom
she resided, having very lately died in Italy —
is my cousin, the Lady Julia Douglas."

Perhaps the slight shade of embarrassment
apparent in the earl's manner, in making this
announcement, might excite the embassador's
curiosity ; but he was too good a diplomatist to
suffer any trace of what was passing in his
mind to appear in his demeanor, and repeating
his wish to be presented to the lady, he accom-
panied Gowrie to the inn. By this time all
trace of the little disturbance which had occur-
red had vanished from the Place Royale ; and
gay groups of Parisians were beginning to as-
semble there, to walk up and down, and con-
verse, make love, or observe each other, as was
customary during the evening of each fine day.
After being introduced to Julia, with whose ex-
ceeding beauty he seemed greatly struck, the
embassador proceeded to discuss with Gowrie
that nobleman's plans. He advised him strongly
to remain in Paris till the result of Ramsay's
wound was known, adding, in a low voice, for
the young earl's own ear, " I can almost for-
give Ramsay's attempt to get anotr er sight of a
face and form like that, when once he had seen
them."

56

GOWRIE : OR, THE KLNG'S PLOT.

" I shall not forgive him so easily," answered
the earl ; " for no lady under my care and escort
shall be insulted with impunity."

"I beseech you, let the matter drop, my good
lord," replied Neville ; " if the young man dies,
there is an end of it ; if he recovers, he has sure-
ly been punished enough."

" He shall apologize, however," said the earl,
in a thoughtful tone; "though I am not dis-
posed to he harsh with him. Perhaps, indeed,"
he continued, " he may have received a lesson
from the hand of my servant which may do
him good. I know Sir George Ramsay well,
at least I did so in my boyhood ; and if there
be one drop of his blood in this young man's
veins, there must be some good qualities at
bottom."

"Let us trust that the bad blood has been let
out," said the embassador, " and that the good
remains behind, and that he may recover to
make a better use of life than he has hitherto
done. I will send in a short time to inquire
how he is going on, and will let you know the
answer I receive. In the mean time I take my
leave, and will do my best to provide for your
amusement during your sojourn in Paris."

CHAPTER XVII.

Austin Jute was soon quite at home at the
house of the English embassador. His talents
were of a very universal kind ; and they had
been sharpened by certain citizen-of-the-world
habits, which he had acquired in the roving
life he had led for some yearfi. He had first
come over to France with the Earl of Essex,
as servant to one of the gentlemen of his house-
hold ; and that gentlemen having been killed
in one of the many skirmishes which were then
taking place, Austin had been left, like a mas-
terless horse on the field of battle, to run about
the world as he liked. Doubtless the earl him-
self would have either provided for his return
to England, or taken him into his own service,
had Austin applied properly. But Austin did
not, for he had no affection for the Queen of
England's favorite, although susceptible of
strong attachments ; and with a score or two
of crowns, which he had accumulated one way
or another, he set out to see the world, and, if
possible, improve his fortunes. He was rarely
at a loss, in whatever circumstances he might
be placed ; for though very unlike a cat in dis-
position, he had the quality attributed to the
feline tribe of always falling upon his feet.
Ready, willing, bold, active in mind and body,
a shrewd observer, a ready combiner, with a
very retentive memory of every thing he saw
or heard, and great confidence in his own luck,
Austin Jute might have gone through life with
the greatest possible success, had it not been
for a certain lighthearted love for the fair sex,
which often got him into quarrels with more
serious lovers, and a quickness of disposition
which rendered those quarrels much more
serious than they might otherwise have been.
Whenever he was not personally concerned,
and he had to manage any affairs for others, he
was generally exceedingly prudent and shrewd ;
at other times, however, he was rash to the
greatest possible degree, and seemed to find a

pleasure — a vain pleasure, perhaps — in multi-
plying scrapes around him, with the most per-
fect confidence of being able to get out of them
some way or another.

Thus, in gayety of heart, he had wandered
half through Europe — sometimes being obliged
to make a very precipitate retreat from one or
other of the small states into which the conti
nent was then divided, but as frequently obtain
ing as much honor and success as he could have
anticipated — when a succession of misadven-
tures, unusually long and serious, brought him
to Padua without a crown in his pocket. He
was there relieved in the midst of poverty,
which had depressed, and sickness, which had
nearly extinguished his light spirit, by several
of the English and Scottish students, and thus
fell under the notice of the Earl of Gowrie,
who, finding him clever, and having cause to
believe him honest, engaged him in his service
at first in a very inferior position, from which
he had risen by strong proofs of zeal, attach-
ment, and honesty, to the highest point in his
master's favor and confidence.

With all his fellow-servants, too, he was a
very great favorite, for he had not the slightest
inclination to domineer, to exact, or to exclude-,
and the curious sort of miscellaneous education
which he had received, or rather, which he had
bestowed upon himself, gave him a superiority
that they were quite willing to acknowledge
He could write, and he could read, which was
more than many persons in a much higher sta-
tion could do at that time. He could play upon
the fiddle, and the flute, and the hurdy-gurdy
He could carve all sorts of things in wood
He had as many curious receipts as are to be
found in the " True Gentlewoman's Delight."
He could catch all sorts of birds and beasts by
strange devices of his own. He could fence,
use the sword and buckler, or play at single-
stick like a master of the art of defense. He
could ride well, and was never known to appeal
either tired or sleepy.

He had not been a couple of hours in Sir
Henry Neville's house, before a multitude of
his small talents displayed themselves for the
benefit of the embassador's servants ; and his
frank good humor soon gained him plenty of
friends in the household. Unlike most English-
men, who seem to look upon every man as an
enemy till he lias proved himself otherwise,
Austin Jute appeared to regard the whole
human race as a friend, which is, perhaps, the
greatest of all secrets for smoothing the way
of life ; and on the evening of the day of his
arrival, he sat in the hall at the embassy,
carving a little sort of box or casket out of a
piece of yew, in which he produced the most
extraordinary devices, whistling all the time
airs so wild and merry, that many of the serv-
ants collected around to listen, and others
looked over his shoulder, examining the pro-
gress of his work.

While thus employed, one of the attendants
came into the hall, saying, " The news isn't
good, Master Jute. The people say he will
not get over the night."

" Well, he knows best what he's about,"
answered Austin Jute, quietly. " Every man
must die once ; and but once can a man die.
He has got what he deserved from me, and

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

«

nothing more. He mus* manage the rest as
he likes himself."

" But it may be awkward for you if he does
die," answered the man.

" Not a whit," replied Austin Jute. " My
luck is not at so low an ebb. Fortune comes
tripping, they say ; and a stumble's no great
matter, so there be not a fall. I say devoutly,
'God save the worthy gentleman !' But if he
dies, he dies ; and it is no fault of mine — I
wish him well."

"But who is the lady who was in the car-
riage 1" asked another of the servants ; for cu-
riosity, the passion of all semi-civilized people,
was even stronger then in capitals than it is
now in country towns. " They say she is not
your lord's wife."

" No," answered Austin Jute, " but she is his
cousin, which is better, as the world goes. She
will be his wife hereafter, if Heaven so will it,
and she live long enough to reach the first stage
of woman's decline."

"Nay, I see not how that is a decline," said
the servant. " It is promotion, I think ; and all
ladies think so too."

" Why was Sarah better than Hagar," asked
Austin Jute, laughing, " except that the one
was the free woman and the other the bond wo-
man ? Now, according to our rites and cere-
monies, the wife is the bond woman, and there-
fore, matrimony in a woman's case is the first
stage of decline. It is maid — wife — mother ;
and then widowhood or death gives the poor
thing liberty again. She is first free, then the
slave to one, then the slave to many, and if
ever she regains her liberty, it is by Heaven's
will."

" If they are going to marry," said the blunt
Englishman who spoke, " I wonder they don't
marry at once, and go back home, man and
wife. It is what we simple people would do.
It would save trouble and save speculation."

" True," answered Austin Jute ; " but there
are impediments in all things, Master Jacob. —
Look you here, now. The lady has just lost
her grandfather by death, who was as good as
a father to her, or better. Now, it is improper
for a lady to marry in mourning, and improper
for a lady to travel all alone with a gentleman,
without being married to him. Now, which is
worst, think you, Master Jacob 1"

" All alone with a gentleman without being
married to him," replied the Englishman, " for
hat, one can cure one's self."

" And so one can cure the other," replied
Austin Jute ; " and therefore the lady does not
travel all alone with my lord ; for, besides her
maid, who is a very nice young woman, she
has got with her my master's old tutor, Mr.
Rhind, who is a very nice old woman. Thus
all decencies are made to meet ; and they can
jog along as coolly as Noah and his wife did
over the waters of the flood, though, Heaven
mend me ! I do not think I could do the same."

Perhaps the task was not so easy to Gowrie
as his good servant thought, and to say truth,
all considerations of prudence prove frequently
but very weak bonds against inclination. He
strove to strengthen them, indeed, as far as pos-
sible, and though the presence of worthy Mr.
Rhind was often an annoyance aa well as a re-
it, yet he tried not to escape from it. Mr.

Rhmd, however, whose sense ol propriety was
somewhatcapricious.and who was now so much
accustomed to see Gowrie and Julia together,
as to think it not so strange as he had done
at first, would frequently, during their stay in
Paris, go forth to see this object or that, which
was worthy of attention, and the lovers wTould
be left alone together in circumstances danger-
ous to their resolution. It was thus one even-
ing, after about seven days' residence in Paris,
that the worthy tutor was absent, and Gowrie
sat by Julia's side. The windows were closed,
the hangings drawn, the bright fire of wood
sparkled and glimmered on the broad hearth,
the taper light was dim and shadowy ; and they
sat dreaming over the future, or meditating
over the past, while Fancy's timid wing dared
hardly rest over the present, lesr she should
settle there and be unable to rse again.

It was a cold evening, the frosty air made
the fire sparkle ; there came sounds of joyous
voices from without, rousing sympathies and
hopes and visions of happiness. A gay girl's
tongue was heard passing the windows, sink
ing into silence almost as soon as heard ; but
the words " Oui, oui, je Vaime, je faimerai tou-
jours," sounded distinct upon the ears of those
within. It was the key-note of the heart, and
in each bosom it echoed, " Oui, oui, je Vaime,
je Caimerai toujours."

She was very lovely as she sat there, leaning
back in the large chair, with her tiny feet stretch-
ed out toward the fire ; every line full of grace •
one small fair hand resting white upon the
dark drapery falling over her knee, the other
locked in Gowrie's, and her head slightly bend-
ing forward, with the bright dark curls flowing
over her brow and cheek, and her full dark eyes
bent upon the fire, seeing pictures in the strong
light and shade.

" Oui, oui, je faimerai toujours" said Julia's
heart, and Gowrie's repeated it , and the
thoughts of both wandered far away, plunging
through the future like a swallow into the
depths of air. Whither did Gowrie's wander ?
Far, far away, as I have said, and calm judg-
ment strove in vain to regulate its flight. There
was something stronger still than reason in his
breast. Love — passion was for the time the
master, and fancy was but passion's slave. ^He
let her range, but it was for his good pleasure,
and reason's voice was all unheard.

At length the lover started up with a thrill-
ing frame and an agitated voice, exclaiming,
"This is, indeed, too hard !"

"What, Gowrie, what!" demanded Julia,
rising with some alarm at the sudden exclama-
tion which broke the stillness, for they had
not spoken for some minutes.

Gowrie clasped her in his arms, and whisper-
ed in a low tone, bending down his head till it
rested on her shoulder, " Thus to love you,
thus to be ever near you, and to be forbidden
to call you mine till long, long months of dark
uncertainty are past. — Oh, Julia, why should
we not be united at once1? He who is gone
could never foresee all the difficulties and even
dangers in which his prohibition may place us.
I feel sure that had he done so, he never would
have exacted such a sacrifice. One half of our
journey is still before us. We must still re-
main here many days, perhaps weeks ; and oh,

58

GOWRIE : OK, THE KING'S PLOT.

dear girl, if you can feel or even conceive that
which I fee!, you will know that this struggle is
almost more than mortal can bear, especially
when I see the difficulties and dangers increas-
ing ever before us, which would be all removed
by our immediate union. What should prevent
you from giving me this dear hand at once V
and he covered it with ardent kisses.

" Nothing but our promise, Govvne," replied
Julia, with a burning cheek and a deep sigh ;
" but, oh, let us not break our word. I will do
whatever you will. You are all to me now. I
have none but you ; and what you can ask I
will not refuse, for I know you will not ask any
thing that is wrong. But oh, remember and
consider what it was we promised, how solemn-
ly we promised, and that that promise was
given to the dead."

" But if the dead could see," answered Gow-
rie, " would not the circumstances in which we
are actually placed appear so different to those
which were contemplated, as to justify a de-
viation from our engagement 1" And as he
spoke he pressed her closer to him.

" I know not," answered Julia, without an
effort to free herself from his embrace, " nor
can we ever know, till we join him where all
doubts end ; but yet, Gowrie, he was not one
to overlook aught in his foresight of the future.
Nothing has occurred which he might not nat-
urally foresee. We love dearly, we feel strong-
ly, we are anxious to be united, we have been
delayed on our journey, we have bcrn exposed
to some insolence and some inconvenience.
More, even, may be before us ; but all this could
not but be displayed to the eyes of one who had
well-nigh eighty years of the world's experi-
ence, and whose memory of every event in life
was as perfect as that of youth. Besides, Gow-
rie, it was a promise, and I have ever held a
promise to be the most sacred of all things.
Did I know that I had ever broken one, let
whatever be the motive, let whatever be the
justification, I should never know pure happi-
ness after — I should live in regret and fear —
there would be a spot upon the past and a cloud
upon the future. I should feel that I had been
untrue, and fear retribution."

She raised her bright dark eyes to his face,
with an appealing, almost an imploring look,
and then added, in a low tone, " But be it as
you will, Gowrie. My fate is in your hands,
and I am ready to suffer any thing — even that,
for your sake."

"Enough, enough, dearest!" said Gowrie,
with a sigh ; " you shall suffer nothing tor my
sake that I can spare you. But oh, dear girl,
you know not the pain which the fulfillment
of this promise costs. Did you never dream,
Julia, that you were parched with thirst, and
saw a cool stream flowing before your eyes, but
that when you bent down to drink, the pure
wave receded before your lip, leaving you more
thirsty than before 1 Thus often do I fancy it
may be with me, and that our union may still
be delayed by circumstances, till some unex-
pected fate snatches me from you, or you from
me, forever, when a few dear words spoken at
the altar might put our happiness, in that re-
spect, beyond fate."

Julia bent dowr. her head, with bright drops
swimming in her eyes, for such sad pictures

were not unfrequently present to her own imag-
ination ; but she answered, "It would be a
clouded happiness, Gowrie ; for we should both
feel that we had done wrong. I have never,
indeed, dreamed such a dream as you mention ;
but yet I understand well what you mean, and
sometimes fears and doubts take possession of
me also. Yet I reproach myself when I give
way to them ; and I am sure that they would
increase a thousanJ-fold were we to break our
promise. I should then tremble every hour lest
our dear-purchased happiness — bought by a
falsehood — should be taken from us, and that
the union too soon attained, would be too soon
ended."

"You are wiser and better than I am," said
Gowrie, gently relaxing the embrace in which
he held her, and kissing her tenderly — " and it
shall be as you will, my love.-'

"Oh, neither wiser nor better," answered
Julia; "but women are accustomed to ponder
upon such things, and think of them, I imagine,
more deeply than men, who act often from sud-
den impulses."

Though grave and sad, Gowrie could not re-
frain from smiling at the very different view
she took of human character from that which
either prejudice or experience gives to man.
Yet, after a moment's thought, he replied, " The
world does not judge so, my Julia ; and yet,
perhaps, you are in some degree right. Women
give more weight to feeling and thought, and
men to interest and passion, in balancing the
right or wrong of actions in the mind. But
hark ! there is a foot in the ante-room ;" and
he led her back to her seat.

The next instant there was a gentle tap at
the door, and on Gowrie saying, "Come in,'
the person of Austin Jute appeared.

"Austin, Austin !" cried his master, " I com-
manded you strictly not to stir from Sir Henry
Neville's house till this unfortunate affair was
terminated."

"True, my noble lord," replied Austin, "but
the till has happened. Not, indeed, that I could
have staid longer, pent up in one house like a
jackdaw in a cage, if it had cost me my life to
go out. Had the doors been locked it might
have been a different thing, for one soon learns
to do without what one can not get ; but with
what one longs for, always before one's eyes,
one is sure to try for it."

Gowrie turned his eyes, with a smile, to
Julia, but did not speak ; and the man went on,
saying, "All yesterday I looked out of the win-
dow of the porter'f room, because I did not
choose to trust myself to look out of the door ;
and this morning, as I crossed the fore-court, I
found myself sidling up toward the gate, wheth-
er I would or not, like a young crab left upon
the sands. To-morrow I should have been
out, I am sure, had I not had a message to-
night to tell me that Master Ramsay had taken
a sudden turn the night before in the right way
and was now out of danger. He sent himself
to tell me, which was civil, and he told the
messenger to bid me come to see him to-moi<
row, when I should be quite safe."

Lord Gowrie mused ; but after a moment's
thought he said, " I trust this youth has some
grace left. Nevertheless, Austin, you had bet-
ter not go until I have seen and taken o^a

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

59

with Sir Hen-ry Neville. This might be a mere
scheme to entrap you. I say not that it is so,
for I do not know the habits of this place well
enough to judge ; but it is exactly such a strat-
agem as men would have recourse to in Italy ;
and I must have the advice of one who knows
better the customs of Paris than either of us."
" Oh, they are very different from the Ital-
ians," said Austin Jute ; but then, remember-
ing Julia's parentage, he stopped short, and the
next moment Mr. Rhind entered the room.

CHAPTER XVIII.

As early on the following morning as possi-
ble, Gowrie visited Sir Henry Neville, and was
received with every mark of kindness and dis-
tinction. He propounded at once his questions
regarding Ramsay and Austin Jute, but received
a reply which somewhat surprised him.

18 Oh, there is no danger to your servant,"
said the embassador. "Neither Ramsay him-
self nor any one else in Paris, I think, would
venture to send such a message to my house
for the purpose of entrapping any one. Besides,
I have the same information myself; but yet I
think I would not let the servant go."

"Will you explain why not?" said Gowrie.
" I was in hopes that the fact of Ramsay's
sending this message at all was a proof that
the rash intemperance of which you formerly
spoke, proceeded merely from the unchastised
passion of youth, and that he has better quali-
ties in his nature than he has hitherto suffered
to appear."

"I trust it is so," replied Neville ; "but yet
there remains a great deal to be beaten out of
him. The truth is, my dear lord," he contin-
ued, with a laugh, " that the message first came
to me, and though, perhaps, kindly intended to-
ward your servant, was still somewhat insolent
in its tone. He sent to say that he was re-
covering, and that the man who had wounded
him need fear no chastisement — that was the
word he used ; and he then went on to say,
that the man might come to him in safety,
when he would assure him of his pardon. We
rough islanders, my lord, are accustomed to
think that no pardon is necessary where no
offense has been committed ; and therefore I
judge that you had better not let your man go.
It might only lead to evil consequences ; for I
do not think, from Master Austin's look and
manner, that he is one to submit to haughty or
injurious words without a rejoinder."

" He certainly shall not go," answered Gow-
rie, " since such was the message. However,
I shall myself soon quit Paris, and therefore,
Sir Henry, if you will favor me with the letters
which you have promised me for the English
court, I will deliver them with pride and pleas-
ure, as it is, of course, my intention to present
my humble duty to her majesty Queen Eliza-
beth, as I pass through London."

"You shall have them this very evening,"
answered Neville ; " but yet I wish you would
stay for a couple of days longer ; for I know
that you are a great lover of music, and there
is a very lelicate concert to be given the day
after to-morrow. There are three of the most
excellent performers on the violin that ever

were heard, besides some famous singers from
Italy ; and they will perform several rare and
beautiful pieces by a new composer of great
genius."

Lord Gowrie promised at once to stay for the
high treat offered to him ; but he took his leave
without informing Sir Henry Neville that he
had other objects in delaying his departure.
Had the message of Ramsay been that which
he had imagined when he visited the embassa-
dor, the young earl would have quitted Paris on
the following day; but the tone in which he
now found it was conceived, induced him to
adopt another course, and proceeding at once
to his own chamber without seeing Julia, he
sat down and wrote the following note : —

" To Master Ramsay of Ufewburn, greeting : —

" Sir,
" His excellency Sir Henry Neville, English
embassador at this court, has communicated to
me your message to my servant, by whom you
were wounded. I rejoice to hear that you are
in a way of recovery, which, I trust, will be
soon complete. It was my purpose to have
quitted this capital long ago, but. in the circum-
stances which exist, I shall remain here foi
some days longer, in order to give you an op-
portunity of doing that which, doubtless, you
will be naturally disposed to do. We are all
subjected to error, especially in youth ; but
when a man of good breeding has committed a
fault toward another, he is always desirous of
apologizing for it. I am informed, by no less
than five eye-witnesses, that while I had ridden
on before my carriage, you offered an insult to
a lady under my care and escort, which was, in
fact, an insult to myself. Doubtless you are
inclined to write an apology for this conduct, as
that which has passed between my servant and
yourself can be considered as no atonement to
" Your most humble servant,

" Gowrie."

When he had read the letter over, sealed,
and addressed it, the earl dispatched it by an
old and somewhat matter-of-fact servant, who
had accompanied him from Scotland to Italy.
He gave no especial directions in regard to its
delivery ; and the man, in the ordinary course,
would probably have left it at the lodging of his
young countryman, had he not been forced to
take with him, both to show him the way, and
to interpret for him, a lacquais de place, who
had been engaged by the earl since his arrival
in Paris. The lacquais de place of those days
was a very different animal from that which
bears the title at present, when every drunken
courier, who has been discharged for bad be-
havior, and whose character is too well estab-
lished to obtain permanent employment, places
himself at the door of a hotel, and calls him-
self a lacquais de place. The one who had
been hired by Lord Gowrie was a brisk, impu-
dent, meddling fellow, full of the most consum-
mate French vanity, and determined to have
his say upon every occasion. He must need3
see the letter which was to be delivered ; and
when he' got to the door, he did not fail to im-
press upon the good old man, that it was neces-
sary he should deliver the letter to the Seigneur
de Ramsay in person, and obtain an answer of

60

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

some Kind, to which the Scotchman, always
well inclined to meet a countryman in foreign
lands, did not in the slightest degree object.
Some difficulty, indeed, was made in admitting
him ; but when he announced that he came
with a letter from the Earl of Gowrie, the dif-
ficulty ceased, and he was ushered into the
room of the wounded man.

Ramsay of Newburn was lying on his bed
dressed in a warm robe de chambre, as if he
had been only allowed to get up during the
morning. He was a powerful and a handsome
man of one "or two-and-twenty years of age,
with good features, but by no means a prepos-
sessing expression. His fjce was very pale
from loss of blood, and from the illness conse-
quent upon his wound ; but his eye was bright
and hawk-like, and, with his black hair, neg-
lected since his wound, and falling in ragged
masses over his forehead, it gave a wild, fierce
look to his worn countenance. As soon as the
servant entered, he motioned his own attend-
ant to withdraw, and said, in a low, hollow
tone, " They tell me you are the Earl of Cow-
rie's servant. You are not the man who
wounded me?"

"No, sir," replied the other. " He is still at
the embassy."

"You have got a letter for me, have you
not?" asked Ramsay, keeping his eyes fixed
upon his face.

The man presented it ; but Ramsay went
on without opening the letter, saying, " You
are a countryman of mine, by your tongue."

"Yes, sir," answered the servant. " I come
from fair Perth itself."

" It is a beautiful town," said Ramsay. " I
suppose you have been long in the service of
the earl ?"

" I was in the service of his brother before
him," replied the man.

" Well-, I am very sorry there should have
been any disagreement between the earl and
myself," continued Ramsay. " Pray, who is
the lady who is with his lordship I"

" I can not justly say, sir," answered the
man; and then, seeing a curious sort of light
coming into the other's eyes, he added, " She's
a far-away cousin of my lord's. The Lady
Julia Douglas, they call her. My lord met with
her in Italy, where some of her relations dying,
he agreed to see her safe back to Scotland.

" Then she is not an Italian, as some of my
people told me?" rejoined the young man.

" Oh, no," cried the servant. " She speaks

fine English ; and I've never heard her speak

any thing else, except to the servants at times."

Ramsay mused, and then inquired if the earl

was going direct back to ScoMand.

"He'll stay a while in London town, they
8ay,'\rejoi,aed the man ; "but I can tell noth-
ing for certain. My lord does not talk much
w|0f what he intends to do."
W* " Will you draw back that curtain from the
window," said the wounded man, " that I may
see what the earl writes?" and his request be-
ing complied with, he opened the letter and
read The first words seemed to please him
well, for a smile came upon his lip. It had
somewhat a sarcastic turn, indeed ; but the
usual expression of his face was sneering.
The next words, however, clouded his brow ;

and, as he read on, it became as black as a
thunder cloud. When he had done, he remain-
ed with his teeth hard set, and the letter still in
his hand, apparently musing over the contents,
while quick, almost spasmodic, changes of ex-
pression came over his face, and from time to
time he muttered something to himself, the
sense of which the servant coukl not catch.
Gradually, however, the irritable movements
seemed to cease ; and he looked at the letter
again, not reading it regularly, but glancing his
eye from one part to the other, in a desultory
manner. His brow then became smoother,
though it cost him an apparent effort to banish
the frown, and the sneer which hung about his
upper lip he could not banish.

" If your lord takes his departure so soon,"
he said, " I fear I can not have the honor of
paying my respects to him. Is it quite certain
that he goes in three days ?"

"I have not heard, sir," replied the man,
" and so I can't say ; but if he has told you so
in the letter, depend upon it he'll do it : for he
is not one to change his mind lightly."

"Well, then," said Ramsay, with a some-
what peculiar emphasis, " 1 must wait another
opportunity."

" I will tell him so, sir," said the old serv-
ant ; but the young man exclaimed, " No, no,
you need not tell him exactly that ; merely say
I regret my inability to wait upon him, and
that I am unable to write. You may say,
moreover — "

He did not finish the sentence, but fell into
thought again, tossing himself uneasily on his
bed, till the servant, thinking that he had done,
took a step toward the door, saying, " Well, I'll
tell him, sir, just what you say."

" Stay, stay," said Ramsay ; " I have some-
thing to add. You may say to the noble lord,
for me, that I am sorry I offended the lady, but
that I did not at all intend to insult her. The
curtain was drawn rudely in my face by a man
in the inside of the carriage ; and I pulled it
back as a reproof to him, without thinking of
her at all."

" Well, sir, you know best," replied the man.
who, though not very brilliant, did not think
that this account accorded well with what he
himself had seen. " I'll tell the earl just what
you say."

"Pray do," said Ramsay ; "and say, more-
over, that I shall soon have the honor of seeing
his lordship in Scotland, as I intend to return
thither as soon as I can travel. Your master
is well acquainted, I think, with my good cousin,
Sir George."

" Oh, ay," answered the man. " I have seen
Ramsay of Dalhousie many a time, both at
Perth and at Dirlston, and young Jock Ramsay,
too, his brother, who used to come to play with
Mr. Alexander. They used to quarrel and fight
very often ; but that is the way with boys."

"They quarreled, did they?" said Ramsay
of Newburn, with a smile. " Doubtless they'll
be better friends as men. And now, tell my
man to give you a draught, of strong waters,
but don't let it make you forget to deliver ray
message to your lord."

" No, no, sir ; no fear of that, answered the
man, and withdrew.

When he was gone, Ramsay writhed upon

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

6!

his bed, as if in pain, and he murmured to him-
self, " Ay, that bitter cup is quaffed ; but I'll
make those who forced it upon me taste a bit-
terer. But how — but how T I shall never
have strength to wield a sword like a man
again. The villain has crippled me for life. I
can fire a shot, though ; and, my good lord of
Gowrie, I will not forget you."

Then he fell into thought again, and medi-
tated in silence for nearly half an hour, while
various changes of expression came over his
countenance, all dark, but of different shades.
At length some thought seemed to please him,
for he laughed aloud. "Ay," he said, "that
were better. Then, however matters go, I am
the gainer. He has made me truckle to his le-
man. I'll try if I can not make him bend his
haughty head before those who once already
have trampled on the necks of Ruthvens. Let
him beware both of words and actions, for he
shall be sharply looked to. The proud peat !
Let him stay in London with the crooked old
Englishwoman. I'll be in Scotland before him,
and he shall find her protection blast rather
than save him. If I know my cousin John
aright, I can so work these ends together as to
make this earl regret having done shame to a
Ramsay. What I have not strength to do
boldly, I will try to do shrewdly, and there will
be some pleasure in seeing him help to work
out my objects against himself. There is Stu-
art, too ; if we can once get him mixed in the
affair, the king will not be long out of it. Then,
Gowrie, look to yourself, for James never for-
gives those whom he fears."

He continued thus muttering to himself for
some time longer ; but what has been already
detailed will be sufficient to show that Ramsay
entertained that sweet and gentleman-like pas-
sion of revenge, which was at the time exceed-
ingly dear and pleasant to most of his country-
men. It is so, indeed, with all nations in a
semi-barbarous state ; and in such a state was
Scotland undoubtedly at that time. Torn by
factions, frequently a prey to civil strife, when
not actually a prey to anarchy, ruled by the
strongest and the readiest hand which could
clutch and hold the reins of government, she
had long seen her children rising to power and
wealth on each other's heads, and the pathway
to honors marked out by a stream of blood.
Ambition went hand in hand with revenge ;
and the terrible rule seemed fully established in
the land, " to forget a benefit as soon as possi-
ble, but never to forgive an injury."

CHAPTER XIX.

I must pass over, with a very brief and gene-
ral statement, the events which occurred to the
personages connected with this tale during sev-
eral months. There is always, in tale-telling,
unless the action be compressed within a very
short space, a period during which the interest
would flag, if the regular passing of each day
was noticed, and the small particulars detailed.
Were life filled with those striking events which
move and interest the reader, with those pas-
sions to which the sympathetic heart thrills,
with those grand scenes of action which excite
the imagination, or with those lesser incidents

which amuse and entertain, the human frame,
like an over-sharpened knife, would be ground
down upon the whetstone of the world, and ex-
istence be curtailed of half its date. It is my
belief, that patriarcha4 age was secured to the
earlier inhabitants of earth as much by the long
intervals existing between the periods of in-
tense excitement, to which they were some-
times subjected, and by the calm and careless
ease of the intervening periods, as by any of
the many other causes which combined to ex-
tend the space between birth and death to well-
nigh a thousand years. True, they were not
close pent up in cities — true, they were contin-
ually changing air and scene — true, that excess
in any thing was little known — true, that they
were nearer to the great archetype, fresh from
the hands of his God, and framed for the im-
mortality of which sin deprived him — true, that
long centuries of vice, folly, contention, and
misfortune had not then brought forth the mul-
titudinous host of diseases continually warring
against the mortal body, diminishing its powers
of resistance from generation to generation ;
but still I believe that the want of excitement,
which can only be known where men are
spread wide and far apart over the face of the
earth, was absolutely necessary to that vast
prolongation of life. The mind and body did
not mutually grind down each other. Still, the
more peaceful periods in any man's history are
those which the least interest his fellow-men,
and during the time which elapsed between
Gowrie's departure from Paris and his arrival
in Scotland, no adventures or impediments oc-
curred which can justify much detail. That
departure was delayed for a day or two beyond
the period which he had at first fixed ; and
though the weather was now becoming sharp
and cold, yet those few days produced a favor-
able change, and rain and fog gave way to clear
skies and broad sunshine. The days, however,
were brief, and the journeys necessarily short ;
so that a week elapsed between his departure
from Paris and his arrival at Calais. Four days
more brought him London, and now a new
scene opened upon him.

Furnished with letters from Sir Henry Ne-
ville to the principal statesmen of the court of
Queen Elizabeth, he was received with every
demonstration of respect and esteem in the
English capital, and two days after was pre-
sented to the queen herself. I find little record
in history of what followed ; but one historian,
whose views, it must be remarked, were strong-
ly biased by peculiar feelings of partisanship,
declares that the honors shown by the English
sovereign to the young earl were of the most
marked and extraordinary kind. It is some-
times, in the present day, not easy to account
for the course of policy pursued by Elizabeth in
her conduct to the subjects of the neighboring
crown ; but we must not doubt well-authenti-
cated facts because we can not penetrate theii
motives. The writer whom I have mentioned
states, in speaking of the earl of Gowrie, that
the queen " ordered that guards should attend
him, that all honors should be paid him which
were due to a Prince of Wales and to her first
cousin, and that he should be entertained at the
public expense all the time he should remain at
her court."

02

GOWRIE: OR, THE KINGS PLOT.

I can scarcely imagine that this account is
not exaggerated. We find that she showed no
such honors to others, who stood much in the
same degree of affinity to herself as he did ;
and unless she wished needlessly to alarm the
King of Scotland, no cause can be supposed
for such conduct. That she treated Gowrie
with great distinction, however, is undeniable,
and even marked her favor for him more
strongly than her old affection for his grand-
father could account for. This course was very
dangerous to the youg earl himself, for the
court of England at that time was thronged by
spies of the Scottish monarch ; and even the
most familiar friends and counselors of Eliza-
beth conveyed information to James of all that
could affect his interest, to the most minute
circumstances. The natural desire of what is
called currying favor, of course, gave some de-
gree of color to the accounts transmitted ; and
there is every reason to believe, from an exam-
ination of the State Paper Office, that such in-
timations alone were given as had a tendency
to put the monarch on his guard, without dis-
couraging his hopes or diminishing his ener-
gies. The way for his advent to the throne
had been prepared long beforehand ; whether
from the general considerations of policy, from
personal ambition, or from avarice, such men
as Cecil had chosen their course, and were de-
termined to remove or overawe all competitors,
and to insure the accession of the king of Scot-
land. I am inclined to believe — without con-
sidering them as any thing more than mere
mortals — that the purest spirit of patriotism in-
spired those who thus acted. Every man of
common sense must have seen that most im-
portant ends were to be obtained by uniting the
crowns of Scotland, Ireland, and England upon
one head ; nor could any one doubt that — apart
from all considerations of the personal character
of the man—the means of maintaining his
claims, of crushing all competitors, and of es-
tablishing his power .upon a firm and secure
basis, were more completely in the hands of
the king of Scotland than of any other person
who could aspire to the English throne. His
faults were all personal, which never enter suf-
ficiently into the calculations of politicians ; his
advantages were those of position, which almost
always have too much weight with those who
influence the fate of empires. By personal
character, no man was ever less fitted to fill
the throne of a great country, or to unite dis-
cordant races under one sway, than James I. :
by political position, no one could compete with
him in pretensions to the throne of England.
Happy had it been for Great Britain had such
not been the case, for the vices of the man more
than compensated the advantages of the prince,
and the weakness of his successors consum-
mated what his own wickedness began ; but no
one can blame those who chose according to
the lights they possessed, and who smoothed
the way for that which naturally appeared the
oest for the whole nation at the time.

The reports which reached Scotland of the
honors shown to the Earl of Gowrie in the En-
glish capital, generated, in a jealous and irrita-
ble mind, covetous of extended and despotic
rule, a feeling of doubt and dread most danger-
ous to its object ; and the busy and gossiping

spirit of a small court, did not fail to increase the
unpleasant impressions thus produced, by a
thousand rumors, which had no foundation in
truth. Reports were circulated and credited,
that Queen Elizabeth had actually designated
the Earl of Gowrie as her successor, and even
that, in order to unite two great claims to the
crown which she held, she had made all the ar
rangements for a marriage between that noble-
man and the Lady Arabella Stuart ; one who,
like himself, was not very remote from the di
rect succession. These facts have been omit-
ted altogether, or slurred over by modern
historians, in noticing that part of history in
which this young nobleman appears : but that
such rumors existed in England and Scotland
can be proved from cotemporary authorities ;
and we can easily conceive the feelings with
which such a man as James was thus prepared
to view one whose influence was already re-
doubtable, on his return to his native land.

Could he have seen the private life of the
earl, it is probable that, although he might still
have remained inimical, the king's fears would
not have assumed the character of hatred.
From various motives, which every one can
conceive, Julia wa9 not disposed to mingle with
the gayeties of a foreign court, or, before she
was received and recognized in her own land,
to assume the position she was entitled to in
the society of the neighboring state. She felt
it no privation, indeed — she sought it not — she
cared not for it ; but even if she had, she would
have forborne, and she had full compensation
in the tenderness of him she loved. Gowrie
appeared at the court of England alone : he put
not forth on her behalf claims which were to
be decided in a different country, and by differ-
ent laws ; and on the only occasion when the
queen jestingly alluded to his fair companion,
he replied, with that courtly reverence toward
the sovereign to which Elizabeth was accus-
tomed, and that due respect for Julia's situation
from which he never deviated, "It is painful,
madam, to be torn by two duties and two incli-
nations. You may easily suppose it would be
grateful for me to linger here at your majesty's
feet, but my duty, both by kindred and by
promise, is to escort my cousin back to Scot-
land, in order to establish rights of which she
has been too long deprived. I trust, however,"
he added, with the air of gallantry which per-
vaded Elizabeth's court, "that ere long I shall
be enabled to return, not alone to bask in the
beams of your favor, but to ask a share for one
who, I may humbly say, is more worthy than
myself of that honor for which princes might
well contend with pride."

He spoke with that serious gravity, and yet
with that unembarrassed ease, which greatly
struck the sovereign whom he addressed ; and
she replied, in her somewhat abrupt manner,
" God's my life, cousin, I have a great inclina-
tion to see this same fair creature, and would
do so too with all honor, either in private or in
public, did I not know that it would do her no
good service where she is going. Commend
me to her, however, and tell her we regard her
and yourself with favor, and will do our best to
serve you both should need be."

The earl conveyed the message to her he
loved ; but Julia smiled almost sadly, as she

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

63

tep/.ed, ' I fear me, Gowrie, that I am not fitted
for courts, at all events by inclination. Calm
and peaceful quiet with him I love is all that I
desire in life. Nevertheless, understand me,
I would not for the world keep back him whose
fame and whose character I am bound to regard
even before my own peace, from the path of
honor and renown, for any thing that earth can
give. 1 am ready, when you require it, to min-
g e with courts and crowds, to take my share
in whatever may be for your benefit — nay,
should need be, to buckle on your armor with
my own hands for the battle-field, and bid God
speed you in the right, while I remain alone to
weep and pray for your deliverance and success.
Heaven send me strength when the hour of
trial comes ; but in strength or in weakness I
will not shrink from my duty toward you."

About ten days after, when the frost, which
was then reigning with great severity, had
broken up. rendering the roads more passable,
Gowrie took his departure from London, and
proceeded by slow journeys toward Scotland.
He was detained for somewhat more than a
week at York by a fresh fall of snow ; but as
soon as that had melted away under the in-
creasing warmth of the spring, he resumed his
way, and passed the border in the end of Feb-
ruary, 1600.

CHAPTER XJL.

It was a cold, clear, frosty afternoon, u> the
month of January, 1600, when two gentljmen,
both young but one considerably older than the
other, walked together up and down a trim but
formal piece of garden &ro'.hd, beneath the walls
of one of the old fortified nouses of the day, not
very many miles distant from the fair city of
Edinbu, gh, and in the county of Mid Lothian.
The hour was late, the sun was below the sky,
briglu stars were beginning to peep out above,
and thf garden was only defended from the keen
blast by a wall of uncemented stones, although
the castle was a very solid piece of masonry.

Still the two gentlemen continued to walk
on, with the crisp frost crackling under their
feet, whenever they fell upon the long grass at
the side of the path, or upon the dry leaves
which had dropped from the trees, few and far
between, which graced the little inclosure.

The elder of the two was a man of about six
or seven-and-twenty years of age, of the middle
height, or perhaps somewhat less, slight in ap-
pearance, from the extreme accuracy of all his
proportions, though in reality much stronger
than many men of a more powerful look. His
features were slightly aquiline, but chiseled
with wonderful delicacy. The hair was dark,
but the eye clear and blue, with that calm,
firm, but mild expression, which we are inclined
to attach to vigor of character when united
with gentleness of heart. His mien and air
wdre particularly distinguished by a sort of
easy dignity, which rendered it impossible to
see him without feeling that there was not
only a gentleman of high race and associations,
but a man of remarkable powers of mind, of
which he was -conscious, but not vain.

The companion of this personage was in
yeais a mere ywtfk but in form a strong and

active man. He was darker .n complexion
than the other, taller, more muscular, and the
well-grown beard showed that boyhood was no
more. His countenance was also very hand-
some ; but there was in it a stern and fiery
look, which reminded one of a fierce war-horse
when checked by tho rein ; and occasionally as
he talked, there would come a suwling frown
upon his brow, which rendered the expression
very different, from that of his companion.
Nevertheless, there was traceable in the feat-
ures a strong resemblance, so that in the angry
moments (& the one, \rfc,ich indeed were rare,
or the gayir and gentler moments of the other,
there Wv»s no difficulty in pronouncing them
two brothers.

"Well, John," svd the elder of the two, as
they turned in their walk, " I wish much you
would abandon your intention of riding back
to-night. I would fain put eight-and-forty hours
between your rash impetuosity and your meet-
ing again with your former friend. You seem
so little moved by reason, that I would see what
time can do."

" I teil you, Dalhousie," said his brother, " I
am not going to quarrel with him. Indeed, he
will take care how he gives me occasion, I
think. But I and Alexander Ruthven can never
,«mcre be friends. His pride is insufferable, and
his favor with the, queen, be it good and honest,
as some would have us think, be it dishonest
and disloyal, as others suspect, can give him
no claim to reverence from others as good as
himself, or better perhaps."

" Is there no pride at the bottom of your own
feelings toward him, John?" asked his brother,
with a smile ; " and is there not, perhaps, a little
jealousy of that same favor that you speak of,
which makes you look upon it in an unfair
light 1 Ruthven's sister is the queen's dearest
friend ; and is it at all unnatural that a portion
of her regard for the sister should be extended
to the brother 1 '

" I do not know," answered John Ramsay,
quickly ; "lam not so nice in my scanning as
you are, George ; but one thing I do know,
which is, that I do not love to see my lord and
master made to look like a fool in his own
court, by one of his own servants. If there
be nothing evil in this familiarity but that, it is
surely bad enough ; but if there be more, they
had better not let me see fair signs of it ; for I
would drive my dagger into his heart as readily
as his grandfather drove his into Rizzio's."

Fie, fie ! You are too rash, boy," said Sir
George Ramsay; " neither zeal nor courage are
worth much, John, unless tempered by discre-
tion ; and again I say, you give too much way
to passion, and suffer it to give a color to all
you see ; just as you used to quarrel with Alex-
ander Ruthven, when a boy, without any reason-
able cause, so do you now suspect and dislike
him as a man, without just grounds."

" I never loved him," answered the other,
moodily. " I dislike all the Ruthvens — I al-
ways have disliked them, with their stately
grandeur and proud airs."

" Because you are proud yourself, John," said
his brother ; " and because your pride has been
somewhat offensive at times, they have not
liked you. Did you ever was tny of theoi shftw
pride toward vm "

fi4

GOVvRIE. OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

" Because yut.. are not proud enough," replied
the young man, snarply.

'• I am as proud as any man ought to be," re-
plied his brother in a reproving tone ;" too proud
to do a base action — too proud to give way to a
groveling thought — too proud to entertain a
mean suspicWs I am proud, too, of my name
and raoe, pro's .'■ of the deeds of my ancestors,
and proud enough, I trust, never to tarnish their
renown by any unworthy act of their descend-
ant."

With one of those impulses which move
hasty men, the youth seized his brot-^r's hand
and pressed it warmly. " I know you .are, Dal-
housie," he said , " forgive me, my dear brother.
I may be somewhat too proud ; but I do not
ever really doubt that you a\# proud enough for
all that is noble, too proud for, any thing that is
mean. But you have not lately seen so much
of what is passing at the court as I have ; and
believe me, the sight is not pleasant."

" Well, then, John, stay another night away
from it," answered his brother ; " you acknowl-
edge that the king does not expect you till
Friday. One day will take you to Edinburgh
and to Stirling, ride as slow as you will."

" Be it as you wish," replied John Ramsay ;
" but I must set out to-morrow somewhat early.
Hark ! There are horses' feet coming along
the frosty road. Who can it be, I wonder, at
this late hour?"

" Some of our good cousins come to rest for
the night," said Sir George Ramsay, with a
smile ; " it can be no one on business of much
consequence, by the slowness of the horses'
tread."

He was mistaken, however ; for the result
of the meeting which was about to take place,
was of infinite consequence to the fate of his
brother and himself. The two walked leisurely
along the little path which led back to the
house, and passing through a small postern
door, proceeded to the gates to welcome the
coming guest. All that they could see, when
they looked out along the road, was a dim
figure on horseback, at the distance of about
two hundred yards, and something like another
horseman behind. Both were coming very
slowly, although the coldness of the night
might well have rendered quicker progression
agreeable both to man and horse. As the
travelers were evidently approaching the house
for the purpose of stopping there, Sir George
Ramsay called out some of the servants ; and
the moment after, his brother, looking intently
forward, said, " It is very like Andrew's figure,
but riding bent and listless, as I have seen him
when he is drunk."

" I hope he has not chosen that condition to
present himself on his return," said Sir George.
" Halloo ! Who comes?"

" 'Tis I, Sir George," answered the voice of
Ramsay of Newburn, " faint and weary, and
needing much your hospitality."

It was evident, from the way in which he
spoke, that the young gentleman was perfectly
sober ; and Sir George merely replied, " Come
in, Andrew, come in: You shall be right wel-
come. Here, Williarjn, take Newburn's horse."

" Lend me your arm, good fellow," said the
guest, slowly dismounting. " I am not over
supple, nor so strong as I once was."

His own servant rode up with the saddle-
bags at the same moment ; and being assisted
from his horse, he was led into the house,
where lights were burning in what was called
the great chamber. Both Sir George Ramsay
and his brother were struck and moved with the
ghastly paleness of their cousin's countenance,
and every thing was done that kindness could
devise to refresh and revive him.

" Ah, now," said Sir George, after he had
drunk a cup of that fine Bordeaux wine, which
was to be found nowhere in greater perfection
than in Scotland, " there is some color coming
into your cheek again. You will do well now."

" My cheek will never bear the rose again,
Dalhousie," replied his cousin. " It was once
red enough, but its ruddiness is gone forever."

" Nonsense ! " exclaimed John Ramsay ;
" why, what is the matter with thee, man 7
Hast thou seen a wraith V

" Ay, and felt one too, in the shape of a
drawn sword," replied the other. " I have
been run through the body by a churl in the
streets of Paris. 'Tis two months ago, and I
am well, they tell me. But where is my
strength gone 1 Where the quickness ofany
hand, winch could always keep my head, till
that hour V

" But how did all this happen," demanded
Sir George Ramsay. " Some foolish quarrel,
I'm afraid, Andrf w."

" Good faith, polish enough," answered the
young man ; but I am cured of folly for life,
George ;" and he proceeded to give his own
account of the advonture which had befallen
him with good Austin Jute.

" I was riding thrcigh the streets of Paris,"
he said, "with two „-ou'iig friends, when we
had to pass a large, old country carriage, in
which I espied a very pretty face — you know I
always loved pretty faces. I might ga'/.e at it
somewhat earnestly perhaps, for a moment
longer than was needful ; and I am not sure
that I did not rein in my horse a little, when
lo ! up rides one of the servants who was be
hind the carriage, and struck me a blow, whica
made me miss the stirrups, and left me scarcely
time to save myself from falling under the
horse's feet."

" A lounder on the side of the head," said
John Ramsay, half inclined to laugh ; but his
cousin went on gravely.

" I should not have had the blood of a Ram-
say in my veins," he said, " if I had not taken
sword in hand to avenge such an insult. But,
good faith, the fellow was as quick as I was,
and a good swordsman too, though I have sel-
dom met my match. The street was narrow
and crowded, however, the carriage in the
way, horses all about us, and somehow I slip-
ped my foot, and the next moment I found his
sword running like a hot iron through my chest
and out of my shoulder-bone. Here — it went
in here," he continued, laying his hand upon
the spot, " and passed out here, going clean
through flesh and bone. I dropped instantly,
and was carried away to my lodging, where I
lay upon a sick bed for many a day, and rose
only to find that I have lost the full use of my
sword arm forever. I may hold a pen perhaps,
like a clerk, but as to manly uses, they are
gone."

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

65

But what became of the man who hurt
you?" demanded Sir George Ramsay ; " if your
tale be quite correct, Andrew, his conduct was
most unjustifiable."

He laid a strong emphasis on the word, if,
for he knew his cousin well, and there was a
conviction in his mind that something had been
kept back. Ramsay of Newburn, however, did
not appear to remark the peculiar tone in which
the words were pronounced, but replied, " R
was unjustifiable, I think, Dalhousie ; but he
had great protectors. The English embassador
stood his friend, arid the embassador's intimate
— your friend, the Earl of Gowrie — talked high,
and opposed the pursuit of justice. Between
them they would not suffer the man to be
secured, even till it was ascertained whether I
lived or died."

" But what had Gowrie to do with it V asked
Sir George, while his brother's brow grew dark,
and his teeth tight set together. " I should
have thought that Gowrie, of all men, would
have been inclined to resent an injury done to
a Ramsay ; and the earl has a strong sense of
justice — he had even as a boy."

"Not where his own followers are concern-
ed," replied his young cousin ; "and this man
was his own servant. I know not what be-
came of his sense of justice in this case ; but
the matter is as I told you. He defended the
man against aH pursuit ; and had I died, I have
no doubt that he and his dear friend and coun-
selor, the English embassador, would have
found means to shelter the offender altogether."

Sir George Ramsay mused, still doubting
much; but John got up and walked about the
room, and, after a momentary pause, his cousin
continued, "He had even the kindness, when I
was lying on a sick bed, to send a demand that
I should make an apology to the lady whom I
gazed at."

"You did not do it ! — I trust you did not do
it !" exclaimed John Ramsay, vehemently.

"I trust you did," said Sir George, looking
up. " An apology is due to any lady we have
offended, whoever asks it_; and I can not but
think, from what I have seen of the young earl
myself, and from what I have heard through
others, that he would not have demanded an
apology had there been no cause of offense."

"You always judge me harshly, Dalhousie,"
said his cousin, somewhat bitterly.

" Faith, not I," answered the young knight.
" I judge men as I find them, Andrew. I know
Gowrie's nature and temper well, and I know
yours, too, my good cousin. But what did you
dol Did you make the apology 1"

"I could do nothing else," answered the
other. " I was ill on a sick bed ; I felt that the
powers of my right arm were gone forever ; I
knew not what might happen if I refused, with
such influence as there was ai rayed against
me. Otherwise, I would have made him eat
my sword first. As it was, I only said that I
was sorry if I had offended the lady, and that I
had no intention of insulting her ; but with that
he contented himself."

Sir George Ramsay smiled. A I can see
Gowrie in it all," he said; "resolute in what
he thinks is right, but mild and easily appeased."

" Out upon it !" exclaimed his brother, and
Parted impatiently from the room.
E

Sir George did not seem to notice his depart-
ure in the least, but went on with what he was
saying. " But what I do not understand is,
that he should send you a message. Surely he
wrote, Newburn 1 Have you still the letter]"

" Yes," answered his cousin. " I will show
it to you some other time. R is in my baggage."

" I should like to see it much," said Sir
George. "Now, tell me truly, Andrew, did
you do nothing else than gaze ! I know you
well, my good cousin. You are gay and rash,
have a somewhat evil opinion of all women, and
believe that admiration, even when implying
insult, must still have something pleasing in it
for them. Did you add no words to the look V

" Not one, upon my honor," replied his cousin,
boldly.

"And no act either 1" asked Sir George ; and
then seeing a sort of hectic glow come into his
cousin's pale face, he added, quickly, "You did
— I see it there — What was it?"

" I really do not know what right you have
to tax me so," replied Andrew Ramsay, color-
ing still more.

" I will tell you," answered Sir George, in a
calm but stern tone. " You have told me some
passages which have lately taken place, imply
ing that you have been injured. Now, if wrong
has been done my cousin, and the very conse-
quences of that wrong prevent him from re-
dressing it himself, I take up his quarrel as the
head of his house. But I must first be sure
that wrong has been done you. I must see the
case clearly, and therefore I ask you what it
was you did. Do not conceal any thing from
me, Andrew, for depend upon it I will know
the whole, and that very soon."

The other grew white and red by turns, but
his elder cousin had habitually great command
over him, and he answered in a low and some-
what sullen tone, " I only pulled back the cur-
tain of the carriage a ,'ittle, to see her more
plainly, nor should I have done that if it had
not been rudely drawn in my face."

" So now we have the truth," said Sir George ;
" and I will tell you how I read your story, An-
drew. You and some young companions — gay
libertines, mayhap — in riding through the streets
of Paris, met a carriage containing a young lady
of great beauty. You stare rudely in, as I have
seen you do a thousand times ; the curtain is
drawn to shut out an insolent gaze, and you
pull it back again with a sort of coarse bravado.
These are the plain facts of the case, I take it,
and even by your own showing, 1 can not but
see that Gowrie was quite right."

" You seem to have got his own story by
heart, Sir George," replied his cousin, " and
throw it somewhat unkindly in the teeth of a
kinsman who, wounded, weak, and sick, comes
to seek your hospitality."

" I am sorry for your A'ound, Andrew," said
the knight, "and trust you may soon recover
health and strength. As for the story, I have
neyer heard one word of it but from your own
lips. The writing was not very legible, but
you can not deny that I have managed to deci-
pher it. And now let us change the subject a
little. Who is this lady in whom Gowrie takes
such an interest 1"

" I know not— his leman, I suppose," teplied
the young man, with a scoff.

66

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

"ftot what you suppose, Andrew, but what
you have heard. You can not have been mixed
up in such an affair without, having learned
more of the object of your admiration. Who
did people say she was ?"

" Oh, she was given out to be his cousin,
whom he was bringing from Italy," replied
Ramsay of Newburn. "They said that she
had been living with relations there, who were
lately dead, and that Gowrie, like a true Paladin
Orlando, was bringing her straight back, defy-
ing all men in her cause by the way."

"But what was her namel" asked Sir George.
"You must have heard her name." \

" His servants called her, the Lady Julia
Douglas," answered his cousin. " 1 never
heard of such a person. Did you."

Sir George Ramsay mused, saying slowly,
" No — no, not exactly — yet at the time of Mor-
ton^ death there were rumors of a private mar-,
riage with an Italian lady — there were many
Italians about the court at the time — Ha ! here
comes John back again. Have you ever heard,
John, any rumors of the Regent Morton having
left a daughter 1 I think I remember something
of it."

" Oh, yes," answered John Ramsay. " I
jp have heard Stuart talk of the matter. He was
employed himself to search for the supposed
widow and child-; for they got about a story
that the regent had married an Italian in the
end of his life, but dared not own it for fear of
the ministers, who would have put him on the
stool of repentance, or preached at him by the
hour, which would have been just as bad.
Stuart could hear nothing of them, except that
an old Italian count, with his daughter and
young child, had fled to Leith as soon as Morton
was arrested, and had taken ship there for
France some weeks after his execution. They
supposed that this was Morton's wife and child,
and that she had carried away with her all the
vast treasures he had scraped together."

Sir George Ramsay shook his head ; but
saying, " It must now be supper time ; I will
call for it," he left the room without any further
observation on the subjects of which they had
been talking.

The moment he was gone and the door closed,
John Ramsay gave a peculiar glance to his
cousin, saying, " I must hear more of this mat-
ter, Andrew — but alone, alone. Dalhousie's
cold prejudices drive me mad. I can not keep
my temper with him when he talks of these
Ruthvens. I have much to say to you, too."

" And I much for your ear, John," said his
cousin hurriedly. "Find out where your
brother's people lodge me, and come to my
room, after I have gone to bed and all is quiet ;
I shall retire soon, upon the plea of weariness ;
but I shall not sleep till you come, for I have
those things in my breast which are enemies to
slumber."

They had not time to say much more before
Sir George Ramsay returned, and it was imme-
diately after announced that supper was served
in the hall. Thitber, then, they took their way ;
and over the good cheer and the rich wine all
painful subjects seemed forgotten, till Ramsay
of Newburn rose, and alleging that he was
weary, retired to rest.

CHAPTER XXI.

It was nearly midnight when the door of the
small room which had been allotted to Ramsay
of Newburn, opened, and, with a lamp in his
hand and a quiet stealthy step, his cousin John
entered, and seated himself at the foot of his
bed. " I could not come before, Andrew," he
said, "for Dalhousie has been walking up and
down the hall an hour beyond his usual bed
time."

" Never mind, never mind," answered the
other. " I can rest, but I can not sleep, John.
I never sleep now till two or three o'clock, and
shall not do so till I see those punished who
deserve it."

" My longings go in the same way," said
John Ramsay ; " but my brother has been tell-
ing me that you pulled back the curtain of the
lady's carriage in order to stare in at her. You
should not have done that, Andrew. I can not
call upon Gowrie for reparation after that."

"Pshaw! give not one moment's heed to
private quarrels, John," answered his cousin,
in a frank tone. " I might be wrong in the
business ; and Lord Gowrie was certainly
overbearing and unjust. I have apologized,
however, to the lady — not to him, and that
matter is settled ; but there are other matters
behind."

" Of a more public nature, I suppose, from
what you say of private quarrels," observed
John Ramsay; "and I know right well that
Alexander Ruthven has run up a score which
he may find it difficult to wipe off; but the earl
has nothing to do with that. Happily for him,
he has been so long absent that he can not be
suspected either of intrigues at court or treason
to the state."

" Be you not sure of that, John," replied the
other. " Would I had as free access to the
king as you have, I would soon put his majesty
upon his guard against this haughty young
lord, who is now wending back to plot here as
his ancestors did before him."

"I will soon bring you to the king's presence
if you have any charge to make against him,"
said his cousin. " If you accuse him boldly
and with good proof, you will not want sup-
porters who will bear all before them*"

" Nay, but I have no direct charge to make,
my good cousin," replied Ramsay of Newburn ;
"and clear proofs are difficult to obtain."

"Indeed!" said John Ramsay, his counte-
nance falling. " I thought, from your words,
that you were very sure of your game — I mean,
sure that this man is plotting."

" As sure as I lie here and you sit there,"
answered his cousin ; " but a man may be very
sure himself, and yet not be able to make others
so. The most dangerous traitors are always
those who conceal their designs most carefully ;
and Gowrie is such. Calm and tranquil in
speech, thoughtful and prudent in act, he never
commits himself till his purposes are matured."

" Why, Begbie of the Red Hill, who saw him
in Italy^ told me he was frank and free, and
fond of jest and harmless sport," replied John
Ramsay.

"Begbie's a fool," answered the other, im-
patiently ; and for fools the earl can put on
what character he likes. I saw Begbie as he

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

67

came back through Paris, and he told me how
the earl had shown him, at Geneva, little paper
balls, which at his command rose into the air,
and skimmed quite across the lake, and small
figures of ducks a«nd geese, that floated in a
vessel of water, and came to whatever side he
called them. Why, there is not a mountebank
in France or England but woulfr show him
such wonders, and yet the fool took it all for
magic, and half believed the earl to be a sor-
cerer."

" But if you have no charge against him,"
said his cousin, returning to the point, " I see
not what can be done with the king."

Ramsay of Newburn mused. " If we knew
a serpent to be in the garden," he said, at
'ength, " and saw the grass moving toward a
dear friend who lay sleeping there, should we
not do well to wake him, even though we could
not perceive the reptile under the covering
through which it moved?" he asked, at length,
in a slow emphatic tone.

" Assuredly," answered John Ramsay ; " but
we must be quite sure that there is a snake
there, and afterward seek for the beast to de-
stroy it, otherwise our friend may be angry
with us for breaking his slumber."

" Exactly so," rejoined the other ; " and I
think we can at least show that there is a snake
in the grass, though perhaps not exactly where
it lies. As to seeking the beast and destroying
it, that must be done hereafter, if we find it
venomous, as I believe it is."

" Come, come, to leave all such figures,"
6aid John Ramsay, " let me hear of what the
king is to be warned. He is too wise and
shrewd to listen to every tale that can be told,
especially when he knows that the teller loves
not the race against whom it bears. How shall
I show him, or how will you show him, An-
drew, that there is a snake in the garden ?
That is the question."

" I can do but little," answered his cousin.
"Wild and reckless, seeking pastime and plea-
sure, and thoughtlessly getting into every kind
of difficulty, I have neither reputation nor favor
to back my words against the influence of a
man so great ; who has, moreover, a brother
and a sister prime favorites at the court. You
can do much, John ; and I will tell you all I
know, both that you yourself may see that
there is just cause, and that your warning to
the king may not prove vain."

"As to his brother," exclaimed John Ram-
say, the object of whose greatest animosity at
that moment was Alexander Ruthven, " he
may indeed be a favorite at the court ; but he
is no favorite with the king."

" That matters not," answered his cousin.
"My word would go for little, and even yours,
perhaps, John, may not go for much ; but I
have no duty to perform, and you a great one.
Yet I would not have you hardly and impru-
dently accuse the earl before we have stronger
proofs."

"Then what would you have me do?" de-
manded the young man, interrupting him im-
petuously.

" I will tell you what," answered his more
wily cousin, " I would have you point out to
the king, how dangerous it is for some of his
prime nobles to sojourn for weeks at the court

of the Queen of England — the murderer of his
mother, the unceasing enemy of his whole
race — at the court of her who has ever pro-
moted treason and rebellion in his kingdom,
and received the banished traitors of Scotland
as her best friends. I would point out to the
king, how dangerous this is," he repeated,
"especially when the person who does sojourn
there is, within a short remove, as near the
throne of England as himself."

" I see — I see," answered John Ramsay.
" I understand what you mean."

" I would, then," continued his cousin, "ask
the king if he is aware that the Earl of Gowrie
has spent some weeks in Paris, almost in the
sole society of Sir Henry Neville, the English
embassador, seeyng him every day at his own
house, and going but once to visit the repre-
sentative of his own monarch."

" But is this true? Did he do it?" inquired
the other, eagerly.

" It is quite true, and can be proved by a do-
zen witnesses," answered his cousin. " I have a
statement of the fact in the saddle-bags which
lie there, given me by the master of the inn
where the earl lodged in Paris. He did this,
and even more. I would then ask the king if
he is aware that honors almost royal were
shown to this youth at the English court ; that
the guard turned out at his presence ; that
chamberlains and officers went down to meet
him at the foot of the stairs on his approach ;
that the queen always styled him, cousin, and
sometimes spoke of him as the nearest heir to
her crown ? I would ask if his majesty were
aware of the nature of those private confer-
ences which John Earl of Gowrie held with
Robert Cecil and the Earl of Essex, besides
numerous others of the court, whom the king
may think more in his interests than they re-
ally are ? I would also inquire whether King
James had heard of a project for marrying the
Earl of Gowrie to the Lady Arabella Stuart,
and suffering the crown of England to fall qui-
etly on his head ?"

" By Heaven ! if all these things be true, he
should be arrested for a traitor the moment he
sets foot in Scotland," cried John Ramsay, his
impetuous spirit jumping at conclusions far
beyond those which his cousin's words im-
plied, or to which his intentions reached ; " and
I will do it myself, if no one else will do so."

" No, no !" exclaimed the other. " You are
too impetuous, John. The arresting him on
his arrival would but put all the other parties
concerned upon their guard, and enable him by
their means to conceal his treason by a skillful
defense. Besides, the king dare not for his
life make the acts of his good sister of Jjngland
matter of accusation against her ' fair cousin
of Gowrie.' Fie, man ; for a courtier, thou
ar but little of a politician. Tell his majesty
what I say. Ask him the questions which I
have put. He hath information large enough,
I will warrant; but if he want more, let him
demand it of me. I have ligged for a fortnight
in London, weak almost to death, and neglected
by every one, but a few trusty friends, who
brought me all the secrets of the court. There
I heard of nothing but Gowrie, Gowrie. His
star was in the ascendant ; and J, have doubts,
strange doubts about his journey onward."

08

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

"Think you he will not cornel" demanded
John Ramsay, fixing his eyes upon him.

" I do not know," answered his cousin,
thoughtfully ; " but if he do, it will be for some
purpose of which it were well to beware. — If
he stay," he continued, very slowly, "he stays
to be King of England. If he come back hith-
er, it may be but to settle his affairs before he
returns, or perhaps — but I would not carry my
thoughts to the daring length to which it has
been hinted he might carry his ambition. He
has no claim upon the crown of Scotland, even
were the king removed. The nobles of the
land would never suffer it ! What though his
descent from Margaret Tudor may give him
some show of title to the English throne ; here
he has no show of right whatsoever, and I will
not believe it. Do not mention what I have
said on this head, Joha," he continued, taking
his cousin's hand and pressing it ; " do not
mention it, on any account. All the rest I can
prove ; but this is merely the rash suspicion
of one who knows not our habits and our cus-
toms, and whom I am bound in honor not to
name. He is a great man, too," he continued,
thoughtfully, " but one whose views of policy
and ambition have, I can not but think, too
wide a range. — Do not mention it, on any ac-
count."

" I will put the king upon his guard, at all
events," said John Ramsay, thinking himself
very politic in giving no definite answer as to
what he would tell and what he would with-
hold, while he was in reality meditating the
very course on which his cousin sought to guide
him. " It is frightful to think what might be
the result, if this young man had the ambition
and the daring of his ancestors. Why, the
king's life itself — "

"No, no !" cried Andrew Ramsay, interrupt-
ing him, " I do not think he would venture such
an act as that. The worst I do believe he
would attempt, might be to seize his majesty's
person, and send him prisoner to England, like
his mother."

" He should feel my dagger first," answered
the young man with whom he spoke ; " but I
do not know, Andrew, how far these men's am-
bition may go. You can not tell what has been
taking place at our own court. If Gowrie is
aspiring in one way, his brother Alexander is
not less so in another. I will tell you what,
Andrew," he continued, " there was a time last
autumn when the king hurried away from his
cabinet with Herries and John Hume, and took
his road, as fast as he could go, toward the
rooms where Alex Ruthven is lodged. I know
not upon what information he acted ; but I fol-
lowed him to the foot of the stairs, and when I
heard that the door above was bolted, and the
king shook it till it was like to come down, I
thought, Andrew — " he continued, dropping his
voice, and pressing his hand tight upon his
cousin's arm, " I thought that the next sound I
should hear would be the death-cry of a Ruth-
ven."

" No bad noise," said Andrew Ramsay, drily ;
" but you told me something of your suspicions
by letter, John. HoW has this matter gone on
since?"

" From bad to worse," answered the young
man " He went away for a while, and then

returned ; and since then he has been more
daring than ever."

The conversation thus proceeded for about
half an hour longer, when the clock struck one,
and John Ramsay rose, saying, " Well, I will
away to bed ; but we shall meet to-morrow,
before I depart for Edinburgh."

" If you go to-morrow I will ride with you,"
answered his cousin, "for I am bound thither
too. We can talk farther by the way."

" So be it, then," answered John Ramsay ;
and with a few more words, to arrange their
plans, they parted for the night, the younger
man to sleep, after a short space given to agi-
tated thought, the elder to meditate somewhat
scornfully, though well pleased, upon the easy
tool which passion renders the most impetuous
and unruly, when duly and skillfully directed.

CHAPTER XXIL

I Lovs not to leave Gowrie and Julia so long
and yet they are very happy without me. Doubt
less they could do without Mr. Rhind either, as
he sits there in the window of the old-fashioned
inn, with its deep bay and its small lozenges of
glass, and its heavy frame of lead and iron.
Julia looks up at Gowrie, and smiles, and his
eyes glance cheerfully. There must be some
jest between them, light and happy, with none
of the world's bitterness — the jestof two lovers'
hearts. Would that I knew what it is ; but the
words are spoken in a whisper, for Mr. Rhind
is there with his everlasting little volume bound
in vellum, and I may as well leave them at
Berwick, too, and go on before, to see what
reception was preparing for them in a distant
place.

I must convey the reader with me to the old
royal palace of Falkland, without„however, giv-
ing any detailed account of a building, a much
better description of which than I can afford
may be found in many an antiquarian record.
Suffice it that it was large, roomy, and then in
a high state of preservation. It was also sur-
rounded by an extensive deer-park, called " The
Wood of Falkland," which was, perhaps, its
highest attraction in the eyes of King James
VI, whose only virtue was the love of hunting.

The season, ae every reader, whether skilled
in woodcraft or not, must know, was not one
in which St. Hubert permits the horned tenants
of the forest to be chased by man, for it was as
yet but the month of February. But that sea-
son of the year was a dull one for the Scottish
monarch ; and after being deprived of his favor-
ite pastime, he sometimes found the exercise
even of his "kingcraft," as he termed the art
of government, so tedious as to require relief,
and the labors of learned dullness, in which at
other times he indulged, very wearisome.

When this was the case, he would often re-
tire for a day or two, either to Falkland or to
Stirling, with a few chosen attendants or com-
panions, to see how his " beasties" were going on,
or rather to revive the memories of the sport in
which he delighted, by the sight of gray woods
in their winter bareness, and of the antlered
objects of his pursuit stalking about familiarly
through the glades at a period when they knew,
by experience or tradition, they were free from

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

oa

the hostility of men and dogs. The king had
:hat sort of tender admiration for the objects
of his sanguinary pursuit, that strange mixture
of affection and cruelty, which is not uncom-
mon in the human tiger throughout the world.
The libertine, with the creature of his pleasure/
whom he chases but to destroy, affords merely
a modification of the same selfishness, and no
one could probably have entered into James's
feelings more fully than good old Buffon him-
self, who begins his description of the stag
with the kindly words, " Voici 1'un de ces ani-
maux innocents, doux et tranquilles, qui ne
semblent etre faits que pour embellir, animer
la solitude des forets, et occuper, loin de nous
les retraites paisibles de ces jardins de la na-
ture ;" and then he gives an account of the best
and most approved means of tearing it to
pieces.

However, it was in one of the alleys of the
park or wood of Falkland that King James
wandered on, in the latter end of February,
1600. Where he first entered the wood, the
underwood was not very thick, and the sharp
winter, just drawing to a close, had torn from
the branches to which they clung many of the
leaves which, like shipwrecked mariners, had
held feebly on long after their brethren had been
swept away. By his side, or rather half a step
behind, was a young man, dressed, like the
monarch himself, in Lincoln green, and some
fifty paces further back was a well-armed at-
tendant. The period at which the stags are
dangerous had long passed, indeed ; but still
James was not usually ill pleased to have aid
ever at hand in case of need, for he was ac-
customed to say himself, "there are more vi-
cious beasts in the world than harts and hinds."
His pace was quick, though, as usual, sham-
bling and irregular, and as he went he rolled his
eyes about in every direction in search of some
of the beasts of the chase.

" Whist, whist, Jock," he said at length,
pausing, and pointing with his finger ; " there's
a fine fellow — an old stag, upon my life, as fat
as the butterman's wife. De'il's in the beastie !
he's casting his head gear already. Do you see,
man, one side is as bare as my hand 1 We shall
have an early summer and a hot one. When-
ever the old stags, or the stags of ten, cast their
horns before March, you may be sure there will
be an early season. The young ones are al-
ways a bit later ; but that's an old hart coming
his ninth year. I'll warrant he's been down
every morn to neighbor Yellowly's farm at the
water, by the grease upon him. Let me catch
you in the month of June, my man."

The king then went on to instruct his young
companion in various parts of science connect-
ed with his favorite amusement, giving him all
the French and Scotch and English terms for
different proceedings in woodcraft, and for the
qualities and distinctions of the deer.

The young man listened with all due submis-
sion and apparent attention, though, to say truth,
he was somewlrat impatient of the lecture, and
thought that he understood the subject, practi-
cally, at least, as well as the king himself. There
was another source of impatience also in his
bosom, for the truth was, he eagerly sought an
opportupity of speaking upon a different topic ;
while the profound reverence for the kingly of-

fice, in which he had been educated, prevented
him from introducing it himself, till the mon-
arch's own words gave him some fair opening.
He had watched his opportunity for weeks, but
something had always intervened to prevent his
executing his purpose ; and now when he had
fully expected to find the moment he sought,
during the expedition to Falkland, it seemed
likely to be snatehed from him by James's long
winded dissertation upon hunting. He could
almost have burst forth w^th some impatient
exclamation as the king went on discussing
and describing, and mingling his disquisitions
with quaint scraps of Latin most strangely ap-
plied ; but the opportunity was nearer than the
young man thought.

" You see, Jock," said the king, " a young
stag, or a stag entering ten, or even a stag of
ten, may ne forced and run and brought to bay
easily enough ; but an old stag is a wily beast,
ever on his guard, and ready at every minute to
give the dogs and the hunter the change. He
knows well where his enemies lie, which way
they will take, what they will do, and how to
circumvent them."

" He must be very like your majesty, then,"
said the young man, with a low bow, adding,
" at least, I hope so."

"Ha, man, what's that]" cried tRe king,
looking round ; but before John Ramsay could
answer, the king had plunged into woodcraft
again. " In the season when people can not
hunt," continued James, " he'll come out to
the edge of the wood, or into the fields, and
nibble the young corn. I've known one rout
out an old wife's kail-yard ; but as soon as the
month of May begins, back goes the sleek fel-
low into the very heart of the woods and parks,
and then you have to track him step by step,
mark all his footprints, and sometimes in hot
weather trace them contrariwise over the dry
ground, in order to put the dogs on where the
scent lies. Eh, man, he's a wary beast, and
takes every means to hide his coming in and
his goings out."

" So do some of your majesty's enemies,"
said the young man, with peculiar emphasis —
and James's attention was now fully caught.

" Ha ! say you so, Jock ?" cried the monarch,
with a start. "There's something thou hast
to say, lad — out with it, in God's name. You
love your king well, I do believe. Come, tell
the whole — keep farther back, Sanderson," he
continued, raising his voice, and speaking to
the man who followed. " Now, Jock, now, let's
hear it all, and if you do your duty faithfully you
have the king's favor."

" My duty I will do whether or no," answer-
ed the young man, bluntly. " I love your maj-
esty too well to keep any thing back from you,
even should it make you think me indiscreet ;
and I know that your wisdom will soon see
that which my poor wit can not divine. I
have had some doubts as to whether I may not
be doing wrong, in my own thoughts, to a noble
gentleman ; but if I tell you just what I have
heard, which is my bounden duty, your majesty
will soon see and judge which is the right of
it all."

" That's a good lad — that's a good lad," re-
peated the king. " We will soon clear the
matter up when we know the whole, and act

70

GOWK1E : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

according to judgment and reason. Kings were
appointed of God, the judges of all things upon
earth ; but how should they judge if they do
not hear 1 Now, tell me, man, who is it you
suspect ? There are in every kingdom a great
many fools who are always getting into mischief
from want of wit, and a great many born devils
always egging them on."

" I don't know that I've a right to say that
I suspect the Earl of Gowrie," replied the
young man ; but the king instantly interrupted
him, exclaiming, with a violent oath, " Why,
what the de'il do you know about Gowrie 1 I
had thought that all his tricks were known to
myself alone — but what have you to say con-
cerning him 1"

" If your majesty knows all his proceedings,"
answered John Rarnsay, " I have naught to say.
The matter is in good hands."

"But how can you tell I know all about the
matter, Gabie 1" asked the king, impatiently.
" Speak out, man — speak out."

"Well, then, I would humbly ask your maj-
esty," continued Ramsay, remembering the in-
structions he had received, " whether you are
aware that during the whole time the earl was
in Paris, he was in continual connection with
the English embassador, Sir Henry Nevdle,
seeing him every day, and that he only thought
fit to wait upon your majesty's embassador
once 1"

" Ay, did he so \" said James, musing " He
may find that he can not lightly treat his own
born sovereign without scathe. How got ye
knowledge of this, manl You've no been in
Paris yourself, unless you can be in two places
at once."

" I had a cousin there at the time, your
majesty, and he tells me that the thing was
commonly remarked and talked about. Then I
understand that her majesty, the Queen of
England, showed somewhat more honor and
grace to^his Earl of Gowrie than one of your
majesty's subjects should willingly have re-
ceived."

" Ay, poor fellow, he couldn't help that," said
the king, with a curious grin at his own af-
fectation of candor. " If our good titty and
aunt, Queen Elizabeth, like the other wild jade,
Fortune, will thrust honors upon a man who
does not want them, he must take them as they
come. But what did she do that was worthy
of mark ?"

John Ramsay, in reply, recapitulated all that
his cousin had told him ; and, more from
James's manner than any words that escaped
him, judged the communication gave the mon-
arch a slight uneasiness. The king, as was
common with him when internally agitated,
hurried his sort of limping pace into the thicker
wood, pulling the sides of his breeches at the
same time, and mumbling inward comments,
of which not one word could be distinctly
heard. Then sitting down on a broad stone
bench, which stood at the side of the avenue,
near a spot where a lateral alley branched off,
he impatiently bade his companion go on, al-
though the young man was already speaking as
fast as he could.

" The only thing more I have heard, sire,"
said John Ramsay, who had by this time well-
nigh finished his tale, " is that the earl was in

constant communication, and that of a secret
kwid, with Sir Robert Cecil, the Earl of Essex,
Sir Walter Raleigh, and the Lord Cobham."

" The devil is in those fellows," said the king,
abruptly. " They betray every one, first then
own mistress, and then their own friend.
They've softened all down to me ; but I saw
through them, lad, even before what you have
told me. They could not blind my eyes so as
to prevent my finding out that there was more
under their fine speeches. But you've got
something else to say, Jock. I see it in your
fece, man. Out with it !"

" It was only this, your majesty," replied the
young man, " and 1 don't know, indeed, whether
it is necessary to say it, for your wisdom needs
no guidance ; but the fact is, all the informa-
tion I have received comes from my cousin
Newburn."*

" None the worse for that, man, I dare say,"
said the king. " Why should not your cousin
Newburn tell truth as well as another, Jock
Ramshackle 1"

" I have thought, since I spoke with him,
sire," answered Ramsay, "that he may be a
little prejudiced, for he and the earl, it seems,
are not on the best terms, one of the earl's men
having nearly killed him in a dispute about a
lady traveling under the earl's escort. Besides,
my brother Dalhousie is a great friend of the
earl's, and thinks very well of him."

" Tell your brother not to take his lot with
him," said James, sharply. " He does not
know what he mints at ; and he'll bring him-
self to bad bread before he's done. A lady, did
you say 1 What lady might that be, I should
like to know 1 Odds life ! I trust he'll bring
none of his Italian limmers here, or he'll have
the kirk session on his back."

" They say she is a cousin of his own," said
Ramsay, in a doubtful tone, " and that one of
her relations in Italy dying, while the earl was
there, committed her on his death-bed to the
earl's charge. They call her the Lady Julia
Douglas."

"Whew!" cried the king, adding a long
whistle, as if he were calling back a falcon.
" So, my bonny bird, we shall get you at last.
The Lady Julia Douglas ! Why, this is the
very lass, I'll pawn my ears, that Arran, poor
body, was looking for so felly some eighteen
years ago. Mayhap we shall hear something
now ; we shall get some inkling of all Morton's
treasures which we could never lay hand on.
This must be thought of quickly. We must
have the lady in our own ward, Ramsay, for
we are sair pressed for siller just now. I'll
away to Edinburgh this very night, and see to
this matter. Why, that man Morton had gath-
ered together, what by scarting and what by
nipping, enough to replenish the treasury of
Scotland for a twelvemonth, and yet when he
went to take the last kiss of the maiden of
Halifax, he had'nt money enough in his pouch to
pay the hangman. All that he had was forfeited
to the crown, being attainted as a traitor; but
he had either hidden all his gold away, or else
the Italian lady and her father had carried it
off with them, for we could nevejr. find so much
as a crown piece, and I can tell you it sat ill
upon my stomach and Arran's too. He was a
feckless poor body, that Arran, or he'd iiave

GOWRTE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

never let the old count and his daughter and
the bairn get away. But we must watch for
this good earl and the pretty lady, and we'll
soon find out where the money is."

" Shall I set out at once, sir, with a party of
the guard 1" asked Ramsay, ever ready for ac-
tion. " I'll arrest the earl the moment he sets
foot in Scotland, if your majesty will but war-
lant me."

" Fie, now, lad. What a rash fool thou art !"
6aid James, in a goed-humored tone. "No,
no, boy. We must trust things that require to
be done fair and softly to older and cooler heads
than thine. There must be no violence, no
show of force ; but we must get the lady into
our own ward cannily and quietly, and then
deal with the earl afterward, as he comports
himself. I tell thee what, Jock," he continued,
stretching out his hand, and pinching the young
man's cheek, " I would not have all the wealth
of the old regent Morton go to swell the riches
of Gowrie for one half of Perthshire. They are
too rich and poworful already, those Ruthvens ;
and I'll have no new Douglases rising up in the
land to outshine their king, and beard him, too.
They used to call Dalkeith the lion's den, when
Morton had it ; but I'm not fond of such wild
beasts, and these Ruthvens are a bit of the
same breed. No, no ; we'll take care of the
lady, and provide for her marriage ; but it shan't
be to a Ruthven."

As the king spoke he rose, as if he were go-
ing to walk away, but the next moment he
stopped, and turned round to his young com-
panion, saying, " Now mind, Jock, what, I'm
going to bid you, and see that you obey. Hold
your tongue about all that has passed between
you and the king. Say not a word to any one,
whatever you may see or hear ; and above all
things keep your hands, and your tongue, too,
off young Alex Ruthven, whom you are always
bickering wiih. I'll take my own time, man ;
and depend upon it, if I want any thing that re-
quires a strong hand and a bold heart, and love
and affection to a sovereign, I'll send for you,
Jock ; so you keep quiet and bide your time, as
I shall bide mine. Kingcraft teaches a man
patience, Jockie Ramshackle ; but you'll need
an awful quantity of drilling."

Thus saying, the king rose and moved on
along the avenue, till he came to the corner of
the cross alley which I have mentioned, where
he suddenly started and turned pale, on seeing
a man, and that man a stranger, approaching
with an easy, sauntering step, and within some
five or six yards of him. With the impulse of
courage, Ramsay, who was a little behind,
placed himself at once at the king's side, al-
though he could not but see there was no dan-
ger, for the stranger was quite unarmed ; and
Tames, at the same time, becoming conscious
of that fact also, recovered his courage, and
said, in a low tone, "Whist, man! wha the
de'il s this, I wonder? Haud your tongue —
he's going to speer something at us."

" I say, old gentleman," said thre stranger,
" I wish you wiiuld tell me my way out of this
place, for I've lost myself, and can not get back
to the palace."

'low, it is to be remarked, that James was
DOl it this tune an old gentleman, being then in
his thirty -fourth year ; but his hair was some-

what gray already, and the strange and awk-
ward form of dress which he affected — quilted,
loose, not always in very good repair, and here
and there somewhat greasy — gave him the ap-
pearance of being at least twenty years older
than he really was. Ramsay's cheek reddened
at the man's familiar address to his sovereign ;
but James made him a sign to be quiet ; and
the stranger went on in the same cavalier tone,
saying, "It's a long lane that has never a turn-
ing; but this has so many turnings, that it is as
bad as the labyrinth of Didymus."

" Daedalus, you mean, young man," answered
the King ; " and you yourself make an ugly sort
of Theseus, though I am not quite so frightful
as the Minotaur."

" I never heard of that gentleman," answered
the stranger ; " but I dare say he was ugly
enough. However, handsome is who hand-
some does ; and if he behaved well in his ca-
pacity, no one could blame him for not being
pretty. You can not have more of a cat than
its skin, nor comb a monkey that has got no
hair. However, I want very much to find my
way out of this place, for like many another
pretty piece of work that man gets into, it is
easier in than out."

" I should like to know how you did get in,"
answered James, who was exceedingly amused.
"You must have got over the wall, I think."

"Nor I," answered the man ; " I came round
by the stables, and through the back court , but
what signifies it to you how I got in."

" It signifies very much," cried Ramsay fierce-
ly, for his blood had continued boiling during
the whole conversation, at what he considered
the man's insolence.

But James interposed, exclaiming, "Hout,
lad, keep your breathlo cool your porridge. How
can the man tell that I am the head keeper 1
He's clearly a stranger here by his tongue."

"Oh, if you are the head keeper, that makes
all the difference," answered the other. " I
know what belongs to parks as well as any one ;
and the head keeper is always a very reverend
gentleman in my eyes. A man should never
quarrel with his bread and butter ; and I've often
got a capital venison steak for being civil to the
head keeper. So, sir, I'll tell you,. I got quite
honestly in, as you can learn yourself, if you go
back with me to the palace. I've brought a
letter from my lord to his majesty the king, and
as I've long had a great wish to see him, I told,
a lie, and said I was to deliver it myself; but
the. people at the palace told me that his maj-
esty was busy in his cabinet on affairs of state."
"The leeing loons!" muttered James, with
a laugh.

" And so," continued the other, " I just put
up my horse at the hostel, and walked through
the gates into the park."

" So you had a great desire to see the king,
had you 1" said James. " \¥hat might that be
for 1 Why should you want to see him more
than any other man ?"

" For three reasons," answered the other ;
" because they say he is as wise as King Solo-
mon, because he's fond of proverbs,- and be-
cause he's the greatest hunter upon earth since
Nimrod."

James chuckled, till his quilted doublet shook ;
and then he asked, " Who told you all this p*

72

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

" Why, my lord, the Earl of Gowrie," an-
swered the man ; and the king instantly turned
a sharp and meaning glance to Ramsay's coun-
tenance.

"And so he told you," he said, "that the
king was as wise as Solomon. Faith, my man,
though I love the king, who is my master, as
well as any man in the realm can love him, yet
I think your lord was a little bit mistakec to
tell you so."

" He didn't exactly tell me so," answered
Austin Jute, whom the reader has already dis-
covered, " but he told others so within my
hearing."

" Then he followed the counsel of King Solo-
mon himself," answered James ; " and he must
be a wise man, too. He spoke not ill of princes,
I mean ; otherwise would the birds of the air
have carried the matter."

" Now, Heaven forbid that he should speak
ill of his own born sovereign," answered Aus-
tin Jute ; or think ill of him either ; but I pray
you, good sir, without more conference, tell me
my way out, for I fear that the king may go
forth ; and I have got to ride far to-night."

" What, you ride toward Berwick by the
gloaming, Pse warrant," said James.

"No, not so," replied Austin Jute. "I'm
away across the country to Carlisle, and hope
to meet my lord just as he crosses the border."

"Ay, comes he by Carlisle'!" said the king ;
'' but it's a wild country thereabout, my man.
Aren't you afraid to ride without any arms ]"

As he spoke he moved down the avenue, tow-
ard the palace ; and Austin Jute followed, say-
ing, " I have got sword and buckler at the hos-
tel, and know how to use them at a pinch, I
trust. He who bides a blow may spare a buf-
fet ; but you see, sir, I thought it was not right
for a man of my condition to approach the king's
palace with arms on my back, so I left all those
things at the hostel till I had delivered the let-
ter. Now there goes a fine stag, upon my life !
I would fain be as near him some fine sum-
mer's day, with a bow in my hand and liberty
to shoot."

"I should like to see thee right well," said
the king; "and if thou comest here to me
at Falkland some summer day, thou shalt have
leave and license to pick out three fat bucks,
and kill them, if thou canst, with three arrows,
but the first shaft that fails, so ceases thine
archery."

"Agreed, agreed," cried Austin Jute, tossing
up his cap in the air, and catching it again.
"Thank thee, master keeper. If I pick thee
not out some fine venison, or if I miss one
buck, say there is no archer left in Lincolnshire ;
and thou shalt set up the horns over thy door,
and give a pasty to the poor men of the village,
that once in their lives they may taste king's
meat."

"Soul and body! and so I will," cried the
king,_taking part in his enthusiasm ; " and thou
shalt have ten crowns into the bargain, for
each buck thou killest."

"Ten crowns!" cried Austin Jute, taking a
step back, and gazing at his companion
"That's good pay, master keeper, considering
that the umbels are my own by old forest law."
"Well, well," said the king, "'twas a rash
promise ; but I like to see a good shaft shot as

well as any man — don't look round, lad, for I'm
taking thee straight to the palace — there you
see the windows — never mi>:d that man ; he's
only one of the under keepers."

And as they passed the attendant, who had
followed the king in his walk, the man dropped
behind, and took up his station at the same dis-
tance as before.

" I've a notion," said Austin Jute, with his
cap in his hand, " that eagles would be taken
for rooks by foolish men, if they hid themselves
in rooks' feathers."

" So thou hast brought a letter from the Earl
of Gowrie," said James, without noticing the
quaint observation, though it sufficiently indi-
cated that his real rank was now suspected.
" Well, he is a right loyal and well disposed
young lord, I have heard. Have you got the
letter with youl"

" It is here, sir," answered Austin Jute, pro-
ducing it.

" Let me see it, let me see it," said the king.

The man hesitated for a moment, and then
dropped upon his knee, saying, " I beseech you,
sir, to pardon me ; but I have strange doubts I
must have offended — unwittingly, as you will
well believe— if you be really, as I now think,
the king's majesty. But your attendants as-
sured me that you were busy in your cabinet on
matters of great moment ; otherwise I should
never have ventured into your royal park."

" God's blessing on the vermin !" said the
king, " for they have made me a merry minute
or two. Give me the letter, man. I am the
king ; and for your mistakes you have our grace
and pardon, for a dusty doublet may well cheat
a man of no great conveyance."

Thus saying, he opened the letter and read.
The tenor was as follows :

" Please your Majesty,

" If the bestowing of great benefits should
move the receivers thereof to be thankful to the
givers, I have many extraordinary occasions to
be thankful to your majesty ; not only being
favored with the benefit of your majesty's good
countenance at all times myself, but also, that
it hath pleased your majesty to advance my
brother and my sister to great grace at your
royal court. Being anxious to give some more
certain sign and vive testimony to your majesty
of my devotion to your royal person, I am now
hastening to cast myself at your feet, in the
hope that it may please you to command me in
any thing whereby your majesty may have a
proof of my prompt and faithful obedience in all
things that may tend to your majesty's satis-
faction, together with the weal and prosperity
of the realm.

" In the mean time I repose myself still in
your majesty's constant favor, till God grants
that I shall see your majesty in so good a state
as I wish, which will give me the greatest con-
tentment of all.

" So earnestly craving heaven to bless your
majesty with all felicity and satisfaction in
health, and with an increase of many prosper-
ous days, I kiss most devoutly your majesty's
hands.

" Your majesty's most humble subject, and
obedient servant in all devotion,

"Gowrie *'

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

73

" A right loyal and faithful letter," said the
king. " Now walk straight forward into the
house, my friend. Fill thy stomach at the
larder. Get thee a good cup of wine at the
buttery, and away with thee at once, to tell thy
lord that the king is well pleased at his return,
and waits impatiently to consult with him and
other good lords upon many things concerning
the good of the state. Tell him, however, that
he will not find us here at our palace at Falk-
land, but at our poor house in Edinburgh —
wThieh, if he have any grace left," he added, in
a low voice to Ramsay, " he will not like to
walk about so well. — Bid him make haste and
come to us straight, for we are anxious for his
presence, and desirous to show him favor. —
Away with you, my man !"

The king waited till Austin Jute had taken
somewhat more than a hundred paces along the
avenue, and then said in a low voice, to Ram-
say, " This earl is a false loon, Jock. See here
what he says — that he is willing to show prompt
obedience in all things that may tend to our
satisfaction, together with the weal and pros-
perity of the realm. That's just their hypocrit-
ical talk when they intend to play the traitor.
They always find something which is required
for the weal and benefit of the realm, which
may thwart their own natural prince, whom
God appointed to rule over them, and made his
vicegerent upon earth. He'd never have put
in these words, Jock, if he were not minded to
do all he can to cross us. A dour divot, just
like all those Ruthvens. I can smell him out
as well as my brack Barleycorn can smell the
foot of one of those beasties "

" I hope your majesty will let him feel that
it is so," said Ramsay, " and teach him that he
can not cross his king with impunity."

"No, no, lad. I shall handle him after my
own Way," said the king. " Have you never
seen a bairn stroking bawdrons up the wrong
way? So I'll just cross the grain with him in
all kingly courtesy, then we shall soon see
whpther he turns dorty upon us, and that will
be the time to wind off the pirn. But come
along, Jockie, it's time that we should get home,
for I must see to this lassy he's got with him.
It may be she I think — it may not ; but if it be,
it's high time to care for her."

Thus saying, the king walked on hastily, and,
by a small side-door, entered the palace. Im-
mediately after, some of his attendants were
called to his presence, and questioned regarding
the account which Austin Jute had given of
himself. All they could tell, however, was that
he had brought a letter from the Earl of Gow-
rie, and said that he had been to Holyrood, but
finding the king absent at Falkland, had come
on direct On this James made no comment,
but, somewhat to the surprise of his attendants,
ordered every thing to be prepared for imme-
diate departure for Edinburgh.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Austin Jute's horse was a strong one, but it
was hardly strong enough for his purpose.
Austin Jute's own frame was hardened by much
sxercise, but it was barely firm enough to en-
iure what he impised upon it. He left the

presence of the king wkh a very quiet though a
quick step ; and had the eye of James traced
him along the avenue, he would have seen thrit
easy, jaunty, somewhat self-satisfied air, whi< h
was natural to him — and is to most men who
have always a proverb under their hand for a
walking-stick — not in the least diminished by
his late interview. But, alas ! that which was
natural to him at other times was now assumed.
He would not have drooped a feather at that
moment for the world. Even when he had
reached the little hostel or inn, which had been
set up as near the gates of the palace as decency
permitted, and to say truth, by the connivance
of the king's comptroller, somewhat nearer than
in strictness it should have been, he maintained
his gay and quite-at-ease demeanor : laughed
with the good man of the house, ate something
which had been prepared for him during his ab-
sence, and seemed to be trifling away his time,
when suddenly a large clock, which then graced
the front of the palace, struck one, and Austin
started up with a look of surprise.

" Gads, my life !" he exclaimed, " is that one
o'clock 1"

" Oo, ay," replied the host, "that's the
knock's just chappit ane."

"Then I'm an hour behind," cried Austin ;
and paying his score with due attention, he
mounted and rode away, merely asking, in a
common-place tone, which were the shortest
roads toward Carlisle.

His movements were all reported in the pal-
ace before half an hour was over ; but when it
was found that he had asked the Carlisle road,
no further questions were put. But Austin
Jute did not long continue on the path he first
took. He had learned by some experience in
his various travels to foil pursuit, even in coun-
tries that he did not know ; and he was soon
upon the way to Kinghorn, going on at a quick
but not a violent pace, anxious to advance as
rapidly as possible, but not to knock up his
beast before he reached his journey's end.

To all human creatures which he met on the
road, to inn-keepers, and even inn-keepers'
daughters, he was uncommonly taciturn ; but
with his horse he held long conversations,
which seemed to comfort the poor animal
greatly.

" Well, you got over that last mile bravely,
Sorrel," he would say ; " a good heart's worth
a peck of provender. But a peck you shal.
have at the very next village. If we can not
get oats we can get meal, that's one comfort, in
Scotland. Thank Heaven, you are no way
dainty, and I dare say would drink a stoup of
Bordeaux wine, if we could find it. Perhaps
we may, too, at the next town. We never
know where good luck lies."

He kept his word, and the horse justified his
good opinion ; for the wine was procured, and
the beast drank it, seeming as much revived
thereby as if wine were made to cheer the
heart of beast as well as man.

On, on, the pair went, however ; and as they
passed over one of those wild moors, neither
then nor now unfrequent in the land of cakes,
Austin began to tell the good stout horse all
about his inierview with King James, in the
full confidence he would never repeat it.

" I think I managed that right well, Sorrel,"

74

GOWRIE : OK, THE KING'S PLOT.

he said. "The covetous thief never dreamed
that 1 knew him all the time, and had heard
every word he said for a long while before. By
cock and pie, if he had, I should have had my
ears slit, I'll warrant ; the right ear for eaves-
dropping, and the left for calling him 'old gen-
tleman.' — You answer never a word, Sorrel.
That's poor encouragement for a man to tell
a merry tale. If thou wouldst but give a horse-
laugh or any thing, I would say thou art a witty
beast and understandest a joke. But thou art
weary, poor fellow," be added, patting the
horse's neck, " and yet thou must go many a
mile further ere morning. A merciful man is
merciful to his beast ; but I must not be merci-
ful to thee, or my dear lord and lady may suffer,
and thou wouldst not like that, Sorrel. Well,
well, take the hill easily, then ; I will get off
and walk by thy side. Here's a pool of water,
thou shalt have a drink.

In this sort went he on ; and it is not too
much to say, that by such cheerful conversa-
tion, and a great number of little attentions, he
kept up both his own spirit and the horse's.

It is no slight distance from Falkland to Ber-
wick, take it which way one will ; but when
the distance was aggravated by having to cross
the Frith of Forth, an operation disagreeable
both to man and beast, it may easily be con-
ceived that Austin's expectation of reaching
Berwick before the next morning was a bold
one. His journey also had been increased by
the detour he had made at first setting out, and
by a ride of flve-and twenty miles or more in
the morning. He reached Kinghorn, however,
about half-past three ; and there, after sundry
inquiries as to his best course, hired one of
those large and excellent boats, for which the
place was famous, to put him over to Preston-
pans The wird was low but favorable, the
sea calm, and neither Austin nor his horse suf-
fered so much as might have been expected ;
but still the poor animal showed no great incli-
nation to go farther forward that night. He
ate his provender, however, with a good appe-
tite, that surest sign of a horse not being near
the foundering stage ; and after an hour and a
half's rest, the traveler set out once more by
the light of the stars. Sorrel bore up well to
Haddington, but, between that place and Dun-
bar., his pace grew slow, till at length it fell into
a walk.

" Well, I will not hurry thee, Sorrel," said
Austin, "thou hast gone good sixty miles to-
day, besides two ferries, and, if we get to Dun-
bar, 'tis but thirty more to Berwick. It can
not be eight o'clock yet, and thou shalt have
some rest."

Thus saying, he dismounted, and walked by
the beast's side for the next five miles, till the
sound of the ocean beating with a heavy mur-
mur on the shore, showed him that the town
of Dunbar was near ; and in a moment after he
saw a light here and a light there, at no great
disiance before him. Mounting his horse, he
rode quietly in, and stopped a sober citizen,
who, with a lantern in his hand, was taking his
way through the unlighted streets.

In answer to his inquiry for the best inn, the
good man, as usual, directed him " straight on,"
adding the invariable " you can not miss it."

He was so far right, however, that Austin

did not miss it, and, riding into the open yard,
was soon in possession of the landlord and his
myrmidons.

" Ae. ye've a tired beast there," said the good
man, " and we must find a stall for him, though
we've more than we can well lodge already;
for the great Earl of Gowrie came in an hour
or two ago with all his people."

"No, not with all of them," answered Aus-
tin Jute, "for I am one ; and I hope and trust
that the earl has not gone to bed yet, for I have
kind greetings to him from the king's majesty,
which I ought to give as soon as may be."

"In bed!" cried the landlord. "Fie! His
supper's just put on, and the auld man has
hardly finished hrs thanks yet for the good
meat." *

" If that's the case, I'll let him have his meal
in peace," answered Austin ; and after I have
seen to poor Sorrel, you shall take me where
the other servants are, that I may have some
meat too ; for, to say soothf I've had but one
cup of bad wine and a morsel since daylight."

"That is the way servants treat their lords,"
thought the host ; "here is this man has even
a message from the king himself, and he must
first fill his beast's stomac-h, and then his own,
before he delivers it."

But he did good Austin Jute injustice, for
without a strong motive he would have gone
fasting to bed, rather than have provided for his
own wants — whatever he might have done for
his horse's — before he fulfilled his duty to his
master. But, to say truth, he had a disinclina-
tion to the presence of Mr. Rhind when his tale
was to be told, and having, with that acuteness
which the lower orders exercise more frequent-
ly upon the higher than the higher imagine,
acquired a thorough knowledge not only of Mr.
Rhind's character but of all his little habits, he
calculated very accurately what would be his
proceedings. " He has had a long ride,"
thought Austin ; " he will eat a good supper ;
he will drink a good cup of wine; and then he
will go to bed directly. I must spend my time
as best I may till then, and, when the coast is
clear, go in and tell my tale. It must be a long
one."

" Don't you say a word of my arrival, good
host," he continued, perhaps gathering from
the landlord's countenance what was passing
in his mind, and " fooling him to the top of his
bent." "Servants must feed, you know, as
well as their masters, and if they know I'm
here, I may be sent for and kept an hour before
I get a bit of meat and a crust of bread between
my grinders."

" Well, well," said the host, with a sigh ; and
after Austinibad seen the corn duly poured out
under Sorrel's nose, he was led into the inn
kitchen, where he was at once received with
such a shout of gratulation by his fellows, as to
show the host that his new guest was a favor-
ite with his equals, whatever he might be with
his superiors.

Austin ate his supper in peace and merri-
ment, jesting gayly with all around him, but
still carrying on a course of under thought in
his own mind till his meat whs finished, and
then the landlord thought fit to hint that it might
be as well for him to deliver his message ; hop-
ing, perchance, to hear the terms thereof, foi

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

the words of a king were great in the eyes of a
Scottish host in those days.

"Your lord has all but done, I can tell you,
my man," he said.

" Ay, all but and well-nigh !" said Austin ;
" has the old gentleman gone to bed yet 1 Sup-
per is not over till he's gone, I think."

" No, he's not gone yet," answered the host,
" but he's just dawdling over some nuts."

41 Well then, he'll entertain my lord t-ill I've
taken another cup," replied Austin Jute ; and
he set himself to work again to make his com-
panions laugh, with an affectation of insolence
he did not really feel.

A minute or two after, however, the landlord
returned, saying, "The old gentleman's gone
now — and I'm thinking you had better not let
your lord know how long you've been here."

" Oh dear, yes, I shall," replied the servant,
starting up at once. " I never hide any thing
from him, Master Host, whatever you may
think ;" and away he went, without pause or
hesitation.

nor did he -lo so

CHAPTER XXIV.

The supper had been gay and cheerful, the
materials better than might have been expected
in a small country inn of Scotland at the begin-
ning of the seventeenth century ; and Julia and
Gowrie were alone once more, for Mr. Rhind
had now become quite accustomed to his posi-
tion, and forgetting all his sage decorums, con-
sulted little but his own ease. The night was
cold and clear, the fire in the large open chimney
blazed bright and cheerfully, and a gay and
happy sensation, as if the presentiment of com-
ing joy, was in the heart both of the lady and of
her lover. When they had crossed the border
and re-entered the native land of both, their
feelings had been different ; a sort of dread had
come upon Julia's mind — that sort of oppressive
sensation which often overpowers us when
some great fact, to which we have long looked
forward, is accomplished, deciding our destiny
forever, and yet leaving the results hidden in
darkness till they are evolved by time. When
Gowrie had said, " Here we are, in Scotland,"
the land of her fathers, where thev had ruled,
and bled, and suffered — the land where her own
fate was to be worked out ; where the brightest
happiness that the wildest flight of her young
fancy could reach, or the deepest grief which a
fearful heart could portray, was to be enjoyed
or endured ; an overpowering impression of
great things, past and to come, fell upon her
for an instant, and she could hardly sit her
horse.

The feelings of Gowrie were somewhat simi-
lar. After a long absence he, too, was return-
ing to his native land. With him, too, there
was much that was painful in the history of the
past. In this land his father had perished on
the scaffold ; from it that father's father had fled
an exile to linger out a few short years of sick-
ness in a foreign country •, while many and
many a relation and friend had here wetted the
scaffold witii their blood. What was before
himsein he asked ; and as he crossed the fron-
tier he strove to cast his eye forward, as if to
penetrate the dark and heavy vail which hides

the future of all mortal fate
without dread.

Such feelings, however, passed away. The
morning had been clear though cold. The
scenes through which they passed were fair
enough, and there was that blue freshness in
the hues of the bright wintry landscape, which
compensates, in some degree, for the warmer
coloring of the summer. All had gone well,
too, on the road. Nothing had occurred to
harass or disturb. The delicate complexion of
the beautiful girl, nurtured under a softer sky,
had acquired a brighter glow in the bracing in-
fluence of the northern air, and she looked love-
lier than ever in Gowrie's eyes ; while, as she
turned a look to him, he seemed to ride with
that prouder air which one ever feels inclined to
assume when, after a long absence, we again
tread the land of our birth and of our love.

Thus, by the time they reached the inn foi
the night, all dark fancies had been swept away ;
arid now they sat with their feet to the bright
fire, and with their hearts overflowing with
those words of love which had been repressed
during the day by the presence of another.

Austin Jute, Austin Jute, stay where you are
for an hour ! Break not yet the spell of happy
dreams — cloud not yet the gleam of wintry sun-
shine. Let no shadow cross their path !

But it must not be. There was a tap at the
door, and Lord Gowrie^ raised his head, and
looked round with some surprise saying, " Come
in."

" I have ventured to intrude upon you, my
lord," said Austin Jute, " having a message from
his majesty, the king — "

At that moment he was followed into the
room by the good host, who at once began to
bustle with cups and platters ; but Gowrie turn-
ed, saying, as he saw his servant stop sudden-
ly, " You can leave those things, Master Fair-
bairn. I will send for you when I want them
removed."

The man retired slowly and ill pleased ; and
Gowrie made a sign to Austin to go on ; but
the man paused for an instant, and then ap-
proached the door, saying, in a low voice, " Bv
your leave, my good lord, I will see that there
be no eaves-droppers."

There was no one at the back of the door,
however, though the light that streamed out
shone upon the figure of the landlord at the end
of the passage. Austin stood for a moment and
stared at him with a full, determined, pertina-
cious gaze, till the man, somewhat disconcerted,
walked slowly and sulkily down the stairs.

Then returning close to his lord's chair, and
shutting the door behind him, Austin said, " I
have a great deal to tell you, my lord, and have
made haste to get back."

"The king's message first, good Austin
What said his majesty V

" Oh, fine things, my lord," answered Austin
Jute. " It's a bad mercer's where there's no
silk, and a poor court where there are no cour-
tesies. The king was full of delectable speeches
upon your lordship's graces and fine qualities;
and he bids you hasten on to his presence with
all speed, as he wishes to consult you upon
many things."

" What, then, you saw his majesty in pe»
son !" said Gowrie.

76

GOWRIE . OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

"Ay, did I," answered Austin Jute, "and
heard him, too and that before he knew it.
Thus I had the sauce to my salmon ready made
— that is to say, the interpretation of his ma-
jesty's speeches before they were spoken.

"Explain, explain," said Gowrie, somewhat
eagerly. " I trust thou hast committed no new
imprudence, Austin."

"Oh no, my good lord," answered the man.
" I never commit any imprudences on your ac-
count : it is only on my own I venture. I would
not play at piteh and toss with your fortunes as
I do with mine for half your lordship's estate.
But the matter is this : I went to Edinburgh as
you told me, but at the palace — Hulyrood as
they call it — I found that the king had gone the
day before to another place called Falkland, and
making myself familiar with the porter, I heard
all about it, as how King James V. had dieu
there — but that has nothing to do with the
matter ; so on with my tale. Well, this morn-
ing early, I set off for Falkland with the letter,
taking — "

" This morning early '!" said Gowrie. " Thou

hast had a long journey for a winter's day

Stay, stay, my Julia. This may be news for
you also!"

" It is, indeed, my lord," answered Austin
Jute, with a bow to the lady — " and 1 have, as
your lordship said, had a long journey, for I
took my way round that my horse and myself
might have as little water as possible. Well, I
got to Falkland about ten o'clock, and a fine
piace it is, better than Eltham a great deal.
When I got there Heft my horse and my sword
at the inn, brushed the dust off my jerkin, and
went away to the palace. Well, I asked to see
the king."

"Asked to see the king!" exclaimed Gow-
rie, almost angry ; " in Heaven'e name, man,
what were you thinking of 1 Do you suppose
that the king sees every servant who brings a
letter of compliment from a gentleman of his
court"! You should have given it to an usher,
or some other officer."

" Upon my life, my lord, I know not what
possessed me," answered Austin Jute, " unless,
indeed, it was that the porter at Holyrood told
me the king had got a gentleman of the name
of Ramsay with him, and the name of our friend
in Paris was Ramsay too. So I wanted to see
what was going on — I always want to know
what is going on. However, the people at the
palace told me that the king was very busy in
his cabinet, transacting affairs of i tate. I an-
swered I would wait his majesty's pleasure, or
come back again in an hour. Thereat the men
laughed, which was not very civil, and told me
I had better come back. Taking them at their
word. I left the door, and was going back to the
inn, when, seeing some horses led about near
one corner of the building, I concluded that
there must lie the stable, and always having a
love for horses, I went away thither to see if
there was any thing worth looking at. I found
nobody there, but saw a door open, with a view
into a park beyond, so I judged I might as well
take a walk."

" Upon my life, I wonder thou hast come back
with thine ears on," said Gowrie.

" One is born with luck, though years bring
learning," replied Austin Jute ; " and luck be-

friended me, my lord, all the way mrough
First I came to a garden with some fine trees
in it. I did not know there were any such in
Scotland ; and then I walked across a wild piece
of ground toward a thick wood I saw some way
off, about a third of a mile or so. Well, it was
a mighty pleasant wood, with a great many of
the brown leaves still hanging upon the under-
wood, and alleys and avenues cut very nicely.
I wandered here and I wandered there, till at
last, when I wanted to get out, I could not find
the way ; when suddenly, just as I was going
out of one alley into another, I heard two people
speaking, and I stopped — "

" To eaves-drop," said Gowrie, with a glow-
ing cheek — " for shame of yourself, sir !"

" Well, it is a bad habit, my lord," said Austin
— " but all servants have it ; and in this instance
it is lucky I gave way to it."

" Tell me nothing about it," said Gowrie. " I
will not have it said — "

" My lord, you must hear," replied the man,
firmly. " If you drive your dagger into me the
next minute, you shall hear what I have to say,
for this dear lady's safety and your own, and
the happiness of both depends upon it. If people
will take double ways with you, you must take
double ways with them ; and I tell you the king
is putting on a fair face to you, but intends you
ill."

Julia dropped her head upon her hand, with
a cheek which had lost the rose ; and Gowrie,
after a pause, said, " If such be the case, speak
on. I must not refuse intelligence that may
affect her."

" It's about her almost altogether, my lord,"
replied Austin Jute, " for there was a great
deal had gone before, which I did not hear.
However, I know that what seemed the younger
voice said, 'If your majesty will give me a
warrant I will apprehend the earl as he comes.'
Now mind, my lord, I can't give you the exact
words all through, but I'll give your their mean-
ing. Well, when this voice had spoken, a fat,
thick voice answered, like that of a man wkh
plums in his mouth, and it called the other a
fool, and said he didn't understand policy, and
a great deal more, and that he would deal fair
and softly with your lordship till he had got
occasion against you — I should have told you
that this wasn't the fiist thing I heard, because
it has all got mixed up in my head together ;
but I heard the young one say, 'They call her
the Lady Julia Douglas,' which showed me it
was you they were talking of, and my lady here,
and besides one of them said something about
hating those Ruthvens."

"Make your tale short — make your tale
short," said the earl. " What more said the
King about the lady1? As for myself, I will
take care he shall have no occasion against
me."

" Why, he said, my lord, that the lady and
her mother had carried off from Scotland all
the treasures of a gentleman he called Morton,
who had been attainted for treason"

" Alas ! alas !" said Julia, " I've often heard
my grandfather say, that we fled with little
more than would carry us to Italy."

" What more — what morel" demanded the
earl ; and Austin Jute proceeded to give very
accurately the substance of all that had been

GOWRIE : OR, THE KINGS PLOT.

77

said by the king and Ramsay during the latter
part of their conversation.

" In his ward !" exclaimed Gowrie " She
shall never be in his ward, if I can help it.
No, no, my Julia. Your father's wealth was
his ruin, for to seize it was the object of those
who destroyed him. What he did with it has
never been discovered ; and now, fancying you
must either possess it or know where it is con-
cealed, this avaricious king of ours would fain
get you into his power. Heaven only knows
what then might happen. But that shall never
be. — What more said he, Austin V

" Nay, not much, my good lord, but what he
did say was not sweet ;" and then, after detail-
ing the rest, he added ; "At those words I heard
them get up, and begin to walk along, crushing
the crisp leaves under their feet. So I went
on and met them."

"You were mad," cried Gowrie.

" Oh, no, my lord, never wiser," answered
Austin Jute. " I put on a gay sort of saunter-
ing air, and called out to the king as soon as I
saw him, ' Halloo, old gentleman ! I wish you
would show me how to get out, for I have lost
my way.' The young man looked as if he
would have cracked my skull, but the old one
took it as a good joke."

Moved as he was, Gowrie could not forbear
from smiling faintly. " And how did all this
end1!" he asked.

" Why, sir, I treated him with no sort of
ceremony for some time," said Austin Jute ;
" talked with him familiarly about the king,
and for fear of getting you into a scrape, owned
it was a lie that I had told at the palace about
having orders to deliver your letter to the king
himself, and said that I wanted very much to
see the king, because I had heard from you
he was as wise as Solomon, and the greatest
hunter upon earth. We chatted very friendly
for some time, I can tell you ; and then he
thought fit to let out that he was the king,
never dreaming, I will answer for it, that I knew
it quite well all the time. When he had got
your letter, nothing could be more civil or com-
plimentary than his majesty was. He bade
you hasten your coming, as I told you before,
and sought to know which road you took, so I
told him by Carlisle, just to give your lordship
time. If it does not suit you to bear me out,
you can just say that it was a lie of mine, or a
mistake, or any thing you please. My ears
are quite at your lordship's disposal."

"No," said Gowrie, thoughtfully — "no.
Something must be determined at once. Go out
into the passage, Austin, and see that nobody
comes near. — No eaves-dropping, remember !"

" Upon my honor, my lord," replied the man,
and took his departure.

"Oh, Gowrie, what is to be done V cried Julia.

Gowrie pressed her to his breast with feelings
difficult to describe. " In truth, love, I hardly
know," he said. "I must think calmly for a
moment."

" Had I not better return at once to England,"
she asked, " and remain there till you can satisfy
the king that I know nothing of this coveted
wealth, or till we can be u,,ited 1"

Gowrie walked up and down the room for a
minute, strongly tempted, but did not yield.

" No, love, no," he said ; " if you go, I must

go too. I will not leave you unprotected in
another land ; and, moreover, it might be dan-
gerous even to myself. Listen, dearest Julia ;"
and seating himself beside her. he laid his hand
upon hers, saying — " While wt were in London,
some subtle, dark words were dropped by the
ministers of Elizabeth, as to my having the
power of being of great service to her majesty
in my native land. I gave no encouragement
to such conversation, and it ceased ; but if she
had you in her power, might not she try" to use
the strong love which she knows I bear you, to
drive me to acts contrary to my duty and mv
allegiance 1 Trust you with her I dare not.
Trust you in James's hands I will not ; for I
doubt him, Julia — I doubt him much. He prides
himself in dissembling; and his acts all show
that he aims at absolute power. What is to be
done? is the question, and only two courses
seem open to us — either for you to give me
your hand at once, when Gowrie's arm wili
find means to protect Gowrie's wife. Nay,
look not so sad ; I know your scruples, dear
one, and there is another course open. We
have in this country of Scotland, a district,
as you know, called the Highlands, where
law is little known, and to which the king's
power can hardly be said to extend. Just upon
the borders of that district I have a mountain
castle called Trochrie, where, I think, beyond
all doubt, you would be in greater safety than
in England. At all events, it would require an
army to bring you forth ; and I do not believe
that James would think fit to do any violent
act. It may be as well, however, that you
should remain there in secret till I can prove
to the king that neither his own avarice, nor
the greediness of his favorites, would be served
by taking you from me. The castle shall be
well prepared for defense, however ; and with
justice on my side, and the good friends I
have, I could hold out against him forever. I
will do no disloyal act myself, but I will endure
no tyranny."

" Oh, let me go thither," cried Julia, with a
bright smile of hope coming upon her face again.
" I will keep myself so carefully that he shall
never dream that I am there. I will take ex-
ercise in the early morning, or in the evening
twilight, so that people shall fancy that I am a
spirit ; and the rest of the day I will pass my
time in my lonely tower with my two maidens,
like some enchanted lady whom we read of in
those books of magic chivalry."

" It is very hard to doom you to such a fate,
my Julia — to send such a flower as you to bloom
in such a desolate wilderness."

" Hard !" said Julia, enthusiastically — "hard,
when it is for you, Gowrie ! Have I not been
accustomed to solitude tool It will but be liv-
ing over again, for a short time, amidst the
beautiful scenes of nature, with free, fresh an
and changing skies around me, the same life
that I led so long in Padua, among close houses
in a dull town. And then, perhaps," she added,
with a smile, " Gowrie may sometimes steal
away from courts to see me ; and when I think
the time of his coming draws nigh, what joy it
will be to look out from some high window ot
the castle, over moor and fell, to see if I can
perceive my dear knight coming across the dis-
tant plain."

78

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

" It is a fair picture you have drawn, dear
girl, of a less fair reality," answered Gowrie ;
" but I will try, dear girl, to make it as bright
for you as may be. Often, often will I come to
see you, till the dear hour when I can call you
my own. And I will bring some of my sweet
sisters, too, to cheer you. We will store the
old castle with pleasant, books and instruments
of music ; and when I come you shall sing me
the songs of the sweet south, till aH darker
things are forgotten. Still, still I could hardly
consent to your plunging into such a scene,
were not the bright season coming when our
Highlands look the fairest, when the yellow
broom and the purple heath succeed each other
on the hills, and the bright sunshine softens
the ruggedness of the scene. During the six
long months which must elapse ere, according
to our promise, you can give me your hand, the
year still goes on brightening for us in Scotland.
In truth, I see no other course we can pursue."

" Nor I," she said, eagerly. " Let me set
out to-morrow early, Gowrie ; and in the mean
time you hasten back across the border again,
take the way round by Carlisle, as the man said
you were coming by that road, and so lull the
king's suspicions, if he entertains any."

" But you can not go alone, my Julia," an-
swered her lover. "That will never do. Stay;
my mother is at Dirlton, not very far off, with
my young brothers. I have thought of a plan
that will answer. You shall go to her under
the escort of good Austin Jute and my servant
David Drummond, for I dare not go myself.
She can then forward you on your way to
Trochrie with Austin and some of her own
people. Part of the way were better made by
sea, for the waves leave no trace of your pass-
ing, and the weather is now fair To Dirlton
you can go to-morrow, and on the following day
proceed."

Julia bent her head a little, gazing on the
ground, and then said, in a low voice, " Will
she receive me willingly, Gowrie ?"

" As her own child," replied Gowrie, warmly ;
" I will answer for it, love."

" Though I am a stranger, an intruder, one
who even now brings danger on her beloved
6on !" said Julia, almost sadly.

"You know not Dorothea Stuart," answered
Gowrie. " Were the pursuers close upon your
steps, my love, were every danger and misfor-
tune followingyou close, it would only renderyou
dearer to her — it would only make her whole
6oul rise to serve you. However, I will write
to her this very night, telling hrr aH I wish, and
the reasons thereof. You shall carry the letter
with you ; and if every thing is not performed
as zealously and punctually as if I were there
myself, my mother is changed indeed, and has
lost all love for me. Now, dearest Julia, retire
to rest ; you shall be roused in time, and every
thing shall be prepared for your departure.
Alas ! that I must add, for our parting, too ;
but it shall not be a long one, dear girl. When-
ever occasion serves that I can get awaj with-
out observation, I will be on the way to Troch-
rie, for my heart will lie buried there with you,
and even in the midst of crowds I shall be
solitary."

Julia could not answer, for her heart was too
full— -it was like a cup brimming over, and the

least thing that shook her would have spilled
the precious drops within. One silent pressure
of the hand, and they parted for the night ; but
when she was gone, Gowrie stood and mused
with sad and painful thoughts, and ere she
sought her pillow she bent her head and wept

CHAPTER XXV.

There was a fine old house, as we should
call it now, but which was then, in great part
at least, a modern one, although the beating
and buffeting of angry winds, and the dark
breath of the storm, had blackened it ere more
than sixty years had passed since the newer
portion of the building was raised. It was built
in a style of which there are very few specimens
in England, though several in France ; but that
is easily accounted for, inasmuch as during
much of the short period assigned to that par-
ticular style, contentions of one kind or anoth-
er had existed between the court of London
and that of Paris, and the communication be-
tween England and Italy was extremely limit-
ed. Very different had been the case with
Scotland, the connection between which coun-
try and France had been cemented by many
ties, while an infinite number of the young
noblemen of the north completed their educa-
tion either at Paris or at one of the universities
of Italy. The Tudor architecture in churches
is well known ; and although there is some-
thing in the breast of every man of taste which
tells him that there is a want of purity of con-
ception and grandeur of design therein, yet it
is very beautiful of its kind. So much, how-
ever, can hardly be said in favor of the social
architecture of the period. Perhaps less stili
in point of really good taste, were the preten-
sions of that Italian style in which the front of
Dirlton House was constructed. The windows
were large and many, divided by stone mullions
with pilasters between, light and airy, but of
no order under the sun, and bearing panels
covered with rich and fantastic arabesques.

The whole had an air of grace and richness,
notwithstanding its incongruous and unmean-
ing details ; but at the hour of which I speak,
and at which a little cavalcade consisting of
seven horses approached the front, nothing
could be seen of the elaborate ornaments, and
the whole building lay in the midst of the gray
woods that surrounded it, a large and somber
pile of building, with a cheerful light streaming
through two or three of the casements. Weary,
anxious, and apprehensive, Julia looked up to
Dirlton House with a cold feeling of dread and
gloom. Vain had been Gowrie's assurances of
a kind reception ; she felt that she was a wan-
derer— a stranger — a fugitive, claiming protec-
tion and aid, even to their own peril, from per-
sons on whom she had no claim, and who were
strangers to her in all the kindly relations of
the heart. Her timidity became more and more
great as she approached the principal entrance
of the house, which projected before the rest,
with a sort of terrace and flight of steps of its
own. Fancy was very busy, and showed her
the strange looks with w-hich she would he at
first received ; the stately lady of royal race, '
the two or three tall and lordly striplings, her

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

79

none, all gazing upon her as a stranger, and
wondering what brought her there.

"I will send in the letter first," she thought ;
" they will then know who I am, at least ; and
I shall soon see by my reception whether I am
a welcome guest or not. It will be bad enough
at the best. — Here, Austin," she said, when, hav-
ing ridden up upon the terrace by one of the
two slopes at the sides, the man sprang to hold
her rein, and assist her to dismount — " here,
Austin, take this letter in.. Deliver it into the
Countess of Gowrie's own hand, and tell her
that I wait her pleasure without."

The man looked surprised, but took the let-
ter, and approached the great door, by the side
of which hung an immense, massive iron ring,
notched all over the inner side, with a small iron
bar beside it suspended from a chain. Austin
gazed at this strange-looking instrument by the
faint light, and felt it with his hand ; but he could
make nothing of it, and was looking for some
other means of making their presence known,
when the other servant, David Drummond, a
heavy, sinister-looking man, started forward,
and taking hold of the ring, soon produced a
sound, by running the iron bar over the notches
in the inside, loud enough to call two or three
servants to the door.

Austin was immediately admitted, and dis-
appeared from Julia's sight, while the other
servant shook hands with one of the domestics
of the countess, and seemed to explain who the
fair guest was, for the porter came instantly
forward, and with a civil tone, but in such
broad Scotch that she could scarcely under-
stand him, asked if she would not alight and
come in, as he was quite sure his mistress
would be very glad to see her.

" I will alight," said Julia, accepting his as-
sistance, " for I am very weary of my horse's
back ; but for the rest, I will wait ;" and spring-
ing to the ground, she leaned her arm upon the
saddle, the tired beast standing quite still by
her side.

She had not long to remain in uncertainty,
however, for hardly two minutes had passed
when she heard a female voice ; and some one
approached the door from within, exclaiming,
" Where's my bairn 1 Where's my dear child ?"
and immediately after a tall and commanding
woman, somewhat past the middle age, issued
forth with a quick step, and approached her.
Her gray hairs, falling from under a black velvet
quoif, and mingling with a lace vail attached
thereunto, her long black velvet garments, in
the fashion of the reign of Queen Mary, her
fine, though worn countenance, her tall figure,
and her quick step and eager look, all struck
poor Julia with a feeling of awe, which was
only dissipated by the warm and tender em-
brace in which the countess folded her, kissing
her repeatedly, and saying, "And did ye doubt,
poor thing, that Gowrie's mother would not
take ye to her heart? Come, come, my bairn,
you do not know me yet ; but Dorothea Ruthven
is no false friend or fleeching courtier, to say
one thing and mean another. Come you in,
and rest all your cares upon a mother's bosom ;
for, God willing, I will be a mother to you as
to my own bairns."

Thus saying, she took her by the hand, and
«d hei through the wide vestibule into a small

but richly decorated room on the ground floor.
Then stopping in the midst, where the full light
from a large sconce filled with wax candles fell
upon them both, she turned to look upon her
fair companion for the first time.

As if struck and astonished by what she be-
held, the old countess suddenly loosed her hold,
and clasping her two hands together, she ex-
claimed, "Ae, but you're bonny V Then in-
stantly throwing her arms round her, she press-
ed her to heart again.

Julia wept with agitation and joy, and the
gentle clasping of her small soft fingers upon
the old countess's hand, conveyed, without
words, all that was passing in her heart.

"Now sit down, my dear child," said Lady
Gowrie, taking her own seat, and pointing to
another close by her ; " you're weary and fright-
ened, I dare say, for I see from the first few
lines of Gowrie's letter that something has not
gone quite right with all your plans; but you
must not let that put your heart down, my bon-
ny bird, for this is a wild land, and if we were
to let little things scare us, we should live in
terror all our lives. My two young lads have
gone out, and not come back yet, but they will
be right glad when they return to find their
new sister, and then we'll have our supper, and
you shall go to bed and sleep."

" Oh, read Gowrie's letter first, before you
are so kind, dear lady," said Julia, wiping the
tears from her eyes; "you will see that my
coming with him has first brought embarrass-
ment upon him on his return to his native land,
and perhaps you may not love me so well after-
ward."

" Not a bit less, my child," said the old count-
tess in a firm, but sad tone. " I have ever best
loved those I love when misfortune came upon
them. Did I not love his father well," she con-
tinued, raising her eyes to heaven, "the day
the ax fell ! And yet, wo is me ! bitter was
that day of love, indeed ! Well-a-well, I will
read my boy's letter ; but mind, my dear, you
are to call me mother, for a mother I will be to
you, come fair or come foul ;" and wiping away
the tears from her eyes, she held the letter
nearer to the sconce, and read.

While she went on, Julia gazed at her with
a look of anxious interest ; but her longing to
know what would be the lady's feelings on
hearing all the particulars of her situation, was
soon lost in scanning the worn but noble feat-
ures, and tracing the strong likeness between
her and her son.

" Fie, fie !" cried the old lady, at length,
when she had read the somewhat long epistle
to an end, " this is but a scratch, and you and
Gowrie have taken it for a wound. Our good
king is fond of gold, and he has those about
him who are fonder still ; but when they find
that you have none, my child, they'll leave you
at peace right willingly. It will all come to
nothing, you'll see. However, in the mean
time, like a dutiful mother," she continued,
with a smile, " I must do what my son bids
me, though I'm loth to part with you so soon
But first I must take care that the servants are
tutored to speak carefully. All my own people
I can deperi upon ; can you on yours, mj
child V

" I trust so," replied Julia ; " the two girl*

80

GOWRTE: OR, THE KIXG'S PLOT.

can speak ro English, so they are safe ; and of
the men, one is faithfu'ness itself. The other
i do not know so well, hut he has been with
Gowrie long, I believe, and came with us all
the way from Italy."

"What's his name1!'' asked the countess;
and when she heard it was David Drummond,
she shook her head with a rather doubtful look.
" He's what we call a dour creature," she said,
" but faithful to his trust, I believe. He killed
a man here in a fray, and I sent him over to
John to get him out of harm's way. John
warned him well, that if he played so with his
hands again, he should suffer ; but I believe he
is honest, only ill to manage when he takes a
grudge at any one. I will have the people up
into the vestibule, and tell them to be secret.
They've been used to things that would learn
fools discretion."

Thus saying, she rose, and taking a small
silver bell from the table, went out into the
vestibule, where Julia heard the bell rung, and
after a short pause the sound of many feet
moving. Then came the voice of the countess
speaking loud and slow. A few short sen-
tences, with long pauses between, concluded
her harangue ; but in a moment after there was
a considerable movement and bustle, and when
Lady Gowrie returned, she had on either side
a fine tall lad, bearing a strong resemblance to
her eldest son. Each of the boys gazed for-
ward with natural eagerness to see their future
sister-in-law, and the color mounted somewhat
siore warmly into Julia's face ; but all em-
barrassment was over in a moment, for one
after the other advanced with frank grace,
kissed her fair cheek, and called her Julia, and
sister.

" Now, William, my boy," said the count-
ess, " we must have supper soon and to
bed betimes, for Julia must on her way early
to-morrow, and you must go to guard her,
with five or six of the men and her own peo-
ple."

"Early to-morrow !" cried the lad, in great
surprise ; " I thought that she was going to
stay with us here. Where is she going?"

" Ask no questions, lad," said his mother,
gravely ; " it does not become youth to inquire,
but rather to obey. You will have your direc-
tions to-morrow ere you set out ; and those
you must entirely keep to yourself till you come
to the end of your journey. Now go and order
them to set on the supper. Your dear sister is
tired and hungry, I doubt not."

" No, indeed, dear mother," replied Julia ;
" fear has taken all appetite from me to-day."

" Fear, poor frightened bird !" said the old
lady. " We must strengthen your heart with
mountain air— not mak'j it harder, but more
firm. Fear nothing here, my dear, for we will
guard you well. You come of an eagle's race,
and he who checques at you is but a gosshawk."

While she had been speaking her son Will-
iam had left the room, and in a minute or two
it was announced that supper was served.
Putting her arm through that of her fair guest,
the countess led her to a small hall, where sup-
per was found upon the table ; but as they
went the elder lady said, in a low voice to her
young companion, " You shall have a little
chamber next to mine, and your two maidens

beyond. I will wake you before daylight, lor
ever since Gowrie's death I rise at four. But,
in trul h, you must warn the girls yourself that
you set out early, for though I could once speak
French I have lost it now, and Italian I could
never conquer."

Weariness of body and of mind performed
for Julia the part of peace ; and she slept as
soon as her head touched the pillow. Her
sleep was disturbed and full of dreams, how-
ever ; and on the following morning she woke
with a start and a feeling of terror, when some
one knocked at her chamber door. For a mo-
ment or two she knew not where she was ;
but she was soon recalled to the recollection
of all the circumstances of her fate, by the
voice of the Countess of Gowrie warning her
that it was time to rise for her journey. All
that kindness could do was performed to
soothe, comfort, and encourage her ; and her
lover's mother affected to laugh at her fears,
though she bewailed the necessity of her going
at that season of the year into the. wild and
solitary scenes where she was about to take
up her abode.

In her directions to her son William, the old
countess was very particular, remaining closet-
ed with him for nearly half an hour. No one-
was informed of the ultimate end of the jour-
ney about to be taken but Julia and himself;
and instead of directing their course straight
toward Trochrie, the party proceeded toward
the sea, and there took boat, thus increasing
the length of the journey some thirty or forty
miles. The servants, who were acquainted
with the country, might well be somewhat
surprised when they found where they landed,
and in what direction they afterward bent their
course ; but not the slightest expression of
astonishment was seen upon the countenance
of any one, and not one word of comment was
uttered among them. With unquestioning
obedience I hey followed where their young
master led, in a manner which perhaps was
only seen in Scotland at that time. Toward
Julia, William Ruthven was all brotherly kind-
ness and attention, cheering her to the utmost
of his power, and attempting, in his young zeal,
to amuse her with tales of the different pla.
through which they passed. But it is sad to
say, tha-t almost every little history — such had
been for many years the state of Scotland —
ended with a tragedy ; and he soon found that
the subject on which Julia was most inclined
to speak was that of his brother Gowrie. He
indulged her, then, by many a question with
regard to the earl's stay in Italy, and to their
journey home ; and thus, indeed, he did con-
trive to while away several hours, till at length,
on the evening of the third day, they ar-
rived in sight of a large and somewhat gloomy-
looking building, which William Ruthven point-
ed out as the castle of Trochrie. During the
whole of the latter part of their journey, the
mountains had been rising up around them,
and all the beautiful scenery of Athol, with
which every English traveler is well acquaint-
ed, presented itself to Julia's sight. The day
was peculiarly favorable, too, though that which
preceded it had been dark and lowering. The
sun, journeying toward the north, had made, as
it were, an effort to dispel the clouds ; and, to-

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

51

ward evening, the heavy masses of vapor float-
ing away upon the light wind, only served to
cast dark shadows upon some points of the
landscape, while the rest remained covered
with bright gleams ; and the sinking sun flood-
ed the glens with light, and sparkled in the
streams and waterfalls. At the distance of
about a mile from the castle a man was sent
forward to have the gates opened, and as they
tide over the drawbridge, which had been low-
ered to give them admission, William Ruthven
said, in a kind tone, " Welcome to Trochrie, dear
Julia."

Julia knew not why, but a cold shudder crept
over her frame at the words ; and looking up at
the dark arch under which she was passing, she
asked herself involuntarily, " In what case shall
I pass these gates again 1"

CHAPTER XXVI.

We must now turn to follow the course of
the Earl of Gowrie, who hurried to horse as
soon as he could bring himself to part with
Julia on the 28th of February, and spared not
the spur till he had reached Carlisle. The dis-
tance was not far short of a hundred miles, al-
though, knowing the country well, till he reach-
ed the borders of Cumberland, he took the
shortest cuts toward his destination. Never-
theless, by twelve o'clock on the following day,
he had reached the city of the British chief, and
halted there for three hours, to rest those horses
which were capable of going on, and to purchase
three or four others, to supply the plaee of those
which were knocked up. The journey was
then resumed, at a slow and orderly pace ; and
the earl once more approached the frontier of
Scotland, on the western side. Such rapid
progress as he had made during the last thirty
hours was not at all suited, of course, to the
habits of good Mr. Rhind ; and that, worthy
gentleman was left behind, with the request
that he would tarry for a day or two at Dunbar,
and then proceed slowly to Edinburgh, pre-
serving perfect silence as to the events which
had lately taken place ; which, it must be re-
marked, puzzled him greatly, as the earl was
not inclined to enter into lengthened explana-
tions on the subject. On the discretion of the
servants who accompanied him, the earl thought
he could depend ; and he consequently satisfied
himself with giving them merely two com-
mands— namely, to avoid mentioning to any
one their previous journey to Dunbar, and if
asked what had become of the lady who had
accompanied them to England, to state that he,
the earl, had sent her to a place of security
some way before they reached Carlisle. This
having been done, they rode on toward Lang-
holm, where the earl proposed to pass the
night. On his arrival, however, at the only inn
which that place contained, he found the court-
yard in a bustle with numerous horses and
servants, and perceived also two or three of the
king's guard loitering about. The announce-
ment that the place was quite full, therefore,
did not surprise him ; and, in answer to his in-
quiries, the host informed him that the Lord
Lindores had just returned with his suite, after
leaving visited the border that morning.
F

Gowrie smiled at the name of one of the espe-
cial companions of the king; and on hearing, in
answer to a quiet inquiry, that the noble lord had
arrived from Edinburgh late on the night before,
he was confirmed in the suspicion, that the object
of Lindore's coming had been to claim the ward-
ship of Julia in the king's name.

Innocent of all offense himself, however, he
did not scruple to send up a message to the
courtier nobleman, requesting that he would
spare him a part of the accommodation of the
inn , but one of Lord Lindore's servants had
been beforehand with him in communicating his
arrival, and ere the host, whom Gowrie charged
with his message, could leave his side, the gen-
tleman to whom it was to be delivered was
seen descending the stairs, which, as was then
very customary in Scottish inns, came down at
once on the outside of the house, from a covered
gallery above, into the court-yard. His dress
and appearance were sufficient to indicate his
rank, although Gowrie had not seen him from
his boyhood ; but Lord Lindores, forgetting his
prudence, advanced at once toward the young
earl, holding out his hand, and saying, "Ah,
my noble Lord of Gowrie, how goes it with
your lordship 1 Welcome back to Scotland
after a long absence."

"Many thanks, my lord," replied Gowrie,
shaking hands with him. " My absence has in-
deed been long enough for old friends to forget
me. But I find your lordship has engaged the
whole house ; can you not spare me a room or
two 1"

" I should be sadly wanting in courtesy else,"
replied the other, whose eye, during the whole
conversation, had been wandering over Gow-
rie's followers. " We will put some of the men
into the cottages or houses near. What will
you require"!"

" But a room for myself," replied the earl,
who was somewhat amused by the puttied look
upon his companion's face — " but a room for
myself, and an ante-room for two or three of
my servants. The rest must shift as they can
We'll not put you to inconvenience."

"That will be soon arranged," replied Lord
Lindores ; " and as my supper will be ready in
a few minutes, your lordship must honor me by
partaking thereof. I will just speak a word or
two to some of my men, telling them to seek
lodgings elsewhere, and rejoin you in a mo-
ment."

Gowrie remained near the foot of the stairs
till his return, with an air of the most perfect
indifference ; but he did not fail to observe
what seemed eager question and answer pass
between his brother peer and one of the men
who had been in the court-yard when he ar-
rived.

" Now, noble earl, permit me to show you
the path," said Lord Lindores, returning ; and
he led the way up-stairs to a small guest cham-
ber prepared for the evening meal, but which
was also ornamented by a truckle bed. After
some ordinary compliments, Lord Lindores fell
into thought for a moment or two, and then
looking up, he said, " Had I not thought that
your lordship would not arrive in Scotland till
to-morrow, I should have prepared better for
your accommodation ; for, to say the truth, I
was led to expect the p easure of seeing you an

R2

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT

the boaler, if my business detained me here a
day or two."

"Indeed! How sol" demanded Gowrie,
looking up, for he, too, had fallen into thought.

"Oh, very simply," replied the other lord.
" His majesty, when sending me yesterday to
inquire into some of the affairs upon the border,
informed me that he had had a letter from your
lordship, and, as you were returning by Car-
lisle, I should most likely meet you somewhere
here. He bade me greet you well on his part,
and say that he was anxious for your arrival."

" His majesty is ever gracious," said Gowrie,
drily; "I trust to kiss his hand the day after
to-morrow at the farthest."

" He taught me to believe, my noble lord,
that I should find a fair lady in your company,"
said his companion, assuming a jocular look and
tone ; " the most beautiful of the beautiful, I
understand ; a gem that you have brought us
from southern lands."

" Oh, no," answered Gowrie, in a light and
easy tone; "his majesty has been misled, by
such a lady as you describe having traveled
part of the way hither uifder my convoy ; but I
left her behind before I reached Carlisle."

"Indeed!" said Lord Lindores, with a look
of mortification and surprise. " But perhaps
the journey was too fatiguing, and she will fol-
low you 1"

"Oh dear, no!" answered Gowrie, with a
laugh. " She is very well where she is, I
doubt not, and will remain there for some time."

" On my life," cried the other, resuming his
jocular tone, " I think your lordship is jealous
of us poor lords of Holyrood."

" To be sure I am," answered Gowrie, at
once ; " and fully resolved I am not to bring
her to that court till I bring her as my wife.
You see, my good lord, I am frank with you ;
but you will own that there is cause to fear
that I might lose my bride if I carried her
among such gay cavaliers as the Lord of Lin-
dores."

His companion, who had already seen the
middle age, laughed gayly, for I know neither
age nor circumstance in which vanity will not
do its work. He seemed perfectly deceived,
however, and indeed was so, concluding that
Gowrie, from some cause, suspecting the king's
purpose, had left his fair companion on the
other side of the border. He was not well sat-
isfied, indeed, with the result of his mission, for
he had calculated upon gaining considerable
credit with the king by skillfully executing a
somewhat delicate task. Their meal passed
over gayly, however ; and Lindores, who was
somewhat of a bon vivant, had taken care that
the table should be supplied with better wine
than could be procured at Langholm. Of this
he partook abundantly, and hospitably pressed
his guest to do the same ; but Gowrie was
upon his guard, and contrived to avoid the cup,
without his companion noticing that such was
the case. In the meantime, Lindores, imagin-
ing that each large double bottle was shared
equally between him and the earl, drank more
than his due proportion, and passed through most
of the stages of inebriety, from loquacity to
drowsiness. In the former stage, however, the
wine being in and the wit out, he laughed joy-
ously at the thought of the king's disappoint-

ment, and told his companion, as a profound
secret, the end and object of his journey to the
border.

On the following day early, the earl and Lord
Lindores set out together for Edinburgh ; but
Gowrie thought fit to stop for the night at Sel-
kirk, while his companion pushed on somewhat
farther, in order to bear to the king himself the
news of his disappointment He arrived at a
somewhat early hour the next day in the cap-
ital, and proceeded at once to the palace, where
James's ill-humor knew no bounds.

" That is just like those Ruthvens," he said,
in the presence of Sir Hugh Herries and John
Ramsay, who were in the king's closet when
Lindores told his story. " They are all as wise
as serpents, but not as innocent as doves ; and
this lad is at the head of them. If he were net
at heart a rebel to his own liege sovereign,
wherefore should he leave the lass in England 1
Does it not give our good aunt Elizabeth a hold
upon him, which no foreign sovereign should
have over one of our subjects 1 Can she not
twist him thereby what way she likes 1 May-
be his treason is already consummated, and he
has left the girl behind him as a pignus or pledge
for his carrying it out to our destruction. We
must deal softly with him, nevertheless," he
continued, seeing that his words had sunk
deeply into the minds of those around him, and
having, perhaps, the example of Henry II. be-
fore his eyes — " we must deal softly with him,
till we find occasion against him ; mind that,
lads, and let not one of ye cross him, so as to
make the matter into a private quarrel. He
has many friends and great wealth, so we must
go gently to work with him till the time comes."

Notwithstanding his injunctions to others,
the king could not altogether restrain his own
demeanor, but remained sullen and irritable all
day. He inquired twice whether the earl had
arrived in Edinburgh ; and when told th&t he
had come to the house of one of his relations,
whither a number of the old friends of his
family flocked to meet and congratulate him,
he exclaimed, " The fickle fools ! They go as
blithesome to a burial."

The following morning, as he was seated
with the queen, receiving some of the nobles
of the court, with the Duchess of Lennox,
Gowrie's sister, on one side of Anne of Den-
mark, and Beatrice Ruthven behind her chair,
some loud shouts, uttered in the streets of the
town, made themselves heard even in the royal
apartments.

" What are the fools skirling at now V cried
the king ; " is it another Tolbooth fray V

"Not so, your majesty," replied Lord Inch-
affray, who had just entered ; " as I rode hither
a moment ago, the young Earl of Gowrie was
passing up the street with a large number of
noble gentlemen, his friends ; and some hund-
reds of people were mnning after his horse's
heels, shouting and wishing him joy on his
return "

James's brow darkened immediately, and
lolling his tongue in his cheek with a bittei
and meaning smile, he said, loud enough for
several persons to hear, " There were as many
people who convoyed his father to the scaffold
at Stirling."

The Duchess of Lennox instantly turned

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

83

deadly pale and fell, so that she would have
struck her head against the queen's chair, had
she not been caught in the arms of her sister
Beatrice.

The court was immediately thrown into
strange confusion ; and the king, as if totally
unconscious that the illness of the young duch-
ess was produced by his own act, exclaimed,
" De'il's in the woman ! What's the matter
with herl The room's not so hot."

" But your majesty's words were sharp," said
Beatrice ; " my sister is not accustomed to
hear the death of a father she loved made
sport of."

"You are saucy, mistress, I think," said the
king, frowning upon her.

" And your majesty unkind," said Beatrice,
boldly ; but Anne of Denmark interfered, and
caused some of the gentlemen present to assist
in conveying the duchess to another room.

James himself felt in some degree, it would
appear, that he had acted in a cruel and dis-
courteous manner, for he said, in a low but
somewhat apologetic tone, " Fegs ! I forgot she
was the earl's daughter. One can not always
remember, in this good land of ours, who is. of
kin to those who have had their heads chopped
off."

He then turned to other subjects, seeming
soon to forget altogether what had occurred ;
and when, a few minutes afterward, Gowrie
'himself was introduced, unconscious of all that
had taken place, the king received him with the
utmost cordiality and kindness, displaying re-
markably, on this occasion, that detestable hy-
pocrisy which he considered one of the essential
parts of kingcraft. If any thing, his manner
was too condescending and gracious, approach-
ing to a degree of familiarity more repugnant
to the feelings of the young earl than haughti-
ness could have been. After having given him
his hand to kiss, he pinched his ear, called him
a truant, and insisted upon examining him in
what he called the humanities, much to the
annoyance of most of the gentlemen of his
court, many of whom understood neither the
Latin nor the Greek languages, and some of
whom did not understand their own. The
earl's replies gave his majesty satisfaction, at
east apparently ; and he went so far as to
pronounce him a good scholar and a credit to
the country. This gracious speech he follow-
ed up by commanding him to come to his break-
fast on the following morning, and there he
commenced a conversation with the earl, who
was standing behind his chair, the coarseness
of which, in point of language, prevents it from
here being written down, but the nature of
which may be divined, when I state that it re-
ferred to the murder of David Rizzio, and the
fright which that horrible event had occasioned
to the unfortunate Mary when about to become
the mother of the very monarch who spoke.

Gowrie felt that the choice of the subject was
intended as an insult to himself, from the part
which his grandfather had borne in that lament-
able transaction ; but he repressed all angry feel-
ing, not alone from respect for the royal author-
•ty, but also because he had a deep internal con-
fiction that the conduct of his ancestor on that
occasion could not be justified, and that the king
» tf a fair subject of reproach against his family,

which, upon every Christian principle, and
every honorable feeling, should be restrained
to silence, considering all that had passed
since, but which might naturally be remem-
bered by, if not rankle in, a weak, groveling
mind. He made no reply whatever then, and
left the conversation to seek another course,
when suddenly, to his surprise, Colonel Stuart
entered the room, and was greeted by James
as an invited guest.

The spirit of his race now rose in his bosom.
He saw before him, asked apparently to meet
him there that morning, the man who, when
his father, after an imperious order from the
king to quit the realm within fourteen days,
lingered for a short time longer at Dundee to
settle the affairs of his family, and to hire a
ship to carry him abroad, pursued him to the
very port where he was about to embark, and
brought his head to the block. His patience
could not endure any more, and drawing back
a step, he said, " I think, your majesty, it may
be better for me now to retire."

" Come, come, my Lord Gowrie," ^aid «i.e
king, " I will not have you look down upon
Colonel Stuart. He is a worthy gentleman,
and has done the crown good service ; neither
will I have you seek quarrel with him in regard
to passages long gone."

" Sir," answered the earl, with a low bow,
" I will never seek that man, but it is not fit
that he should cross my path. As to seeking
quarrel with him, aquila non capit muscas. I
now beseech your majesty to pardon me for
retiring ;" and he withdrew slowly from the
royal presence.

CHAPTER XXVII.

The whole court of Holyrood was now busied
principally with one subject. It is the vice of
all petty courts to have their whole attention
taken up with petty quarrels and small passions,
not the less venomous for their minuteness.
The Earl of Gowrie was not a favorite — that
had become evident within one week after his
return from the continent ; and although he
neither held nor coveted any place about the
king's person, all those who were mounting
the frail ladder of courtly favor, marked the
coldness between the king and himself with
satisfaction, and augured the fall of those
members of his family who had obtained ap-
pointments in the royal household. At all
events, as far as he was personally concerned,
Gowrie cut the matter very short, taking leave
of the king within ten days after his arrival in
Edinburgh, upon the plea of visiting his mother,
and examining the condition of his own estates.
Still he himself, and his relations with the court,
continued to pecupy the thoughts of men. From
his wealth, from his connections, and from his
extensive estates, he was much too important
a person to have his movements, his demeanor,
or his intentions considered lightly ; and far
superior to most of his fellow-peers, both in
acquired knowledge and intellectual scope, he
had shown so decided a leaning to that rational
freedom which was repugnant to all James's
ideas of authority, that courtiers readily learned
to hate him because their roval master showed

84

ih;

GOWRIE : OR, THK KING'S PLOT.

/

that he feared him. Still, with the great ma-
jority of , his equals in rank, he was very popular,
and by the poorer classes he was universally
and dangerously beloved. The people cheered
him when he appeared in public, even while
the courtiers were drawing back from his
brother and sister, in terror at the plague-spot
of disfavor. Yet the effect of his coming had
been very different upon different men who had
been united in opinion before his arrival. Sir
Hugh Herries, commonly called Doctor Herries,
who had a strong personal dislike both to the
earl's brother Alexander and to the Lady Bea-
trice, and who had extended this feeling of
animosity to the earl himself and all his family,
seemed but to be confirmed in his rancorous
ill-will by the presence of Gowne. Nor did he
at all attempt to conceal it, replying to any
observations the earl addressed to him, in few
words and with a repulsive tone ; and calling
him in private, proud, overhearing, and ambi-
tious, although he himself nad personally no
cause to accuse him of such faults.

John Ramsay, on the contrary, grew grave
and thoughtful. He did not seek the earl's
society, but he did not avoid it ; and the kind
and friendly tone which Gowrie assumed to-
ward him, treating him as the brother of an
old and dear friend, his frank and open manner,
and some instances of calm and generous for-
bearance, when the young man gave way to
the impulses of a rash, bold temper, appeared
at once to pain and to soften him.

" He is a noble creature," he said, one day,
speaking to Herries, who had been decrying
the young lord. " He may be ambitious, he
may be proud, and he must bear the brunt of
his faults if they lead to acts ; but he is a noble
creature, Sir Hugh ; and when I look at him, I
can not help thinking that he is like a gallant
stag that has been marked out for the slaughter."

" That is very likely," answered Herries,
with a cold sneer. " One generally chooses
the finest beasts to lay the hounds at their
heels ; but I've a notion, Ramsay, that a stag
which carries its head so high might become
dangerous if one did not run him down before
his antlers were fully grown."

" Perhaps so," answered Ramsay ; " more's
the pity ;" and he turned away and left him.

While this brief conversation was passing,
Gowrie was seated with his brother and sister
in a small room of the palace, talking quietly
with them just before his departure. They
were all careful in what they said ; and the
subject of the king's conduct and demeanor to
the earl since his return was never mentioned,
for James's ubiquity was well known in the
palace, and no one was sure where the monarch
might be at the moment.

" Well, Gowrie," said Beatrice, " I shall try
to get leave of absence for a day or two while
you are at Dirlton, and come and see you and
my mother ; for there are a thousand things I
want to talk to you about, which I have never
been able to speak of in this place, and never
should, if we were to live here till we are gray-
headed."

" Of no great moment, I dare say, dear Be-
atrice," replied the earl, " or you could have
come to me and gone through them all, a my
lodging in the High-street."

'You men are all alike," said Beatrice
laughing ; "you think all women such frivoloua
creatures, that we can never have any thing
important to say. Now, if I were to talk to you
of the lady with the dark eyes, whom you were
bringing over from Italy, and who has never
yet appeared among us, would not that seem of
moment, my lord and brother 1"

" Hume has been telling tales," sa^l Gowrie,
laughing.

"Not a whit," answered Beatrice; "it ia
your own dear mother who told th» tales four
or five months ago. She sent me your dutiful
and humble letter, my lord, I suppose to teach
me to behave myself. But what have you done
with the dear girl 1 I long to see her soon
Where have you hid her 1"

" In a place of great security, child," replied ■
her brother, gayly, but still upon hrs guard ;
" and you shall see her, too, as soon aa I have
proved to his majesty — who has taken it into
his head that she has got all the Earl of Mor-
ton's treasures— that her whole dowry consist-
ed of two thousand gold ducats, and that she
and her grandfather have been living in actual
poverty ever since they fled from Scotland,
nineteen years ago."

" But what could put it into the king's wise
head that she had got the regent's wealth 1"
asked Beatrice.

" Such a thing was not as unlikely as> you
think," replied Gowrie. " The king his a*
shrewd scent for such things ; and so con-
vinced was he that it was the case, he gent
Lindores to meet me on the road from CarLsle,
and claim my poor Julia as a ward of the crown.
Lindores was vastly mortified when he found I
had left her behind ; and the same night, to
console himself, he got drunk, and told me zhe
whole story in his cups."

Beatrice laughed, and Alexander Ruthven
laughed ; but Gowrie went on, saying, " I can
not venture to speak to his majesty on the sub-
ject myself, and I have looked in vain for him
to speak to me. I have thrown the ball at his
foot a dozen times, but he would not kick it ;
though I have a shrewd notion, Beatrice, he
would rather have me wed a dowerless girl like
this, than marry a rich bride."

" Hie, Alex, boy ! Alex !" cried the voice of
the king, certainly not very far from the door.
"Alex Ruthven, I say, is your good brothei
gone!" and James himself entered the room
unattended.

Every one instantly rose ; and the king roll-
ed on toward a seat, with that peculiar, un-
gainly shamble, which was more conspicuous
when he was either moved by any strong emo-
tion, or wished to appear peculiarly gracious.
It was almost always a certain sign that the mon-
arch was dissembling favor, when he approach-
ed any one with that roll very strongly apparent.

The only one in the room, however, whose
clear sight and long observation enabled her to
judge the truth, was Beatrice Ruthven, and she
stood and gazed sidelong at the king, while
Gowrie hastened to advance a chair.

" Weel, ye've an unkie cosy family council
here," said James, seating himself; "but, my
good lord earl, there's something I wish to say
to you before you go — just in a private, friendly -
kind of way."

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT

85

"Ncn comes the matter of my fair Julia,"
thought Gowrie, and he replied, " I am happy
to be here to receive your majesty's com-
mands.''

But James had made up his mind not to ut-
ter one word upon the subject which Gowrie
thought he was about to touch upon, till the
earl spoke himself; and whether he had heard
any part of the preceding conversation or not
— which will ever be a mystery — he kept his
resolution. " What I was about to say is this,
my lord," he said. " We are now at the
twelfth of March, and on the twenty-third of
the month we propose to hold a council of our
peers, to lay before them the necessities of the
state, which can only be subvented by the de-
vising of some new tax or subsidy from our
faithful people, which may enable us to carry
on the work of government more at our ease ;
and very little ease do we get for crowned
kings — as the devil in hell kens, who gives us
so many troubles," continued James, in his
more familiar tone. " Now, my good lord,
what I wish to say is, I must have your advice
and assistance in this matter, with other noble
lords like yourself, and therefore I trust you
will be back in time to give us counsel, as you
are sworn."

" Most assuredly, sire," replied Gowrie ; " I
will not fail to obey your majesty's summons
whenever it is sent. I shall be found at Dirl-
ton, or at my poor house in Perth."

" Moreover," continued the king, seeming
hardly to notice the reply, "I trust you will, as
folks say, lend the king your shoulder in this
matter ; for I can tell you, my lord, that we are
sorely pinched and straightened at this present,
more than befits a king to be ; and trusting to
your loyalty and affection, we believe that you
will farther us to the extent of your ability."

" If it cost me half my estate, I will, sire,"
replied Gowrie, frankly ; " it shall never be
said that my king was in need, and I refused
to do my share as far as my private fortune
would go."

" Well said — well said !" replied James ; " I
always knew you for a loyal and faithful sub-
ject. But I fear, my good lord, that what any
good friend to the crown could do in his indi-
vidual capacity — not that I mean to refuse any
free gift or kindly aid to the royal treasury, all
which should be repaid in bounties hereafter;
but I fear it would go but a little way to supply
the vacuity in the finances — it would be but a
drop in a draw-well, man ; and we must have
a general tax, which would spread the burden
lightly and evenly upon all the good people."

" When your majesty's views are fully de-
veloped," replied Gowrie, seeing that the king
paused for an answer, " I will, according to my
bounden duty, offer you, in all humility, my
conscientious advice upon the subject."

"Ay, say you so, man?" said the king, with
a slight frown upon his brows; "well, I hope
you will, and that your advice and my views
may run together. Go you first to Perth or to
Dirlton, my lord ?"

" To Dirlton, may it please your majesty,"
answered Gowrie ; " I have not yet seen my
dear mother, thinking it my duty first to offer
tnj humble respects to you."
1 "There /ou were right — there you were

right," said James; "the king is, as it were.
father to the whole land. When set you
out?"

" This evening, sire," answered the earl ,
" and if I could obtain your permission, and that
of her majesty, I would fain take this wild girl
with me, as she has not seen me, before this
last week, for seven years, nor her mother for
as many months."

" My leave you have, with my whole soul,"
replied the king ; " and grace go with her, for
she found little here, brought little here, and
will leave little here. As to the queen, I doubt
not her majesty will grant her license — soul of
my body ! if she doesn't, the lady is very likely
to take it !"

Gowrie's cheek turned a little red, for he
had been long unused to a coarseness of speech
which was as different from frank honesty as
it was from courtly polish ; but he replied not,
having steadfastly resolved to bridle his tongue
on all but great and important occasions, and
to avoid every occasion of offense.

After a momentary pause, during which the
king did not seem either disposed to speak or
move, Gowrie said, " Then we have your ma-
jesty's permission to apply to the queen?"

"Ay, ay, lad!" answered James, in a dull,
heavy tone, rising and moving toward the
door ; " I dare to say she will not refuse you
leave to take her where you please." And
then he muttered between his teeth as he pass-
ed out, "and the de'il gang wi' ye."

Alexander Ruthven had opened the door for
the king's exit, and after closing it again, he
said, as a sort of comment on the words he
had heard distinctly enough, "He means me:
but I wish he had expressed his permission
more clearly."

"Meant you! by what, Alex?" demanded
Gowrie.

" By the devil," answered Alexander Ruth-
ven ; " for he said to himself as he was going
out, 'The de'il gang wi' ye ;' but we can't both
be away at the same time, I know, so I musX
even stay where I am."

" Besides, you have had your holiday, Alex,"
answered Beatrice ; " and like most boys when
they return to school, come back no wiser or
steadier than they were before. But I'll run
away to the queen, and ask permission on my
bended knees ; then, if I get it, I shall be ready
when you will, Gowrie. Oh ! how I shall re-
joice in a wild gallop over the hills !"

" Away ! — away, then !" answered her broth-
er ; " and if Alex will give me paper, I will
write a letter to a friend in the mean time."

Away sped Beatrice to the queen's presence,
and kneeling down on the footstool before her
she preferred her petition.

" You must ask the king, love," said Anne
of Denmark, who, with all her many faults, and
not very steady principles, was a kind-hearted
and amiable, as well as highly accomplished
woman. " I can but ill spare you, Beatrice ;
but far be it frorn me to keep you from any joy-
ful expedition ; "but you must ask the king's
permission. You know he is fond of despotic
rule even in his own household ; and though I
struggle every now and then for the rights and
liberties of women, till he is fain to give way
for the sake of a quiet house, yet I dare not si-

96

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLO T.

together take the rule even of my own maid-
ens into my own hands."

"But the king's permission has been ob-
tained, dear lady," replied Beatrice ; and see
ing a slight shade of displeasure come upon
the queen's face, as if she thought she ought
to have been first asked, the young lady added,
" Gowrie asked the king himself, your majesty."

" Well, tnat is right," replied Anne of Den-
mark. " Tell your good brother for me, that I
regret we have had no means, since his return,
of entertaining him at our court ; but we shall
have balls and pageants soon ; and I trust to
show him that we people of the north are not
so far behind his bright Italians. Nov/, kiss
me, child, and go and prepare."

Beatrice Ruthven needed no long prepara-
tion ; but she went first to make her arrange-
ments with her brother, and it was agreed that
he should go back to his own dwelling in the
town, and return for her in a couple of hours.
While speaking together, she caught sight of
two notes he had written during her absence,
and with a blush and a laugh laid her finger on
the back of one, as he held it in his hand, ready
to send. "I can see the name, Gowrie," she said.

" Well, wild girl," he answered ; " I will not
send it if you dislike it. It is only a note of
invitation to Hume, asking him to join us at
Dirlton. Shall I tear it V

Her only reply was a playful tap on the
cheek, and away she ran to get ready.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

It was about three o'clock in the evening
when Gowrie and his sister, followed by eight
or nine servants on horseback, set out from
the gates of Holyrood. She looked bright and
happy, and Gowrie gazed at her from time to
time with a look of thoughtful affection, tracing
in the beautiful young woman the same lines
he well remembered in the beautiful child.

"Well, dear Beatrice," he said, "your little
heart seems full of rejoicing, and your cheek
looks as fresh as the rose, and your light limbs,
though they be not of the largest, quite ready
for any exertion that may be needed."

" Oh, I am equal to any thing," said Beatrice,
in the confidence of young strength and health.
" I think, on this nice jennet that the queen
gave me, and with you, my dear brother, by
my side, I could ride over half Scotland."

" Perhaps I may try you," said Gowrie, with
a smile.

"What mean you, brother mine"!" asked
Beatrice, gazing at him. " You look dark and
mysterious."

" How far can you fly in a night, busy bee?"
asked Gowrie.

"As far as a swallow," answered the young
lady, looking up in his face.

Bit Gowrie, after a moment's thought, said,
"No, it is too far ; still we will go on as far as
we can, and then stop for the night."

"Man of mysteries, what do you mean?"
cried Beatrice, in her usual gay tone. " Whither
arc you going to take me 1 To some deep dun-
geon of one of your castles in the mountains,
to keep rne a prisoner there during your good
pleasure !"

" Yes," answered Gowrie, " I am.

" But what has your poor sister done 1" cried
Beatrice. " I have divulged none of your se
crets. I have discovered none of your plots. 1
am not even going to marry without your leave."

"You have asked indiscreet questions," said
Gowrie, assuming a gruff tone — " indiscreet
questions about a lady with black eyes. Is not
that offense enough to a tyrant brother like my-
self!"

" Oh, I understand, dear brother — I under-
stand. Let us get on, let us get on to-night.
I long to see her, and to tell her how I will love
her." »

" Hush, hush, hush !" said Gowrie, in a low
tone ; " if you are as indiscreet as that, I will
not take you. Every thing," he continued, al-
most in a whisper, " depends upon secrecy — foi
I must give the king no hold upon me, Beatrice
—and although, perhaps, with the explanations
I can afford in regard to the wealth he supposes
her to possess, he might not be so anxious to
obtain her as his ward, yet I will not put it in
his power to refuse me her hand, or to make it
an inducement with me to do any thing I think
wrong."

"There you are right," answered Beatrice.
"I have learned to know more of courts and
kings than when you went away, Gowrie ; and
I would not that any one I love was in the hands
of that man for all the wealth in Europe." A
sort of shudder seemed to pass over her as she
spoke ; but, after being silent for a moment, she
continued, " Do you know, Gowrie, I am very
anxious for one thing, which is, that Alex should
withdraw from the court. I wish you could
persuade him to give up his post, and either go
to travel, or betake himself to Dirlton."

Gowrie turned and gazed at her with sur-
prise. "I am astonished, dear Beatrice," be
said. " I should have thought that, in your
situation at the court, you would have been
right glad to have Alexander with you."

" For my own sake I should," she answered
— " and yet that is not wholly true either ; for
I am kept in such a constant state of anxiety,
that his presence is more pain than comfort."

" But what is the cause 1 What has he
done V demanded her brother, with still increas-
ing surprise. " You seem the best friends pos-
sible."

" And so we are," replied his fair sister. " It
is for him that I fear, for him that I am anxious.
As to what he has done, or rather to his \vho!e
conduct, I can not well speak of it, Gowrie.
He has done nothing wrong, I do hope and be-
lieve ; but he has been very imprudent. He has
many great and powerful enemies. The king
loves him not, and will some day or another
work him ill. Sir Hugh Herries hates him
mortally ; and he and young John Ramsay are
always bickering. Because Ramsay's education
has not been equal to his own, and his manners
are more rough and less polished, Alex looks
down upon him, and makes him feel it. But it
is the king I fear."

Gowrie asked some more questions, but he
could not get a satisfactory reply ; and, in the
end, Beatrice said, "Ask Hume, Gowrie — ask
Hume. He wil" tell you more about it. He
must have heard and seen enough."

At this point of their conversation, however"

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

87

they werfl interrupted by one of the men riding
np and sajing, " This is the road to Dirlton, my
lord, which you have just passed."

"I know," answered Gowrie; with a smile.
» I have not yet forgotten the way, Archy ; but
I have a friend whom I must see to-night.
Take three of the men with you, and ride away
to Dirlton. Give that letter to the countess,
and assure her I will be with her the day after
to-morrow. Tell her that business which she
wots of calls me over into Perthshire ; but that
I will not spare the spur to be with her soon.
The lady Beatrice goes with me, and we will
join her together. There, look not surprised,
but go. Leave Wilson and Nichol with me."
Thus saying, the earl turned his horse, and rode
away at a quicker pace toward Queensferry.
"You must even abide a bit of sea, Beatrice,"
he said ; " for we have not time to ride up the
river to-night ; but we shall get over in day-
light."

"Oh, I mind it not," answered Beatrice. —
" Speed, speed, Gowrie, is the thing now. I
will race with you, for all your horse's long legs."

" Spare your beast — spare your beast," re-
plied her brother, as she was pushing her jen-
net into a quick canter. " You would make a
bad soldier, Beatrice, and a worse courier, if
you spent all your horse's strength in the be-
ginning of a long journey. I doubt not that we
can reach Kinross to-night."

Oh, farther than that," answered Beatrice, i
" It is now hardly four o'clock. We shall be
over the ferry in half an hour, and at Kinross
by seven. We might even get on to Perth be-
fore midnight."

The earl smiled. " You miscalculate your
time, little lady," he answered, "and your
horse's strength, too. Besides, what should I
do with you in Perth 1 There is nobody but
Henderson and an old woman in the great
house ; and they'll be in bed by nine."

" Let us go to Murray's Inn, then," that will
be open, I'll warrant. If you dare me, I'll soon
show you that my calculations are correct, both
as to time and the jennet. I have ridden forty
miles upon her before now, Earl of Gowrie. It
is you who do not know what a Scottish girl
and a Spanish horse can do."

" Well, we shall see," replied the ear', and
on they went.

Queensferry was soon reached, and speedily
passed ; and during nearly an hour longer the
sun shone upon their way. They had been
lucky in the tide. They were lucky in the even-
ing; for the wind, which had been high, went
down before sunset, and, for an afternoon in
March, the weather was mild and pleasant. —
Having talked' of all that was sad or threaten-
ing, Beatrice's gay spirits returned in full tide ;
and, keeping her own jennet at a good sharp
pace, she would sometimes playfully whip her
brother's horse to make it go on, declaring it
was the laziest heast she ever saw, or else that
he was determined not to take her to Perth that
night Notwithstanding a short halt at the inn
at Blair Adam, where, we are credibly inform-
ed, there has ever been an inn since the days
of the arch-patriarch whose name it bears, they
reached Kinross by eight o'clock, and Gowrie
admitted that they could get to Perth easily, if
;, ir was not tired.

" I have cnly one objection," he said, bend-
ing down his head, and dropping his voice,
" which is, that we might be detained in Perth
till late to-morrow, and also attract attention to
the road we take. I told the king that I should
not go to Perth first ; and it may create sus-
picion, if I either attempt to conceal myself, or
hurry on instantly on my arrival. I am not
very sure of Henderson's discretion."

" Nor I of his fidelity," said Beatrice. "But
what do you mean, Gowrie 1 Is not the dear
girl at Perth 1"

" No ; at Trochrie, in Strathbraan," replied
Gowrie. " Why, I told you, silly girl, that there
was no one at the great house but Henderson
and some old women."

" I thought you meant with an exception,"
answered Beatrice. "But, if that is dhe case,
we had better not go there at all. I tell you
what, Gowrie, I have a plan that will answer
very well. Let us go to Rhynd, and then up
the Tay. At Rhynd we shall find good Mr.
M'Dougal, the minister, poring over his books;
and right glad will he be to see the ' Yearl and
his bonny titty Beatrix ;' and we shall have
rare bringing out of bottles and glasses ; and if
I am not compelled to drink some strong wa-
ters, it will be by dint of vigorous resistance.
Then we shall be able to go on to-morrow,
without any one knowing aught about it, for
M'Dougal will ask no questions, and forget we
have been there the moment we are gone. ' I
am thinking you might have taken a shorter
road to Trochrie, though ; but I suppose you
have grown so Italianized, that you have for-
gotten all the byways of Scotland."

" No, no," answered Gowrie ; " but I came
this way, that, in case of any inquiries, we
might puzzle the pursuers. The stags teach
us, Beatrice, to cheat the hounds ; and so we
get lessons from even the beasts we hunt. Still
the difference is not great ; and we shall arrive
in good time to-morrow. I like your plan well,
dear sister, if you know the way to Rhynd in
the dark."

" That do I well, Gowrie," she answered.
" I believe my head was intended for a geogra-
pher's, and got fixed on my shoulders by mis-
take. I will send it back if ever I can find the
right owner."

" Ask Hume's leave first," said Gowrie." " I
should think he would not like to part with it."

And on they rode through the darkness, Be-
atrice fully justifying the account she had given
of her own geographical talents. Not a step of
the way did she mistake, but even led her
brother straight to the best passage of the little
river, which joins the Tay near Rhynd, but the
name of which I forget, and thence up to the
door of the minister's manse. The reception
of her brother and herself was as joyous and
hospitable as she had anticipated. The old man
had known them both well as children, and had
seen Beatrice often since. But I must not
pause to give any detail of how the evening or
the night passed ; of how the minister brought
out his choicest stores for the earl, and sought
his assistance in translating a difficult passage
of Hebrew ; of how he lodged Beatrice in a
chamber all covered over with pieces of quaint
embroidery, worked by the hands of a delimct
sister ; or how he gave up his own room to the

88

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

Cf>rl, and laid strong injunctions on his maid
servant to redd it up —otherwise make it tidy —
which, to say truth, it needed not a little.

Beatrice slept soundly, and though the earl
was kept awake for some time by joyful
thoughts of his meeting with her he loved, they
were both on horseback again within half an
hour after daybreak ; and the good old man, af-
ter seeing them depart, returned into his house,
to spend his time as usual between books and
bottles, sermons and good cheer. It would be
difficult to say whether nature had not origin-
ally intended him for a monk, if John Knox had
not been born a century too soon, and compel-
led, what would have made an excellent Bene-
dictine to become a Presbyterian minister. He
was a good man and a kind one, however, act-
ing by pleasant impulses, with a great deal both
of the corporeal and of the mental in his mixed
nature ; and, if not possessing quite sufficient
of the spiritual altogether to curb the appetite
of the one part and the energies of the other, so
as to leave the purely ethereal her full exercise,
yet he had a great many negative virtues and
some active ones, which might, in a mass, com-
pensate for a few not very violent failings. Mr.
McDougal's blessing, as his two young guests
departed, and his prayers for a pleasant and
happy journey to them, seemed granted at
once. All went gayly and easily with them as
they rode on ; and when the castle came in
sight, with the wild and romantic scenery
around — somewhat bare and desolate, indeed,
but beautiful and characteristic, Gowrie strain-
ed his eyes eagerly forward, gazing over the
dark masses of gray stone, as if he would fain
have seen through them into the chambers
within. By the side from which he approached,
Trochrie could be seen at considerable distance.
True, it was lost again behind the shoulder of
the hill very soon ; but, as he gazed at the walls,
he thought he saw some thing like a figure, clad
in dark garments, move along the battlements,
not of the keep or donjon, but of the lower tow-
ers, which were backed by the body of the
principal building. He said not a word, for
love is timid of railery ; and he feared even the
gay spirit of his young sister. But the moment
after his doubts were removed, for the figure at
the angle of the western tower stood forth
against the clear sky, and he could see her
pause, and, as he thought, turn round and gaze
toward the spot where he and Beatrice were
riding.

"See, Beatrice, see," he cried, "she is upon
the ramparts, and looking out for me, as she
promised she would."

" She has nothing else to do," answered Be-
atrice, " except to gaze at wild moors or gray
stones, or the few scanty trees gathered under
the castle wall. See what a difference there is
between gay, wild, enthusiastic love, and calm,
sober sense, Gowrie. You are all in a glow
because you think that she is watching for you,
and, my life for it, she has been looking at the
corbies building their nests, just for nothing
else to look at."

" Did you not look for Hume," asked the earl,
somewhat vexed, if one must speak the truth.

" Not I," answered Beatrice. " He found me
and Alex quarreling, or rather me scolding him,
tod Alex pouting— b it I do think there is a

woman on the battlements ; and now she ii
moving away again. It may be a servant in a
cloak, but yet it looks like a woman, too. Now
don't expect her to come down and meet you
at the gate or on the drawbridge, for, if she haa
any sense of her own dignity, and the subjec-
tion in which woman should keep man, she will
remain just where she is, and know nothing of
your coming till you go to tell her."

At that moment the hill hid the castle again,
and when, rounding its foot, they came once
more within sight of Trochrie, they were close
under the walls. Gowrie looked up, and Julia
was no longer to be seen ; but, as he mounted
the ascent, his heart beat with joyful feelings
to see Beatrice's light prognostication falsified.
Beneath the deep arch of the castle gateway,
which stood wide open, with portcullis up and
drawbridge down, stood a figure which it need-
ed no second glance to identify. In an instant
he was over the bridge, off his horse, and by
her side ; and as Beatrice rode up, followed
by the servants, Gowrie took Julia's hand in
his, and led her a step or two forward to meet
his sister.

" She is not so cold-hearted as you are, Bea-
trice," he said gayly, " and so did come down
to meet us."

But Beatrice was off her horse in a moment ;
and certainly her greeting of her brother's
promised bride showed no great coldness of
heart. Casting back the waves of her own
bright brown hair, she kissed her tenderly, say-
ing, "I have teased him sadly, dear Julia, as
we came, just to prevent his impatience from
breaking all bounds, but never you think that 1
do not love you, whatever he may say. Have
I not ridden heaven knows how many miles to
see you, with all the greater pleasure, becauae
it Is so secret that it feels almost like treason,
which is the greatest of all possible delights to
a woman. But come, let us into the castle.
You have neither vail nor hat on ; and the
mountain air is not delicate, especially for
those who have lived long in southern lands ;
and twining her arm through that of her new
friend, she led the way into Trochrie, with all
the chambers of which she seemed well ac-
quainted.

No servant presented himself as they went ;
and with open gates and lowered drawbridge,
the castle seemed at the mercy of any one who
might choose to attack it. Gowrie looked round
with displeasure.

" This is dangerous," he said, as they walk-
ed on across the outer court. " Where are the
men you brought with you, dear Julia ? I should
have thought that Austin would have been more
careful."

"Austin is watching in the tower," said
Julia ; " and the women are milking in the field
behind ; but the rest of the men are gone out,
I believe, to catch game in the valley on the
other side of that great hill. We found the
place scantily supplied with provisions, and
they seem to have been accustomed to take
such means of getting what they want."

Gowrie mused. " This was what I feared,"
he said ; " but we must see that you are better
guarded for the future, love ; and I am sure
my mother, if she knew the state of the castle,
would have sent up all that was needful for you "

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

89

"And so she has indeed," answered Julia.
" Several horse loads arrived this very morn-
ing. Every thing she could think of, indeed, to
while away the time ; but, doubtless, the men,
accustomed to a more active life than I am, and
not having so much to think of, find it dull."

" They must learn better," replied the earl ;
and with this comment, they walked on to a
large chamber above, which Julia had made
ner sitting-room, and decked out as best she
could with the books which Lady Gowrie had
sent'her, a lute, and a mandolin.

A slight cloud in the morning often leaves
the brighter day. Gowrie was displeased with
the negligence of his followers, and when they
returned soon after, he reproved them sternly
for their want of caution. Only two attempted
to excuse themselves — the man who usually
remained in charge of the castle, who, with
humble tone, and with the deference of a clans-
man to his chief, declared that he had not been
made aware of his lord's wishes, or the neces-
sity of caution ; and the man, David Drum-
mond, who had accompanied Julia thither, and
who replied to his lord, in a tone of dogged sul-
lenness, which Gowrie bore with more calm-
ness than either Julia or Beatrice had expected.
"You must be more upon your guard, Don-
ald," he said, speaking to the first, and, more-
over, you must have some additional force here.
You must call in the tenants to the guard of
the castle, and never suffer it to be without ten
men within, at least. Give notice, too, that
the) be prepared on the usual signals to come
in with every man that they can muster. The
men of Athol, too, will come down to help you
in case of need. I will write to my sister, the
crintess, to-night, for I know not, from mo-
ment to moment, what may happen ; and it
is my command to you to hold out to the last
against any force which may be sent to sur-
prise Trochrie, let it come under whatever
authority it may. But we will speak more be-
fore I retire to rest. David Drummond, you
go with me to Perth to-morrow — be prepared."
With these words, the cloud passed away
from his brow and from his mind, and the rest
of the evening went by in unmixed happiness.
Oh, it was a dream of delight to a spirit like
that of Gowrie — or rather, it was the realiza-
tion ;>f a dream as bright as ever filled the mind
of man. Often, often, on their way homeward
from Italy, when gazing on the fair face of her
he loved with that mixture of ardent passion
with the purer, the higher, the more elevating
tenderness which exalts passion to the dignity
of love, he had thought he saw the bright being
before him sitting with those who were bound
to him by the ties of kindred and of early asso-
ciation and long affection, winning their l;;ve
as she had won his, becoming the child of his
dear mother, the sister of his sisters. And
now, as she sat by Beatrice, with their fair
hands often locked in each other, and their
arms sometimes twined together, and their
eyes gazing into each other's faces to scan the
features they were so ready to love and to print
oa memory, till a passing blush or a gay smile
Was called up by the earnestness of the glance,
he would almost fancy that all dark auguries
were swept away, and that happiness was
placed beyond the po ver of fate. He himself

was very silent with much joy, but Beatrice
spoke cheerfully, and led forth Julia's mom
timid but more deep-toned thoughts, and the
sister gazed and smiled with strong, grave in-
terest, at the fresh spirit and the eloquent orig-
inality of the brother's promised bride, and de-
clared aloud that it was charming, that it was
unlike any thing of the earth, that it was like
an angel sent down into a world of evil and of
care, of which she knew nothing.

Then as the hours wore on, and night fell,
and lights were lighted in the hall, Gowrie per-
suaded Julia to sing ; and the full, rich tones
of the melodious voice pouring forth a finer
music than was yet known in the north, filled
the old hall, and made the small panes vibrate
in the leaden frames, calling into being, in
Beatrice's heart, deep-seated emotions, the
very germs of which she knew not to exist in
her bosom till occupied by the sunshine of the
song. Sometimes she almost trembled as she
heard, and sometimes she well-nigh wept ; and
even the servants, lured by the sweet melody,
peeped in and listened through the partly open-
ed door.

" Oh, it was a happy evening that, full of
every sort of pure enjoyment, and willingly,
right willingly would I pause upon it long, and
tell the words of joy and hope and love that
were spoken by all, and try to depict feelings
that brightened the passing hour. Willingly,
too, would I draw back from the darker scenes
before me ; willingly would I linger in the sun-
shine, so bright in contrast with the black cloud
coming up upon the wind. But the cloud ad-
vances— Fate is moving slowly, but inevitably,
forward. It can not be ! We must on '

CHAPTER XXIX.

In the beautiful town of St. Johnstone, of
Perth, on the west bank of the river Tay, and
in a line with the streets called Spey-street and
Water-street — the former of which, I believe,
now bears the name of South-street — stood, at
the time I speak of, one of the largest and most
magnificent houses in Scotland, which well de-
served the name of the Palace, which it some-
times obtained. It was generally called, how-
ever, Gowrie House, or Gowrie Place, and
occasionally, by the Earls of Gowrie them-
selves, was termed " The Great House," to
distinguish it, probably, from their other man-
sions, of which they possessed several. The
extent of this building may be conceived; when
we recollect that the great court, in the centei
of the building, was an oblong of sixty feet in
one direction, and ninety in the other. Round
this immense area rose four massive piles of
building, raised at various epochs, and of very
different styles of architecture, but united into
one grand and imposing mass of masonry, of a
quadrangular form, and having but one break in
the center of the west front, where stood a
large and handsome gate of hammered iron,
the view from which extended down the whole
line of the South-street. The gardens, which
were very extensive, and kept with 'j-nf kable
care, lay at the back, and to the south, -tretch-
ing ii that direction to the town wall. At the
southeastern angle of the garden rose a curt-

00

GOW1UE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT

ous and very ancient tower, called the Monk's
Tower, from some tradition which has not
reached me. The buildings toward the Tay,
and those toward the south, were of an un-
known antiquity, with walls of immense thick-
ness ; and legends were current, even at the
time of which I speak, of persons having been
confined, by former lords, in secret recesses with-
in those heavy walls,and left to perish miserably.
The northern and western sides of the quadran-
gle were more modern, and had probably been
erected either by the Countess of Huntley, who
once possessed the palace, or by some of the
early lords of Iluthven. By whomsoever they
were built, much pains had been employed to
remodel the internal arrangement of the older
building, so as to make it harmonize within, at
least, with the newer parts ; and each successive
Earl of Cowrie had expended large sums in
improving the accommodation which the great
house afforded, so as to meet the advance of
his country in luxury and refinement. Nor
was decoration wanting ; for in the south range
a number of small chambers had been swept
away, to form a gallery, which was one of the
finest at the time in Europe ; and it had been
the pride of William, the first earl, to collect,
from all countries, for this large chamber, pic-
tures by the first artists of the day.

At each corner of the house was a tower or
turret, and at the southeast and northwest cor-
ners of the great court was a broad stair, lead-
ing to the rooms above. Several smaller stairs
opened also into the court ; and one especially,
in the southwest corner, led direct to a large
chamber at the western end of the gallery,
called the " Gallery Chamber," to which was
attached a cabinet, named the earl's study.
The large dining-hall and a smaller one were
in the more ancient part of the building, to the
east ; and the lodge of the porter was by the
Bide of the great iron gates in front.

This long description is not unnecessary, as
the reader will find hereafter ; but it may be
necessary now to proceed with the narrative,
begging the reader, however, to bear in mind
the particulars which have been mentioned.

Toward the afternoon of the 14th of March,
1600, a man was standing with his back to-
ward the great gates of Cowrie Place, which
were partly open. The court behind him was
vacant, and there were not many people in the
6treets, for the labors of the day were not over
in the industrious town ; and nobody was to be
seen but a man slowly crossing the South-
street, or a girl wending her way slowly along
that which led in the opposite direction. The
man who thus stood gazing up and down the
street was a short, somewhat stout man, with
a ruddy complexion, and a light-brown beard
and hair. He was by no means ill-looking, and
yet there was a certain degree of shrewd cun-
ning in the expression of his face, especially
about the small, black, twinkling eyes, which
did not pr< possess a beholder in his favor. If
one might judge by the half-open month and
narrow jaw and chin, there was also in his
character that species of weakness by no
ineans incompatible with cunning. He was
habited in a good brown suit of broadcloth,
and a short black cloak, with no sword by his
side, but ./. small dagger in his girdle, and might

well have been taken for one of the sunsirititial
citizens of the town, had it not been for a sort
of cringing air, for which the worthy burgesses
of St. Johnstone were never famous. Fionr
time to time he turned and looked back into
the court, as if he expected somebody to ap-
pear therein, and once he muttered, " De'il's in
the wife ! she's long ere she comes to take the
keys." But a minute or two after he took a
step forward, with a joyous air, as a man on
foot entered the South-street, and nodded and
beckoned with a smile.

The man advanced with a quick step toward
him, and with a " Good day, Mr. Henderson."

" Ah, Wattie," said the man who had been
standing at the door of the great house, " what
has brought you to Perth, and how are you and
all your people, and good Sir George Ramsay,
your master 1"

"They are all well, sir," answered the man ;
" though, to speak truth, I have not seen Sir
George this many a day. I've been with the
court, Mr. Henderson, trying what I could do
to better my fortune — all with my good master's
leave, however ; and his brother John is doing
all he can to help me."

"Well, I hope you will have good luck," re-
plied Andrew Henderson, the Earl of Gowrie's
factor or bailiff. " I wish I could do you any
good, Wattie ; but the earl has been so long
gone, that he can help little ; and as to Mr.
Alexander, the wild lad and I are not such
great friends."

" You can help me, nevertheless, very much,
Andrew," replied the other; "for you are just
the man who must do it, if any one does."

"How's that, how's that, Wattie V asked
Henderson. " I will do any thing I can, man."

" Why, the case is just this," answered Sir
George Ramsay's man, " the old supervisor at
Scoon is dead, and I'm to have the place,
which his majesty has graciously condescend-
ed to promise to Master John Ramsay, if I can
get the factor's good word. Now, who's the
factor but yourself, man V

" Then, my good word you shall have, Wat-
tie," replied Henderson, slapping him on the
shoulder. " Didn't your wife's cousin Jane
marry my half-brother's second sonl I'll write
you a letter commendatory in a minute to the
honorable controller of his majesty^ house-
hold. But where have you put your horse,
man 1"

"Oh, I just left him at Murray's Inn," re-
plied the other, " not knowing whether I should
find you or not. Come and take a stoup of
wine, Andrew, and you can write the letter
there."

This proposal was readily agreed to, for An-
drew Henderson was a man who by no means
objected to that good thing called a stoup of
wine. He called to an old woman who was
now in the court, saying. " Here, Nelly, take
the keys — I'm going to Murray's Inn ;" and the
two were soon seated in the public room ol
Murray's Inn, as it was called, with
other persons, who were drinking there like
wise. George Murray, the keeper of the inn.
was a man of good family, though, it is sup-
posed, of illegitimate birth ; but what is cer-
tain is, that, he had the best wine in t lie town,
and that his house was frequented by all the

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

91

principal gentlemen in the neighborhood. Hen-
derson ai>d Sir George Ramsay's man were
soon supplied with what they wanted, and sat
drinking and talking for about half an hour, at
the end of which time a horse's feet were
heard to stop opposite to the inn ; and, a min-
ute after, David Drummond, the dull-looking
servant of the Earl of Gowrie, entered the
room, and looked round. The cheerful coun-
tenances of Andrew Henderson and his friend,
Wattie, changed the moment they saw him ;
and Henderson exclaimed, "Ah, Davie, is that
you, man 1 What brings you to Perth 1 Is
the earl coming 1"

"Ay, is he, Mr. Henderson," answered the
man, looking heavily at Sir George Ramsay's
servant. "He'll be here in five minutes, and
sent me on to tell you. So you must get up,
and come away to the great house directly, for
I've been there seeking you."

Henderson was rising at once ; but his friend
Wattie laid his hand upon his arm, saying,
"Just write me those few lines to Sir George
Murray first. It will not take you a minute,
Andrew."

" Hold your tongue, you little stupid pock
pudding," cried David Drummond. "Do you
think he's going to neglect his natural lord and
master to attend to such a thing as you are,
Wat Matthison V exclaimed David Drummond,
in an insulting tone.

"Ah, David Drummond, David Drummond,"
said the other man, with his eyes flashing fire.
"You killed my niece's husband, and you'll
come to be hanged by the neck, for all you
think yourself so safe."

" It shall be for killing you, then," said Drum-
mond, who was a very powerful man ; and he
struck him a violent blow with his fist.

The other, though not near so strongly made,
instantly returned it ; and a regular battle would
have ensued between them, had not the master
of the inn and all the other persons present in-
terfered, and pushed them by main force into
the street. There they kept them apart for a
moment, and tried to pacify them ; but soon
getting tired of the task of peace-making, they
left them to themselves, and Drummond rushed
upon Walter Matthison again. The two grap-
pled with each other, and struggled vehement-
ly for a moment, the spirit and resolution
of Matthison supplying the want of physical
strength.

" Call the baillie, call the baillie," cried Hen-
derson, loudly. " De'il's in it, Jock, can you
not part them! Here, Murray, help us."

But. at that moment Drummond was seen to
put his hand to his girdle, and the next mo-
ment Matthison loosed his hold and reeled
back with a sharp cry, exclaiming, " Oh, the
man's killed me !" and before any one could
reach him he fell back on the pavement with
the blood pouring in torrents from his side.

David Drummond without staying to take
his horse or to look what he had done, ran off
as hard as his legs would carry him in the
direction of the great house, pursued by a
number of the people. He reached it before
them, however, rushed through the iron gates,
which were open, into the court, where several
horses and men were standing, and then fling-
ing to the ga^es in the face of the pursuers,

turned the key in the lock. This done, he at-
tempted to rush into the house, but was sud-
denly met by the Earl of Gowrie himself, who
was seen to seize him by the collar, and point
with his hand to what was probably a mark of
blood upon his arm. The next instant the
people who were gazing through the gates saw
the murderer handed over to two of the other
servants who at once proceeded to strap his
arms together with one of the stirrup leathers,
while Gowrie, advancing to the gate, said to
the people near, " I wish, my good friends,
some of you would call one of the baillies to
me, and ask him to bring the guard. I have a
prisoner here, who must be handed over to his
custody."

" Long live the Earl of Gowrie ! Long live
the great earl ! Long live our noble provost !
He will do justice," cried a dozen voices, while
two or three men ran off to bring the baillie.

"Ah, my good lord, this is a sad business,"
cried Henderson, coming up. " I'm glad to see
your lordship returned safely to your own place ;
but it's awful to think that one of our people
should shed blood in the streets before he's
been ten minutes in St. Johnstone. It's that
wild beast Drummond has done it, and it seems
he has fled hither."

" There he stands in custody for the offense,
Henderson," replied the earl; "and I give
notice to all men that I will visit any offenses
committed by my people even more severely
upon them than I would upon others, and just-
ly, too, for most of them have been well nur-
tured, and all are well paid and well fed. They
have my example before them, which I trust
will never lead them to do wrong, and have
always had my commands to abstain from
doing injury to any man. If they fail, then,
their crime is the greater ; and I will by no
means pass it over. Who is the man he has
wounded ?"

"Wounded, my lord," cried Henderson,
"he's as dead as a door nail. David Drum-
mond there stabbed him to the heart, and he
was dead in two minutes, before one could lift
his head up. His name was Wattie Matthison,
a good, quiet, harmless man as ever lived.
Ay, here comes Baillie Roy."

" Some one open the gates," said the earl,
and advancing through the crowd he met Baillie
Roy, a little fat pursy man, whom he did not
know, with every sign of respect for his office.

" I have sent for you, Mr. Baillie," he said,
" in consequence of a horrible occurrence which
has just taken place in the town, in which one
of my servants, named David Drummond, has,
I understand, slain a man called Walter Mat-
thison. I have caused the accused person tn
be instantly secured, and I now hand him over
to you to be dealt with according to law. You
will be pleased to have him removed to the town
jail, and tried for the offense in due course. I
myself shall return to Perth as soon as the
king's service permits me, and will hold a just-
ice court immediately after my arrival. If more
convenient, however, to the magistrates of
Perth to proceed to the trial earlier, I beg that
it may be done without either fear or favor, for
my presence is not absolutely necessary ; and
the prisoner would certainly meet with nothing
but simple justice at my hands."

92

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

My ford, your lordship is extremely gra- lordship like to see any of the accounts

aious," said the baillie. " The magistrates will
of course wait your lordship's leisure, as they
would not on any account be without tlu honor
of your presence, as our lord provost, on such
an awful and important occasion. I beg leave
to felicitate your lordship very humbly upon
your auspicious return."

This speech was accompanied by sundry bows
to the great man ; and then turning to his own
followers he said, in a more authoritative tone,
"Take hold of the atrocious villain, and away
with him.* Our noble provost, my friends, will
take care that there is no bully raging in the
town of Perth."

The earl was too much vexed and annoyed
by all that had taken place to afford a smile ;
and, as soon as the prisoner was removed, he
dismissed the worthy baillie with a gracious
speech, and retired into the house with his fac-
tor, Henderson. Having seated himself in the
lesser dining-room, he inquired more minutely
into the circumstances of the transaction, of
which he received an account very nearly if
not quite true.

"But who is this Walter Matthisonl" he
asked, after Henderson had told him what he
had seen with his own eyes. " Was he a mar-
ried man 1 Had he any family1?"

" He was a good, peaceable man, my lord, as
ever lived," replied Henderson, "and an old
servant of Sir George Ramsay's, who was al-
ways a kind master to all his people. Married
he was too, poor fellow, and has three or four
children."

" I grieve to hear it," said the earl. " Some-
thing must be done for them. Let me have
paper and ink. I will write to Sir George di-
rectly."

When the letter was written and sealed the
earl turned his thoughts to other matters, and
gave the orders which were necessary for put-
ting the great house at Perth into a condition
to receive him at any time when he might like
to come.

"You must find me out a trustworthy person
as porter, Henderson," he said, " and engage
whatever other persons may be needful for the
service of the house, cooks and sewers, and
such persons. From what I see, we must have
the help of women's hands also, in order that
every thing may be put into a better state, for
the place is in a sad dusty condition, Henderson.
I am sorry to see that it has been so neglected."

" Why, you see, my lord," said the factor,
who was one of those men who never want an
excuse. " Her ladyship, your mother*, would
but allow two poor old feckless women while
you were beyond seas. They could not do
much, poor bodies ; but what they could do,
they did do, I will say for them ; but I'll see
that your lordship's orders are obeyed and every
thing put straight before you come back. Where
I am to get a porter I do not know. Oh, ay,
there's Christie, I forgot him. He may do well
enough, a great stout man, just fit for a porter ;
«tnd he's seeking service, too. Would your

* This man, David Drummond, was tried and con-
demned shortly after in the first justice court held by the
yojing call, and was executed for his offense June 28,
1600, as appears by the chronicles of the fair city of
Perth.

day]"

"No, Henderson, no," answered the earl.
" I must away to Dirlton as soon as possible.
Let me have a cup of wine. This sad business
distresses me sorely. I love not to have blood
shed the very moment of my entering the
town."

"Nor I either, my lord," said Henderson.
"It's a bad sign."

The last words were spoken in a low tone to
himself, and retiring he brought the earl a small
silver flagon and cup with his own hands.
Gowrie drank ; and, after giving some farther
orders, and waiting till the horses had consumed
their corn, he remounted to ride on, but hardly
had his horse gone fifty yards from the gates,
when he was met by four men carrying a board
on which was stretched the body of the unfor-
tunate Walter Matthison, followed by a number
of the townspeople. Gowrie immediately stop-
ped and asked some questions, by the answers
to which he found that the body was being re-
moved to the house of a cousin of the deceased,
named Symes, living in Water-street.

" Tell the good man," said Gowrie, " that I
grieve much for what has happened ; that I
have written to Sir George Ramsay about poor
Matthison's family, and will myself take care
that they are provided for according to their
station."

A murmur of applause and thanks followed;
and the earl rode on, having gained rather than
lost in the esteem of his fellow townsmen, by
his demeanor on so painful an occasion. It
was late at night before he arrived at Dirlton;
but his mother was still up expecting him, and
he was soon pressed warmly to her bosom.
His two young brothers also were there, ah*
eager to claim affection ; but, after the first joy
of meeting was over, the first question was,
" But where is Beatrice 1"

" The dear girl chose to stay behind," said
Gowrie, " to comfort and cheer another like
herself. I have to crave forgiveness, my dear
lady and mother," he continued, kissing the
countess's hand, "for having gone to Trochrio
before I came to Dirlton ; and I trust you will
not think I failed in duty."

" It was quite natural, John," said his mother.
" Hearts are like trees, my dear boy, they must
be taken from the parent stem and grafted on
another in order to bear good fruit. I have
loved, myself, Gowrie, and have not forgotten
what it is."

" Love alone would not have carried me
thither before seeing you, dear mother," an-
swered the earl ;" but I had feared that so strict
and careful a watch as is needful might not be
kept up ; and my suspicions were only too cor-
rect. I found the castle gates open, and* not a
man in the house but my English servant Jute.
However, I have now spoken seriously to Don-
ald MacDuff, our baron baillie, and taken such
measures as to guard against all chance of sur-
prise. In case of need, Athol will come down
with li-clp ; and the clans would not bo found
wanting. And now, William," he continued,
throwing his arm over the stripling's shoulder
" many, many thanks, my dear brother, for all
your care and kindness to one dearer to ini
than myself; and to you, my dear inothf r, for

GOWRlb: Oli, I HE KING'S PLOT.

93

your affectionate greeting of her, which made
ner no stranger in the land of her fathers, or in
the family of her future husband, though she
had never beheld either before. I shall stay
with you here for two or three days, and then
go to bring Beatrice to you."'

" It is well you have come, Gowrie," said
nis mother, " for here is a summons from the
king to attend the council some ten days hence.
The messenger inquired curiously where you
were ; and we told him you were gone to
Perth, but would be back to-night. The king
perchance might send to seek you there."

" He will find I have been to bonny St. John-
stone," said Gowrie, laughing ; " and to-mor-
row by dawn I will send off a messenger to
show him that I am now here. He will hear
of my journey too, most likely, from other
sources, for I am sorry to say a sad affair took
place in Perth between one of George Ramsay's
men and David Drummond, who stabbed him
to the heart."

" The cankered beast," cried the old count-
ess. " I wish I had not saved him to kill an-
other honest man."

" In that former business," said the earl,
" both were in fault, so there might be some
excuse for him ; but now the wrong was all on
his side as far as I can learn ; and so I have
left him a prisoner in the hands of the town.
He shall have no favor from me, for he has been
well warned, and is greatly criminal ; and now,
dear mother, let us talk of happier things.
Alas ! your hair has turned sadly gray ;" and
he smoothed it affectionately upon her brow.

CHAPTER XXX.

It was a gay sight in the town of Edinburgh
as, on the morning of the twenty-third of March,
all the principal nobles of the land rode gallantly
attended to the council for which the king's
summons had gone forth, and many were the
persons assembled to see them pass. No great
joy or satisfaction, however, shone upon the
countenances of the good citizens of Edinburgh,
for the rumor already had spread through the
city, that a new tax was in contemplation to
support the extravagance of the king, and to
enrich the minions of the court. Never was a
greater mistake made than that which is attrib-
uted to David Rizzio, who is said to have ex-
pressed an opinion, when warned by Sir James
Melville of the peril which menaced him, that
the bark of the Scotch people was worse than
their bite. On the contrary, history proves that
the bite, and that a sharp one, comes frequently
before the bark. On the present occasion there
were no loud expressions of popular feeling,
except, perhaps, when one of those barons in
whom the people had confidence, happened to
pass ; but a dull and menacing sort of gloom
hung over the crowd, and whatever they thought
it was expressed in low tones to each other.
Gowrie was one of the first on the way ; and a
shout greeted him when he approached the
crowd assembled near the palace gates, for
there the council was held ; but the noise soon
died away, and he was riding on when a half-
witted man ran out from among the rest, and

laid his hand upon the earl's rein, saying,

" Don't you vote for the tax, Gowrie. Don't
you vote for the oppression of the people. We
poor folks can hardly bear it."

Gowrie said a feVkind but unmeaning words
to the poor man, and passed quietly on his way,
arriving at the gates a few minutes before the
appointed hour. At the door he was met by
the king's porter, who informed him that his
maiesty had not yet left his apartments ; and
with a slow step' and very thoughtful counte-
nance, the young earl was walking across to the
foot of the staircase, when young John Ramsay
came hastily forward from the fireplace, by
which he was standing, and accosted him, say-
ing, " My lord the earl, I wish to speak to you."
" Ah, Ramsay," said Gowrie, turning round,
and holding out his hand, " I did not see you."
The young man, however, drew a lit^e back,
saying with a haughty and somewhat overbear-
ing air, " There are some matters to be settled
first, my lord, before I know whether we are
friends or enemies."

" It may be just as you please, sir," answered
Gowrie, calmly, gazing at him with some sur-
prise. " What is the matter 1"

" I understand, my lord," replied the young
man, " that one of your servants has murdered,
in Perth, my brother's man, Walter Matthison,
a person whom I protected."

The tone was very offensive ; and the first
answer that rose to Gowrie's lips was, " Your
protection, it seems, proved of little avail ;"
but he checked the reply before it was uttered,
and merely said, " I am sorry, Ramsay, that
such is too truly the case."

" Then you will remember, my lord," said
Ramsay, " that we will have blood for blood.
No great protection shall avail here, whatever
it may do in France ; and serving-men shall
not wound or slay as good or better men than
themselves, however powerful or wealthy their
lords may be."

Gowrie's cheek reddened, and his heart beat
quick ; but he mastered the feelings of anger,
and asked, though in somewhat of a stern tone,
" Have you heard from your brother lately?"

" No, I have not, my lord," replied Ramsay.
"What of that]"

" Simply that if you had," answered the earl,
" I think he would be sorry both for your words
and for your bearing.— You have been deceived,
Ramsay," he said, in a milder tone, " certainly
with regard to what has taken place in France ;
and I think with regard to what has taken place
at Perth. The murderer of your brother's ser-
vant, for I can call my man, David Drummond.
no less, was immediately seized by my orders,
and handed over to the justice of the town. I
myself shall sit as provost at his trial. 1 have
invited your brother to be present ; and let me
tell you, John Ramsay, that I say— wiiich is
something more than what you say — that if all
the power in Scotland— except the king'o grace
— were exerted to save him from justice, he
should die if he was proved guilty, as I believe
him to be."

Thus saying, the earl turned upon his heel,
and walked up the stairs, leaving Ramsay feel
ing himself painfully rebuked in the presence
of a large number of bystanders, who, to say
truth, had the ordinary amount of love for their
rivals, the favorites of the court. There are

94

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

two things from whicl. the mind of yonth
usually takes its impressions — its own preju-
dices or passions, and the opinions of others.
It is an after operation of the mind, in nine
cases out of ten, to seek for and to ascertain
facts, and to form our opinions upon them.
Ramsay was naturally rash, bold, and resolute ;
and though he afterward, as Lord Holderness,
showed some signs of greater powers, yet at
the time I speak of, they were all in abeyance,
and he was ready to receive all the prejudices
oT others, and tincture them strongly or weakly,
according to the prejudices and passions already
existing in his own mind. He remained near
the fire then, for a full quarter of an hour
longer, gnawing the bitter lip, and angry with-
out cause for anger. At length one of the
ushers came down and whispered in his ear,
" The king is in at the council, sir. He's been
in some time."

" Pshaw !" said Ramsay, impetuously, and
turned his back to the man who addressed him.

Another quarter of an hour passed, and
various noblemen who arrived somewhat late,
went up the stairs, without Ramsay noticing
them. At length one of them, who was ac-
quainted with him, hurrying in, remarked him
standing by the fire, and said, " Ah, I am glad
to see you there, Ramsay. I was afraid the
king would be gone into the council, for 1 was
detained by "

" So he is," answered Ramsay, abruptly ;
and the gentleman hurried up the stairs without
waiting to finish his sentence.

The young gentleman followed with a slow
step ; and when he entered the council-cham-
oer, a scene presented itself which I must
attempt to depict. The king was seated in a
large arm-chair or throne, a few steps in ad-
vance of the private door through which Ram-
say passed. Before him stretched a long table
or council-board, at which were seated almost
ill the great nobles of the land. Behind the
king's chair, and nearly filling up the vacant
space between it and the wall, were a number
of the gentlemen of the royal household.
Among these were Sir George Murray, Sir
Hugh Herries, Sir Thomas Erskine, Mr. Alex-
ander Blair, David Moyses, and nearer to the
door, Sir David Murray of Cospetrie, afterward
created Lord Scoon, a man of more mind and
intelligence than James was usually inclined
to tolerate.

It would appear that the tax which the king
wished to inflict upon the people had been pro-
posed for the consideration of the lords ; and
that the debate, if it may be so called, had pro-
ceeded some way, for it is known that the first
three or four who spoke, briefly expressed their
approbation. At the moment that Ramsay
entered, however, the Earl of Gowrie was on
his feet, in the act of addressing the council.
But he had spoken for some minutes, and that
the argumentative part of his speech was over
was evident ; for the only words which Ramsay
heard were : " For these reasons, my Lords, be-
cause the tax would he burdensome in its na-
ture, because it would be unequal in its press-
ure,«because the people of this realm have not
the means of meeting so large a claim upon
their loyalty, and because the actual necessity
nf so great a demand either for the purpose of

maintaining the king's royal dignity, or for se-
curing the peace and safety of the country, has
not been clearly shown to exist, I, for my part,
would humbly petition his majesty, according
to his great wisdom, to devise some other means
more easy to his loyal subjects, for meeting the
necessities of the time ; and," l.e added, after
a moment's pause, as if hesitating whether to
utter the words which rose to his lips, " and in
his gracious condescension, and in that love and
affection which he is known to bear to all his
subjects, to confine his requirements to the
limit of their means, and the most pressing ex-
igencies of the state."

The earl sat down, and a murmur of applause
ran round the lower end of the table ; but Sir
David Murray turned toward Sir Thomas Er-
skine, and said, fixing his eyes direct upon the
Earl of Gowrie, " Yonder is an unhappy man.
They are but seeking a cause for his death, and
now he has given it."*

Sir Hugh Herries, who was standing near,
turned round, with a dark smile ; and Murray
as if he felt that he had imprudently committed
himself, quitted the room in some haste.

A moment after, one of the ushers whispered
into Ramsay's ear that his brother was below
and wished to speak with him ; and, imagining
that the debate was likely to be long, the young
gentleman went out, made an appointment to
meet Sir George in the evening, and returned.
When he reached the council chamber, how-
ever, he was only in time to open the private
door for the king to retire to his own apart-
ments ; but James, who seemed in high good
humor, gave him a sign to follow, as he had
previously done to Sir Hugh Herries ; and when
they reached the royal closet, the monarch cast
hint)self upon his thickly-cushioned seat, and
burst into a fit of laughter.

" Well, bairns," he said, " that's done, in the
teeth of Gowrie's earl ; and we shall get the
money."

" You would not have got it, sire, if he could
have prevented you," said Herries, with the
true malignity of a court.

" Aye, man, but we were too strong for him,"
said James. " He who wrestles with a king
who understands his craft had need to be a stal-
warth chiel."

" I hope he may get a fall some day," said
Ramsay, bluffly. •

James looked at him with a significant smile.
"And so he will, Jock," he said, "such a fall
as may break his neck, perhaps ; but we must
give him time. It's always better to let such '
lads weary themselves out, keeping a watchful
eye upon them, Jock, lest they play us a scurvy
trick. Soul o' my body, man, but he made a
fine speech, though, well delivered, with just
enunciation, and every sentence well put to-
gether. Not so bad for the matter either, if it
had not been against his king and his duty.
He's a sharp-witted callant, if he was not some-
what traitorously disposed, like the whole of
those Ruthvens, every mother's son of them."

"I would soon stop their treason, if I were

* This curious anecdote is given in the manuscript me-
moirs of the Church of Scotland, by Mr. David Calder-
wood, a contemporary, who was at this time about five-
nnd-twenty years of age, and a keen observer Of all thai
was passing.

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

95

your majesty," said John Ramsay. "However,
you walk by wisdom, and I by indignation ; so
your majesty will, of course, walk best."

" No doubt of it," answered James ; and then,
mingling coarse familiarity with an affectation
of dignity, which only rendered the one gro-
tesque and the other ridiculous, he proceeded
to say, " And now, Jock Ramshackle, as you
have rendered us many and signal services, we
are determined to confer upon you a high honor
and dignity, by giving you a clout upon the
shoulder" — or, as the king pronounced it,
shoother — " so go your ways, tell Tammy Elliot
to bring us a sword, but bid him carry it dis-
creetly on the cushion, with the hilt toward our
hand, and to take care that it does not pop out
of itself. They are but kittle weapons."

We must leave the learned reader, who may
be so inclined, to re-translate the king's speeches
into the fine vernacular in which he usually
spoke, for we have only attempted, though
somewhat more than half a Scot ourself, to put
in a word or two here and there, for vigor's sake,
of the original dialect ; and, to say truth, we fear
if vve had either the capability or the inclination
of rendering each speech of bis majesty, word
for word, most of our readers would be puzzled
as to the meaning, and many of them, not a little
shocked at expressions which we have omitted
for reasons which shall be fully assigned, at
some future period, in a dissertation which we
intend to write upon the oaths and blasphemies
of our late sovereign lord, King James, Sixth of
that name of Scotland, and First of England, of
happy memory.

Young John Ramsay hurried away, with a
proud and happy step, to seek the instrument
which was to bestow upon him the honors of
chivalry ; and, in the mean time, the king spoke
more rapidly and in a lower tone to Herries
than was his wont, every now and then paus-
ing, and saying, " Ha, man." To which Her-
ries invariably replied, "Yes, sire. I under-
stand your majesty. It were the wisest course ;"
and, to this general approbation of the king's
views, he added, just as Ramsay was returning
with Sir Thomas Elliot and the sword of state,
" But you'll need cold iron before you've done."
Ramsay instantly started and turned round,
with a glance of keen inquiry at the king's face,
upon which James burst into a fit of laughter,
exclaiming, " Look at the young slot-hound,
how it pricks up its ears. I'll answer for it, put
him on a trail of blood, and he'd follow it till he
pulled his man down."

The youth colored, for there was something
in the comparison he did not altogether like ;
and, kneeling at the king's feet, he received
the honor of knighthood — with the sheathed
sword, however, which he did not altogether
like. The king then dismissed him, with the
directions that he might have given to a child,
"to go and play himself;" and, for his own part,
remained shut up with Herries for nearly an
hour. At the end of that time, the king and
his counselor came forth together, and walked
toward the queen's apartments, James conclud-
ing their conversation by saying, " Bide a wee,
you'll see we'll frame such a cunning device,
that the birdie shall walk into the trap, and if
ever he gets out again, it will be the fault of
the fowler's friends, and not his who set the

snare. But mind, man, not a word or a look,
as you'd have our favor. We shall ourselvea
be all kindness and courtesy ; and you must
make our looks your glass, that you may not
scare the quarry from the net."

" Don't be too civil, sire," said Herries, blunt-
ly, stumping after the king with his club foot.
"He must feel that your majesty can't love
him ; and I've known many a man put on his
cloak when he saw the sun shine too fair in the
morning, because he knew it would rain before
noon."

" Hout, tout ! Would ye school me, man ?
Faith you are too bold ;" and he walked on with
an air of pique.

CHAPTER XXXI.

In one of the good old houses of the good old
town of Edinburgh, and in a handsome and
commodious room hung with polished leather
stamped with various figures of birds and flow-
ers, in a fashion of which hardly a vestige now
remains, sat Sir George Ramsay and his young-
er brother, just after the sun had gone down.
The younger was in high spirits, for, mere lad
as he was at the time, he had many of the
weaknesses of the child still in his nature : va-
rying in mood, easily elated ; when checked or
disappointed, moody and irritable ; when pros-
perous, successful, and unopposed, gay, good-
humored, and even placable. That morning he
had been greatly irritated by the news — foi
news traveled slowly in those days — his broth
er's servant, and that one of his own favorites
too, had been killed by the Earl of Gowrie's
man, David Drummond ; and the very calmness
with which Gowrie had met his intemperatt
insinuations and haughty bearing had not served
to calm him ; but the knighthood just received
had done more than any arguments could have
effected to soften and improve him, and now he
was talking cheerfully with one of much strong-
er sense, and more amiable character than him-
self, who knew him well and how to direct hia
mind to better purposes.

" Well, George, well," he said, " I am glad
to hear what you tell me of the earl. I hare
no wish to think ill of Gowrie ; and if he ha»
acted as you mention, perhaps he had a right to
be offended at the way I spoke this morning ;
and I will apologize. A man who is ready to
fight another at any time need not fear to apol-
ogize ; but Newburn stated the matter very dif-
ferently."

" A man of honor need never fear to apolo-
gize, when he knows himself in the wrong,
whether he be prepared to fight in a bad cause
or not, John," replied his brother, with a quiet
smile ; " and nobody, I think, will suspect our
house of wanting courage. As for Newburn,
he is a firebrand ; and being now deprived of
the power of doing mischief himself, by the
consequences of one of his own insolences, he
seeks alone to set others by the ears. I have
now had the whole story from good William
Rhind, who was in the carriage at the time.
Newburn looked first into the lady's face, with
an insulting laugh, and then, when the curtain
was drawn, pulled it violently back, and thru*
his head quite into the carriage '

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

" Then he deserved what he got," replied
john R,amsay, frankly ; "but as to the other
business, you must look to it, George ; for I feel
sure that Gowrie is a man who will stand by
nis own people."

" Doubtless, when they are in the right," re-
plied the other : " but not when they are in the
wrung. I tell you he seized the scoundrel with
his own hand, as soon as he saw him flying
with the poor fellow's blood upon him, and in-
stantly gave him into the custody, not of his
own followers, as he might have done, and no
orite said him nay, but of the officers of the
town. I forgot to tell you, too, that he has
given a pension upon the lands of Ruthven to
the widow and her two daughters, fifty marks
a year to each."

" That's noble — that's kind," exclaimed John
Ramsay.

" It is," said his brother, " but, nevertheless,
I shall go to Perth on the day of the trial, not
from any doubt of Gowrie's justice, but for my
own honor's sake. Thus, I beseech you, John,
listen to no more tales from Newburn, who
would only deceive you. As for my part, I tell
you fairly, cousin or no cousin, he shall never
darken my doors again. I stood by him as long
as a gentleman and man of honor could ; but, in
this business, he sought so grossly to pervert
the truth, that I will have no more to do with
him."

Young John Ramsay mused for a minute or
two ; and his brother, thinking that he was
pursuing the same train of thought, added,
"You can not deny, John, that his whole con-
duct through life has been disgraceful."

" I was not thinking of him, Dalhousie," said
the younger brother, with a laugh. " I was
wondering what Gowrie can have done with
this same beautiful lady — this Lady Julia
Douglas ; and what can have made the king,
all in a moment, seem to care so little about
the matter. Either his majesty, with his cun-
ning wit, has found out where she really is, and
knows she is cut of his power, or else he is
waiting for the return of the messenger he sent
to Italy to inquire about her treasures. The
earl's movements have been very strange, as I
told you ; and though so strictly watched — "

But at that moment the door was quietly
opened, and a servant said, " The Earl of Gow-
rie, Sir George, is waiting at the stair-foot to
know if he can visit you."

The color came somewhat warmly into
John Ramsay's cheek ; for though he had
spoken of an apology, he did not think the
opportunity of making it was so near. His
brother, however, instantly started up and went
down to meet the earl, who took him friendly
by the hand, saying, " It's a strange hour to
visit you, Ramsay ; but I have been engaged
all day, and hearing you had arrived this morn-
ing, I would not let a day pass without coming
to see you."
f " Welcome, at any hour, my lord," replied
Sir George Ramsay ; but how is it — alone and
on foot?"

"Even so, George," replied the earl. " Had
;t been a visit of ceremony, it should have
been in the morning, with horses and attend-
ance enow ; but as it is a visit of friendship,
alone and on foot is best. I am now the stu-

dent of Padua again, and far more happy so
than as Earl of Gowrie."

While this conversation was passing, they
were climbing the somewhat steep and difficult
stairs of a house in the old town of Edinburgh,
with a servant going before to light them ; and
when they entered the room where young
Ramsay had remained, Gowrie seemed some-
what surprised to see him, but held out hia
hand frankly.

The other took it not without grace, and feel-
ing that he must speak then or never, he said,
" I have to offer my excuses, my lord, for some
rashness, this morning, brought about by rep-
resentations I now find to be false, and J
trust — "

" Mention it no more, I pray, Sir John, re-
plied Gowrie, seeing he paused and hesitated ;
" I understood full well that you had been de»
ceived by that idle jade, Rumor, and had I not
been in haste to get over a most painful duty, 1
would have staid to explain more fully. Trust
me to do simple justice in the case of the poor
man who was so foully slain at Perth ; and
when I have done so, never let misconception
of any part of my conduct breed coldness with
us more. And now let me congratulate you
on the honor I hear you have this day received
— none worthier, I am sure, and none who will
do more honor to knighthood."

Seating himself quietly between the two
brothers, Gowrie soon carried the conversation
away from things personal, and from all that
could excite one unpleasant feeling, or even dif-
ference of opinion. Having mingled more in
the world at large than either of the two broth-
ers, having seen more of mankind in every re-
spect, he could always lead where Sir George
was very willing to follow, and mingling from
time to time some classical allusion for the
elder, with conversation of hawks and hounds,
and courtly pastimes for the younger of the
two, he brought a brightness over the next half
hour which gained wonderfully upon John Ram-
say. So much, indeed, did it gain upon him,
that he became alarmed. He felt that he was
beginning to like and admire a man whom he
wished to hate ; that he could not believe all
that he desired to believe of hirn ; and, perhaps,
that he might love the person whom he was
destined to overthrow. There was certainly
some impression of the kind upon his mind. I
do not mean to say that it was any supersti-
tious presentiment, for it might have its rise in
natural causes. The monarch to whom he had
devoted himself, had so often displayed his
jealous antipathy toward the man beside him
had so frequently pointed to a coming struggle
between the sovereign and the subject, and had
so clearly marked out him, John Ramsay, as
the person upon whose courage, faith, and
resolution he relied, that it was not wonderful
he should see in Gowrie a man whom he was
fated, sooner or later, to encounter as an ene-
my, and with whom it were better to enter into
no bonds of friendship.

These feelings impelled him to rise, at length,
saying, " Well Dalhousie, 1 must away back to
the court, we are but servants after all, though
our master be roj al ; and we must perform our
service. I give you good night, my lord, and
am happy that occasion has served for mv

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

?'

explaining conduct which must have seemed
rude."

Cowrie shook hands with him ; but he said
to himself as the young man departed, " Never-
theless he loves me not, and will love me less
when he comes to think over what he will daily
consider more humiliating."

"Well, Dalhousie," he continued aloud, " you
and I need no explanation. Your brother is a
gallant youth, but young in mind as well as
years. It is a fault time and experience surely
mend, and I doubt not he will do honor to your
noble name."

" My lord," said Sir George Ramsay, in an
eager manner, " pardon my abruptness ; but I
have much wished to speak with you alone, and
feared every moment that you would go before
my brother."

"What is the matter'!" asked the earl, gaz-
ing at him. " I had hoped that all chance of
dissension was at an end."

" With my brother assuredly it is so," replied
his companion ; " he now knows you better than
he did, and all foolish doubts with him are at an
end. But, my dear lord, I wished to warn you
that you are not well at court — you know I
would not speak unadvisedly upon so serious a
subject. The king does not love you."

" Of that I am well aware," answered Gow-
rie ; " why, or wherefore, I know not, and in-
deed it matters not. But I have done his ma-
jesty no wrong. I have advised him, when
called on to advise, as I think best for his honor,
his prosperity, and his peace ; and there is no
treason in that, Dalhousie. But indeed his dis-
like began before that — even from the first day
of my arrival. I thwarted some of his plans,
Rarnsay, and he does not soon forgive that. But
the storm will blow by, and he will find that I
am a loyal subject, though a sincere one, and
forget his anger."

" The matter is more serious than that, earl,"
said Ramsay, " the king is jealous of your
wealth, your power, your influence at the court
of England ; your popularity with the people
of Scotland. My lord, I tell you, you are in
danger."

" I can not think it," replied Gowrie. " I
have given cause for no such animosity. I defy
any one to show a disloyal, or even a suspicious
act, and I will give them no occasion, Dalhousie.
My innocence be my shield."

" No disloyal act if you will Gowrie," replied
Sir George Ramsay, in the tone of strong friend-
ship, but as to suspicion, it is different. The
court is full of suspicions and all aiming at you
— and be you sure, Gowrie, that when suspicion
takes possession of the mind of a coward, it
makes him cruel as well as unjust."

Gowrie mused, " If you can point out the
causes of suspicion, Ramsay," he said at length,
" I may perhaps remove them, at least I will
try, provided thatl can do so without sacrificing
my duty to myself, to my country, or to my God.
I have offended the king by opposing him, but
tn truth have done him good service rather than
otherwise •, and I can neither regret what I
have done nor promise not to repeat it ; but as
to causes of suspicion I know none."

" I find," replied Sir George Ramsay, " that
the first doubts were created by your frequent
intercourse v>ith the English embassador, in
G

Paris. Then came the extraordinary honoi
shown you hy Elizabeth herself — "

"Exaggeration !" exclaimed Gowrie. "There
were no extraordinary honors shown me. The
Queen of England was kind and civil, express-
ed an interest in my favor, spoke of my father,
as I loved to hear, and once or twice called me
cousin ; hut I am her cousin, as near in blood
though not in succession, as any relation that
she has. King James is the undoubted heir to
the throne. He has no right to be jealous of me."

" Your relationship is a dangerous one," said
Ramsay ; " and, when with it is united the fact
of your opposing strongly the views of a vain
man, an obstinate man, and a timid man, you
may well fear suspicions. But they have been
increased by other things. You have been very
closely watched since your return to Scotland ;
and your course has appeared somewhat mys-
terious. It is now known that you first cross-
ed the border near Berwick, then suddenly re-
turned into England, and came round by Carlisle.
Again, you had an English servant with you
whose southern tongue betrayed his country at
once. You sent him with a letter to the king ;
and he has since disappeared from your train,
for the king caused him to be sought for, wish-
ing to cross-examine him after his own peculiar
fashion. Let me go on that you may have it
all before you. Shortly after your arrival, you
quitted the court, taking your fair sister witb
you, and leading the king to believe that you
were going to Dirlton. Instead of so doing,
you crossed the Frith, and went into Perth-
shire— "

" I told the king I was going both to Perth
and Dirlton."

" But you must have gone somewhere else
than to Perth," said Ramsay, " for, although it
is not known where you did go, yet they have
ascertained that you did not reach Perth till the
fourteenth of the month ; in short, that you were
two nights absent, neither at Perth nor Dirlton
— and moreover, that you did not enter Perth
from the side of Edinburgh."

" I have other estates I might wish to visit,"
said Gowrie; "and I did visit them, Ramsay.
But if every movement of a Scottish gentleman
is thus to be watched, life in this land would be
very little worth having."

"I ask no questions, my lord," said Sir George
Ramsay. " I speak but as a friend, anxious
for your safety, and wishing you to know all
and see where the danger lies. Upon slight
grounds men will build up strong fabrics of
suspicion, especially against those whom they
hate and fear, and, although I know not exactly
in what direction the king's doubts point, yet I
can easily conceive that, from the supposed
honor shown you by the Queen of England,
from the appearance and disappearance of a cer-
tain servant with you, from your various move-
ments and the secrecy which has attended them,
he may suppose that you are engaged in some
intrigues with Elizabeth ; and we all know well
how unjustifiably she has meddled with the af-
fairs of this land."

" On my honor and my soul, Ramsay," said
Gowrie, " I know of none of her intrigues, if
she have been carrying on any. I hold no com-
munication with her whatsoever. I have heard
naught from her, sent her no information, and

08

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT

never will consent to a foreign sovereign taking
any part whatsoever in the internal affairs of
this land — nay, not to save my head from the
block."

" I do believe you, my noble friend," answer-
ed Ramsay, " but still suspicion, when raised to
such a pitch as it has been here, is as danger-
ous when false as true, when groundless as just
— and I tell you that you are in danger."

" Of what 1" exclaimed Gowrie. " Does he
propose to arrest me, to try me? Let him do
it. He will only bring disgrace upon his own
head for persecuting a loyal subject who has
done no wrong. I have never given the slight-
est cause, Ramsay. I never will ; and I dare
him ; I dare the whole world to find any flaw
in my conduct which can give an opening to a
plain and straightforward accusation."

" That is likely, too," answered Ramsay,
shaking his head ; " and I do not believe that any
straightforward accusation will be made. The
times are past when men could be murdered
under form of law, and greatly as all men must
regret the anarchy and confusion which reign-
ed in the land so long, yet they have acted as a
purifying fire, and produced that freedom which
is the best safeguard of justice. But there are
other means, Gowrie, for ridding one's self of
an enemy or a suspeeted friend — secret means,
much more easy to hide beforehand from the
victim, and to cover over after with the mantle
of authority, than the coarse expedient of manu-
facturing charges or corrupting judges."

" Good Heaven V exclaimed Gowrie ; "and
is this Scotland 1"

" Aye, even so," answered Ramsay. " I
will not suppose that the king, would order or
attempt such a thing ; but there is many a ready
hand prepared to execute what is believed to
be the royal wish, many an eager eye watch-
ing to discover what that wish may be. Rec-
ollect what happened in England when Beck-
et, the proud opposer of the crown, a church-
man fenced in with all the hedges of Rome,
was slain at a mere hint from the sovereign he
had offended. We have as rash men among
us .as Tracey and his companions ; and, in
your case, you have none of the safeguards
that Becket had. — How many accidents might
happen by which the Earl of Gowrie might lose
his life — a street brawl, even, with which he
had nothing to do — a chance shot during a
hunting party — a blow struck in apparent sport
— I could name a hundred ways in which
the thing might be accomplished without dan-
ger to the perpetrator of the deed or imputa-
tion upon the prompter."

Gowrie rose, and walked up and down the
room thoughtfully ; and, after a short pause,
Ramsay continued, " I have spoken freely,
my dear lord, from our boyish friendship and
from sincere esteem. I have ventured to say
'hings which put me entirely in your power
even perhaps to my life ; but I know your gen-
erous nature too well not to feel sure that my
confidence will never be abused."

"Be you quite sure of that," answered Gow-
rie, pausing, and taking his hand. " But what
would you have me do, Ramsay 1 I see the
dangers of which you speak ; but I perceive
no way of avoiding them."

" There are but two ways that I know of,"

answered Ramsay. "If you can remove the
king's suspicions and convince him of your
loyalty and devotion, the danger will pass
away "

" Remove some of his suspicions I might,"
said Gowrie, thoughtfully ; and his mind rested
on Julia's situation, and the chance that existed
of his being able to prove to the king's satisfac-
tion that she knew naught of her father's wealth
and had never possessed any part of it. Could
he do so, and obtain the royal consent to his
marriage with her, the mysfrery attending some
of his late movements could be explained at
once. But he resolved at all events, whatevei
might be the risk, not to divulge the place of
her concealment till she actually was his wife.
He repeated, then, after thinking for a minute
or two, " Remove some of his suspicions I
might ; and I wili try to do so if it can be ef-
fected without a sacrifice, which not even
safety could compensate. As to proving to
him my loyalty and devotion, I know no way
but that which I have already followed, to be
loyal and devoted in seeking what are really
his best interests."

Ramsay shook his head ; and the earl replied
to this mute answer, " Well then, Ramsay, 1
can do no otherwise. If it costs me life itself
I will not abandon the cause of civil and relig-
ious liberty. I will be no consenting party to
the oppression of the people. I will not be the
stay of despotism nor the tool of arbitrary pow-
er. Let him take my life rather than that, for
I will not hold the fee simple of existence on
the tenure of dishonor."

" There you are right," answered Ramsay ;
" and your views are mine ; but the difference
between us is that you, by your high position,
are called upon to act and speak in dangerous
circumstances, where I may be still and si-
lent. However, try what you can do to remove
the king's suspicions, to account at least for
some part of your conduct. Nay, smile not
my dear lord, for things that seem very simple
to you, magnified by the optic glass of jealousy,
grow into vast importance. Try, I say, what
you can do, but wait a few days till the remem-
brance of this morning's work is somewhat
softened. There is no present danger, I do be-
lieve. Such schemes take long in hatching ;
and you will have time to see how the king
bears with you. If he is dry and sharp, you
may doubt his intentions. If he is wondrous
kind and over-familiar, showing you great fa-
vor and unwonted friendship, then be you sure
he meditates mischief. That is the time for
taking the alternative, quitting the court, and
keeping yourself out of harm's way. I will
take care that you shall have every informa
tion that is communicated to me, except that
which comes under the seal of secresy ; but I
beseech you, my dear lord, linger not too long,
but trust in my word that I speak not without
good cause, ,and perhaps suspect more than 1
say. For the plucking of such a goodly bird as
yourself," he continued, with a faint smile,
" would furnish many a poor, half-molted fowl
of the court with golden feathers for the rest
of life."

Gowrie thanked him again and again, and
then took his leave ; and, in a very thoughtful
mood, returned to his own house.

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

99

CHAPTER XXXII.

It is a hard task for a frank and honest mind
"o assume an easy and a careless air, when
ihere are dark thoughts and heavy doubts within.
Gowrie did not return to the court on the day
— after his conversation with Sir George Ram-
say. He felt that he could not banish the im-
pression that he had ;eceived from his demean-
I or. On the following day, however, he did go

to Holyrood, and was extremely graciously re-
ceived ; and for a week more he continued to
frequent the court, with other men of his rank
and station. The queen always received him
with peculiar favor ; and in her circle he met
with many of those whom he loved and es-
teemed ; so that he gradually regained all his
cheerfulness, although he was not inclined to
share in the somewhat boisterous mirth of the
king, or to take part in his vulgar pleasantries,
which had full scope and license on the first of
April. On the third of that month, however,
he craved a private audience of the monarch,
and, after some little hesitation, was admitted.

James was in the midst of books and papers ;
and his manner, though exceedingly condescend-
ing, was somewhat embarrassed. " We would
not put you off with a poor excuse, my lord,"
said the monarch, " for we could not tell what
you were wanting; but you have chosen an ill
time for a long confabulation, as we were writ-
ing a disquisition for our poor people of Scot-
land, and perhaps for the good folks of England,
too, upon the nature and property of witches and
warlocks, and how to discriminate them justly."

" I crave your gracious pardon for my in-
trusion, sire," replied Gowrie, " and can well
wait your majesty's pleasure. The matter is
one entirely personal to myself, and therefore
should not for a moment be allowed to interfere
with your more important avocations. I will
therefore, by your majesty's leave, retire, and
wait upon you at some future period, when you
have more leisure."

" No, no, stay," said the king. " Let's hear
what it's about. We shall always find great
pleasure in doing what we can to show our fa-
vor to you, Earl of Gowrie. Speak man, speak.
What are ye seeking V

" Merely your gracious leave and permission,
sire, to wed with a lady to whom I am much at-
tached."

There was a small spot on James's forehead,
just above the eyebrows, which the monarch
was accustomed to contract when eager and
. attentive ; and that spot now grew very red.

" What ! with the Lady Arabella Stuart !" he
said. " So runs the rumor. We have heard
of it. But you are cousins, my Lord of Gow-
rie ; and we like not cousins marrying."

Theie would be a thousand other objections
to such a union, please your majesty," Gowrie
replied, " all of which I see and appreciate fully."

"Then what the de'il makes ye seek if!"
asked James abruptly, and evidently in a very
angry mood.

" Such a thing never entered into my con-
templation, sire," answered the earl, " nor did
I ever hear that rumor had done me such a
needless honor till this moment. I am no way
ambitious, sire. I neither seek to increase my
fortune, raise my family, nor increase my influ-

ence. That lady's hand may well be bestowed
upon some sovereign prince, but not upon ttie
Earl of Gowrie."

" Ha, my lord, you speak well," said the
king: "but some trick has been put upon us
We were told that our good siste; and cousin,
the queen of England, had offered you the lady's
hand, when you were at her court of London."

" Doubtless, sire," replied Gowrie, " gossip
and jealousy together have connected many a
tale with my short residence there equally false
with this. The queen never mentioned the
Lady Arabella's name to me ; and, as she hap-
pened to be absent from the court, I never even
saw her. Had such a thing been proposed, I
must at once have declined, without even
troubling your majesty upon the subject, inas-
much as I am attached to another lady, and
contracted to her by promises which I neither
can nor desire to break."

James had listened attentively while the earl
proceeded ; and it was evident that he felt much
satisfaction at what he heard ; but he spoke no
more of the Lady Arabella.

" Promises," he said, when Gowrie paused,
"promises before witnesses'!"

" Before one witness at least, your majesty."
replied Gowrie.

" That is not a congregation," said the king.
"By word of mouth or by writing!"

" By both, sire," answered Gowrie decidedly.
" I am bound to her in every way that man can
bind himself."

"That is serious, my lord," said James.
" You would have acted more wisely and more
dutifully, too, if, before undertaking such things,
you had consulted us — not to say, asked our
consent, as pater palrice. It is serious, good earl,
I say ; but we'll find a means to liberate you."

" But, sire, I do not desire to be liberated,"
replied Gowrie, with a smile. " I desire to be
faster bound than ever, both to the lady and
your majesty, by your graciously consenting to
our speedy union."

" That's & joke, man, but not a good one,"
said the king, laughing grimly ; " considering all
things, it's not a good one. Now you are all
obedience, you see, and humbly asking my con-
sent, which, I dare to say, you would do with-
out, if it were refused."

Gowrie felt some embarrassment, for he could
not bring himself to say he would not, and yet
he did not like openly to set the king's authority
at defiance. James, however, relieved him by
saying, " But who's the lady, man \ Let's hear
all about her."

" I met with her in Itvsly," replied Gowrie.
She was then living, I may say, in poverty,
with her grandfather, the Count Manucci."

" Ha, ha, now we have it," cried James,
laughing aloud. " I know all about the story
now. The daughter, or the reputed daughter,
of black Morton."

" His real and lawful daughter, sire," replied
Gowrie, " as these papers will show your maj-
esty. The originals are in the lady's keeping ;
but the names of the witnesses put the mattet
of her birth beyond all dispute."

" Ah," said James, taking the papers in his
hand, and casting his eyes slowly over them ;
"it's good and honest to be lawfully born; but
that's all she'll get by these rags of papers, fojr

100

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING S PLOT

the estates of old Morton were all confiscated to
tfee use of the crown, and were granted long
since, with the advice of our council, to better
deserving people than himself."

" I fear it is as your majesty says," replied
the earl calmly, " for I have looked over the
papers well, and do not believe that even this
small act of settlement upon the lands of White-
burn can now be maintained."

" Ha, say ye so, man V cried the king. "You're
a lawyer, too, it would seem, and in this case a
good one. I can tell you, that the parchment
on which this is drawn is not worth an old
bull's hide. However, she ought to have a
goodly tocher, for Morton had been scraping
money together all his life, and as nobody could
ever find where he put it, there's no doubt it
was carried off by this lassie's grandfather and
her mother."

" I can assure your majesty that you are in
error there," said Gowrie. " Count Manucci
lived in absolute poverty from the time he quit-
ted Scotland, having been expelled from France,
as your majesty probably knows, on account of
his religious opinions. He received a small
pension from the Earl of Angus up to the day
of his death, which the earl would certainly not
have paid if the count had obtained possession
of all his uncle's wealth."

" That looks like truth," cried James. " I
should not wonder if Angus had got the money
himself."*

" Of that I know naught, sire," answered
Gowrie ; but I can assure your majesty that the
only wealth this dear girl brings with her to
me, is herself and two thousand ducats, which
her grandfather had saved."

" Sorry to hear it," said the king. " We
could have wished you a wealthier bride, my
lord ; ' and there he stopped.

Gowrie remained also silent, anxious to hear
what the king's consideration of the subject
would lead him to, and at all events to get some
definite answer, upon which he might act. He
knew very well that James's propensity to lo-
quacity would not suffer him to remain long
without saying something ; and he only feared
that the next question would be, where he had
left Julia ; but he was prepared with an answer
even for that, although he much wished to
avoid being compelled to give it. James, how-
ever, notwithstanding his despotic principles
and his anxiety to establish a complete abso-
lutism in church and state, was constitutionally
timid with those of whose resistance he had
had any experience ; and he did not like to
drive the earl to refuse an answer. He there-
fore merely said that which precluded him af-
terward from acting upon the information he
had really obtained, giving the earl greatly the
advantage.

" And so the lady is in Italy," he observed,
after a somewhat lengthened pause.

" No, sire, she is not," answered Gowrie.
" Her present abode I have engaged to keep
secret, till such time as I may be permitted to
present her to your majesty as my wife. Im-
mediately that such is the case, and that we

* It is now the generally received opinion, that the Earl
of Angus did obtain possession of the treasures of the Re-
gent Morton, and that he spent the whole of them in acts
of liberality to his fellow exiles.

can be married, I will go to seek her, with yoa
majesty's leave."

" As far as the court of London, I suppose,"
said James, somewhat bitterly.

'• No, sire ; not above one quarter as far."
replied the earl. " I should have been very
sorry to have given any foreign prince a hold
upon me even through my affections. "

James remained silent, and seemed to hesi-
tate, for he played with the points of his doub-
let, and shuffled about the papers on the table.

" Well, my lord," he said, at length, " the
question is one of some difficulty. We must
consider of the subject fully. All those Doug-
lases, even to the second degree, are banished
men — exiled from the land ; and it can not be
decided just in a moment whether we shall
open the door to any of them. Besides, it
might make strife and contention. Here, you
see, lo a sort of claim set up to the lands of
Whiteburn, long since bestowed upon our faith-
ful servant, Andrew Stewart."

" I will give an undertaking, sire, under my
hand, that those claims shall never be pursued,"
said Gowrie, " under the penalty of forfeiting
five times their value."

This wasn't exactly the end, however, at
which James wanted to arrive ; and, affecting
a little impatience, he exclaimed, "There,
there, man, you've had your answer. We
will give the matter our consideration ; and
after due deliberation had, we will say yea or
nay, as may seem fitting. There, now, gang
your ways, my lord. We have other things in
hand just now."

Thus unceremoniously dismissed, Gowrie re-
tired from the king's presence with no slight
feelings of impatience and disgust. Delay was
evidently the object ; but to what end this de-
lay could serve seemed difficult to divine ; and,
during the next ten days, he was frequently
tempted to recall the subject to the king's mind,
with as urgent application as that of Bucking-
ham for " the earldom of Hereford and the
movables." He refrained, however, anxious
not to injure his own cause ; and still the king
refrained from giving any direct answer, al-
though, with a varying favor, he treated him
one day with somewhat too familiar kindness,
and the next with cold indifference.

This playing with his expectations wore his
mind and depressed his spirits ; and his long
absence from her he loved kept him in a state
of irritable impatience, for he had fondly hoped
to bear to Julia the tidings that the king's con-
sent was given.

He found consolation, indeed, in the frequent
society of his sister, Beatrice, who, wise be-
yond her years, yet gay and sportive as a child,
at once counseled him right, and cheered him
on his way. Seeming ever to fear nothing, she
was, nevertheless, watchful and alive to all
that passed at the court which could in any de-
gree affect her brothers ; and much information
did both she and Gowrie gain from her gay
lover, Sir John Hume.

Day passed by on day, however ; and the king
seemed to have totally forgotten the subject of
the earl's application, till at length, in speaking
with his sister, Gowrie said, " I can bear it no
longer, Beatrice ; I will away to Perth."

" If you get to Perth," answered Beatrice

GOVVRIE : OR, THE KING S PLOT

101

•'you will not be long away from Trochrie,
Gowrie."

" Perhaps not," answered the earl ; " but I
will write to the king first, Beatrice. If he re-
fuses his consent, I will do as best I may,
though it may be dangerous, if the law does
really make her a ward of the crown; but I doubt
the fact, where there are no lands to hold. If
he consents, it is all well ; but I must and will
have some answer."

" Be not rash, Gowrie, be not rash," said his
sister. " A day very often brings forth important
things."

"I am for Perth to-morrow," replied her
brother, in a determined tone ; " hut I will
soon return ; and perhaps my absence may re-
call me to the king's mind more than my pres-
ence."

Without taking any leave of the court, Gow-
rie set out on the following morning, and rode
with all speed to Perth, where he remained
two days arranging his household, and seeing
that every thing was prepared for resuming his
residence in his native city. He was then ab-
sent for one whole day, and a great part of the
next ; and the reader need not be told where
he spent his time.

On his return, he was informed that the pris-
oner, David Drummond, desired to see him at
the town jail ; but, although the message was
brought by no less a person than Baillie Roy,
the junior magistrate of the town, the earl re-
fused to visit the prisoner.

" Tell him, good master Roy," he said, "had
he not been one of my own servants, I would
have come to see him at his request ; but such
being the case, I will deal with him in no way
privately before his trial."

When the worthy baillie departed, Gowrie
expected to hear no more of the matter ; but
he was surprised, about half half an hour after,
as he was walking, somewhat sadly, in his
garden, to see Baillie Roy posting up the path
toward him."

" I must humbly beg your lordship's pardon,"
said the good magistrate, approaching ; " but 1
am forced to intrude upon your private recrea-
tion by another message from that dour divot,
David Drummond. He bade me tell your lord-
ship that, if you would not see him, he would
apply to the king, and might tell him some things
that he might be glad to hear."

" Then by all means let him pleasure his
majesty," said Gowrie. " I would not for the
world deprive him of any valuable or agreeable
information. In short, master Roy, I will not
see him ; and he should know me well enough
to be sure that when once I have said so, I will
not alter."

Notwithstanding this determined answer,
the prisoner's message left the earl thoughtful
and anxious. " The only thing he can tell,"
thought Gowrie, " is the retreat of my poor
Julia. The king has sent no answer to my
letter. I will wait till noon to-morrow, and
then go to demand one myself. I do not think
he would venture to attempt to take her from
my protection by force ; but we shall soon see,
and, thank God, every thing is prepared."

No letter came on the day following ; and
Gowrie set out for Edinburgh, after the noon
meal He arrived too late to visit the court

that day, indeed ; and was sitting down with
all the evil anticipations of an impatient spirit
under prolonged anxiety, when the clouds were
suddenly dispelled, and a brief gleam of sun-
shine broke through the canopy of storm that
was fast spreading over him.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

" Gowrie, Gowrie, Gowrie !" cried the voice
of Sir John Hume, from the ante-chamber, al-
most as if he had been calling to a dog ; and the
next moment the gay knight entered, with his
his face all radiant. " Where are the once sharp
ears of the noble earll" he continued, "ears
that would have heard the hunter's haloo from
Stirling to Linlithgow. Why I called to you out
of my high window in the High-street, as you
rode by, till the echo at the Blackford Hills
shouted out Gowrie, and you spurred on, as if
you had stopped your ears with wax, like Don
Ulysses, when in clanger of the fair ladie? _»n the
shore. Would to heaven all our mariners would
do the same, when they first land."

" I did not hear you Hume,' answered Gow-
rie, in a grave tone, " in truth, my friend, my
heart is very sad, and my outward faculties
have little communication with the spirit within.
But what makes you look so joyful 1"

" One of the strange revolutions of the court
of King Solomon," answered Hume ; " whether
his majesty has found out some sovereign re-
medy for dispelling the black humors, or for
warming and comforting the spleen ; or whether
his favorite brach has cast him a litter of pecu-
liarly fine pups ; or whether Queen Elizabeth
has declared him heir to the throne of England,
or the Queen of Sheba has sent word to say

she will be here too-morrow, or But never

mind, something or another has turned the gal!
and verjuice into honey and sweetness ; and
especially toward your dearly beloved family.
He ran after Beatrice to-day, to the queen's very
knees, vowing he would tie her shoe, and I was
forced to stand by looking demure, and he actual-
ly gave Alex a hawk — it is not worth a bodle,
by the way, but still the gift was something,
considering who it comes from."

" I wrote to him from Perth," said Gowrie,
" beseeching him to give me an answer to the
suit which I told you I had preferred ; and he
has never answered my letter."

" Done on purpose to fret you !" answered
Hume, " he said so before the whole court, this
very day, and called you a love torn callant."

" I care not what he calls me," replied the
earl, " so that he do but consent freely."

"He does consent," replied his friend, "and
all your troubles on that score, Gowrie, are at
an end — so smooth your wrinkled brow, my
lord, and give cold care to the wind."

"Are you quite sure!" demanded the earl,
hardly believing the joyful tidings.

" Surer than of my own existence, for that I
know nothing about," answered Hume. " Had it
not been for that overt act, I should have doubt-
ed his majesty's sincerity, for his sunshine is
not always summer. But deeds speak for them-
selves. I will tell you how it all happened.
Three days ago, he was in an awful mood, and

102

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

pulled more points off his hose than he had
money in his coffers to put on again; but just
then came in the news of Stuart, of Greenal-
lan's, death, without heirs, and all his mov-
ables are seized to the crown, besides a large
sum in ready money, which he left by will to
the king — knowing he would take it if he did
not. Well, this windfall mollified him mightily,
and he has been improving ever since. But this
morning he has had a dispute with three minis-
ters, touching church government and Heaven
knows what besides, and he quoted all sorts of
books that no body ever heard of before — long
screeds of Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, I believe
upon my life, till the poor bodies were quite, as
they said, dumbfounded, and fairly gave in. I
would wager my best horse against a tinker's
donkey, that they did not understand a word,
and the king himself not half of what he poured
forth upon them ; but they owned in the end
that his majesty was right, and they were wrong,
for they could not confute his arguments, or re-
ply to his authorities. One old fellow, indeed,
made some fight for it ; and answered in Greek
and Hebrew too ; but the king had two texts for
every one of his, and so he too was beat in the
end. From that moment he has been all frolic ;
and this afternoon he held up your letter before
dear Beatrice's eyes, and asked, if she knew
who that came from ; so she answered gayly,
'From one of your majesty's sweethearts I sup-
pose.' 'Faith, no such thing,' said James, 'but
I'll try to make him a sweetheart before I've
done, and that by giving him his sweetheart too.
It's from your own brother John, saucy lassy — a
most disconsolate epistle, because I forgot to
tell him he should have the bonny bird, he's so
brodened on. But he shall have her, notwith-
standing, and I trust she'll plague him till she
makes him more complutherable.' Then Bea-
trice burst into a peal of laughter, so clear, so
merry, so joyful, that it set the whole court off,
king and queen and all, till James, wiping his
eyes, told her to hawd her guffaw, or she should
not be married herself for a month after you ;
and then she laughed more gayly than before ;
but petitioned that she might be permitted to
write to*you and tell you of his royal grace.
That the king would not hear off, saying, ' No, I
forbid any one to write him a scrape of a pen.
Then shall we have him coming with a face as
long as a whinger, and his heart full of disloyal
repinings, to know if we are minded to conde-
scend to his request.' But the dear girl answered
with her own good sense, ' More chance of his
heart being full of sorrow, lest he have offended
your majesty.' However, the king would not
consent that any one should write to you, say-
ing, he wished to see what you would do, and
exacted a promise that neither Beatrice nor
Alex would say a word. Me he did not so bind ;
but yet it were better not to let him know that
you have been informed."

"I am a bad dissembler, John;" repliedithe
earl, " and I fear that the joy in my heart will
shine out on my face, do what I will. However,
I will do my best to look sad ; but is not this a
strange person for a king — a strange scene for a
court V

"You would have thought it stranger still,
had you but seen the whole," answered Hume.
"All the time he was speaking, he held the hawk

I have told you of on his hand, and kept strok
ing it down the back, at which it screamed, anu
then his gracious majesty called it sometimes,
greedy gled, and sometimes, courtier; till Her
ries, who thinks he can venture any thing, askei?
why he called it, courtier."

" "What did he answer !" inquired Gowrie.

"Why he put on what he would call a paw-
ky look," replied the other, " and said, ' Because
it is like the horse leech's daughter, doctor. It
aye lifts up its neb and scrawks for more !' "

Both Gowrie and Hume laughed gayly at this
sally, the one in hearing, and the other in tel-
ling ; for the young earl's heart was lightened,
and such creatures of circumstances are we
that, with a mind relieved, a reply seemed to
him full of humor, which a minute or two be-
fore he would have thought naught but a coarse
and vulgar jest.

" How did Herries bear the rebuke V asked
Gowrie, " for to him it must have been a se-
vere one."

" Oh, with his own bitter humor," answered
the knight. "He said, 'Ay, sir, it is sad how
we are led by example. Every one, man and
beast, follows his master :' to which the king re-
plied good naturedly enough, 'Hawd yer peace,
ye doited auld farrant carle. If you followed
your master, I'se warrant you'd no pluck but be
plucked — you'd be the doo, and us the gled.'
However, I think that Herries is not so great a
favorite as he once was, and I am not sorry
for it ; for he was ever an enemy to both your
house and mine, Gowrie, and is one of those
cold blooded, ever ready men, who never misses
an opportunity to do ill to another by a quiet
insinuation, pointed by a jest."

" I know him not at all," answered Gowrie,
"Alexander and Beatrice love him not ; but
one need never fear an open enemy. It is the
covert attack, the blow struck behind one's
back, the quiet lie, spoken, forsooth, in confi-
dence, that one fears ; for they are like the
poisoned weapon of the Italian bravo, which
slays, though the wound be but a scratch."

"For the present, I do not think you need
fear him in any way," replied Sir John Hume,
" but go early to-morrow, Gowrie, and take
advantage of the tide of favor at the flow."

The conversation then took a more general
turn. The various characters of the personages
of the court of King James were discussed by
the earl and his friend ; and the prospects of
the country generally were spoken of in a
lighter and a gayer spirit than the earl could
have shared an hour before. Some little word
— one of those accidental expressions which set
the mind galloping in a different direction from
that which it was previously pursuing, led the
earl's thoughts suddenly to his brother ; and he
said, " By the way, Hume, Beatrice seems to
think that Alexander is even in less favor than
myself with his majesty ; and I could not in-
duce her to explain the matter fully. She re-
ferred me to you, saying you would be able to in-
form me what was the cause of James's dislike."

" The simplest in the world," answered
Hume. "The king dislikes him because he
thinks the queen likes him too much. The
truth is James is jealous, and, like all suspicious
people, hates the object of his suspicion, en-
dures his presence at the court simply for the

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

103

purpose of entrapping him, and watches for
every opportunity to find a motive to take
revenge."

" But is there any cause for this suspicion V
asked Gowrie, very gravely. " Can Alex have
been mad enough, wicked enough, to have af-
forded any just grounds for such jealousy V

" On my life, I believe not," replied Hume.
"The queen makes no secret of her liking for
handsome young men ; and Alex is certainly as
fine a looking lad as ever mounted a horse or
drew a sword. She contends strongly, too, for
that liberty of action which we northern peo-
ple do not consider a privilege of fair ladies.
She will go where she likes, do what she likes,
and see whom she likes, without being respon-
sible to any tribunal but that of conscience.
This is her doctrine ; and, by Heaven, she
practices what she preaches. The king may
make himself as absolute as he will out of his
own house ; but he will not be despotic there
very easily. Then again her majesty likes the
gallant part of the old chivalry, and thinks that
love and devotion are every lady's due from
every courtly gentleman — there must be a touch
of romantic passion in it, too, to please her ;
and she goes into these little amourettes in the
most light-hearted way possible, without a
thought of evil, I do believe. It is all too open,
too bold to be criminal. But the king, on the
contrary, takes a very different view of these
matters. While he claims to himself the right
of the utmost familiarity of manner and light-
ness of speech with man, woman, and child, he
would have all ladies as prim and demure as
nuns, and as obedient as a spaniel dog. In point
of policy Alex committed a great error in at-
taching himself to the queen instead of to the
king, for it is sad to say one can not be a favor-
ite with both."

" I would rather he were a favorite with

neither," said Gowrie. " He might serve both,

jj love both, merit the friendship of both, but to

be the minion of either king or queen is not

for one of my race."

" Well, well," answered his friend, " he is
still a very young man, but right at heart, I do
believe ; and I trust that he will see that these
gallantries with the queen, however innocent,
are, at the least, improper."

" I must make him see it," said Gowrie, and
turned the conversation, which ended soon
after, by Hume leaving him to his own thoughts.

The following morning broke cold and cneer-
less ; but at as early an hour as was consistent
with propriety, Gowrie presented himself at the
palace and was readily admitted to an audience.
The king was pushing out of the room with his
own hands, in a jocular, but somewhat rude
manner, no less a personage than Sir Hugh
Herries, saying, "There, get along with you.
You are a saucy body, and were we not the
best na'ured monarch that ever lived, we should
not bear with your gibes. — Ah, my Lord of
Gowrie ! now you've come for an answer to
your letter, I ween."

" If it may please your majesty to give me
one," answered Gowrie, with as grave a face
as he could put on, while the king retired into
his cabinet again, and took his seat.

" You see, my lord," said James, with a very
•erious air, " this is a matter of much import-

ance, and which requires full consideration and
deliberation on our part. Now I'll warrant
that you're for wanting to cut the matter short
and to be married to the lady directly;" and
he looked up slyly in the earl's face.

" My inclination would of course lead as your
majesty supposes," replied Gowrie; "and 1
think, in many points of view, it would be the
best plan ; but the lady herself desires that
our union should be delayed till the month of
September next, if it please your majesty to
consent for that time."

"She's a very discreet young lady," said the
king. " Now, most lasses would be all agog to
be a married woman, and Countess of Gowiie
— well, my lord, we'll consider of it."

Gowrie now felt alarmed and mortified.
Whether the king had changed his mind since
the preceding night, or whether he was merely
sporting with his feelings for his own amuse-
ment, the young lover felt a degree of im-
patience which he was afraid would break
forth in some angry words if he staid longer,
and therefore, with a silent bow, but a heated
cheek and disappointed air, he retired toward
the door.

James let him reach it and lay his hand upon
the lock, but then stopped him, exclaiming,
"Hout, man, come hither; don't go away in
the dorts like a petted bairn. Come hither to
your king who is willing to act as a good and
kind father to you and to all his leal subjects,
if they will let him."

Gowrie returned with a brighter look.-
" There, now," continued James, who in many
instances, was acute enough, "you are laugh-
ing now ; and I'll warrant that your titty or the
lad Alex has been telling you of the grace and
favor we intend to show you."

" I can assure your majesty," answered Gow-
rie, "that I have neither seen nor heard from
my brother or sister during the last four or five
days ; but I can see by your majesty's coun-
tenance that you intend to deal graciously with
me in this matter."

"I'm thinking, you're a false chiel," said
James, laughing, "and you think that a fine
fleeching speech about my countenance as you
call it ; but I'll tell you what, earl, if 1 thought
my face would tell what I'm thinking of when
I didn't want it, I'd claw the skin off with my
own ten fingers ; for, let me tell you, sir, it's a
principal point of kingcraft to be able to speak
with a sober and demure countenance whatever
the matter in hand may be, whether merry and
jocose, or sad and serious. Men should never
be able to tell by the looks of a sovereign
whether he be thinking of a burial or a mar-
riage, a birth or a death."

" But wise kings, sire," answered Gowrie,
" are ever apt to double the value of the favors
they confer by gracious looks and words."

"That's well said," said the king, with an
inclination of his head. " That's spoken like
a prudent and well-nurtured lad ; and we do
intend graciously toward you, and will give
you proof thereof. We will consent to your
marriage with this lady in the month of Sep-
tember next as you propose; and, moreover, we
will give you that consent in writing, for there
are certain conditions which, as you know
well, you yourself agreed to, and which wa

104

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

nave embodied here in this paper as a sort of
proviso qualifying our consent."

Gowrie was a little startled by this announce-
ment ; but the king socn relieved him from all
anxiety by showing him the paper, which was
to the effect that he, the king, authorized and
consented to the marriage of John, Earl of
Gowrie and the lady Julia Douglas, a ward of
the crown, upon the condition that the Lady
Julia Douglas should previously execute in due
lorm a renunciation of all claims, founded upon
any grounds whatsoever, to the lands of White-
burn, and to all other estates, money, goods,
or chattels whatsoever, once belonging to or
in the possession of the last Earl of Morton.
Otherwise the authorization was to have no
effect. The sense was enveloped in an im-
mense mass of legal verbiage which would have
been totally unintelligible to any one unac-
quainted with the language of the courts ; but
Gowrie had made a point of bestowing some
study upon the laws of his native land ; and the
meaning was quite clear to him.

"To these conditions I agree at once, sire,"
he said, " and am willing at once to give your
majesty an undertaking, under any penalty you
please, that the renunciation specified shall be
made."

James caught readily at this idea, and, being
fond of showing his skill in such matters, he
drew up with his own hand the form of under-
taking which was proposed, and to which Gow-
rie willingly put his hand on receiving the
written consent of the king to his marriage.

" And now, my lord, away to Truchrie," cried
the king, as Gowrie kissed his hand," and bring
your bonny birdy out of her nest — aye, you may
stare and look stupefied, but if you think you
can hoodwink your king like a gvr falcon on its
perch, you'll find yourself mistaken, like many
another man has been — well, well, say nothing
about it. We forgive you, man ; and if you
don't think us the best-natured monarch that
ever lived you're an ungrateful lad."

"Indeed, sire, I do think your majesty most
gracious," replied Gowrie, a good deal moved ;
" a<id I will do my best to prove my gratitude,
but before I go to Trochrie I had better have
this renunciation drawn up in due form by
some people of the law, that I may at once
obtain the Lady Julia's signature, and lay it at
your majesty's feet."

To this plan James cordially acceded;. and
Gowrie, taking his leave, retired to share his
joy with his sister Beatrice, and to endeavor
to persuade his br-other to withdraw from the
court where his presence was a source of
jealousy and dissension, when there was a
gentle tap at the door ; and an usher put in his
head, saying, " Here is the Italian merchant,
may it please your majesty."

"Bring him in, bring him in," cried James,
" stay a little, my good lord. This is a man
from the country you know so well, bringing
wares to show us ; and we will have your
judgment upon his honny toys."

Gowrie would fain have escaped, but there
was no resource ; and the Italian merchant, as
he was called, though in fact he might have
ranked better as a peddler, was brought into the
king's presence. The young earl instantly rec-
ognized a man from whom he himself had oc-

casionally purchased wares in Padua, which
was, at that time, famous for its manufactories
of silk ; and the merchant himself, after sa-
luting the king, made him a low bow.

" Ah, you two have met before, I suppose,"
said the king, "but come, open your chest,
man, and let us see what you've brought."

The goods were soon produced, consisting
principally of ribbons and laces, which might
have better suited the examination of a lady
than of a king ; and James selected several
articles for purchase with not the very best
taste in the world. He asked Gowrie's opinion
on them before he concluded his bargain ; and
the earl, though not the best courtier in the
world, was sufficiently learned in that craft not
to speak disparagingly of the king's tastes. At
length an exceedingly beautiful ribbon was pro-
duced, wrought with figures of blue and gold, so
thick and massive, that it seemed better fitted
for a sword-belt than any thing else ; but James
fixed eagerly upon it, declaring he would pre-
sent it to the queen. He soon after suffered
the earl to depart, keeping the Italian merchant
with him ; and as soon as the door was closed,
he said, in a familiar tone, "You knew that lad
in Italy, I suppose, my man."

The Italian replied in the affirmative; and
James, whose curiosity was inexhaustible, pro-
ceeded to question him upon all he knew re-
garding Gowrie's history. The good man had
no idea whatsoever of doing harm ; but we all
know how one tale leads on another, especially
under the hands of one skillful in extracting
anecdotes ; and, although almost all the Italian
had to say was favorable to the earl, though he
told how he had been elected unanimously lord
rector at a very early period, and how his con-
duct had given such satisfaction that the uni-
versity had placed his portrait in the great hall,
yet he went on to add, that he believed the earl
had conceived some disgust in the end, from
the treatment of one to whom he was much
attached.

James proceeded to question him eagerly on
this hint, and soon drew forth the Italian's ver-
sion of the history of poor Manucci. Truth and
fiction were mingled in the usual proportion of a
tale so told ; but magic and witchcraft were fa-
vorite topics with the king ; and, from the gos-
siping style in which it first began, his conver-
sation gradually deviated into disquisition, and
afterward almost took the form of a judicial
examination, as he questioned and cross- ques-
tioned the poor merchant in regard to Manucci's
skill in diabolical arts, and Gowrie's connection
with him. The good man, anxious 10 curry
favor with the monarch, and restrained by no
very great scruples of conscience, would prob-
ably have said any thing that the king liked,
and certainly in the matter of suggestion, James
did not fail to supply him with indications of
his own opinions.

The belief in such arts as sorcery and witch-
craft, seems in our eyes, at the present day, so
ludicrous, that we can hardly bring our minds to
believe that in former times the great mass of
all classes, high and low, were fully persuaded
that power could be obtained by mortals over
certain classes of evil spirits. But such was
undoubtedly the case at the time I speak of;
and the effect was often most disastrous. Ir

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

105

the present instance, James took care not to
inform the Italian of the conclusions to which
he came with regard to Gowrie ; and it may
be sufficient in this case to state, that when he
dismissed the merchant, he remained with an
impression very unfavorable to the young earl,
which, combined with other causes, did not fail
to produce bitter fruit at an after period

CHAPTER XXXIV.

"Can you tell me where I shall find my sis-
ter, Ballough?" said the earl of Gowrie, ad-
dressing the usher of the queen's chambers,
after he left the king.

" She's gone out with her brother, my lord,"
replied the officer ; " and I think they took
their way to your lordship's lodging."

"I do not think it, Ballough," said the earl.
" I must have met them ; or, at least, they
must have seen my horses at the gate."

" They went the other way, my lord," said
the man; "I saw them go toward the physic
garden. I heard the Lady Beatrice say that
that would be the quietest road, as they were
on foot."

" Can I pass through, then ?" asked the earl.

"Not through this passage, my lord," replied
the man ; " hut if you go round by the portico,
you'll find the little gate open, and that will
lead you straight."

The earl accordingly dismissed his horses
and servants, and took his way through a part
of the gardens of Holyrood or "the abbey," as
it was frequently called in those days, issuing
forth into the more busy part of the town by a
gate at some distance from the building. The
door itself was closed, but not locked ; and, as
he was approaching it, he heard, a voice saying,
" We have not starved your horse, you foul
tongued southron ! Now ride away as fast as
you can go ; and mind, if you say one woid,
you will be well beaten and put into one of the
dungeons at Stirling. There, away with you ;"
and these words were followed by the loud
erack of a whip.

" A whole skin is the best coat that ever was
made," said a voice, which Gowrie thought he
knew well ; and passing through the door at the
same moment, he looked eagerly up the street,
his eye guided by the clattering of a horse's
feet at a rapid pace. On that side appeared no
other than the figure of his own man, Austin
Jute, mounted on the very horse which he had
ridden to Trochrie, and turning sharply round,
he saw on the other hand, walking away to-
ward the palace, the stout form and club foot
of Doctor Herries, and another gentleman at-
tached to the king's household, named Gra-
ham.

What could be the meaning of this 1 Gowrie
asked himself. Could Jute be really betray-
ing him, after serving him so long and so faith-
fully 1 " I will not believe it," he said to him-
self. " The tricks of these courts would make
a man suspicious of his best friend. Yet it is
very strange. But I will wait and see. I shall
soon discover by the man's manner if he is con-
cealing any thing from me;" and with matter
for musing lxe walked upon his way. Neither
brother nor sister did he meet as he went on,

but found boU waiting for him at his dwelling,
in the town.

"We thought to catch you before you set
out, Gowrie," said Beatrice, as soon as she saw
him, " for Hume wrote me word this morning,
that he had seen you. However, I trust from
your look that all is safe and right, and that the
king's good humor, which waxes and wanes
like the moon, has not decreased since yester-
day." «

Gowrie sat down by her side and told her all
that had occurred ; the whole account being
tinged with the joyful hopes of his own heart.
Beatrice looked pleased, but less so than he
expected ; and she asked, somewhat abruptly,
" And now, Gowrie, what do you intend to do 1"

" To set out for Trochrie, as soon as this
paper of renunciation is drawn up," he replied.
" and then transplant my wild rose to Dirlton."

"Take my advice, and do no such thing,"
answered Beatrice. "Depend upon it, Gow-
rie, she's safer where she is. You do not know
the king as well as we do. With him the sun-
shine often prognosticates worse weather than
the clouds ; and I very much doubt his motives
in this matter. That you have got his written
consent is a great step, certainly, and we may
well be joyful thereat ; but he is famous for
baiting traps, and if he once got her into his
power, think what a hold he would have upon
you. It would cost him more men and more
money than he can collect, to take her by force
from Trochrie ; and he has no excuse for at-
tempting it, but if once she were at Dirlton, he
would soon find means of bringing her to Edin-
burgh, and then your freedom of action would
be gone."

" You are a wise counselor, Beatrice," re-
plied her brother ; " and I like your advice well.
'Tis only that Trochrie is such a lonely and
desolate solitude for a dear girl like that, that
makes me hesitate."

" You can easily render it less solitary," said
Alexander Ruthven, laughing. " Go up there
yourself, and keep her company."

" If you will come with me, Alex," replied
his brother.

The young man colored, and looked embar-
rassed. " I can not do that now, John," he an-
swered." I was a long time absent from my
post in the winter."

"The truth is, Alex," said Gowrie, frankly,
" from all I hear, it seems to me that it would
be better if you were more frequently absen'
— nay, if you were to give up this office alto-
gether."

" What ! and have they poisoned your mind
too, Gowrie 1" cried the other impetuously. " I
will not go, for by so doing, I should only con-
firm the falsehoods they have spread. I will
not abandon my own cause, or show a shame
of my own conduct, whatever my friends and
relations may do."

" You speak too warmly, Alex," said the
young earl. "Your relations have no inclina-
tion to abandon your cause ; and I trust and
believe you would never give them occasion t»
feel ashamed of your conduct ; but I only advise
you for your own good. Suspicion is a dan-
gerous thing in the mind of a king ; and whether
justly or unjustly founded, is to be avoided by
all seasonable means. Besides, were your royal

106

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

master and lady entirely out of the question, no
man has a right to furnish cause for dissension
in any family."

" Oh ! if I were out of the way it would he
6ome other to-morrow," answered the young
man. " The king's suspicion must have some
object upon which to fix."

" I would have it any other object than your-
self," Alex," replied his brother. " However,
have given you my advice, atid you may take
t or not, as you please."

" I shall certainly not withdraw from the
court," replied Alexander Ruthven, in an im-
patient tone. " I should consider that I was
doing wrong to the character of another, whom
I am bound to love and respect. Therefore, to
give me that advice, Gowrie, is but talking to
the winds ; for in this case I am sure I am
right."

" I much doubt it," replied the earl, and then
dropped the subject, for he saw that it would
be of no avail to pursue it farther.

Beatrice had remained silent during this brief
conversation between the two brothers, with
her eyes bent down on the ground, and her
cheek somewhat pale ; but, the moment it was
concluded, she looked up, recurring at once to
what had been passing before.

•' I would offer to go with you. Gowrie," she
said, " and cheer your dear Julia in her soli-
tude ; but I think I may be more useful to you
both where I am ; for both on your account and
on Alex's, my task must be to wau-h narrowly
every thing that occurs, and give you the first
intimation of danger. Whether Alex will re-
ceive a warning, I do not know ; but you, Gow-
rie, I am sure, will listen to the very first hint
that I give you. I may not be able to speak
plainly ; I may be obliged to write but a few
words ; but watch and understand, my dear
brother, and if I say ' fly,' then lose not a mo-
ment."

" Why should you suppose I will not attend
to your warning, Beatrice!" asked her brother
Alexander, with the irritabdity of one who
knows that others think him in the wrong, and
who is not quite sure himself that he is in the
right.

" How car. I suppose you will take a warn-
ing," asked his sister, " when you will take no
advice 1"

" Because a warning refers to a matter of
fact, advice to matter of opinion," answered
the young man.

"Well, well," answered Beatrice, "do not
let us dispute, Alex. I think, with Gowrie, it
would be much bettor for you to go ; but you
may be sure, Alex, that if ever I tell you you
are in actual peril, which I can foresee will he
the case some day, I do not speak without
perfect certainty. And now good-by, Gowrie.
We must not be too long away, otherwise the
king will think that we are plotting together."

" You see he suspects every one, as well as
me," said her younger brother, determined to
make out a case in his own favor ; "and I am
sure Gowrie is as little a favorite as I am my-
self. Besides, I do believe, from his conduct
yesterday, that James is now convinced his
previous suspicions were unjust, and that he
desires to make atonement."

"Pooh, pooh!" answered Beatrice, tossing

her head, with a somewhat scornful smile
" The king never made atonement to any one
The king always thinks he is right, and has
beon ever right, and will be right to the end of
his life. He never dreams for a moment that
he can have been wrong, though he may take
means to lull the objects of his dislike or his
doubts till they are wholly in his power. — But
now come, Alex, do not let us pursue this sub-
ject farther, but return quietly to the palace."
Then, bidding her elder brother adieu, the
lady left him, and, accompanied by Alexander,
walked back, almost in silence, to Holyrood ;
for she herself was full of doubts and anxieties,
and Alexander Ruthven was in that state of
irritation which is often produced, especially in
a young mind, by a conflict between a wish to
do right, and strong temptations to do wrong.

I need not pause to detail the passing of the
day with Gowrie. The law's delay is pro-
verbial, as one of the banes of human existence,
in the blessed land wherein we live. It was so
even in his time; and he found, on consulting
with those who had to deal in such matters,
that the drawing up of the renunciation, simple
as it seemed, would require the labor and atten-
tion of several days, in order to couch it in the
full and ample terms which he knew would be
required by the king. He had to give long ex-
planations, and to enter into details which he
had not previously considered, so that the
greater part of a spring day was consumed,
before he left the dim and dingy den where the
man of law held his abode. On his return to
his own house, he passed more than an hour in
walking up and down the large and handsome
sitting room, and meditating over the past and
the future. If it be asked, whether his thoughts
were sad or bright, I must answer, very much
mixed — as is ever the case with a man of strong
sense and active imagination. But Gowrie, it
must be remembered, was in the spring of life
— in that bright season when the song of the
wild bird, hope, is the most loud, and sweet, and
seducing. The circumstances which surround
ed him might alarm or sadden him for the
time ; but the cheering voice still spoke up in
his heart, and the syren sang not in vain. At t
length he ordered lights to be brought, and
casting himself into a chair, took up a book —
his favorite Sallust — and began to read. The
pages opened at the Catiline, and the first words
struck him as strangely applicable to the half-
formed resolutions which had been floating
vaguely in his mind of passing life in peaceful
retirement.

" Omnis homines, qui sese student praestare
ceteris animalibus summa ope niti, decet vitam
silentio ne trarvseant veluti pecora, quce natura
prona, atque ventri obedientia, finxil."

" And yet," he said, " methinks many a man
can raise himself above the brute, without ming-
ling in the busy turmoil of the world's affairs —
nay, do more real service to his country and his -»
race in the silence of deep but peaceful thought,
than in the noisy contests of courts and cities."

Then he went on to read, till he came to the
splendid description of Catiline : " L/ucius Cati-
lina, nobili genere natus, magna vi et aninii e*
corporis, sed ingenio malo pravoque," &c.

" What a picture of wickedness," he thought,
as he read on. " Ay, and what a oictur* of the

lie
nd.

1,0

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

107

state of Rome under the republic, when it was
possible to say of any one man's life, ' Huic, ab
adolescentia, bella intestina, ca?des, rapinae, dis-
cordia civilis grata fuere ; ibique juventutem
suam exercuit.' Is this then the fruit of free
and democratic institutions V he thought. " Is
a state so nearly approaching to anarchy the
result of popular government 1 A despotism
were better ! But yet it can not be so. There
must be a mean between the license which de-
stroys, and the authority which oppresses socie-
ty ; where the people have sufficient power to
guard and support their liberties, and the magis-
trates of the land are armed with the means of
checking lawless violence, without touching
upon lawful freedom. I am not a freeman, if
there be others in the land who have the power
to injure me unpunished. My freedom is as
much controlled by them, as it could be by any
king. It is laws which make real freedom ;
laws justly framed and firmly executed ; laws
above kings and subjects both. But let me see
what he says more."

He had not tAie, however, to turn the pages
of the book, before the door quietly opened be-
hind him, and a step was heard upon the floor.
He did not turn round, however ; and the per-
son who came in proceeded round the table to
the opposite side of the fire-place, when Gowrie,
suddenly looking up, beheld his servant Austin
Jute.

"Why how now, Austin V he exclaimed.
" What «has brought you to Edinburgh'! Has
any thing happened V

"Nothing to my lady, sir," replied the Eng-
lishman ; comprehending very well that his
sudden appearance might alarm the earl for
Julia's safety ; " but a good deal to myself ; and
I thought it much better to come and tell you,
my lord, rather than go back to my duty ; for
nobody can tell how much what happens to one
man may do for another. I'm not in Edinburgh
by my own good will, you may easily believe ;
for you told me to stay, and I would have
staid ; but necessity knows no law, and what
can't be cured must be endured. If other legs
run away with me, my legs aren't in fault, and
might makes right, as people say. Well, my
lord, I'm going on. I came against my will, as
I shall set forth presently. The way was this :
it is just four days ago that we saw three or
four men, riding in that long, dark valley, to the
northwest ; and old Mac-Duff, your baron baillie,
was thinking to go forth, and see what they
were about ; but knowing very well that if he
^vere taken and the place attacked, I could not
^command the men, or at all events that they
would not obey, which comes pretty near the
same thing, I rode out alone to reconnoiter.
I did not think I could be so easily taken in ;
. but this is a devil of a country, my lord, for such
matters. I looked sharp enough round, as I
thought, all the way I went, but it was impos-
sible to go in and out among all the rocks and
big stones, and I still caught sight of the men I
had seen from the tower. When I came within
about half a mile of them, they turned round and
btyan to ride away, as if they were afraid of
being caught ; and thinking they had only been
upon some marauding expedition with which I
had nothing to do, I did not ride after them more
thap a couple of hundred yards. But, when I

turned to go home again, I saw five men on
foot blocking up the road behind me. I made
a dash at them, thinking to get through ; but
they were too much for me, my lord, and they
soon had my horse by the bridle, commanding
me to surrender, in the king's name. I asked
for their warrant, but they only laughed at me ;
and the other men on horseback coming up,
they tied my feet under the saddle and my hands
behind my back. The horsemen rode with me,
but the men on foot disappeared."

" Did they go toward the castle 1" demanded
Gowrie, with some anxiety. " What men did
you leave behind 1"

" Oh, the castle is safe enough, my lord,"
answered Austin Jute. " There were fifteen
men in all in it ; and when I went away, I said,
' Safe bind, safe find, Mr. Mac Duff. Pull up the
drawbridge as soon as I'm out ; and if I'm not
back in half an hour, send out for some of your
friends round about.' He'd soon have plenty
to help him ; and there was plenty of provision
in the place, besides the beacon on the top of
the turret, which would bring more help in a
few hours. But they wanted nothing at the
castle, though no doubt they would have taken
my lady, if they could have caught her. That
I found out by what I overheard as they brought
me here."

" And what happened to you 'here V demand-
ed the earl.

" Why first they carried me up to a place
called the castle, my lord," answered Austin
Jute ; where I was crammed into a nasty, cold
hole, and had nothing given me to eat but
nasty stuff made of oatmeal and water ; but at
the end of some hours they took me down to
what they called the abbey, where I was not
so well off as before. Bad's the best, they
say, but better bad than worse ; and so it was
in my case, for now I was left in the dark with-
out any thing to eat or to drink at all, for a great
many hours, till the sunshine came in at a hole
up above, and I began to whistle to pass the
time. Soon after I was taken out and carried to
a room where there were five or six people ;
and a large curtain across one end of the room.
There was a table, too, with several things
upon it, some little and some big, made of iron,
and of very odd, unpleasant shapes. One
was like a barbecuing spit, only not so big,
and I heard them call it the boot. A stout
man I saw standing by the table, twice as big
as I am, with his jerkin off, and his sleeves
turned up. I did not like his look at all.
When I was brought in those who were at the
table began to cross-question me in all manner
of ways, as to what I did in Scotland, and how
I came to be at Trochrie ; and I beat about the
bush a long time, especially when they asked
me about my lady."

" Then they knew already she was there,"
said the earl.

" I'm not quite sure, my lord, now," said
Austin Jute, frankly. "They seemed to know
at the time, but I believe they took me in. I
would not tell you a lie, my lord, for the world ;
but I've a strong notion they made me betray
myself, by pretending to know more than they
did. I'm very sorry for it; but what's done
can't be undone. A bolt that's shot must go
its- own way. However, when I found tv^t

108

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

either by what I said, or by what they them-
selves knew, they were quite sure of the mat-
ter, I refused to answer any more questions as
to how she was brought there, and all the rest.
Then they threatened to put the boot on me,
as they called it. I did not like that at all. I
should have fancied my leg a pig being roasted
alive ; but instead of that they put a thing upon
my thumb, and told me to answer truly, or it
should be screwed up."

Gowrie rose from his seat, and walked up
and down the room, with his cheek flushed
and his brow contracted, but he said nothing ;
and after gazing at his lord for a moment,
Austin Jute continued. " They changed their
course now, however, and began asking if I
had been with you in Italy, so I said I had.
Then they inquired where you had hired me,
on which I said in Padua, five years ago
After that their questions were whether I had
known the Lady Julia there, and her grand-
father, and how long. It was an unpleasant
sort of catechism with that thing dangling
at my thumb; but having heard the king
talk at Falkland about the lady's money, and
how much he expected to make by having
her in ward, I saw what they were seeking,
and said to myself, ' They'll come to the money
in a few minutes.' A nod is as good as a wink
to a blind horse, and I said boldy that I had
known her and the old gentleman ten or twelve
years, long before your lordshipcame to Padua."

" But that was false," exclaimed the earl.

" I can not help that, my lord," replied Aus-
tin Jute ; " it answered its purpose. As I had
got into a scrape by letting out the truth, there
was only one way of mending it — by letting
out some falsehood. Put them into two scales,
and the one will balance the other. If people
ask me questions they have no business to ask,
they may get answers I have no business to
give. However, they asked me how the old
gentleman and the young lady lived in Padua,
and knowing I could do no mischief now, I
said, ' Heaven knows ! They were poor enough
in all conscience ; but_where they got what
little they had I can not tell.' Then a club-
footed man that sat at the end of the table
said quietly, ' Then they did not keep up much
state ;' at which I laughed, and made him no
answer, as if the very thought of such a thing
was too ridiculous, upon which that accursed
fellow with the sleeves turned up gave a turn
to the thing upon my thumb, and sent a pain
running all the way down to the soles of my
feet. I never felt any thing like that. I had
well nigh roared with it ; but I set my teeth
hard, and held my breath, and the man at the end
of the table checked the tormentor for what he
had done, and bade him keep his hands off till
he was bid. So the thing was unscrewed, and
then they asked me how many servants the
old signor kept, and I humbly inquired whether
they meant men or maids, The answer was,
' Both ;' to which I replied, ' One ; and she
was an old woman.' So it answered both pur-
poses. The man with the club-foot called me
a saucy knave, and tried to look very angry ;
but he laughed notwithstanding, and inquired
if I were sure there had been no more kept ;
and I answered, ' Not one, as long as I had
known the familv ' The other questions were

all of the same sort ; and they ried to puzzle
me very hard, but they could not manage it,
though they talked about a man-servant whom
they pretended the signor had kept. To that
I had my answer pat, however, that I was
ready to swear upon the evangelists, that
there had never been any but one and the same
servant there for ten years. ' Whether it was
a man or a woman,' I said, ' it was impossible
for me to say. Their honors knew best ; but
one thing I would take my oath of, that it wore
petticoats, and was called Tita.' Thereupon
there was a great burst of laughter, and the
room had a strange echo in it, for the same
sounds came back from behind the curtain."

" The party seems to have been a merry
one," said the earl, " considering the circum-
stances."

" Nevertheless they took me back, and
plunged me into the same dark hole, and left
me there till this morning, when I was taken
out in an oddish kind of way ; not by a jailer
or a guard, but by two gentlemen. There was
a little boy about as high as r% knee, standing
by a garden-gate to which they brought me,
and he had my horse in his hand. So they
told me to get up and ride away, as if Satan
were behind me, back to Trochrie, and not to
say a word to a living soul, but more especially
to you, my lord, of any thing that had happened ;
and they threatened me sore, moreover. I did
ride away, for I was glad to be out of their
hands ; but I staid at the south ferry-4iouse till
dark, and then came back to seek your lordship,
and tell you all."

"You have done well, Austin," replied Gow-
rie, " and are an honest, faithful fellow. I was
nearer to you and them when they mounted
you this morning, than either knew, and I heard
something said about starving your horse."

" Oh, that was but a snap, my lord, when I
had no teeth to bite hard," replied Austin, " I
know that a bitter word is often worse than a
sharp sword. So having nothing else to say, I
told them they had starved my horse to make
him like themselves. I took care to be in the
saddle first, however ; but instead of trying to
stop me, one of them gave the poor beast a cut
with his whip, and sent us both about our busi-
ness."

The secret of the king's knowledge that Julia
was concealed at Trochrie was now in part re-
vealed ; but only in part, for it was evident
from Austin's capture and examination that
some information had been obtained before,
how, Gowrie could not divine. The honest
servant was sent back before dawn on the fol-
lowing day on his way to the Highland castle,
and he did not depart without a liberal reward,
which he accepted without ceremony, for there
were no affectations about good Austin Jute
He served faithfully, devotedly*, where he at
tached himself: he would at any time have
periled his life or limb, or sacrificed every com-
fort and convenience for a lord he loved ; and
to say naught but truth, I do not think that in
so doing, he ever, in his inmost heart, thought
of a recompense, but he took it willingly enough
when it was given, and sad to say, spent it with
as little consideration as he won it.

Several more days elapsed ere the paper
Gowrio required was drawn up by the men ol

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

100

law, and he twice presented himself at the
palace. All there seemed still fair and smooth,
the king's good humor lasted undisturbed ; the
queen was all that was kind and gracious ; Sir
Hugh Her-ries did not appear at court, and John
Ramsay, though distant to Alexander Rulhven,
was warmer in his manner to the earl.

"Beatrice's doubts are unfounded, 1 do be-
lieve," thought Gowrie, as he rode away on
the second occasion, and on returning to his
dwelling he found the act of renunciation wait-
ing for him. Somewhat less than an hour of
daylight still remained, and that time was spent
in reading and considering the document. The
sun had just set, leaving a bright glow in the
April sky, and Gowrie had risen to gaze at
it from a window that looked out toward the
west, when suddenly he heard a hasty foot in
the ante-room, and the next instant Sir John
Hume entered in haste.

" Here Gowrie," he said, advancing with a
small paper folded and sealed in his hand,
" Here is something for you ; what it contains
I know not ; but Beatrice slipped it into my
hand in haste and agitation, saying in a whis-
per, 'To Gowrie with all speed.' "

Gowrie took it and tore it open, when he
found the words "Away with all speed to
Perth !— To-night !"

" My lord, here is Sir George Ramsay with-
out, desiring to see you," said a servant looking
in.

" Admit him," replied the earl, crushing the
paper in the palm of his hand.

The next moment Ramsay entered with as
much apparent haste as Hume ; but on seeing
the latter, he paused, assumed a calmer air,
and advancing to the earl, shook hands with
him, saying, "Tt is a fair and warm afternoon,
my lord. What say you to a twilight ridel"

" What, to-night, Dalhousie," replied Gow-
rie, gazing at him attentively, " have you any
particular object in your proposal 1"

" Only to have a few minutes' conversation
with you, my dear lord," replied the other, re-
turninghis glance with oneof equal significance;
" but one moment here in private will do as
well ;" and he moved toward a distant window.

Gowrie followed him and bent down his
head ; and Ramsay approaching close, whis-
pered in his ear, " You are in danger, Gowrie.
It were well you departed at once. Lose no
time — I dare not say more."

Gowrie pressed his hand kindly and grate-
fully, saying, "Thanks, Dalhousie, thanks! I
had heard the tidings before ; but the obliga-
tion to you is no less."

He spoke openly and aloud, and his friend
laying his finger on his lip, as if to counsel dis-
cretion, retired almost as hastily as he had
come.

Ere half an hour had passed the earl was on
horseback and riding toward Queensferry.

CHAPTER XXXV.

It was a bright hot summer day, the sky
without a cloud, the air without a breeze. The
sports of the morning were over, the hounds
had returned to their kennel, the slaughtered

stag was brought in, the horses were m the
stable, the hunter seeking repose. The old
palace of Falkland, where James V. drew the
last breath of a life that had become burden-
some, rose stately amidst its gardens and
woods ; and the old trees, but few of which
now remain in the neighborhood, then spread
their wide branches over the velvet turf, in
some places approaching so near to the build-
ing as, when the wind waved them, to brush,
with their long fingers, the palace walls. James
himself had gone in about an hour before, re-
joiced with the success, but fatigued with the
exertions of the chase, and all the ladies of the
court were screening their beauty in the shady
halls from the glare of the full sun.

It has often struck me, in looking at the finer
paintings of Claude de Loraine — and they are
not all really fine — and in contemplating the
calm, quiet, sunny scenes they represent, that
the painter must have chosen by preference
that hour when, under the summer sky of Italy,
all nature seems to be taking a mid-day slum-
ber. Such was the aspect of the scene about
the palace of Falkland on the day of which I
speak. Looking toward the wood, and with
one's back toward the palace, so as to shut out
its memorial of active life, one might have fan-
cied that one was in the midst of some primeval
solitude, or else that the whole world, op-
pressed with the heat, was sound asleep. No
moving object was to be seen ; not a forester or
keeper was within sight ; the deer were hid-
den in the coverts of the wood ; the very birds
seemed to avoid the glare ; and the court ser-
vants themselves, those busy toilers, were all
enjoying the repose afforded by the weariness
of their lords.

At length, however, after the scene had re-
mained thus quiet for about half an hour, a very
young but very handsome man sauntered forth
from one of the smaller doors of the building,
crossed the warm green in front, turned to one
of the old trees, and stood for a moment under
the shade, and then walked languidly to anoth-
er near an opposite angle of the palace. He
seemed seeking a place for repose, but difficult
to please, for he again left that tree and walked
to its green neighbor, where, stretching himself
on the grass, he laid a book which he carried
with him, open on the ground, and supporting
his head with his arm, gave himself up to
thought. Oh, the thoughts of youth — the gay,
the whirling, dream-like thoughts of youth !
How pleasant is the visionary trance which boys
and girls call meditation. True, youth has its
pains as well as pleasures, both eager, intense,
and thrilling ; but it wants the fears and doubts
of experience, that bitterest fruit of long life.
The cloud may hang over it for an hour, but
the breath of hope soon wafts it away, and it is
not till the storm comes down in its full fcry
that youth will believe there are tempests in
the sky.

There he lay and thought, with the branches
waving gently over him, and the checkered
light and shade playing on his face and on the
open pages of the unread book beside him. The
air was very sultry, even beneath the shadow of
the trees, and he untied the cord which confined
his silken vest at the neck, displaying a skin
almost as fair as a woman's, although exercise.

110

GOWR1E : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

it would seem, was not wanting to give it a
brawnier hue ; for even then he looked fatigued
as well as heated ; and there was dus^ upon
his hair and upon his dress, as if he had ridden
far and long that day. Weariness and the hot
summer aii, with the playing of the shades
over his face, seemed to render him sleepy.
His eyes looked heavy for a moment or two, the
eyelids closed, opened again, closed once more,
and there he lay sound asleep, not unlike what
we may fancy was the shepherd boy of Latmus,
when under the influence of the fair queen of
night.

Some quarter of an hour had passed and he
still lay sleeping there, when round that angle
of the building near which that tree grew, came
walking, with a slow pace, a man of middle age,
with an ungraceful gait, and of an ungainly ap-
pearance. He was habited in a suit of green,
with a large ruff round his neck, and a tall-
crowned gray hat and feather ; but he wore
neither cloak nor sword, and instead of the lat-
ter bore a small knife or dagger stuck into his
girdle on the left side. He, like the youth,
seemed to have come out of the palace for
fresher air than could be found within, and he
too appeared in a meditative mood, for he
walked with his eyes bent down, and his hand,
in no very courtly fashion, scratching his breast.
Nevertheless, from time to time, he gave a
glance around ; and, the second time he did so,
his eyes fell upon the sleeping youth beneath
the tree. With a quiet step he approached his
side, but was instantly attracted by the open
book, and took it up.

" Ay," murmured he, in a low voice, " love
songs ! That's just it, fit food for such a wild,
empty-pated callant's brain."

Thus saying he laid down the book again,
and gazed upon the young man's face.

Suddenly he saw something which seemed
to displease him mightily. His cheek flushed.
His brow contracted ; and he set his teeth
hard ; then bending down his head he peered
into the open bosom of the lad, and even partly
drew back the collar of his shirt. It was done
quickly and gently, but still it in some degree
roused the sleeper, for he lifted his hand and
brushed his throat as if a fly had settled on him.
The other started back instantly; but the young
man did not wake ; and the one who watched
him continued to gaze at him sternly, with ma-
ny a bitter feeling, it would seem, in his heart.
His lip quivered ; and, for a moment, he held
his hand upon the hilt of his dagger, with a
somewhat ominous look, and a cheek which
had become pale. Then, however, he seemed
to have made up his mind as to what he should
do, and, stepping quickly back over the soft
green turf, he approached one of the doors of
the palace which was close at hand, and tried
to open it. It was locked, however, and turn-
ing on his heel again, with a low muttered blas-
phemy, he went round the angle of the building
by the way which he had followed when he
came.

Neither the sleeper nor he who had lately
stood beside him was aware that there was
another eye upon them both ; but the instant
►be latter had departed, the door which he had
Jried in vain opened suddenly, and the light,
beautiful form of Beatrice JHuthven darted forth,

crossed the greensward with the quick spring of
a roe deer, and stooping over Mie sleeping youth
without care or ceremony, .she tore from his
neck a thick blue silk ribbon worked with gold.

The young man raised himself suddenly on
his arm, looking surprised and bewildered ; but
Beatrice laid her finger on her lips, merely say-
ing, in a low but emphatic tone, " Into the pa-
lace like lightning, mad boy !" and away she
sprang toward the building again, passed the
door, through the first passage, and up a narrow
staircase to a door on the first floor. There
she paused and listened for a single instant,
then threw the door open without ceremony
and ran in.

Anne of Denmark was seated at a table writ-
ing ; but the sudden opening of the door made
her lift her fair face with a look of some sur-
prise and displeasure ; and she said, in a re-
proving tone, " Beatrice ! What now?"

Without reply the fair girl darted forward in
breathless haste, and laid the ribbon on the ta-
ble before the queen.

" Quick, madam, put it in the drawer," she
said, in a low hurried tone. " Your majesty
will see why in an instant ;" and without wait-
ing for any answer, she hurried away from the
room by the same way she had come, and
closed the door.

There were several drawers in the writing-
table at which the queen was seated, and,
opening one with a hand which trembled
slightly, while her cheek glowed a good deal,
she placed the ribbon in it, closed it again, and
tried to resume her writing, but not more than
one minute had passed ere the step of the king
was heard upon a staircase, at the opposite
side of the room from that by which Beatrice
had entered, and, a moment after, the king
himself appeared with a heavy scowl upon his
brow.

Anne of Denmark looked up, not without
some timidity, though she was by nature very
intrepid. There was no expression, however,
upon her countenance which could betray the
agitation within ; and, seeing the look of angei
and malice on James's face, she boldly took the
initiative, saying, "What is the matter, sir 1
You seem disordered."

" Na, na, my bonny bairn," said James,
"there's nothing the matter; but I was just
thinking what clever chiels these Italians are ;
and I want to see that ribbon which I bought
for you of the merchant man."

" Certainly, sir," replied the queen, rising
with an unconcerned look, for she wished to
test how far James's suspicions went, " you
shall see it in a moment."

" No, no," said the king hastily, thinking that
the queen was going to quit the chamber, " you
had it in this room, madam, not so long ago
that you need go to seek it. It's here you keep
all your gauds and ornaments."

" Well, sir," answered Anne of Denmark, " I
have no doubt that it is here still ; but I can not
even open the drawers of this table to look for
it without rising. I know not what is the mat-
ter with your majesty ; but your conduct is
very strange."

"I just want to see the ribbon, madam, that
is all ; and I think it must be in this chamber-
if any where."

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

Ill

" Doubtless," answered Anne of Denmark,
so far agitated as to open the wrong drawer by
mistake.

" It's no there," said the king, looking into
the drawer. There's naething there but gloves
and bracelets, and such like clamjamfry."

14 1 see it is not, sir," replied the queen, turn-
ing over the things with her hand ; " but it
may be somewhere else. Do you think any
one has stolen it 1" and she opened the drawer
in which it really was.

James did noj; reply to her question ; but not
a little astonishment was painted on his rude,
coarse countenance, when Anne of Denmark
drew forth the ribbon and laid it in his hand.
He continued to gaze at it for a considerable
time, and then put it close to his eyes and ex-
amined it more carefully all over, as if he doubt-
ed that it was really that which he had bestowed
upon the queen. There it was, however, pre-
cisely the same in every respect ; and, at
length he gave it her back again, and, turning
sharply on his heel, quitted the room, muttering
loud enough for her to hear, " De'il tak me if
like be not an ill mark."

A minute or two after he was seen walking
past the tree under which Alexander Ruthven
had been sleeping ; but by this time the young
gentleman was gone.* One of the ordinary
servants of the court passed his majesty, bow-
ing low, a moment after ; and the king called
him, saying, as he approached, " Go your ways,
and rout me out Doctor Herries ;" and the man
retiring, James continued to walk up and down
till he was joined by the person he had sent for.
They then walked to the farther part of the
gardens, much to the disappointment of Beatrice
Ruthven, who saw all that passed from the
window of a room immediately below that of
the queen, and who had hoped to gather at least
from their demeanor some indications of what
was passing in regard to her brother. I will
nt)t say that she would not have listened eagerly
to their conversation if the opportunity had
presented itself, and perhaps the circumstances
in which she was placed might be some justifi-
cation of an act otherwise mean and pitiful, for,
as the reader will see in the subsequent chap-
ter, she had accidentally obtained information
of designs the most treacherous against one
dear brother of whose high principles and noble
conduct she could not entertain a doubt.

The king and his companion, however, walked
away to the other side of the garden, as I have
said, and remained there for nearly half an hour,
while Beatrice remained in anxious and painful
thought. Her head rested on her hand as she
sat near the open window ; and she had taken
no note of how the time passed when at length
the sounds of people speaking as they walked
by below caught her ear. She would not move
in the slightest degree ; she even held her
breath lest she should lose one sound, and the

* This anecdote of court scandal is to be found in Pink-
erton's essay on what he calls the Gowrie conspiracy, in
which it was inserted on the authority of Lord Hailes.
The freedom of manners attributed to Anne of Denmark
both before and after the accession of her husband to the
throne of England, and her fondness for several ladies of
more than doubtful virtue, are mentioned by almost
every writer of the day. All agree, however, that the
tharacter of Beatrice Ruthven, afterward Lady Hume,
one of Anne's earliest favorites, was perfectly irreproach-
able.

next instant she distinguished the king's pecu-
liar tone. The words as yet she could not
hear, and still less those of Herries in his re-
ply, though she recognized his voice at once.

The next instant, however, the sounds rose
louder ; and James was beard to say, " No, no,
that will never do. We should lose our grip of
the old bird while wringing the neckof theyoung
one ; and there would be such a dust about it
that we should never see our way clear after."

" There I think your majesty is right," said
Herries, " but if you will be advised by me there
is a way to — "

Beatrice lost the conclusion of the sentence,
for they moved on toward the other end of the
terrace. She knew, however, that none of the
royal apartments lay in that direction, and that
the only door by wliich the king could enter led
through the great hall, where he must necessa-
rily encounter a number of the servants and
followers of the court, a thing which James
rarely desired. She approached somewhat
nearer the window then, calculating that the
two who had passed would return by the same
way : nor was she disappointed ; for, in a very
few minutes, she heard the voices again ; and
the words of the king soon became audible.
They were of no great importance, however,
and conveyed no information but that which
she already possessed, namely, that both her
elder brothers were the principal objects, for the
time, of James's hatred and suspicion.

" The de'il helps these Ruthvens I think,"
said the monarch. " The one brother conveys
himself away just at the minute when we have
got all ready for him ; and the other sends a
token I would swear to fleeing through the
walls of Falkland like a conjurer."

This was all that Beatrice heard, but, after
they had passed the window, Doctor Herries
replied, " The devil always helps his own, sire."

" And that's well said," answered the king,
" for we have information to be relied upon that
this Earl of Gowrie, when in the city of Padua,
had long and familiar dealings with a reputed
sorcerer and magician, some of whose infernal
arts he has doubtless acquired or contracted.
Such matters are difficult of proof, for deeds ot
darkness hide themselves from the light. But
time discovers many things, and Sathanas deals
with his pets as we do with birds and beasts
which we keep for our food. He pats them on
the back till his time comes, and then he cuts
their weasands."

Doctor Herries smiled, for he was not so
credulous in matters of demonology as his
master ; but by this time they had reached one
of the smaller doors of the palace which stood
open ; and they went in.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

I must now go back for a period of more than
a month. Gowrie rode on from Edinburgh at
a quick pace, hoping to save the tide at Queens-
ferry ; but he did not succeed. The water had
sunk low, and the boat was on the shore.
There was no resource but either to ride far-
ther up in the direction of Stirling, or to wait
till the next morning. Gowrie chose the lattei
course, though at the chance of being pursued

1]

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

and overtaken. He did not like the feeling of
flight ; and, though it might be necessary, and
he had already adopted the expedient as the
only means of security, his repugnance was
sufficient to turn the scale, when, on the hanks
of the Frith of Forth, he had to consider what
was the next step to be taken. All passed qui-
etly at the little inn, however. No signs or
sounds of pursuit disturbed the night; and, by
gray of the dawn on the following morning, the
earl and his followers were upon the shores of
Fife. A short ride brought them into Perth-
shire ; and, there feeling in safety, the young
earl paused at the first village to consider what
course he had better follow. If he went on to
Perth, he saw that he might be detained there
for some time : it was long since he had seen
her whom he loved ; and he felt that yearning
of the heart to hold her in his arms again which
those who have loved truly can well compre-
fiend. He was also somewhat anxious for her
safety, after all that had occurred to Austin
Jute ; but then, on the other hand, the few
brief words whioh his sister had written had
indicated Perth as the place where he ought to
take refuge ; and it was not improbable that
she might either know of some ambush on the
way to Trochrie, or intend to send him farther
information before he went on. The import-
ance of receiving the speediest intelligence of
fhat was passing at the court decided him, at
<ength, to act contrary to his own wishes, and
he resolved to sleep that night at least in
Perth.

Hardly had he risen on the following morn-
ing, however, when, at one and the same time,
it was announced to him that one of the magis-
trates of the town desired to see him, and that
a messenger from Dirlton had just dismounted
in the court-yard. The latter was instantly
admitted, and presented the earl with a packet
addressed in his mother's hand. On opening
it, however, he found a sealed letter from his
sister, with a few lines from the countess, in-
forming him that the inclosed had come that
morning from Beatrice, with the request that it
might be forwarded instantly and by a trusty
messenger to him at Perth. On opening the
letter from his sister, he found the following :

"My dear and noble Lord and Brother —
I had but time and opportunity to write you a
very few words yesterday evening, which
Hume must have delivered safely, as I find this
morning you have followed my counsel and are
gone. I now send you further information, not
direct to Perth, but by the hands of our dear
lady mother, lest what I write should be stop-
ped by the way. All is quiet here at this pres-
ent ; but some people are much disappointed, I
believe, in their hearts. The cause of my
warning was as follows : — My maid, Margaret
Brown, who is very faithful to me. but of a very
prying and inquisitive disposition, and not with-
out shrewdness and sense, saw that danger
awaited you, my dear brother ; she had seen that
something was going on, it seems,- in the abbey,
which excited in her some suspicion ; and her
cousin, Robert Brown, a menial servant of the
palace, having been called to the presence of
the king, he said to her unadvisedly, as she was
coming to my room to aid me in'changing my

dress for the court in the evening, ' Your lady
will have, a sore heart before long.' Thereup-
on the girl, after having dressed me. employed
all her art and ingenuity to draw forth from the
man what it was he meant, and succeeded so far
as to learn that you were to be arrested the next
morning, but in such a sort of way, without due
warrant or form of law, and with insults and
injuries belike, as might bring you to resistance,
when a fray being created, you might perchance
he killed without there seeming blame to any
one. This was the girl's story, she having got
some one of the court to call fhe out of the
presence, and having always found her faithful
and true of tongue, I wrote hastily the words I
sent, and gave them to our friend Hume, to be
delivered to your hand.

" Thus far is the girl's story confirmed since
your departure, that I have it from a certain
source, several people well armed went down
to your house this morning, and others follow-
ed them not far behind, even so much that the
street was crowded. On arriving, they asked
for you of the porter, but learning that you had
gone to Perth on the night before, and being
confirmed of the fact by one who saw you ride
away, they separated and retired, not having
told the reason of their coming. This makes
me well satisfied that I warned you as I did,
and assures me that you have not been driven
away needlessly by your loving sister.

" Beatrice Ruthven."

" I must have forgotten Scotland," murmured
Gowrie to himself. " Heaven, what a dream
I have been living in !"

Perhaps what he said was true. We are all
apt to forget the evils and discomforts of a place
we have left behind. Memory is fond of pleas-
ant objects, and plants thick ivy shrubs to rise
up and decorate the ruins of the past. He had
forgotten the turbulence and dangers which had
surrounded his early days. He had almosl
brought, himself to fancy that, as compared with
Italy, Scotland was a place of peace, and se-
curity, and freedom, where the assassin's knife,
the oppressor's wrong, the tyrant's sway, were
comparatively unknown. But the hitter realiiy
was now before him ; and he saw that to be an
enemy of the court was to be hut a hunted beast
whom every dog of favor might pull down and
tear at liberty.

After a few minutes' thought, however, he
cast ofT the impression and sent for the bailie.
who was waiting to speak with him. Tl.is
magistrate was the reverse in every thing of
his junior, Baillie Roy ; tall, thin, and raw-
honed in person, somewhat bluff and very la-
conic of speech ; a man to be moved neither hy
fear nor favor, but strong in his attachments,
and steady in his sense of right. He made an
ungainly bow in answer to the earl's salutation,
and at once dropped into the seat which he was
invited to take.

" I have come, my lord," he s-aid, " about the
prisoner David Drummond."

And then he stopped, as if all his say was said.

"Well, Mr. Baillie, what of him!" rejoined
the earl. "1 hear he has not been tried yet.
If yon will name the day most convenient to
the magistrates, I will come down for the pur-
pose and hold a emrt."

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

IIS

" They were thinking of the twenty-second
of the month," answered Baillie Graharr, "aiblins
that might not suit your lordship."

" Quite well," answered Gowrie. " I will he
down, undoubtedly."

Still Mr. Graham continued to sit and twirl
his beaver, as if laboring with some other
question or announcement ; and at length he
said, "Your lordship would not see the pris-
oner V

"Certainly not." answered Gowrie. "He
has been my own servant ; and even that
might be supposed to have some effect upon my
judgment ; but I can have no private commu-
nication with him while awaiting trial. If he*
have any thing to request, either to make im-
prisonment more tolerable, or to provide for his
defense, let him demand it publicly."

" He said he would write to the king, my
lord, when he was told of your answer," replied
the baillie ; "and he did it."

" Can he write ?" asked the earl, in some
surprise.

" No, not just with his own hand," said Mr.
Graham, " but he got a scrivener to do it for
him ; and Baillie Roy, one way or another, got
goodman Jobson to tell him what it was. He
said — "

" I do not wish to hear, Mr. Baillie," said the
earl. " It was probably intended for the king's
ear alone."

" Ay, that it was," said the baillie, drily, " and
no doubt his majesty will think no more of it
than it deserves. It's not like to do the Earl
of Gowrie much harm, I should think."

" I can not tell," replied Gowrie, coolly ; but
the unfortunate man must have his own way.
If the king thinks there is any thing important
in his memorial, he will probably have the pris-
oner examined before the council."

"Na, na, my lord, he'll no do that," answer-
ed Baillie Graham. " He's gotten a' that the
man can gie ; and so he may lie where he is
for the king."

A few words more explained to Gowrie that
James had already sent some one from Edin-
burgh to confer with the prisoner in his cell ;
but that since then — "sin syne," as the baillie
expressed it — no farther notice had been taken
of the unfortunate David Drummond.

I must not say that Gowrie had no curiosity
to know what the prisoner had said in his letter
to the king ; but he w-ould not suffer it to mas-
ter him. He had little doubt, indeed, that the first
intimation of Julia's concealment at Trochrie
had been thus communicated to James ; and
he did not feel at all sure that many parts of
his conduct might not have been misrepresent-
ed by the sullen spirit of revenge which he had
often remarked in the prisoner.

"It is very possible, Mr. Baillie," he said,
" that this man may have attempted to injure
me in his majesty's opinion, by false or per-
verted statements ; but that shall not prevent
me from doing all that justice requires, without
the slightest consideration of consequences.
We will proceed, then, to the trial, on the day
you have named ; and I shall not think it neces-
sary even to let his majesty know the time ap-
pointed, for although it would not become either
you or me to stop a letter addressed to our
sovereign, yet the transaction is one with which
H

we have nothing to do ; and we must fulfill oni
duties as if it had not taken place."

" I knew your lordship was right," said Bail-
lie Graham, in broader Scotch than I shall at-
tempt to transcribe. .. " Baillie Roy, poor body,
thought it would have been better for you to
have seen the man, and speak civilly to him till
he was hanged ; but I said that was not the
way a provost of Perth should act ; and so good
morning to your lordship. Let them say what
they will of you, this is the way to wind through
all."

Alas, that it should not always be as the
worthy merchant said, and that this history
should afford a pregnant example of the reverse.

Within an hour after the good man had de-
parted from the earl's great house at Perth,
Gowrie himself took his way toward Trochrie,
riding with the spirit of love to hurry him for-
ward. Gay and bright were the dreams that
he dreamed by the way ; and a feeling of rejoic-
ing seemed to fill his heart as he thought that
he had cast off the trammels of a court, and re-
sumed that private station in which he now felt
sure that happiness was only to be obtained.
It would seem that fate or chance takes a de-
light in throwing obstacles in the way of impa-
tience, perhaps as a check to its vehemence,
and a warning to go more quietly. Though he
set out early from Perth, and might have ridden
the distance to Strathbraan in a few hours, a
thousand petty accidents beset the earl by the
way. A ford, which used to be practicable at
almost all seasons, was now found impassable,
for there had been rain on the hills. The earl's
own horse cast a shoe ; and it had to be replaced
bet'ore he could proceed, and lastly, hurried by
the necessity of crossing the river higher up,
into a more difficult and dangerous path, one
of the horses slipped over a rocky bank, was
severely injured, and the rider taken up insen-
sible. The care of the poor man occupied some
time, and so much was lost in this and other
manners, that the sun had set nearly half an
hour when the earl came to the spot whence the
first view of Trochrie castle was to be obtained.
He looked eagerly forward through the thick-
ening shadows of the night. The castle itself
was lost in the darkness ; but a light streamed
forth from two spots side by side ; and Gowrie
gladly recognized the position of the room in
which Julia sat. Oh, how cheering, how glad-
dening, are the lights of home as we approach
after a long absence ; what a tale does that
faint, distant spot of brightness tell to the heart
of peace, and love, and calm domestic joy, and
all the hopes that gather round the hearth of
home !

Onward he went then, with renewed impa-
tience, and in ten minutes more he held her
gladly to his heart. It was a moment that well
repaid all the cares, and anxieties, and griefs,
he had suffered.

And then they sat side by side, and gazed at
each other in silence, with her dear hand locked
in his, and the heart looking out through the
windows of the eye ; and each had much to say
to the other, but still it was long unsaid, foi
emotions would have way first before words.

"You look pale and sad, Gowrie," said Julia
at length ; " I fear you have met with disap-
pointment."

114

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

" No, indeed, dear girl," he answered, " I am
not sad, nor have I reason to feel d'sappoint-
ment. My feelings have been very mixed, as
all the feelings produced by the great world
are ; but now joy certainly predominates, for 1
am with you, and bear you some happy tidings.
Then, as to disappointment, dearest Julia, I
may experience some at finding that my fancy
had drawn pictures of men and things in this
my native land in colors far too bright ; but that
was my own fault or my own folly ; and in the
most essential point of my hopes, I have suc-
ceeded as far as I could expect."

" Thank heaven for that," replied Julia, with
no light words ; " whatever be that point, I am
sure that it is a noble and a good one."

"Nay," said Gowrie, "do not praise too
much, my Julia. It is a very selfish one. But
to keep you in no suspense, let me tell you that
the king has given his consent in writing to
our union in the month of September next. All
difficulties are thus removed, and I must say,
that in this he has acted to all appearance gen-
erously, for he had learned that you are here,
and might, not unreasonably perhaps, have ex-
pressed some anger at my having concealed
the fact."

" I heard from good Austin that he had gain-
ed intelligence of my abode," replied Julia, "and
I felt some alarm, especially during your faith-
ful follower's long and unexplained absence ;
but I tried to comfort myself by thinking of all
the precautions you had taken when last you
were here ; for I can hardly fancy that any
thing which Gowrie undertakes can go wrong."

" Would it were so truly, my beloved," re-
plied Gowrie somewhat gloomily.

" In this very instance, " exclaimed Julia,
" have you not succeeded where we had so lit-
tle hope?"

"Not succeeded as well as I could wish,"
answered her lover; "the king has made it a
condition, Julia, that you shall formally re-
nounce all claim whatsoever upon the estates
and property of your father — even White-
burn, ttfough settled by deed upon your moth-
er."

He paused a moment, watching her thought-
ful face, and then added, " nevertheless, I have
promised the renunciation in your name, first,
because I knew it was the only means of win-
ning the king's consent, and secondly, because
I found that it was more than doubtful whether
you could establish your claim by law."

" I have but one regret in this case, Gowrie,"
replied the beautiful girl, " that I come to you
poor and dowerless. Oh, if I had all the wealth
which they say my poor father amassed, how
gladly would I pour it out before you."

"If that be all, have no regret, my love," re-
plied the young earl ; " right glad am I that you
do not possess it. I have wealth enough for
both, my Julia — too much, it seems ; for in this
land, wealth and influence do not excite envy
alone, but doubt and suspicion likewise. It is
dangerous, I am sure, to be too powerful a sub-
ject under a weak king. However, I have
enough and to spare. If, then, dear one, you
will sign the act of renunciation, I will dis-
patch it to the king to-morrow, and then no
objection can be ever raised or opposition of-
fered."

"Then I must not go to the court to sign it,'
asked Julia eagerly.

" Not unless you wish it," replied Gowrie.

" Thank heaven for that, too," she exclaimed.
" Wish it ! oh, no, Gowrie. I suppose the time
will come when I must go there, but had I my
will that time would never be. I always dread-
ed the thought of cou-rts, and what your dear
sister told me of that in which she dwells made
me more timid and fearful than ever. Oh,
promise me, Gowrie, that we shall spend the
greater part of life afar from those nests of en-
vy, malice, and greediness."

"That promise I will make with all my
heart," replied the lover ; " but tell me, Julia,
are you not weary of this desert solitude ? Be-
atrice, who almost always counsels well, has
half persuaded me to keep you immured here
till you are altogether my own ; for she sees
danger in your residing any where not provided
so well for defense as this. She thinks the
king might seize upon you, and use the expect-
ation of your hand as a means of leading me to
a course which my heart and conscience dis-
approve, or rather the fear of losing you to
drive me to acts which I am bound to oppose
and to denounce."

" I have never felt weary one day," answer
ed Julia ; " fears I may have had, anxiety to see
you again I may have felt, but weariness never.
Nor shall I, Gowrie. A few short months will
soon pass ; you will let me see you at times ;
I have beautiful nature before my eyes, books
music, painting, thought, to fill up the time,
and what need I more 1 Yes, follow dear Be-
atrice's counsel. Let me rest here, dear Gow-
rie, till all places become alike to me, for thou
wilt be with me in all."

Gowrie pressed her gently to his heart, and
then withdrew his arms again ; for he felt, that
lonely, protected only by his honor, he must not
let even the warmth of the purest love call up
a doubt or a fear in her young heart. His
thoughts and words naturally followed the
course in which his feelings led ; and he re-
plied, " I will be with you often, my Julia,
though now I must leave you soon, I fear ; but
when I return I will try to bring one of my sis-
ters with me to cheer you."

But Julia had tasted less of the tree of the
knowledge of good and evil, and she answered
innocently, " I want no cheering when you are
with me, Gowrie. Glad shall I be to see them,
and if they be like Beatrice, my heart shall
open to them, like a humble flower to the
bright sun ; but Gowrie's preseace is light
enough for me. But I have many things to
tell you, too ; and yet, I know not why, bui 1
think you have not told me all."

" Oh, there are many minor things to men-
tion," answered the young earl, doubtful whether
it were wisest to tell her the dangers which ha<?
menaced, or to conceal them, now that he wa?
safe, at least for the time. " What need," h»
asked himself, " to disturb her mind, and keep
her in constant agitation, whenever I am ab-
sent, by fears for me, whose life has be&n al-
ready menaced 1 Better let her remain in ig-
norance of the perils that beset my path, when
she can do naught to avert them. Could she
act, could she counsel, could she direct, I wouW
conceal nothing from her ; but she is here

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

115

helpless and alone, unable to do aught but sit
and weep over the dangers or the griefs of
others. Shall I make the hours, lonely and
dull as they must be here, sad and apprehen-
sive also 1 No, no, I will not be insincere, and
whatsoever she asks will answer her truly ;
but I will say no more upon such subjects
than needs must."

Perhaps Gowrie went a little further than
this, for he purposely led the conversation
away from the subject of his own fate ; and
all that Julia learned was, that the king had
shown no great love in his demeanor either for
the earl or for his brother. Even this made
her somewhat thoughtful ; and, to change the
subject, Austin Jute was sent for. He came
as fresh, as gay, as ugly as ever ; but on this
occasion he had little to tell, for his journey
back to Trochrie had passed without impedi-
ment from any other source but his ignorance
of the way. The difficulties he had met with
from that cause he described with considerable
humor, telling the answers which had been
given to his inquiries at the different places
which he had passed, and imitating the various
dialects of the counties through which he had
gone, which were in those days very strongly
marked. He did very well till he came to the
Gaelic ; and even then, though he was utterly
unacquainted with the words of the language,
he contrived to give some of the sounds so ex-
actly, that Gowrie could not refrain from
laughter.

Julia rejoiced to see him so gay ; and if she
had entertained any suspicion that he was with-
holding the painful portion of the truth from
her, it was dissipated by the cheerfulness he
displayed.

An hour or two thus went by ; but Gowrie
would not keep her long from repose, for he
longed to go forth with her on the following
morning, and roam through the valleys and
over the hills, now covered with the yellow
broom and 'the young shoots of the heath.
The weather had become bright and warm.
The fair season was coming on with rapid
strides, when the mountains are softened and
decorated by the hand of nature, and their sol-
emn gloom cheered by the smiles of the sky ;
and Gowrie thought of many a plan to make
the hours pass pleasantly. " While here," he
said to himself, " the feeling of security will
spread a calm and tranquil atmosphere around
us, which we could not obtain in a less wild
and solitary spot. To-morrow I will take my
dear prisoner forth, and show her some of the
beauties of the land, to which she is yet a
stranger."

At an early hour, therefore, he bade Julia
adieu for the night, and retired to the rooms
which he had ordered to be prepared for him-
self in the gate tower. There he held a some-
what long conversation with Donald MacDuff,
his baron baillie in Strathbraan ; and, having
ascertained from him that all strangers had
withdrawn from the neighborhood, and that a
keen watch had been kept up ever since Austin
lute's capture, lest any of the king's people
should be lurking about in the valleys around,
he lay down to rest, and slept more soundly
than he had done for many a night before.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

In a room of no very great dimensions in the
fair town of Perth, were collected a number of
persons upon a solemn and serious occasion.
A number of the officers and magistrates of
the town were present, seated on a little sort
of platform raised above the rest of the room.
On either side were drawn up the various offi-
cers of a municipal court of justice, as they
existed at that time; although I am unable to give
their designations ; and toward the door were
seen two or three halberdiers with their impos-
ing but clumsy looking weapons over their
shoulders, and dresses of the reign of James V
In a large arm chair in the midst of the magis
trates of the town was seated the Earl of Gow-
rie, as Provost of Perth, and heritable sheriff
of the county ; and at a little distance from him
on the same raised place of honor, appeared
Sir George Ramsay, habited in the ordinary
costume of the court ; across the front of the
dais was stretched a long narrow table, at which
were seated two or three men in dark garments,
with pen and ink and paper before them, and at
the opposite end of the room with a fretted and
gilt harrier of iron about three feet high before,
appeared the prisoner David Drummond with a
stout jailer on either side. His stout and mus-
cular frame appeared to have suffered little, if
at all, by the confinement he had endured ; but
his dull and sinister looking face was now as
pale as ashes, for the earl had just pronounced
upon him that doom of death which he had
twice inflicted upon others. Sadly but calmly
Gowrie had pronounced the fatal words, with
his eyes fixed firmly on the man's countenance,
after the most convincing proofs of his guilt.

Drummond gasped as if for breath to speak ;
but the two jailers laid their hands upon his
arms and were about to remove him, when
Gowrie, interposed, exclaiming, " Stay, stay,
he desires to speak. Let him say whatever he
thinks fit."

" I appeal to the king," cried the wretched
man. " I appeal to the king."

" There is no appeal from this court," replied
Gowrie, "but — "

" Ah, you fear what I could tell, Earl of Gow-
rie," cried the criminal. " It would not suit
you that I should have communication with the
king."

" Unhappy man," replied the earl, with per-
fect calmness, "you are only now aggravating
your guilt. There is no act of my whole life
that I care to have proclaimed at the market-
cross to-morrow. My conscience acquits me
of offense ; would that yours could do so. But
to prove to you that I fear naught that you can
do or say, and that I wish not to deprive you
of one chance of life, I will fix the day of your
execution for the crime you have committed,
so far off as to afford you opportunity of using
every means to obtain that pardon which you
do not deserve. You have been fairly tried and
justly condemned. There is no appeal but tt»
the king's mere mercy. He has the power of
grace ever in his own hands, and far be it from
me to interpose between you and it ; for your
execution, therefore, if you can not obtain grace,
I name the twenty-eighth day of the next-
month at noon ; and may the Almighty have

116

G0WR1E : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

mercy on your soul. In the mean time every
means will be given to you of addressing any
petitions or memorials to his majesty which
you may think fit to send, and should I not be
present in the town of Perth I beg that the
magistrates will take care that they be forwarded
by a special messenger, and without any delay.
Now remove him."

The court then rose ; and Gowrie and Sir
George Ramsay spoke a few words together,
in the midst of which a servant of the earl's
entered the hall, bearing a sealed packet in his
hand.

" From the king's majesty, my lord," he said;
and Gowrie instantly cut the silk and opened
the letter, under the impression that it might
have reference to the cause which had just
been tried. Such, however, was not the case,
and folding it up again he put it in his pocket,
saying, " Come, Ramsay, and rest yourself with
me for a day or two. I am about to make
strange changes in my house, and have also to
place my pictures just arrived from Italy, in
which I would have your good advice."

" But a few hours, my good lord, can I stay,"
replied Ramsay ; " and I am afraid my advice
would serve you but litttle. However, such as
it is, command."

Taking leave of the baillies of the town and
the other officers of the court, with whom the
earl was extremely popular, Gowrie and his
friend withdrew, and walked together through
the streets. Several persons followed them
out, but as soon as they were free from the
crowd, Ramsay looked at the earl's face, say-
ing, " I hope your news from the court, my
lord, is more favorable than that which I was
unfortunate enough to bring you when we last
met."

" Oh, the letter was a mere invitation to
join the court and hunt at Falkland in the early
part of June," replied the earl, " and an ac-
knowledgment of having received a certain law
paper which had heen examined by the king's
advocate, and found full and in due form. His
majesty has been very gracious," he continued,
with a smile and a meaning glance, "for the
letter is written in his own hand."

"Do you intend to accept the invitation V
asked Sir George Ramsay.

"lam doubtful," said the earl. "An invi-
tation from a monarch is well-nigh a command ;
and I am never disposed to disobey my king
where I can obey with safety to my person and
to my honor."

" Your honor is safe, my dear lord, wherever
you are," replied Ramsay. " Where a man
holds life lightly when compared with integrity
his honor is ever in his own safe keeping ; and
no other hand can touch it. But your personal
safety is another question ; and I would have
you look to it."

"Do you know aught, Dalhousie, of fresh
designs meditated against me!" asked the
earl, straightforwardly ; nor was the answer
less explicit.

"No, Ido not," answered Ramsay. "Of
fresh designs I know none ; but I may doubt
whether the old ones are abandoned ; and I
have often thought it a dangerous sort of sport,
my good lord, to hunt with a half reconciled
enemy. The chase has its accidents, which

occur most frequently where many people are
assembled. Methinks I would advise you to
hunt but little, and with those people alone
upon whose care and prudence you can
rely."

He spoke in a very meaning tone ; and Gow-
rie answered, " I think your advice is good ;
and moreover I could hardly contrive to accept
his majesty's invitation consistently with the
arrangements alreadv formed ; for my dear
mother has consented to come forth from the
retirement which she has long kept, and meet
me at'Trochrie in a few days."

" Then I suppose we shall soon have to con-
gratulate you on an event which I trust may
contribute to your happiness," said Ramsay.
" The court has been busy with the story for
some time past."

" Not very soon," answered Gowrie, " at
least to a lover it seems long. Some three
months must yet elapse — and it is long ; for
what man is there, Dalhousie, let him read the
stars skillfully as he will ; let him be learned,
wise, experienced, who shall say all that may
happen in three months'! How often does the
shaking hand of fortune spill the wine out of the
overflowing cup of joy even as she is handing
it to our lips."

" But too true, my dear lord," replied Sir
George ; " but I trust in your case it will not
be so, for your fate is, I think, much in your
own hands. If you but avoid dangers where
they are known to exist, I think they will not
come to seek you."

Gowrie mused. " What should be the cause
of this enmity 1" he said, at length, in a medi
tating tone. ' What have I done to merit it''
Is it that some one is playing false both to the
king and me, and poisoning his ear with lying
tales of false disloyalty 1 Or is it that between
his blood and mine there is a repugnance which
can not be pacified — that the sad and terrible
deed done by my grandfather in his mother's
presence when his unborn eyes were yet wait
ing for the light, has placed enmity between
our races even to the present hour ? They say
that there are strange mortal antipathies in the
blood of some men toward others which can
never be conquered by any effort of the person
hated, and surely such must be the case even
now, for a more loyal subject, or one who
more truly wishes well to his crown, his state,
his person, does not live. What are my of-
fenses '!"

" I could tell you soon, my lord," replied Sir
George Ramsay. " First and foremost, you are
too powerful in the land for a king's love. Your
estates are vast. Your wealth during a long
minority has mightily increased ; you are al-
lied to all the most powerful and noble in the
land ; and you are known to be one who would
oppose without fear, or change, or wavering,
the establishment of arbitrary power in Scot-
land, either in the church or state. These are
motives strong enough, my lord ; and they are
the real ones ; what the pretenses may be I
know not; but if you keep yourself aloof from all
factions and all parties, if you abstain, as far as
is consistent with your honor and your station,
from all opposition to the king, methinks that
the feelings that have risen up must die away
of themselves like weeds that have no roots—

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

117

but here we are at your great house, my
lord, and a grand mansion is it certainly."

"Come, see the pictures I have lately pur-
chased," said Gowrie. " I shall have scanty
room to place them, unless I build myself a
new gallery. It is with such things as these,
Dalhousie — with music, pictures, books, and
thought, that I have employed my mind, and not
in hatching treason, or brooding over schemes
of disloyalty — but we will talk no more of such
things. This is the way — John Christie," he
continued, speaking to the porter, " bid them
serve dinner in the little hall for myself and
Sir George, and see that his servants be well
entertained. We are in the gallery when the
meal is ready."

Thus saying, he led the way across the court
toward the right hand, and entering a door in a
little projecting tower which stood in one angle,
he conducted his friend up a small staircase
which was called the black turnpike, being but
scantily lighted by three small loop-holes. At
the top of this staircase Gowrie opened a door
which led into a very large and handsome room,
containing no furniture except some tall, straight-
backed, gilt chairs, covered with rich embroid-
ered velvet. Passing by another door on the
right, the earl then took his way across this
spacious chamber to an entrance on the oppo-
site side, while Ramsay remarked, " This is the
gallery chamber, if I remember rightly."

"Yes," replied the earl ; " and that door be-
hind us leads to my study, which I have fur-
nished well with books. I am afraid, however,
that I shall have to change my domicile, for the
window looks down into the street, and the'
noise often distracts my thoughts."

" You will soon have other books to read in
your lady's eyes, my lord," replied Sir George
Ramsay, with a smile ; and, passing on, they
entered by a small door that splendid gallery
which formed the admiration of all men who
saw it in those times. The walls were hung
with pictures by the older masters of the French,
German, and Italian schools. Some were of a
very ancient date, almost contemporary with
the revival of the arts — more curious, perhaps,
than beautiful, but yet not without their beauty
too. There were two or three Van Eycks, and
one especially fine picture of John of Bruges.
But that which most attracted the attention of
Sir George Ramsay, even from the Titians and
the Corregios on the wall, were some large
wooden cases, the tops of which had been re-
moved, showing the pictures which the earl
himself had collected in Italy. Among the rest
was one of very large size, on which the clear
light from the north shone strongly. It was
rich and powerful in tone and vigorous in con-
ception, representing Niobe weeping over her
children, amidst a scene of great picturesque
beauty, while the vengeful God of Day was
seen retiring in the distance, with the work of
death completed. Before it Sir George Ram-
say stopped for a moment or two, and gazed
with interest and admiration. When he turned
round he found the young earl standing beside
him, with his amis crossed upon his broad chest,
and his eyes fixed upon the female figure, with
a look of stern thought.

'■What a beautiful picture !" exclaimed the
knight. " Ye"t it is by a hand I do not kuow,

and seems fresh from the easel. Who was the
artist 1"

" A young man of the name of Reni," replied
Gowrie. " It wTas painted for me this last year
in an incredibly short space of time ; for the
artist wanted money, and I gave him his owi
price. But that picture, Dalhousie, has a par-
ticular interest fcrr me. Do you not think the
Niobe very like my mother ] Younger a good
deal, but still very like."

" It is, indeed, said Ramsay, " particularly in
in the brow and eyes. Strange that this should
be so, for this Italian most probably never saw
her."

" Never in his life," replied Gowrie ; " and I
can only account for it thus. I passed several
days with this young man in his painting room
at Bologna, and chanced, I remember, to men-
tion my mother, and her devoted affection for
her children. Whether there is any likeness
between myself and her, I do not know ; but I
left him to finish the picture, and send it over
when it was complete ; and, when I opened it,
a few days ago, I was struck with the extraor-
dinary resemblance. — Come, here is a Caracci
well worth your seeing."

"And that lad lying dead, with his arm
thrown back under his head, and the left hand
clutching the grass, is like your brother Alex-
ander," said Ramsay, lingering before the pic-
ture still. But Gowrie had gone on, and his
friend soon followed. There was still much to
be seen in the gaHery ; but the habit of that day
was to dine at a very early hour, and shortly
after the two gentlemen were summoned to
their meal ; and Sir George Ramsay mounted
his horse almost as soon as dinner was con-
cluded.

Gowrie then retired from the court in which
he had secji his friend depart, to the study
which he had spoken of in passing through the
gallery chamber. There, casting himself into
a chair, he thought for a moment or two ; but,
in the end, took up a book out of a number lying
near, and began to read. He had not perused
a dozen sentences, however, when the door
opened ; and, without announcement, Mr. Wil-
liam Cowper, a gentle and amiable man, one of
the ministers of Perth, entered, saying, " I hope
I do not interrupt your studies, my lordl"

" Oh, no," answered Gowrie, throwing down
the volume ; " it is but a foolish book called De
Conspirationibus adversus Principes, a collec-
tion of famous treasons, all foolishly contrived,
and ending in defeat, by the conspirators hav-
ing too many men in their councils."

" Dangerous studies, my lord," replied the
clergyman.

" Not for me, my good friend," answered
Gowrie, gravely ; " but what brings you, my
dear sir 1"

The conversation then took another turn ;
but Mr. Cowper, after he had left the earl, men-
tioned more than once, though doubtless with
no bad intention, the studies in which he had
found the young lord engaged*

* This anecdote of Mr. William Cowper is given by
Archbishop Spottiswood, a strong partisan of the king
and it is clear that he mentioned it with the view of sup-
porting, by some independent testimony, the extraordi-
nary statement of James himself — a statement which
would not have deceived a child, so absurd, incooenimis
and ridiculous il it, had not the friends and tiulterers of

118

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

Now, reader, for a short recapitulation of
events which occupied several weeks. I must
be brief for the stern limits stare me in the
face, and the tale must needs perforce draw
to a conclusion. First, then, with the earl of
Gowrie. In a few days he .returned to Troch-
rie, meeting his mother by the way, and escort-
ing her with kindly care and tenderness. The
best apartments in the castle had been pre-
pared for her. The summer was of unusual
brightness. The day had been one long lapse
of sunny light ; and although when the countess
passed the dark portal of the castle which she
had last entered with a gallant husband, since
torn from her by a bloody death, a shade of
gloom cast from the cloudy past fell upon her,
yet it passed speedily away, when, with her
hand clasped in that of her son, and the beau-
tiful arms of his promised bride cast round her
neck, she stood in the old hall and looked for-
ward through the perspective glass of hope
toward the future.

A month passed away in joys and pleasant
sports ; Gowrie's household was now com-
pleted. The number of his attendants and his
tenantry, the friendship of the neighboring
clans, the support of his relation, the Earl of
Athol, all rendered the residence at Trochrie
perfectly secure against any machinations of
his enemies ; and fear was banished from the
dwelling. The younger brothers of the house
of Ruthven appeared at the castk from time
to time. His sister Barbara, quiet and nunlike
in character, spent the greater part of her time
there. An occasional guest partook of their
hospitality. The mornings were spent in
chasing the deer or in rides among the hills ;
and the evenings in calmer and more intellec-
tual pleasures. The old countess would sit
and listen, as it were entranced, while her
son's promised bride sang the exquisite songs
of other lands, or while Gowrie himself, with
peculiar charm, which is given by high con-
versational powers, told brief but pointed anec-
dotes of countries he had visited, or great men
whom he had known ; and, while she gazed
upon the extraordinary loveliness of the one,
or the high toned manly beauty of the other,
she would say to herself, " These two certainly
were formed by Heaven to be united," and
would add, with a half doubtful sigh, " and to
be happy."

At the end of about a month, suddenly and
unexpectedly, they were joined at Trochrie by
the earl's younger brother, Alexander. He
seemed to shrink from all explanation of the
causes of his having quitted the court ; and,
when his mother made some inquiries as to
whether the king and he were still friends, re-
plied, Yes, that his majesty had parted with
him most graciously.

Gowrie asked no questions ; but he divined
much. He was kind and gentle to his brother,
however ; and the youth seemed to feel his
forbearance deeply, and show greater rever-
ence and affection than he had ever done be-

the monarch exerted themselves with all the ze:il of syco-
phant ambition to bolster up a puerile defense of his con-
duct by corroborative circumstances, often as false and
sometimes as puerile.

fore. His faults were those of youfch, passion,
and indiscretion ; but his heart was generous
and kind ; and experience and example might
have made him a great and a good man.

The period of his stay at Trochrie was the
happiest, by far the happiest, of Gowrie's life,
and it went on increasing in brightness, for the
days were rapidly approaching which were to
make Julia his.

As the month of July waned toward a close,
it became needful, however, that some prepar-
ation should be made for his approaching nup-
tials, and to ascertain whether, as he hoped
and trusted was the case, the feelings of en-
mity which the king had shown him had been
mitigated by time. He wrote then to Beatrice,
who was still with the queen at Falkland, and
to Sir George Ramsay, who was likely tc- ob-
tain correct information through his brother.
Both the answers were favorable, for James
was an accomplished hypocrite whenever it
suited his purpose to be so ; and Beatrice
wrote, " I trust that all danger is past, and
former things forgotten. The king seldom
mentions you, my dear brother, which is a good
sign, and when he does so, it is with a joke,
which is a sign still better. He said the other
day that you were so busy courting your fair
lady that you could not give a thought to king
or cousin, and added that if he could find out
the day you were to be married he would go as
a guisard and dance at your wedding."

Sir George Ramsay's letter was much to the
same effect.

"I trust," he said, "that time is curing old
wounds. If any thing is meditated against
you, my dear lord, I will undertake to say that
it is unknown to my brother as well as to my-
self, for John is not of a deceitful disposition,
but rather rash and bold. He would not, and
he could not, conceal from me what he knows ;
and as he mentioned your name the other day,
if any design had menaced you it would have
been told."

With such assurances the young earl's plans
were soon formed, and it was agreed that the
dowager countess, with her two younger sons
and Julia, should proceed by one road to Dirl-
ton, avoiding the court at Falkland, while Gow-
rie, with Alexander Ruthven, should go, for a
few days, to Perth, to make preparations for
the reception of his bride, and then join his
mother and the rest of the family in East Lo-
thian on the ensuing fifth of August. Their
marriage was appointed to take place on the
first of September, on the earliest day which
their promise to the old Count Manucci per-
mitted.

With such plans and purposes, Julia and her
lover parted on the thirtieth of July, 1600, ia
the fond anticipation of meeting again before
the week was at an end. Gowrie rode on to
Perth, and the news of his arrival spread
through the country, where many of the gentry N
were now assembled after having passed the
winter and spring in courts and cities. Multi-
tudes flocked to see and congratulate the
young earl on his return, and on his approach-
ing marriage ; and, to say truth, the crowd of
visitors was somewhat inconvenient, consid-
ering the many preparations he had to make
and the shortness of his proposed stav. On

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

119

trie morning after his arrival, indeed, the in-
convenience was rendered greater than it oth-
erwise might have been, by a circumstance
which seemed, at the time, merely ludicrous,
but which was not without its significance.
Gowrie, on reaching the gates of his own
dwelling, had found them open and the porter
absent. He was somewhat angry at the neg-
lect, but on speaking to his factor, Henderson,
the latter excused the porter, saying, that he
had asked leave to absent himself for a day,
which had been granted, as the earl's arrival
so soon was not expected. The fault of the
gates being open the factor took upon himself,
and proceeded to lock them with his own keys
before he departed for the night to his small
house in the town of Perth. He forgot, how-
ever, to leave his keys behind him, and when,
early on the following morning, two or three of
the neighboring noblemen presented themselves
at the gates, they could not obtain, and Gow-
rie could not give admission, except by a small
postern door in the garden wall. Christie, the
porter, did not return till night, and upon being
questioned as to where he had been, replied,
" To Falkland, my lord. I went to see my sis-
ter, who is servant there."

"Saw you the king?" asked his lord; but
to this question the man returned one of those
equivocal answers which are often all that can
be obtained from a Scotchman of the lower
class, who has no mind to be cross questioned.
It implied that he had just caught a sight of
his majesty, but certainly not that he had
spoken with him.

Was this the plain truth 1 I trow not : for
James was much accustomed to trust to his
own skill alone in all dangerous negotiations.

The earl, however, had no suspicion of the
truth, and dismissed the man to his duty, with
a slight reproof for having carried the keys
away with him. This occurred on Thursday,
the thirty-first of July, and I must now ask the
reader to pass over two days, and follow me
to Falkland, on Saturday, the second of August.

Do you see that little door, opening from a
back staircase, and somewhat high up in the
building] It looks like the entrance to the
bed-room of some inferior follower of the court.
It is on the third story, just over the king's
closet, and the staircase goes no farther. Hark,
there are voices speaking within ! Laughter,
too, and merriment. Is it a party of revelers,
hiding themselves there to enjoy a debauch
unobserved 1 No : it is a king and a king's
confederate, talking over deeds of blood and
cruelty.

"He'll come, he'll come," said James, "just
as ae deer comes to the billing of another ; but
I'll no write, man — it's better to hold one's
hand from written papers. They come up long
after ; I'll send him a message. Now then,
Sir Hugh, let us think who we can best trust.
Tommy Erskine is o'er soft hearted, or he
might be a good man ; for he'll keep the king's
counsel, I think. You may just whisper a
word of the matter to him and to Geordie
Hume — not Sir John, mind — but tell them not
all : only just an inkling."

"Ramsay, I suppose, must know the whole,"
fin' 1 Hi rries, " he's a man of action, prompt and
ready, and hates the whole name of Rulhven."

" Fie, now, ye silly gawk," said James, laugh-
ing, " it is just because he is what you call him,
that he shall not know a word before the time.
He'll be prompt enough, and ready for action at
a minute's warning; and his hatred of the
Ruthvens will make him fancy any ill of them
the moment they are accused. But I'll tell
you, doctor, you must be there to put him for-
ward the moment I cry out. Have him where
he can see and hear all as soon as it happens."
" I will take care, sir," replied Herries, with
a meaning look ; " I have held a hound in leash
before now, and put him on the scent at the
right minute."

James laughed again, saying, " We'll run our
buck down this time, I think, doctor ; but we
must have some more. I am not that fond of
trusting such secrets to lords and gentlemen,
for they may think their own turn will come ;
but there are two or three sturdy fellows in the
hall and the buttery who will do good service,
and hold their tongues when it's done. Just
you jag down stairs and call me up Robert
Gulbraith — stay ; I'll put down five or six
o' them that ye may send up quietly by turns.
There's Gulbraith ; and then we can have the
porter, James Bog, and his brother John, who
has the key of the ale cellar, and Brown, too.
He's a stout fellow and canny. He does not
heed to ask questions, but does what he's told ;
only he's o'er fond of the lasses. We'll have
all these."

Sir Hugh Herries listened with astonishment
to the names which the king mentioned, and
at last ventured to say, " Will it not seem
strange, your majesty, to take with you on
your expedition men of such stations as your
porter here at Falkland, and the keeper of the
ale cellar."

" Hout tout !" cried the king, " who's to call
it strange, if I choose to do it? May not a
king guide his own menial servitors as he likes 1
and who's to fash his thoomb with what it
pleases us to command 1 I tell ye, doctor, these
are the best men we could have, and I must
take heed I do not get a gore from the hart I'm
hunting."

"That, of course, must be cared for, sire,
above all things," answered Herries, who fear-
ed that James might suspect his loyalty as
being somewhat lukewarm, if he estimated the
king's danger less than he did himself; "it
were well to have some one well armed close
to you, and none could be better than Ramsay."
" I and Christie will see to that," said James,
"nodding his head significantly. "Ramsay
will no do. He might be scrupulous if he ken-
ned it was all laid out beforehand, though he'll
do the deed in hot blood right well, and willingly,
if he thinks his king's in danger. You see,
Sir Hugh, it is not easy to get unlearned, thick-
headed, common-witted men, to understand
that judges and officers of the law are but em-
powered to put offenders to death by authority
commuted to ihem by their sovereign, who, in
imparting to others, loses no part of his power
and authority himself; but having tried and
condemned a criminal in his own mind, accord-
ing to the right which he derives from God,
has every title to say to any of his subjects,
'This man, or that man, is a traitor, or a mur-
derer, or a thief,' as the case may be; 'put

120

GOWR1E: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

him to death :' for doing which the king's mere
word is his sufficient warrant. I say, it is not
easy to get such men as Ramsay to understand
this, though he would quarrel with any Rulh-
ven of them all, and cut his throat for our serv-
ice, if we would but give him leave to proceed
according to his false fancies of honor and such
like. No, no, man, he must know naught of
our purposes till the time comes, as I have
said. Such counsels are too great for him ; but
still, I will take care so to prepare and pre-
occupy his mind with the knowledge of medi-
tated treasons, that he shall be ready to strike
home in our defense when need is. The men
1 have told you of, are those we can best trust ;
and perhaps, before the day for the hunting, we
may pick out one or two more of the court folk,
to accord more or less knowledge to, as we
shall deem expedient."

" But is your majesty sure that the earl is
now at Perth V asked Herries ; " it would not
do for you to go and find a warm nest and a
flown bird."

James chuckled. " See what an unbelieving
carle thou art, Hughie," he said ; " the last time,
I trusted the matter to you and your cronies,
and sure enough, you found what you say, a
warm nest and a flown bird , but I have taken
the matter into my own hand now, and made
sure of all. The lad returned to his great
house at St. Johnstone, on Wednesday last,
at evening, and there he is carousing like any
prince. All the people are flocking to him
from the country round, as if he were king of
Pert!), and forgetting that we ourselves are
here in Falkland. The good folk of the town,
too, are all mad about him, and looking for the
bridal, as if a king's son were going to wed."

"Is there no risk of the citizens rising 1"
asked Herries, in a low tone.

James's face instantly fell. " That's right
well bethought," he said ; " the burghers of
Perth were aye a turbulent set. We must
have men enow in the town to keep them down.
What's to be done, think you, doctor 1 — I've
got the pirn. We'll send Davie Murray to his
cousin, Tullibardine, and bid the baron meet us
with all his folk in arms, as if just by accident."

" I fear me, your majesty, that will not pass
current," said Herries ; " men don't travel by
accident with two or three hundred armed men."

" Ay, ay ! but you forget there's that affair
of Oliphant. The notorious villain has been
grinding down the Angus folk like corn be-
tween the stones, and he's now in Perth, or
thereabout. That will be enough for Tullibar-
dine. As for the folk about the court, we must
have another story ready ; but I'se warrant we
find one."

" I hope it will match all the rest," said Her-
r.ies, with a grim smile ; " for where one has
so many pirns on hand, they are apt to get
tangled. I've seen many an old wife get clear
dumfounded with the power o' them ; and I'm
thinking, that at spinning a web, neither your
majesty nor I can match an auld wife."

" Gae wa\ ye disloyal carle !" cried the king,
laughing, "to even your bom sovereign to an
auld wife ! Go your ways, man, I'll make a
tale that shall puzzU them. You send up the
folk I have told you ; but Davie Murray, our
controller, first ; and then the others, one by

one. Let them be like buckets in a draw-well,
as one goes down, the other comes up — no more
clavers, but do as I bid."

Herries retired from the royal presence ; but
he stopped and thought for a minute or two
upon the stairs. He stopped and wondered ;
for though he was ruthless enough, he could
not regard the business before him as the king
did ; and he asked himself, how James could
plot the death of two young, hopeful men, in
the pleasant spring of life, full of gay expecta-
tion, and the happy blood of youth, as if he
were but laying out the chase of some beast of
the field 1 The secret was, that he could not,
with his acute and logical mind, deceive him-
self with James's sophistries as to the justifia-
ble.tess of the act ; and the king did.

He descended at length, however, and twelve
times that night the small door at the head of
the stairs opened and shut, as one of those who
were to take a part in the perpetration of the
contemplated deed went in and came out.

At length the king descended himself, his
dark and fatal council over, and lying down to
rest, slept as soundly as a sick-nurse.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

The prayer and the sermon had been long
and furious ; for Mr. Patrick Galloway was one
of the most vehement men, in and out of a pul-
pit, that even the Scottish church ever pro-
duced The man of many pensions," as he
was sometimes called, had once been, or appear-
ed to be, astern and ardent advocate of church
freedom ; but he had mightily changed hia
views since he became chaplain to a king
whose love of liberty was but small ; and all
the tremendous energies of the most persever-
ing and eager of men were now turned to ad-
vocate the views of his royal patron. He now
" wrastled and pleaded," as he called it, with
peculiar fervor in his prayer for the safety of
his majesty, and his deliverance from all ene-
mies, and he took for the text of his sermon
merely the opening words of one of the Epis-
tles : " James, a servant of God and of the
Lord Jesus Christ, to the twelve tribes which
are scattered abroad, greeting." On this theme
he descanted for a full hour, speaking to his
courtly auditory as if he were the mouthpiece
of the king, and venturing to exhort all men to
passive obedience, in terms and with arguments
which James himself, with all his blasphemous
uses of Scripture, would not have ventured to
employ.

Many, nevertheless, listened to his fervid
exhortation* with that reverence and kindling
enthusiasm which rude and impassioned elo-
q^u^np^ often produces in the minds of the
jta|«©empered and uncultivated ; and among
JftosT?l)jw$s Sir Jtihn Ramsay. Every word that
^the preacher Btterefl went straight to his heart,
ail roused up therein a sort of gloomy longing
tone of service to his sovereign, which was
but too soon to be gratified.

After the king's dinner, he called for Ram-
say, who had hardly finished his own, and walk-
ed out with him, otherwise unattended. The
da*y was hot, but cloudy ; the pace of the king
alid his favorite slow ; and the king's manner

COWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

12

peculiarly calm and composed. I will not at-
tempt to give any idea of the language in which
he expressed himself, for, though somewhat
more than half a Scot myself, his majesty's
knowledge of the vernacular was much greater
than my own ; and, to say sooth, many of his
expressions were not very decent, and not very
reverent. I may be permitted, therefore, to
translate the dialogue into English anil legible
terms.

The king's first question went to ascertain
what Ramsay thought of Mr. Galloway's ser-
mon. Ramsay expressed his cordial concur-
rence with every word that had been uttered,
and showed, by his reply, how eagerly he had
listened.

" Well, well," said the king, " it was a good

sermon, and well conceived ; but it was like a

# wasting of much powerful exhortation, for

those who most needed it were not present to

hear it."

" I should have thought all men might have
profited by it, sire," replied Ramsay, " as a
stirrer up of zeal and of loyalty."

" Ay, but they are all zealous and loyal
about me," answered James ; " and none of
those Ruthvens were present, except that wild
thing, Beatrice, who has more folly than guile
in her."

" I had hoped, sire, that her brothers were
coming to a better sense of duty," answered
Ramsay. " Your majesty has shown them
great favor lately."

" Policy, Jock, policy," replied the king.
" Both being out of reach together, or only one
within arm's length at a time, there was little
use of attempting to strike where the blow was
sure to miss. But I'll show you what to think
of their loyalty and sense of duty. Look you
here, John Ramsay, what the man David
Drummond writes me — he who was put to
death the other day, by sentence of the justice
court in Perth. See you here ;" and, after
groping for nearly a minute in his large breech-
es pocket, James produced a packet of papers,
from which he selected one, and gave it to his
companion.

Ramsay read it with looks of astonishment
and displeasure, and then returned it to the
king, saying, " I wonder, sire, you did not save
the villain's life, to be a witness against the
traitor, his master."

" It would have been perverting justice,"
said the king, "for he died by a just sentence,
although I'm thinking that the earl was not
sorry to stop his tongue with a woodie. His
information served me so far, however, that I
wrote to a good friend and servant of mine at
the English court, and got down this copy of
the King of France's letter, which this young
earl brought over with him. Look ye, now,
and devise what he means, for, to my mind, it
seems that he plainly points out to one who has
been an enemy to Scotland that this earl here,
who hiings the letter, is the ready man for
helping her in her plans. See here, lad, what
he says : ' I have been visited by the noble
lord the Earl of Gowrie. who will lay these at
your feet ; and as he is exceedingly desirous
of serving your majesty. &c.' Ay, more de-
sirous of serving her than of serving his own
king," continued James "but maybe he'll be

taken in his own trap yet. He would not come
to our hunting here, though we invited him by
a letter under our own hand • and now, we un-
derstand, he has thoughts of inviting us to his
place at Perth."

" I trust your majesty will not go," cried
Ramsay.

" If we do, it shall be well accompanied,"
replied the king, " with many faithful and loyal
people like yourself, Jock, who will see that no
harm befalls us ; and, mind you, be ready, if
ever you hear the king's voice crying, to run
and help him."

" That I will, sire. Doubt me not," answer-
ed Ramsay ;" and woe be to the man whom I
find attempting to do you wrong."

" I know it, I know it, Jock," answered the
king; "and when I've such folk as you about
me, I do not fear any evil. But, good faith,
man, we must get in for the afternoon preach-
ing. I will bide here a little, but you can go
your ways."

Ramsay at once took the hint, and retired ;
but James continued walking to and fro ; and,
whether by any previous arrangement or not, I
can not say, some five or six gentlemen of his
household and court went out separately, one
after another, held each a few minutes' con-
versation with the king, and then returned to
the palace. To no two of them did the mon-
arch say exactly the same thing, though the
subject was still the same ; and he se%med well
satisfied with the answers of all. Neverthe-
less, when, at last, he was joined by Sir Hugh
Herries, he said, in a low tone, " I don't like
that cold body, Inchaffray. He does not speak
heartily, doctor. I have told him little ; and
we'll tell him no more. Has Davie Murray
come back yet 1"

" No, sire," answered Herries. " He has
not had time, though he rode as if the de'il
were behind him, which, perhaps, might well
be." .

The last words were uttered with a low
laugh ; and the king turned sharply upon him,
asking, " What do you mean, you fause loon V

"They say the king's anger is the devil,"
answered Herries, with a bow and a cynical
smile. " That's what I mean, sir "

James himself laughed now, replying, "Then
you're not feared for the de'il yoursel'. But
we must get the preaching over, Herries. It
had a fine effect this morning ; hut I wonder
that goose, Galloway, did not touch upon the
sorcery and magic. I had indoctrinated him
well with it ; and he might have made a grand
point of it, especially if he had hinted that-
there were some people who studied in foreign
lands, and came home atheists, full of charms
and diabolical arts, but that their end was al-
ways evil."

" Perhaps he kept it for another time, sire,"
answered Herries; "and, indeed, I think it
might be somewhat too strong just now to
point out the ill end that some people may come
to, far it might make men believe hereafter
that the whole had been prepared beforehand."

" \wa' wi' sic clavers !" cried James; "who
cares what they say hereafter 1 We'll make it
good, man ; and it's always well to prepare the
way for the history of such an affair. I'll tell
you what, Hughie, I have full proof that this

122

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

Govvrie lad has had dealings with necromancers
and conjurers of devils ; and that's a food
which, when men ha ye been nibbling at, they
don't give up easily. So the man might have
said it, and told the truth, too * But now,
Hemes, man, you must look well to the peo-
ple who are to go with us. Have as many as
possible, in case of there being a fray. It
does not much matter whether they can be de-
pended on for beginning the thing or not, so
that you be quite sure they will take part with
their king when it is begun."

The king paused for a minute or two in
thought, and then said, " As for Inchaffray, we
must get him away. Your cold, long-thinking
folk, that always take time to consider before
they give an an3*ver, are not for such work as
this ; and when I just put it to him quietly,
whether he did net think that kings, having the
right divine to judge all their subjects, might
cause execution to be done by their own power
upon those that the arm of the law was too
short to reach, he said it was a knotty point,
which required deliberation, fur kings might
sometimes make a mistake, though he would
not go the length of saying that, if they were
proved right in the end, they would not be
justified. I will send him to Stirling the morn ;
and he'll hav» time to deliberate by the way."

" A small fine upon his estate might do him
good," said Herries, " if he shows himself at
all refraatory."

" It's a fine plan these fines," said James, to
whom the hint was by no means disagreeable.
" It punishes these fat, wealthy lords, by taking
a part of their ill-gotten gear from them. It
leaves them less power of doing mischief; and
it strengthens the king to keep them down.
Henry VII. of England, our good ancestor,
knew the value of fines right well, and he was
a wise prince. It's funny to read in history
how he employed his two sponges, Empson
and Dudley, to suck up all the gold that was
scattered about the realm ; and then, when he
wanted some himself, he gave them a squeeze,
and the thing was done. It's almost a pity that
the young Earl of Gowrie has not taken it into
his head, with all these dangerous designs of
his, to do some open act which would have
enabled us, doucely and quietly, to levy a good
fat fine upon him ; but he's kept so quiet, that
he's left us no way but that we are taking, and
that would not have touched his brother Alex,
who is the worst of the two, and deserves
death as well as any one that I know. But,
fegs, man, there's the old doctor looking out of
the window. I'll warrant you he's waiting for
us to come to the preaching. Rin, Gousland,
rin ; but, mind ye, don't have the lassie Bea-
trice picking at ye about your bowit foot."

" She did so this morning," said Herries, as
he followed the king ; " hut I asked her to let
me look into her loof, and then told her that I
could see, hy the art of chiromancy, that some
great iiMrslortune would happen to her within
the month "

* This same Mr. Patrick Galloway, after the earl's
death, did, very imprudently, go the length of saying, in
a sermon preached at the Market-cross of Edinburgh,
referring to the murdered nobleman : — " He was an athe-
ist, an incarnate devil, in the coat of an angel, a studier
of magic, a conjurer with devils, som« of whom he had
under his command."

" Ye should not have done that, ye gown i '
said the king.

" Then let her let my bowit foot alone," said
Herries. " I'll warrant my lady turned very
mealy about the haffets, for it scared her, al-
though she could not tell what I meant."

James was about to reply ; but two or three
gentlemen of the court now approached, prob-
ably to tell his majesty that the evening preach-
ing was about to begin ; and James re-entered
the palace without saying more.

CHAPTER XL.

On Monday, the fourth of August, 1600, the
Earl of Gowrie, his brother Alexander, good
Mr. Rhind, a gentleman of the name of Oli-
phant, and Mr. William Row, a celebrated Pres-
byterian minister and a man of a bold, in-'
trepid, and straightforward character, were
seated together in the little dining hall, imme-
diately after the evening meal, which was
usually taken in those days at nearly the same
hour as that at which we sit down to dinner in
our own times. The summer's day, and the
twilight which succeeds it, I need hardly tell
the reader, are much longer in the northern
latitude of Perth, than in the southern parts of
the island, and though supper was already over
it was still broad day-light. There was some
very rare old wine upon the table — one of the
good things of life, to which even the strictest
ministers of the Presbyterian kirk have no con
scientious objection, and of which, I have re-
marked, they can generally imbibe a quantity,
without its having the slightest effect upon their
intellect, which would very much puzzle the
brains of any man unaccustomed to its daily
use. Gowrie, however, was accustomed to drink
but little ; of a strong frame, in robust health,
hardly having known a day's illness in his life,
he felt no need of wine ; but yet his hospitality
would in all probability have induced him stay
and press the grape upon his guests, had he
not had many subjects calling for immediate
attention.

" I must soon leave you, Mr. Row," he said,
" and must take Alex from you, too ; for we
have a number of orders to give, and matters
to arrange ; but my good friend Mr. Rhind will
be my locum tenens, and see that you do justice
to my cellar. If I find it otherwise at my re-
turn, I shall either think that Rhind has played
the host badly, or that you find the wine of an
ill flavor." I

" You are going to Dirlton, I think, to-mcr-
row, my lord 1" said Mr. Row.

" Not before I have heard your sermon, my
dear sir," replied Gowrie, with a courteous
smile. " We shall not set off till after dinner.
Then I shall run through Fife, embark upon
the Frith of Forth, and be atg Dirlton before
night."

" And when you come back," said the minis-
ter, with a shrevVd look, " we shall see a bonny
lady in the great house, I'm told."

"I trust so, my dear sir, replied Gowrie,
bravely ; " and one well qualified, both hy char-
acter and education, to esteem and love suet
men as Mr. William Row. It is for her recep-
tion that I am now so busy in preparation."

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

123

" Let us not keep you, my good lord, let us
not keep you. We will just take a moderate
cup, and then retire."

" Oh, no ; I trust to see you before you go,"
replied the earl," quitting the table. " Now,
Alex, let us go and make our arrangements."

Thus saying, the earl left the little dining
hall, crossed the larger hall and a part of the
court-yard, and took his way toward the great
staircase which led to the picture gallery, put-
ting his arm affectionately through that of his
brother, and saying something to him in a low
tone.

"What?" exclaimed Alexander Ruthven,
starting, and looking in his face. " I did not
hear you clearly."

" I only said, Alex," replied Gowrie, " that it
is fit you should see what is done and ordered,
for if I should die before my marriage, or with-
out children, you will have to complete, as Earl
of Gowrie, what I have begun."

" No ; heaven forbid !" exclaimed the young
man warmly. " What should put such a thing
in your head, John?"

" Nothing, but the uncertainty of human life,"
replied his brother, with a grave smile. " I
might be drowned crossing the Forth to-mor-
row ; my horse might fall, as poor Craigengelt's
did the other day ; a thousand things might
happen to take me from this busy scene. It is
true, indeed," he added, " I have thought of
such things much, lately ; and I suppose it is
natural, when the greatest joy of life is before
one, to dread those accidents which so often
interpose between expectation and fruition.
Would that the day were here, and my Julia's
hand clasped in mine forever ! But here comes
Cranston. I shall leave him behind to see that
all is executed properly. He is a man of taste
and judgment, and we can rely on him quite
well."

The person who approached was one of the
domestics of the Earl of Gowrie, whom he
had engaged since his return from Italy; but it
must not thence be inferred that he was. a man
sither of inferior birth or education ; for many
a well horn and well instructed person in those
days accepted the higher offices in the houses
of noblemen of the rank and wealth of the Earl
of Gowrie. Thomas Cranston, we find, was
the brother of Sir John Cranston of Cranston,
and from the way in which he is designated in
his trial, it would seem that he had taken his
degree of Master of Arts.

On his approach, Gowrie addressed him fa-
miliarly, and led the way, through the picture
gallery, to the rooms on the side opposite to
the gallery chamber and study. The first he
entered was a light and well proportioned cham-
ber, looking out over the gardens, and catching
a pleasant view of the beautiful Tay.

" Remember what I have told you, Cranston,
about this room," said Gowrie, casting off the
gloomy air which had more or less hung about
him all day. " This is to be my lady's bower,
where she can be free from intrusion, and spend
her quiet moments at her ease."

" I think, my lord, you said the silk hangings
of green and white were to be put up here'"

"Oh, no, no!" exclaimed Gowrie. "You
are no lover, Cranston, 1 can see. Here we
will have the color of the rose ; and I pray

Heaven that her life with me may be so colored
too. The summer flower, Cranston, whose
blushing bosom will not rival her dear cheek,
but decorate her chamber. No, no, those hang-
ings that we have had made here in Perth are
for this room, and for the sleeping room adjoin-
ing. My dressing room, the little room beyond,
and then two rooms for my mother. In the
other wing is your abode, Alex, hard by William
and Patrick."

" I hope they will be more quiet than their
wont," answered the young gentleman ; " for,
to speak the truth, I am of a more quiet temper
than I used to be."

" You will be here but a short time at once,
and you must bear with them, Alex," said his
brother. " But you are far enough off from
them, too ; so that even when you do come
from the noisy court you may find repose
enough."

" I shall never go to the court again," said
the young gentleman, in a thoughtful tone,
walking on with the earl, while Cranston fol-
lowed a step or two behind. " During the last
fortnight, Gowrie, I have thought more than I
ever thought in my life before. I see that I
have been wrong, but not, I trust, criminal ;
and I know that the prayer which petitions
against being led into temptation is a very good
one for me."

" I will not say I am sorry to hear you so
speak," said the young earl; "and though a
knowledge of the danger is, with a strong and
high mind, almost a certainty of victory, yet I
will not try to shake your resolution, for I be-
lieve it is a good one — at all events, for the
present."

" I am sure it is, John," replied his brother ;
" and so, to return to what I was saying, you
see I shall be in Perth, till you and the whole
household are tired of me, perhaps."

" If you remain till I am tired of you, my dear
Alex," answered the earl, kindly grasping his
shoulder, "we shall spend our lives together.
But I trust, ere long I shall see you married
too, and what I can do to advance your fortune
shall be done."

" I doubt not, Gowrie," replied the young
man, "that what I see of the happiness of
yourself and your fair Julia, will make me eager
to try the same lot ; only where shall I find
another such as she is?"

" Oh, easily," answered Gowrie, " though it
be a lover speaks, Alex. What I mean isv, you
will easily find one as well suited to you as she
is to me, though I could never in life find anothei
such. But let us finish our task, for our friends
below will think us long ;" and in a far more
cheerful mood than before, the earl led the way
onward, giving various directions to Mr. Cran-
ston, till all that he could recollect at the time
was arranged. He then turned to descend the
staircase which led from the northeastern part
of the hiuse, at which he had now arrived ;
hut, before he went, he paused to ask, " How is
poor Craigengelt, Mr. Cranston ? I have had
so many people with me to-day, I have not
been able to get to see him."

" He is better, my lord, replied the other.
■ I saw him this morning before dinner, and I
shall see him again presently."

Tell him I will come and visit him before I

124

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

gj to-morrow," said the earl, " and he must
come over after me to Dirlton when he is well
enough."

Thus saying, the earl went back to the dining-
hall ; . but the party was diminished, for Mr.
William Row was gone.

" I must go, too, my lord," said Oliphant, as
the earl remarked upon the absence of the
minister, " for the truth is, my cousin, the
master, is lying concealed in Perth, and we are
to ride away at midnight, as the king's people
are seeking him for that affair in Angus."

" A bad affair it was," replied the earl,
gravely. " I should be sorry to say any thing
harsh of your house, but the king is quite right
not to suffer such things."

" Ay, the master is a born devil when his
blood's up," replied Oliphant. " I won't justify
him, my lord, but he is yet my cousin, you
know, and so I must help him ; and now I will
bid your lordship good-night, and may God
protect you."

" I trust he will," replied the earl ; " good-
night ;" and sitting down, he filled a tall Venice
glass with wine, and drank it off at a draught,
as if he were tired and thirsty.

A few minutes after Mr. Rhind left him, say-
ing he would go and help to put the books to
rights in the study ; and the earl and his
brother were once more left alone together.
Gowrie, notwithstanding the momentary sad-
ness which had come over him just as Oliphant
departed, seemed more gay and cheerful than
he had been for many a day. The light and
playful wit which had distinguished him in
Italy sparkled forth anew, and he spoke gayly
and happily of his own prospects, suffering the
bright rays of hope to rest upon the future, like
6unshine on a hill.

" It will be very sweet, Alex," he said, joy-
ously, ."to spend our lives together here, afar
from those courtly scenes of which you have
now found the hollowness. After all, a court
is a dull place, from which even those who rule
it must retire to some small domestic corner
for any thing like happiness. Its wit is all
restrained, its merriment measured by line and
rule ; and its gayest sports, hampered by fic-
titious proprieties, always put me in mind of a
man I once saw at Milan, who danced in iron
fetters, for the amusement of the spectators.
We shall be much happier here. Sometimes
we can sail upon the Tay, and perhaps win the
speckled salmon out of the blue water. At
other times we will away to hunt the deer, or
mingle with the good citizens in their sports ;
and then for idler hours we shall have books,
and music, and pleasant chat, and let the world
wag at its will, knowing little of its doings.
In a varied round of duties, pleasures, and
affections, time may well glide by us quietly,
till we find age creeping on us unawares,
and telling us there is another place before us,
where rest is perfected in joy. — But it is grow-
ing dark, Alex. We will have lights for an
hour, and then to bed. — To-morrow, oh, to-
morrow ! then shall I hold my dear one to my
heart again."

" My lord," said the earl's page, Walter
Crookshanks, " here is Mr. Fleming, with a
message from the king for Mr. Alexander."

Gowrie looked toward his brother, ^hose

face turned somewhat pale, and then replied,
" Give him admission, by all means."

The moment after, a well-dressed and grace-
ful young man was ushered into the room, with
whom the earl and his brother both shook hands.

" Welcome to Perth, Fleming," said the earl.
" Pray you sit down. You bear a message
from his majesty, I think."

" Not to your lordship," replied Fleming,
taking a seat, " but to Mr. Ruthven. He
greets you well, sir, and bade me say that he
requests your presence at Falkland to-morrow,
at as early an hour as may be, to see the run-
ning of a famous stag that his men have marked
down this evening. You must be early, for his
majesty will be away sooner than usual."

" How many legs has the stag, Fleming'!''
asked Alexander Ruthven, with an effort to
laugh. " Four, I trust."

Fleming gazed at him for an instant, appa-
rently in some surprise. " Ah," he said at
length, " I did not understand you. Four, by
all means. I heard the order for horses and
hounds myself. We are all in mirth and high
glee at Falkland. The king seems to have
forgotten all cares and crossness, and like an
over-ripe gooseberry seems ready to burst with
sweetness. No, no, there is no danger. If
you are there about eight o'clock you will find
the whole court in the saddle. Some of the ladies,
even, I have heard, are likely to be out to see
the run. What shall I say to his majesty V

Alexander Ruthven looked at his brother,
and then replied, " Say that I am his most de-
voted servant, and always ready to obey his
will. You must not go dry-lipped, Fleming,
however," he continued, seeing the young gen-
tleman rise as if to depart. " A cup of this
old wine will refresh you. Your horse, too,
has not had time to feed."

" He must carry me back fasting," answered
Fleming ; " but I will drink to your good health,
and to that of my lord, your brother. — The king
never bethought himself of sending for you till
three hours ago — foul fall his memory — when,
after talking to your sister the duchess, he sud-
denly called out to me, ' Fleming, get on your
beast's back, and ride to Perth as the de'il had
ye. Tell the bairn Alex to come and run the
muckle hart wie us the morn ; and bid him lose
no time by the way. Some one here can lend him
a horse, I trow, for his ain beast will be weary.' "

As he spoke he filled himself a cup of wine,
and the earl asked him who was present when
this was said.

" The duchess and Lady Mar," said Flem-
ing. " It was in the small room at the top of
the great staircase, my lord, where I had
ensconced myself to talk awhile with Margaret
Hume, if the truth must be told. But now I
will wish you both good-night, and away on
my long ride again."

The earl bade him adieu, and Alexander Ruth-
ven saw him to his horse's back. Then returning
to his brother, he said, eagerly, " What shall I
do, Gowrie 1 This invitation seems strange."

" Strange as the man who sent it," said
Gowrie ; "but yet methinks he can intend you
no ill ; and if you refuse to go, it will at once
put enmity between you and the king. If there
is any evil intended you, it is clear Fleming
knows naught "fit."

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT

125

*' I must go, I fear," said Alexander Ruthven.
"I know not why I feel such a dread ; for it
is just like the king, the whole proceeding —
friends with you to-day, at enmity to-morrdw ;
then friends with you again, if you show that
you h-eed his wrath but little. R is possible,
nay, it is probable, that he intends no ill ; but
yet, I know not why, I feel as if I were going
to execution. How often have I flown to that
court with joy — and now, how different !"

" R such be your feelings, Alex, I would not
have you go," replied his brother. " I may,
perchance, be superstitious in this, but I have
often thought that, as we see in beasts sympa-
thies with the elements which'give them warn-
ing of coming changes, teaching them to fly to
the open fields when earthquakes are approach-
ing, or look up to the sky and low with joy when
the refreshing shower is soon about to descend,
so in man's nature there may be sympathies
with the finer elements that involve his spiritual
nature, giving intimation of coming joy or peril.
My own short experience and reading, narrow
though they be, have tended to confirm this
notion ; for I have seldom seen or known a
bold spirit seized with an unaccountable repug-
nance to an act, and do it, without the conse-
quences being disastrous to himself. Now,
were you, Alex, of a timid nature, given to
unreasonable fears, I should make light of such
dreads ; but as it is, and you, perhaps, are hut
too bold in character, they have more weight
with me."

Alexander Ruthven thought for a moment
or two deeply, and then replied with a sudden
start, " No, I will go ! I have been scanning
my own heart, Gowrie, and I think I can trace
the cause of this dread, to a consciousness
which has come upon me lately, that I have
been more faulty, in my thoughts at least, to-
ward the king, than I believed myself to be
when I left Falkland. So faulty will I never
be again ; and as the first fruit of a better
spirit, I will obey his command, and go."

Thus was it settled then, and all that re-
mained to be determined was who was to
accompany Mr. Ruthven on his expedition.

" Take our cousin Andrew," said the young
earl, " he is honest and faithful, and well looked
upon by the king. With your own servant and
one of mine, that will be enough. Henderson,
too, is going to Ruthven, to see after the farms ;
he may as well accompany you part of the way,
and bring me back word if you find any cause
of apprehension as you go. Andrew is at
Glenorchie's house hard by. Send him a mes-
sage, and he will go, I am sure."

The two brothers retired soon after to rest ;
but by four the following morning, Alexander
was on horseback ; and in a few minutes,
accompanied by his cousin, Andrew Ruthven,
and followed by Henderson with two other
servants, he was on his way to Falkland. The
apprehensions which he had experienced the
night before, seemed now to have returned
upon him in full force. He spoke little to any
one ; and his first words to his cousin, after
they had quitted Perth, were, " I do not love
this journey, Andrew. I know not why the
king has sent for mo. R is very strange."

Still, however, he rode on vehemently, as if
anxious to know his fate, let it be for weal or

Vvoe, and in tl e end he outrode all his compan-
ions, coming in sight of Falkland by seven
o'clock.

" The king will not be out for an hour," he
said to himseJf, " and I can learn from Beatrice
whether there be any signs of danger."

Riding straight east, between the little town
of Falkland and the wood, the young gentleman
took his way toward the stables then called
"the equerry," intending there to put up his
horse, and enter the palace privately ; but, jusf
as he was approaching the building, to his sur-
prise and disappointment, he saw the king al-
ready mounted, and an immense train of court-
iers and huntsmen going forth nearly two hours
earlier than usual. There were some old haw-
thorns growing near, and, dismounting at once,
he threw his rein over a branch and advanced
to the side of James's horse. There, kneeling
on the seft grass, he bent his head, saying, "I
have come at once to obey your majesty's
commands."

His heart beat for the next words ; but
James, with a smiling face, leaned over the
saddle and threw his arm familiarly round the
young man's neck, saying, "That's a good
bairn. Well, I wot, I wish there were many to
obey as readily and speedily, Alex. Noo, man,
get ye on your beast and come wi' us. We'll
show you fine sport the day."

The young gentleman obeyed at once ; the
cavalcade took its way to the wood ; the track
of the buck was soon found, and the hounds
put upon the scent.* Twice, I think, in other
works I have describe^ a royal hunt ; and here
I will refrain, not alone on that account, but be-
cause " the hunting of that day" was not of
stag or roe.

As the noble beast which was the pretended,
object of the morning's chase, forced from his
leafy covert, bounded away over the more open
ground, and hounds and hunters dashed after
him, the royal cavalcade was separated into
smail parties, and Alexander Ruthven asked
eagerly of one of the gentlemen near, where his
acquaintance Fleming was that morning.

" He was sent off to Leith at six o'clock,
poor lad, said Lord Lindores : "tired as a dog
with hard riding last night, he had sore ill will
to go ; but the king was peremptory."

" Alex Ruthven ! Alex, bairn, ride close !"
cried James, from a little distance, " what are
ye clavering about 1 Mind the sport. Come
hither, man ; come hither!"

The young gentleman immediately obeyed,
and rode up to the king's side ; and throughou'
the rest of the hunting, whenever he absented
himself for a moment, he was recalled almost
instantly, if he was seen to be conversing with
any one belonging to the court. So long as he
remained silent and apart, James took no no-
tice, and appeared to be busily engaged in the
chase ; but no sooner did Alexander open his

* If Henders.<n ever was at Falkland on that day, as he
afterward swore, he must have arrived at about half-past
seven, and, to have seen any thing of what took place,
could not have quitted the ground till eight. Yet he had
returned to Perth by ten. He was met by Mr. John
Moncrief, about that time, riding into Perth, and stopped
to speak with him ; so that he performed in two hours a
journey which had taken Alexander Huthven three, over
the bad and tortuous roads then existing. But the whole
of the man's evidence is invalidated by his subsequent
perjury in regard to the other transactions of that day.

r26

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

Zips to any other than the king himself, than the
monarch's voice, calling him up, sounded in his
ears.

The hunt was long, considering the circum-
stances, for the deer was forced by half-past
eight, and was not pulled down till ten. All
gathered round the noble beast as he lay upon
the ground, and every one made way for the
king to perform, as he so frequently did, the
last disgusting offices of the chase ; but to the
surprise, of all, and the consternation of Alex-
ander Ruthven, James remained upon his horse,
saying, "Noo, my lords and gentles, we've an-
other ride before us. We're awa to St. John-
stone, to visit our loyal friend the Earl )f Gow-
rie, but wetshall be back before night so you
need nae seek your nightcaps."

" I tear, your majesty," said Alexander Ruth-
ven, " that you will hardly find my brother at
his house. He purposed to go to Dirlton early
to-day."

"De'il tak it!" cried the king, "but 'tis no
matter. We will ride the faster and catch him,
I do not doubt. Here, Alex, bairn, ride by us,
and tell us all about your brother's journey.
Ye've seen the lady, I'll dar' to say."

The poor young man, alarmed and confound-
ed, replied, in faltering accents, that he had ;
and, in answer to James's questions, he de-
scribed his brother's promised bride as accu-
rately as he could find words to do, in the state
of trepidation of his mind at the moment

The monarch kept him by his side as much
as possible, but in the course of their long ride
they were naturally separated more than once,
and on the very first occasion that their con-
versation was broken off, Alexander Ruthven
took the opportunity of asking Sir George
Hume, a distant cousin of the affianced hus-
band of his sister, what could be the motive of
the king's journey.

" It is understood he is going to Perth," re-
plied the other, to seize the master of Oliphant,
who has been committing cruel oppression in
Angus."

This information was some relief to the
young gentleman's mind, for he knew that the
culprit mentioned had been in Perth the day
before ; and riding up to the king's side again,
he said, " Perhaps your majesty will allow me
to ride on and give notice of your coming. I
may so catch my brother before he departs,
and enable him to prepare for your recep-
tion."

" No, no," replied the king. " My coming
must be kept quite quiet till I am there. As to
the reception, we shall do well enough. You
stay and ride with us."

The young gentleman fell back again with a
gloomy and apprehensive countenance ; and
James, turning to the Duke of Lennox, who was
riding on his other hand, said, in a low tone,
" Do you see how scared he looks 1 What
know you of the lad's nature, my lord duke ;
is he given to such high apprehensions'!"

" I only know, your majesty," answered Len-
nox, " that he is a very honest and discreet
young gentleman, as far as my observation
goes."

James mused for a moment or two, and then
said, in a low tone, gazing with a cunning look
in the duke's face, " You can not guess, man,

the errand I am riding for. I am going to gel
a purse in Perth."

" Indeed, sire," said Lennox, drily. " I am
glad to hear it. I hope it may be a large one."

" I dinna ken," replied the king, in the same
low tone ; " but the bairn Alex came to me,
just when we were going out for the hunting,
and told me that he had got a stranger man
locked up at Gowrie Place, w&om he had found
in Perth with a pitcher full of gold pieces. He
besought me to come away directly and take it,
and to make haste and come privately, for his
brother, the earl, knows nothing of it ; and he's
'feard that the man may cry out."*

" I do not like the story at all, sire," answer-
ed Lennox, with an exceedingly grave face,
"and, were I in your majesty's place, I would
not go. The thing is quite childlike and im-
probable. How should Alexander seize such a
person and confine him in Gowrie House, with-
out his brother's knowing it 1 The house is the
earl's ; the servants there are his ; he is provost
of Perth, and high sheriff of the county. Were
it not better, sire, to send two or three of us on
to tell the earl, on your part, what his brother
has related, and command him to bring or send,
the man and his pot of gold before your maj-
esty 1"

" No, no," answered James, " I will e'en just
go myself, but look well where I go with the
bairn Alex when I am there."

The Duke of Lennox was silent ; but, in the
course of the ride, James told the same story,
and in the same low tone, to several of the oth-
er courtiers. It was heard by every one with
looks of suspicion, though it maybe very doubt-
ful whether they imputed the falsehood to the
king or to Alexander Ruthven.

Even to Sir Hugh Herries his majesty re-
peated the tale, with a low chuckle at the same
time.

Herries shrugged his shoulders with what,
perhaps, might be termed a look of contempt ,
but he merely replied, " I wish the tale were
more probable."

When the head of the royal cavalcade were
within two miles of Perth, but not before,
James called Alexander Ruthven to his side,
and said, " You may now send one of your folk
forward to tell your brother we are coming this
way, but stay you here yourself."

" I will send my cousin Andrew, please your
majesty," replied Alexander Ruthven.

"Well, call him up, call him up," said the
king; and the young man's hope of sending a
private message to his brother was disappoint-
ed. Gloomy and sad, he rode a step or two
behind the king till they were within less than
a mile of the town ; but then James, turning
his head, gave him a keen and scrutinizing
look, and said, " Now Alex, bairn, ye may ride
on to your brother."

The young man struck his spurs deep into
his tired horse's flanks, and dashed past the
king, with a low bow.

* The above is actually the story which James not
only told to his courtiers, but afterward wrote to several
neighboring princes, and embodied in his narrative of the
events of that day, leaving his hearers and his readers the
very unpleasant alternative of looking upon him either as
an idiot or a knave. Lenox, in his deposition, very barely
conceals what he thought of the story, and of the king,
for believing or pretending to believe it.

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

13

CHAPTER XLI.

The Earl of Gowrie slept well, nor did he
wake till past six o'clock. Even then he felt
unwilling to get up, for the last hour had
been filled with pleasant dreams ; and they set
fancy wandering on the same track, even after
reason had roused herself to grapple with the
tasks of the day. In his sleep he had imagined
that he was wandering with Julia through a
pleasant garden, he could not tell where. It
was not certainly in Perth. It was not at Dirl-
ton. It was not any he had ever seen in Italy
or France. The fruits and flowers were of a
different kind from those of Europe, larger,
brighter in color, more magnificent. The odor
which rilled the air was at once sweet and re-
freshing ; and the fountains, that rose up here
and there, the rivers which glided through green
banks at his feet, were so pure, and clear, and
bright, that the little stones at the bottom
seemed like jewels as the eye penetrated the
water. There was a murmur, too, of many
sweet sounds in the air, birds singing, and hap-
py voices, and the gush of fountains, and the
low song of the stream, all blended into an en-
trancing harmony. There seemed nobody but
himself and Julia in that garden ; and they sat
together upon the velvet turf of a green bank,
with the shadow of a feathery tree waving over
them, with nothing but joyful sights and pleas-
ant sounds around ; and he held her hand in i
his and gazed into her dark and lustrous eyes ;
and they both murmured, " This is like heaven."

For some minutes after he woke he lay and
thought of his dream. It is very pleasant on a
bright summer morning with the birds sin^ingjl
around, and the soft breath of dawn moving the
air and agitating the green branches, and the
downy influence of sleep but half withdrawn, to
lie and meditate of happy days. Oh how the
images crowd upon us then — how joy with joy
weaves a wreath more beautiful than gems or
flowers — how we wish that life were indeed a
day dream like that ! But Gowrie, was not
suffered long to indulge. He heard some one
moving in the ante-room, and the next moment
there was a tap at the door. He rose and
opened it, and, somewhat to his surprise, saw
his servant, Anstin Jute, for he had thought it
was his page come to call him.

"What is<it, Austin V he asked. "You seem
disturbed."

"Oh no, my lord, not disturbed," replied the
good man ; " but a short tale is soon tolri. I
don't like your man, Christie, my lord. The
porter I mean."

"What has he done that you disapprove of,
Austin 1" asked the earl gravely.

" Nothing, my good lord," replied the En-
glishman. " That is to say, nothing that I can
say is wrong ; and he is uncommonly civil to
me ; but you can not always tell the bird by its
feathers. A pig's got a long snout, and so has
a woodcock ; but they're two different crea-
tures. However, to make short of my tale,
Master Christie had two visitors in his lodge
this morning before five o'clock ; and I'm very
much mistaken if I have not seen the face of
one of them when you sent me to the king at
Falkland."

" He has a cousin among the royal servants '

said the earl ; but Austin Jute shook his head
with a doubtful look. " I never forget a face,"
he said, " and very seldom where I have seen
it. Now, if I'm not much mistaken indeed, the
face I saw this morning, when last I saw it,
was going into the palace at Falkland, with a
very different coat underneath it from that
which was there to-day. There was no badge
then upon the arm either. They say fine feath-
ers make fine birds, it is true, and if so it has
sadly molted, for it was a finer bird then than
now."

The earl mused for a moment or two, and
then said, " That was somewhat strange in-
deed. It shall be inquired into."

"Aye, things are strange, my lord, till we
hear stranger," said Austin Jute. " I have not
told you about the other man yet. I'm not
likely, I think, my lord, to forget a man I once
ran through the body."

" I should suppose not, certainly," replied the
earl. "Did you ever confer that honor upon the
second personage you saw to-day 1"

" It was not first or second, my lord," re-
plied Austin, " for I saw them both at once.
Birds of a feather fly together ; and these two
came up cheek by jowl. However, if I ran a
man through the body, eight or nine months
ago in Paris — and people told me I did — he
was here this morning."

" As you say, stranger still," replied the earl ;
" but this shall be inquired into directly. How
came you to see them 1"

" Why I was up this morning to see Mr.
Alexander off," replied Austin, 'and then I
went out to walk through the town. As I was
coming back I saw two men before me, going
along at a quick pace, till they stopped at the
gates here. They did not ring the great bell,
but knocked upon the railings with the end of a
riding whip ; and Christie came quietly up and
opened the gate. I stood at the corner and
watched them, so I had time enough to see
what they were like. I did not like to wake
your lordship earlier, but as the people are all
beginning to stir, I thought it better to do so
now."

"You were quite right, Austin," replied the
earl, " now go and send the page to me. But
say not a word of what you have seen to any
one."

" Mum as a mouse, my lord," answered Aug
tin Jute, and withdrew.

As soon as he was dressed, Gowrie descend-
ed into the court yard, and crossing it to the
great gates, which were open, stood under the
archway, close to the porter's room, looking
up and down the street, and giving Christie,
who was bustling about within, a fair opportu-
nity of saying any thing he might think fit.
The man remained silent however; and the
earl at length called to him.

" Who had you here about five o'clock 1" he
demanded, as the man came out bowing low.

" Oh it was just my cousin, Robbie Brown,'"
replied the porter. " He was on his way to
Dundee, and looked in for a minute.

Gowrie fixed his eyes upon him in silence
for a moment ; and he could see the tell-tale
color mount up into the man's cheek. " Who
else had you here?' he demanded somewhat
sternly.

■;»S

COWRIE : OR, THE KINGS PLOT.

" Wee], now, to think o' that !" cried the
porter, holding up his hands. " If I had not
clean forgotten to tell your lordship that a very
worthy gentleman, Ramsay, of Newburn, came
speering, as he gaed by, if I thought your
lordship could see him this evening ; but I tellt
him that it was clean impossible, for I kenned
you were to ride to Dirlton."

Gowrie was not deceived. There was false-
hood in the man's face ; for what could be the
motive and what the object of all these pro-
ceedings he could not divine, yet he saw that
there was something evidently wrong Turning
upon his heel he re-entered the house, and after
thinking for a few minutes, he sent for Mr.
Cranston, saying, as soon as he appeared, " I
know not, Cranston, whether Henderson will
have returned before I set out, and as you will
remain here, I must charge you with a mes-
sage to him. Tell him to discharge the porter,
Robert Christie, at once, paying him whatever
may be due to him, and giving him till to-mor-
row to remove from the house, but not to let
him be found here afterward on any pre-
tense."

" I will not fail, my lord," replied Cranston.

" And now send Henry Younger to me, if
you can find him, Mr. Cranston," said the earl,
who continued to walk up and down the room
till the servant he had sent for appeared.

" Younger," he said, as soon as the man en-
tered, " you have been a good deal with Sir
George Ramsay's family ; do you know his
cousin, Newborn 1"

" Oh, aye, right well, my lord," replied the
servant, " ne'er-do-weel mischievous devil, if
ever there was one."

"Then take your horse, and ride to Dundee
as fast as you can go," said Gowrie, "see if
you can find him out there, and bring me word
if he be in the good town, and who he has got
with him."

"Am I to say any thing to him from your
lordship V demanded the servant.

" No," replied the earl at once, " all I wish to
know is, if he be there, and who is with him.
I have got nothing to say to him ; but on those
two points I require satisfaction."

The man bowed and retired, and Gowrie
proceeded with the ordinary avocations of the
day. Nevertheless his mind was far from calm
and at ease. Many of these little ominous
circumstances, which, like clouds of dust ris-
ing before a storm, prognosticate coming evil,
though the connection can not be traced, had
gathered into the last two or three days. The
porter's sudden journey to Falkland during his
absence, his brother's unexpected summons to
the king's presence, the visit at an early and
unusual hour of two persons from the court, all
raised up doubts in his mind as to the king's
/ntentions ; and he asked himself what could
James design, and how could he best meet it.
Both questions were difficult to be answered ;
ind he revolved them in vain in his mind till the
hour arrived for his going, according to promise,
to the week-day preaching. In the parish
church he found assembled, besides the good
citizens of the town, a number of gentlemen
cf his own name and family, who were parish-
ioners of Mr. William Row, the minister of
Forgniidennv, who had undertaken to preach

that day, the two regular ministers of Pertll
being absent attending the provincial synod al
Stirling. Among those whom he knew best,
were the two sons of his cousin, Alexander
Ruthven of Freeland ; and, in parting with
them at the church-door, he invited them to
dine with him that day at twelve, as well as
Drummond of Pitcairn, and the Baron of Fin-
down, who were aiso present.

The moment after, the senior baillie of the
town approached and informed him that there
would be some business before the town coun-
cil this morning, if his lordship could attend ;
but Gowrie answered, with a smile, " I fear,
baillie, I can not come, for Mr. Hay is to be
with me on county business, and though I love
the good town well, I must not give it all my
time."

The worthy magistrate received his excuse
in good part, and, on returning to his house,
Gowrie found the gentleman he expected al-
ready waiting for him. All who saw him dur-
ing the morning remarked that he was very
grave ; but he went through the whole of the
matters which were brought before him as
sheriff of the county, and they were both many
and important, with great accuracy and atten-
tion While Mr. Hay was with him, and about
ten o'clock his factor, Henderson returned ;
and the earl eagerly asked " What news
from Falkland 1 Who found you with the
kingV

Henderson gave but a vague answer ; and,
thinking he had something particular to com-
municate, Gowrie took him into a neighboring
room, and questioned him there.

What Henderson replied, is not known ; but,
on his return to the chamber where he had left
Mr. Hay, he found Mr. John Moncrief, who
came to obtain the earl's signature to some
papers.

" I met your lordship's factpr^! said that gen-
tleman, after the first salutation, " a mile or
two south of Perth."

"Was he riding fast or slowl" asked the
earl ; for the most opejp, and generous natures
will become suspicious by experience of man's
faithlessness.

" At a foot pace," answered Moncrief

"Then I know not how he has got back so
soon," answered Gowrie. "I sent him with
my brother Alex to Falkland, with orders to
bring me back word how the king received
him, for there was some little displeasure when
they parted. Henderson was ordered to go to
Ruthven too ; and he says he has been to both
places. Now, I ride as boldly as any man in
the realm, and I could not have done as he has
done, in the same time."

" He told me he had been three miles above
the town ; but these are the papers, my good
lord, if you will be pleased to read and sub-
scribe them, for the lady can not have her right
without your signature."

"Then we will not detain your lordship
farther," said Mr. Hay, rising. " The rest of
the county business can very well be settled
at your return."

Gowrie suffered him to depart, for, to say the
truth, he was not very fond of him ; but Mon-
crief he asked to remain and dine, adding, " I
shall set off for Dirlton immediately after din-"

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

139

ner. So you must not expect me to play the
good host, Moncrief."

The papers took long to examine, however,
for Gowrie would not affix his signature till he
had read them through, so that it was half-past
twelve before he sat down to table. Just when
the second course was being placed on the
board, the earl's cousin, Alexander Ruthven,
entered the hall, dusty from his journey ; and,
approaching the earl, he said, in a low tone,
" The king, and all the court are coming this
way, my lord ; and I rode on to tell you. The
report is, that he is coming to seize the master
of Oliphant."

" But the king is not coming here," said
Gowrie, with a heavy cloud upon his brow.
" The master of Oliphant was at Dupphin this
morning."

" I can not tell, my lord,' replied his cousin.
"The king's words were very short, all he said,
being, ' Now you may ride on, Andrew.' "

"Well, weli, sit down and take some din-
ner," said the earl, thoughtfully, " Have you
ridden fast V

" I should have ridden faster," answered the
other, " but there are such a rout of Murrays
in the streets, I could hardly make my way
through them. I think the whole clan is turn-
ed in, with the master of Tullibardine at their
head."

"What do they here in Perth?" demanded
the earl. " Did you speak with any of them !"

" Oh, yes," answered his cousin, seating him-
self at the board. " Some quite down in Water-
street, declared that they came to honor the
wedding of George Murray, who lives half way
through the town ; and some said plainly, that
they did not know. They came hecause they
were told."

" The master of Tullibardine," said the earl,
gloomily, " comes not to honor the wedding of
an innkeeper. There is something more in
this ; and we shall hear farther, soon."

Andrew Ruthven had hardly time to fill his
plate from one of the dishes on the table, and
to begin the first mouthful of his dinner, when
young Alexander Ruthven entered the room in
breathless haste, exclaiming, " Brother, the
king and all the court are near at hand. I left
them not a mile from the town-gate."

He fixed his eyes eagerly, anxiously, upon
his brother's countenance, as if he could have
said a world more, but had not time or courage
to speak. A shadow, like that of a flying cloud,
swept over the earl's face, deep but transitory
— a momentary struggle in the heart, showing
itself by that grave, stern look, but calmed as
soon as felt.

" Would that his majesty had given me no-
tice," he said, "then might I have received
him more worthily. Nevertheless, we must
prepare at once, gentlemen, we must go and
meet the king. Henderson, take heed that
instant preparation be made that the king
may dine. Let this room be prepared for his
majesty's meal, the great hall for the lords of
the court ; my study near the gallery chamber
for the king to take repose, if he need it, after
such a day of fatigue. Have every thing ready
as fast as possible, and spare neither speed nor
money to prepare befittingly. Cranston, I beg
»ou run down at once, call the naillies together,
X

tell them the king is coming, and require them
to meet me as speedily as possible at the South
Inch. Gentlemen all, you had better rise and
follow me, to receive his majesty on his en-
trance into Perth."

"By we had better follow you to keep

him out," said Hugh Moncrief, with a meaning
look, and then added, at a reproving glance
from Gowrie's eye, " for he will not go again,
I judge, without extracting more than we can
well spare."

Gowrie took no public notice of his words,
but led the way to the door ; and, after a brief
search for hats, and cloaks, and rapiers, the
whole party passed across the court on foot,
and threw the gates into the street.

Christie the porter, with a grave face, held
the right hand valve of the great iron gates
open ; but, as soon as the earl and his friends
had passed through, a sinister smile came upon
his lip, and murmuring to himself, " Now then,"
be retired into his room. The instant after,
Austin Jute ran through the gates and followed
the earl, but did not overtake him till he was
halfway down the street. Then advancing, so
as to be in his master's sight, he doffed his hat,
saying, " Have you any thing to command me,
my lord?"

Gowrie put his hand to his head like one al-
most bewildered, and then said, " Ay, Austin,
ay, — go on gentlemen. I follow you — take
horse directly, Austin," he continued, as soon
as the others had passed on, " speed to Dirl-
ton. You must find your way as best you can.
Tell my mother — tell the dear Lady Julia what
has happened here. Say that I can not be
with them to-night, but — "

He paused and thought for an instant, and
then added, " No ! I will make no promise for
to-morrow. God, and God only, knows what
may be to-morrow. Do not alarm them, Austin,
more than needful. But still," he added solemn-
ly, " do not buoy them up with hopes that may
prove false. Tell them the king comes. Tell
them I know not why he comes, and let their
own judgment speak the rest. But of all things
let my mother be upon her guard, and see to
the safety of my young brothers. There's my
purse, good fellow, to defray your expenses on
the road. Would there were more in it for
your sake. And now away with all speed !
Here, take my sword ; lay it somewhere in the
house. The king shall not say that 1 had arms
of any kind."

Austin Jute caught the earl's hand and kissed
it, as if he felt it were the last time he should
ever see him. Then, without a word of reply,
but with a glistening eye, he turned away, sped
back to the great house, took the horse he usu-
ally rode from the stable, and without farther
preparation rode away.

In the mean time, Gowrie rejoined his friends
and walked on, the party every moment being
increased by some accession from among the
magistrates of the town, or the gentry of the
place and neighborhood. It had thus been swel-
led to the number of five or six-and-thirty per-
sons when it reached the side of the large, fine
piece of meadow groundt.by the Tay, called the
South Inch, and in a minute or two after the
royal cavalcade was seen approaching at a slow
and stately pace It was remarked, however

130

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

aloud, not by the earl of Gowrie or any of his
friends, but by one of the baillies of the town,
that, although they had met. many of the Mur-
rays in the streets as they went along, not one
Qf them had joined the party going to receive
and welcome the king.

" They do not show their loyalty, methinks,"
said Baillie Roy.

No reply was made aloud, but Hugh Mon-
crief, a warm-tempered, plain-spoken man, who
had been watching Gowrie's countenance at-
tentively, muttered between his teeth, "they
may show it by-and-by with a vengeance per-
chance. I know not what they do here. The
town is full of them."

Neither Gowrie nor his brother Alexander
made any observation whatever, but waited in
grave silence till James's horse was within
some fifty yards ; and then the young earl ad-
vanced with his head uncovered, saying, "your
majesty is welcome to your good and loyal
town of St. Johnstone ; and I only regret that I
did not earlier know of your coming, that a bet-
ter reception might have been prepared for your
royal grace."

"Oh, we come in no state, very good lord,"
replied the king. "We love to take our friends
by surprise, and we know that no man in all
the realm will he more willing or better prepar-
ed to receive the king than the Earl of Gowrie.
'Deed, our poor beasties are very tired, so that
our train has gone spilling itself on the road,
like an o'er filled hoggie ; but they'll come in by
sixes and sevens, no doubt ; and now, my lord,
by your good leave, we'll go oh and repose our-
selves."

Gowrie gave a glance over the king's train,
at this intimation of its numbers being likely to
increase before night. It consisted of more
than forty persons already ; but, without any
observation, he merely bowed his head and
walked by the side of the monarch's horse,
James continuing to speak with him in a gay
and jocular tone all the way to the gates of
Gowrie house.

As soon as the monarch had entered the
court, where some ten or twelve of the earl's
servants were drawn up, Alexander Ruthven
sprang to hold the horse's head, while Gowrie
himself assisted the king to dismount. The
magistrates of the town were then presented
to the king in form, having pressed somewhat
closely around ; but James, treating the worthy
baillies with somewhat scanty courtesy, cut
their compliments short, and was led by the
earl through the great hall into the lesser din-
ing-room, which had been hastily prepared for
his reception.

" He's no like a king, either in face or tongue,"
said Baillie Graham in a low tone, as he walked
away.

"Aye, but it's a grand, thing the royal pres-
ence," said Baillie Roy aloud, as he retired.

So the town council were divided in opinion.

CHAPTER XLII.
From the moment of the king's arrival, Gow-

the courtiers who had tarried behind on the
road to refresh their weary horses or to procure
others, or of parties from the country, consist-
ing generally of the family of Murray, of Tulli-
bardine, of which powerful race we are assured
that there were three hundred men in arms in
the town before two o'clock.* Some of the
latter, as well as all the former, flocked into
the court ; and in a quarter of an hour after
James had entered the gates, the young ear
found his dwelling no longer, in fact, at his own
disposal. Though courteous and civil to all,
every one saw that he was grave and displeas-
ed ; nor were his doubts diminished when one
of those small accidental circumstances which
so frequently betray deep-laid plans, proved to
him and his brother that the monarch's visit
was no sudden caprice or accidental event, but
a design, arranged and conceited with others
long before.

The assumed cause of the presence of so
many of the Murrays in the town of Perth on
that day, was the marriage of one of their fa-
mily in the city ; but the person married was
known to be merely the innkeeper ; and, at the
best, the presence of so many noblemen on
such an occasion, seemed to Gowrie an honor
somewhat extraordinary. When, however, a
cousin of the Baron of Tullibardine appeared
at Gowrie Palace, bringing with him a large and
beautiful falcon from the country, as a present
for the king, the young earl could not doubt that
the house of Murray had been made acquainted
with the monarch's proposed visit before the
person who was to entertain him. He had
little opportunity, however, of communicating
his suspicions even to his brother, before the
king's dinner was served ; for James kept him
constantly at his side, talking and jesting in a
mood unusually joyous and noisy even for him.
He seemed to have forgotten altogether the
story of .the pot of gold and the bound prisoner,
which he had told to some of his courtiers by
the way ; and though nearly an hour elapsed
ere the meal was ready, he quitted not the hall
to which he had been first led.

" I grieve your majesty has to wait so long,"
said Gowrie, at length ; " but your gracious
visit took me completely by surprise ; and as I
was about to set out for Dirlton in the after-
noon, with most of my people, my poor house
is. not provided even as well as usual."

" It matters not, my good earl," replied the
king. "Fasting a wee will do one no harm.
Many a godly man fasts for mortificatioc, and
doubtless an enforced fast will do as well. But
here come your sewers, or I am mistaken ; and
now we shall soon fall to. Alex, bairn, you
shall be our carver, while we converse with the
earl — though, fegs, my lord, you would not do
for a jester, for you seem as melancholy as a
pippit hen."

" I am in no way fit for that high office, sire,"
answered Gowrie, with the color mounting in
his cheeks ; " and indeed it would require both

* Moysea, in his memoirs, declares that there were no
less than five hundred gentlemen in Perth, that day, who
bore testimony to the truth of the king's statement : and
therefore were certainly not inimical to James. Yet we
lie House, or Palace, was one continual scene ' are t(,ld to believe that, in presence of this imposing force
nf ronfnsinn for nearlv two hours Fvprv in of ln-val sul»Jects. (assembled who knows how?) Gowrie
oi contusion ior nearly two nours. .every in- and hj8 brotlier wilh eight serVants, auempted the king'j
stant some fresh party was arriving, either of ufe.

GOWRIE. OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

13.

wit and courage to fill it at your majesty's
court."

" How so, now so !" cried James.

" Because I should think," replied the young
earl," that your majesty is more than a match
for any jester that ever lived, both in the hard-
ness and the sharpness of your hits."

" Ay, but you can jest, too, I see, earl," said
James ; and he took the solitary seat which had
been placed for him a*, the table.

In the mean time, a table had been laid in the
great hall for the numerous unexpected guests
who had flocked into the great house that day ;
and it seems it was customary on such occa-
sions for the king's entertainer to see the sec-
ond course served at the royal table, and then
to invite the courtiers round to dine with him
in another chamber. Govvrie, however, doubt-
ful, anxious, and ill-pleased, neglected the mo-
ment at which the invitation should have been
given, and the Duke of Lennox, the Earl of
Mar, and others, continued grouped around the
king's table, while Gowrie himself stood at the
lower end, and his brother Alexander, placed
behind the monarch's chair, gave him wine
from time to time, or carved the dishes placed
before him. Thus passed a considerable part
not only of the first but of the second course
also ; James talking incessantly to Alexander
Ruthven and his brother in a very gracious
manner, but with somewhat coarse and inde-
cent language.

At length, looking up with a sarcastic grin,
the monarch said, "I'm thinking, Alex, bairn,
that your brother, the earl, fancies these puir
lads standing round hae tint their hunger by
the road-side, that he keeps them sae lang
empty."

" I really beg your pardon, my lord duke,"
said Gowrie, turning to Lennox ; " but I was
60 intent upon seeing his majesty duly served,
that I have fallen into the fault for which he
justly reproaches me. I trust we shall find a
dinner of some kind in the great hall, though
the honor I have received being unexpected, I
fear it will be but poorly requited by your enter-
tainment."

Thus saying, he led the way to the other
table, and seeing his guests placed, and the
best dinner which so short a notice permitted
his servants to provide, put before them, he
returned to the inner hall, and took his place
as before, at the lower end of the board. He
and his brother, with their own servants, were
now with the king alone. A closed door, a
blow of a dagger, and James had died and Gow-
rie lived ; but such a thought never crossed his
pure, high mind, whatever might be then work-
ing in the heart of his royal enemy-
James continued to jest with ribald coarse-
ness till the second course was removed, and a
rich desert of the finest fruits which could be
procured from (he splendid gardens of Gowrie
Palace, was placed before him. Then, how-
ever, he said, " I feel somewhat weary, Alex,
bairn ; show me a room, man, where I can re-
pose myself in quiet for a while, away frae a'
this din."

"There is one prepared for your majesty,"
eplied the young gentleman. " Permit me to
lead the way."

"I'll hae a cup o' wine first," said James ; and

taking a large goblet, or hanap, from the hands
of Gowrie's brother, he added, addressing the
earl, " My lord, you have seen the fashion of
entertainments in other countries ; and now I
will teach you the fashion in this country, see-
ing you are a Scottish man. You have forgot
to drink with me, and to sit with your guests,
and to bid us welcome ; but we will now drink
our own welcome." He then quaffed off the
beaker, and proceeded — " I pray you, my lord,
go to the other company, drink to them, and bid
them welcome in the king's name."

" I obey your majesty's orders," answered
the earl, gravely ; and, without farther com-
ment, retired to the great hall, leaving the king
alone with his brother.

Taking his seat at the head of the table, Gow-
rie called for wine ; and when his page had fill-
ed a cup to the brim, he rose, saying, " I am de-
sired by his majesty to drink this scall to my
lord duke and the rest of the company ;" and
then turning to Lennox and Mar, who were
seated next each other on his right hand, he
apologized in more familiar terms for any neg-
lect which had appeared in his reception of his
guests.

"His majesty's coming," he said, "wag. so
sudden and unexpected, that I had no time to
learn my part and prepare to perform it."

The wine went round. The conversation be-
came general ; and at this moment Gowrie re-
marked young John Ramsay caressing a large
and beautiful falcon, which he held upon his
right hand, while an enormously tall, large man
sitting beside him seemed resolved, by the ef-
forts of his immense appetite, to consume all
the provisions which remained upon the earl's
table.

" You have a beautiful bird there, Ramsay,"
said the earl, speaking down the table. "Is
she as good upon the wing as she looks upon
the hand V , ,

" I really don't know, my lord," replied Ram-
say. " Murray of Arknay brought her in upon
his fist as a present for the king, So I am
holding her," he added, with a laugh, "while
meikle John Murray devours to the extent of
his ability."

" You'll have to keep her all the day, Ram-
say," said the burly man of whom he spoke.
" I've had enough of her, carrying her sixteen
miles ;" and then turning toward Gowrie, he
added, " She's as keen a bird, my lord, and as
true as ever was hatched and fledged. I wish
you could see her upon the wing. I've only flown
her thrice to prove her, intending to take her to
Falkland ; but when I heard yesterday the king
Was coming here, I secured her and brought
her with me."

" Pity that I should be the last to know of
the king's coming," said Gowrie, in a medita-
tive tone, and turning to Mar, he said, " But
poor entertainment I've been able to give you,
my lord. My good brothe. in-law, the duke,
will excuse it for love ; but I know not how to
apologize to so many gentlemen who are near-
ly strangers to me."

Mar merely bowed his head, for he could not
help seeing that their coming had been as un-
pleasant as unexpected to his host ; and.
though probably not in the king's secrets, he
saw clearly that there was something amiss

132

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

between the monarch and the house of Ruth-
ven.

" My Lord Lindores, I beseech you ply the
wine," continued Gowrie. " It may not be so
good as that which you gave me some five or
six months ago ; but it will do for want of bet-
ter."

" Can not be better," replied Lindores. "This
is wine of eighty-three. The best vintage they
have had in France for a whole centurv."

At that moment the king and Alexander Ruth-
ven passed across the lower part of the hall,
taking their way toward the great staircase
leading to the picture gallery, the cabinet close
by which had been prepared by Gowrie's orders,
as the reader has already seen, for the king to
repose himself after dinner. James had his
arm around Alexander Ruthven's neck, in the
over-familiar and caressing manner which he
not unfrequently put on to those who were on
the eve of disgrace ; and he was, moreover,
laughing heartily. There were some sixty
persons in the hall at the moment, all talking
aloud, and most of them with their faces turned
from the door that led into the lesser hall, so
that the monarch's passing was noticed by few.
The Duke of Lennox, however, caught sight
of James's figure, and rose as if to follow him ;
but Gowrie said, " His majesty is going to re-
pose for a while in my study up stairs, which
has been made ready for him ;" and Lennox at
once resumed his seat.

Sir Thomas Erskine, however, who was
placed considerably farther down the table, had
frequently turned his eyes toward the room in
which the king had been dining ; and now he
instantly got up and followed James out of the
hal., overtaking him at the foot of the broad
staircase, and entering into conversation with
him and Alexander Ruthven. They ascended
the stairs together, and at the top encountered
Christie, the earl's porter, who instantly drew
on one side with a low reverence, but at the
same time put his hand to his chin in a some-
what significant manner.

Passing then through the gallery, without
taking any notice of the pictures, the king, with-
out direction from his host's brother, proceeded
at once toward the door of the gallery chamber,
through which was the only way from that part
of the house to Gowrie's study ; and the door
having been thrown open for him to go through,
James turned to Sir Thomas Erskine, saying,
" Bide you here for us, man."* ,

Erskine bowed and stopped at the door ; and
James with Alexander Ruthven passed through.
In the large gallery chamber, standing in the
recesses of the window, were two or three men,
dressed as the ordinary household servantsof the
king, at least so says tradition. Alexander Ruth-
ven either did not see them, or took no notice of
a circumstance which had nothing extraordinary

* This fact is indiscreetly suffered to appear in Er-
skine's deposition, where he says, " When ail was over I
said to his majesty, I thought your majesty would have
covendited more to me than to have commanded me to
await your majesty at the door, if you had thought it not
mete to take me with you." What Sir Thomas Erskine
knew more of this foul transaction than he deposed to, is
shown by a let.er from Nicholson, the Queen of Eng-
land's agent in Scotland, 2"2d September, lb()2, in which
he mentions that the king was much disturbed bacause
his queen had revealed to Beatric Kuthven some secrets
told him by Sir Thomas Erskine.

in it ; but, advancing a s;ep before the mor>
arch, he opened the door of his brother's cabs
net ; and James at once passed in.

When the young man had his step upon the
threshold to follow, he paused and hesitated,
seeing a tall dark man completely armed alrea-
dy in possession of the room.

" Come in, Alex, bairn, come in," cried
James, in a good-humored tone.

The young gentleman, not without a feeling
of dread, obeyed ; and the door was closed.

CHAPTER XLlII.

The court-yard of Gowrie Palace, that large
court-yard which I have before described, of
ninety feet in length by sixty in width, was fill-
ed with men and horses, from a little after one
till a late hour in the afternoon. Gowrie's own
servants had more than they could well man-
age to do, the domestic servants in waiting
upon the king and the courtiers, and his grooms
and stable-boys in attending to the horses.
The granaries were thrown open. The serv-
ants of the strangers helped themselves to what
they needed ; and men who had never been
seen in the place before, were running over the
whole building. In vain Mr. Cranston remon-
strated and endeavored to preserve a little or-
der, and, while he himself was obliged to be
absent from the scene of confusion, besought
Donald MacDufT, the earl's baron baillie of
Strathbraan, who had come down with his lord
from Trochrie, to stop the people from entering
the palace and swilling the wine and ale at
their discretion. Christie, the porter, seemed
to rejoice in the tumult, giving admission to all
who wanted it, to every part of the house ex-
cept the two upper floors.

" There'll be nothing done," said MacDufT,
" unless one of them has his head broke. It's
all Christie's fault. He knows that he's to go
to-morrow, and cares not what he does. I'll
split his weasand in a minute with my whinger,
if you'll but say I may, Mr. Cranston."

" No, no ; no violence, MacDufT," said Mr.
Cranston, " especially not to the king's people ;"
and he turned away into the house again.

MacDufT stood sullenly on the steps of the
hall, gazing with a hitter heart on the scene be-
fore him, till Mr. Alexander Ruthven of Free-
land came up, and spoke to him in a low tone,
saying, " This is really too bad, MacDufT. Some
order ought to be taken with these people."

"The king alone can do it, sir," replied the
baron baillie ; and I doubt that he chooses to
do so ; otherwise he would have taken better
care at first. I suppose he calls this, spoiling
the Egyptians."

" That scoundrel Christie has left all the doors
open," said Mr. Ruthven.

"Ay, sir, I dare say he knows well what
he's about ; but I'll go and speak to him;" and
walking up to the porter, followed closely by
Mr. Rutliven, he said, "Hold your laughing,
stupid tongue, and turn all these people out of
the house, except the gentlemen. Then loci
the doors and keep them out."

"'Deed I shall do no such thing," answer-
ed Christie, turning from him with a doggeu
look. " I'm no to take my orders from you.

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

133

l'se warrant you no better than a highland
cateran."

MacDufF laid bis hand upon his dagger, and
drew it half out of the sheath ; but Mr. Ruthven
caught his arm, exclaiming, "for God's sake,
MacDuff, keep peace. There's no telling where
a broil would end, if begun in such a scene as
this. Come away, man, come away ; and he
pulled the Highlander by the arm to the other
side of the court. " Watch his movements,"
he continued, when they were at some dis-
tance. " I doubt that man, MacDuff, and it
may be well to mark him."

"Ay, I'll mark him if I get hold of him," re-
plied the other. " He's gone into his den now;
and see, there are three or four others gone in
after him."

"That's great Jimmy Bog, the king's porter
at Falkland," said Mr. Ruthven.

" And that broad-shouldered fellow is Gul-
braith, one of the door-keepers at Holyrood,"
said MaeDuff. " What the de'il does the king
do, bringing such folk here. If they had been
his grooms or his huntsmen, one could under-
stand it. I saw his butler about not long since.
I'll tell you what, Mr. Ruthven, I don't like this
at all. How it'll end I can not say, but ill I'm
thinking. Here's my lord's house is not so
much his own as that of every loon about the
court."

Mr. Ruthven shrugged his shoulders and
walked away ; and MacDuff continued to stand
upon the steps, with his eye fixed upon the
lodge or room of the porter. From the back of
that room, a long and narrow passage, with
windows looking into the court, ran along the
western mass of building, till it reached a stair-
case in the corner, by which access might be
obtained to all the rooms on the first and sec-
ond floors. Neither Christie himself nor thase
who had followed him into his room came out
again while MacDuff remained watching ; but
he saw the head and shoulders of more than
one man pass along the range of windows I
have mentioned, and then disappear. All this
took place some quarter of an hour before the
king left the table, and shortly after that the
baron officer saw the porter coming from the
very opposite side of the building, showing that
he must have passed round more than one half
of the house.

A minute or two after, the voice of the earl
was heard, saying, "MacDuff, Donald, get me
the keys of the garden from the porter."

The officer obeyed, and carrying the keys
into the hall, he found Gowrie himself standing
with the Duke of Lenox, the Earl of Mar, Lord
Lindores, and some other gentlemen, while Sir
Hugh Herries stood alone at a little distance.
MacDuff would have given much to speak a few
words to his lord ; but he did not venture to do
so in the presence of such a number of court-
iers, and gave the keys of the garden in silence.

"Now, my lord duke, and gentlemen," said
Gowrie, " I will lead the way;" and proceeding
through a small door, which opened directly
into the garden, he held it open while the others
passed, saying to Cranston, who stood near,
" Let us know the moment his majesty comes
down. Come, Ramsay of the Hawk, will you
not walk with us1"

The young gentleman followed in silence ;

and the earl, rejoining his brother- jn-law, the
Duke of Lenox, said in a grave and quiet tone,
"It is long since you have been here, duke. I
trust Gowrie House will have you more often
for a guest."

" The oftener I am here the more beautiful I
think these gardens," replied the duke. " The
scene itself is fine ; but I think, if you were
to raise a terrace there to the east, you would
catch more of the windings of the Tay, and
could extend your view all round the basin
through which it flows."

" The town would still shut out much," an-
swered Gowrie, " unless I were to build the
terrace as high as the top of the monk's tower.
Thence we catch the prospect all round, or
very nearly so."

" You are making some alterations, I see, my
lord," said the Earl of Mar.

" Oh, they are very trifling," answered Gow-
rie, " merely some devices of which I got the
thought in Italy, which I am trying to adapt to
this place. It is somewhat difficult, indeed ;
for that which suits very well with Italian skies
and Italian architecture, would be out of place
in our northern land, and with that old house
frowning over it."

Thus conversing in a quiet and peaceful tone,
they walked on quite' to the other side of the
garden, and stood for a moment or two under
the tall old tower called the monk's tower,
which rose at the southeastern corner. While
there the town clock struck three, and Sir Hugh
Herries, with a sudden start, exclaimed, " There
is three o'clock. We had better go back, my
lord. I know the king intended to ride away
at three."

Herries's face was somewhat pale when he
spoke, but Gowrie did not remark it, and re-
plied, "that clock is ten minutes fast by all the
others in the town ; but still we can go back
and prepare, for I hope to give his majesty a
few miles' convoy on his road."

Thus saying, they all turned and went back
toward the house, while Herries, seeming im-
patient of their slowness, got a step or two in
advance. A moment after, they saw Mr. Cran-
ston coming hastily from the house toward
them, and Gowrie hurried his pace at the
sight, seeing that his retainer had something
to tell.

"A report has got abroad in the house, r
lord," said Cranston, " that the king has mo*
ed his horse and ridden away privately
one or two of the servants."

" That is just like him," exclaimed t he I
of Lennox; "he served us so this r -mrnin
Falkland."

"Who told you so, Cranston1 •" demanded
the earl eagerly.

" It is in every one's mouth, my lord," replied
Cranston, "but I believe i»" came first from
Christie."

" Quick, quick, see for "V horse> Cranston,"
cried the earl ; " I wishied l° escort the king
part of the way to FaP';la"d-"

"I bethought me ot l,lat' Slr«" replied the
other, "but your hors e.' . find> ls ln the town."

" In the town !" ex.'iamied Gowrie. " What
does my horse in the *°wn • See for anothet
quickly, Cranston. Ai ter suc«POor entertain-
ment as I have g;' h,s maJesty, I would not

134

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

for much show him such a*n act of neglect as
not to ride with him."

" Perhaps he's not gone, after all," said John
Ramsay. "Which way did he go] I'll go
and see."

"Ay, do, Ramsay," said the Duke of Len-
nox; "you can do any thing with him. He
went up the broad staircase to the picture gal-
lery and to the rooms to the west."

" Still holding the hawk, Ramsay ran on be-
fore, appearing not to attend to some words
addressed to him in a low tone by Sir Hugh
Herries, and mounting the staircase with a
light step, he entered the picture gallery, the
door of which was open. The sight of so many
splendid paintings, of grace, beauty, and color-
ing such as he had never seen before, according
to his own account, struck the young man with
amazement, and forgetting his errand for a
moment, he stood and gazed round with admi-
ration. Then, advancing to the western door,
which led into the gallery chamber, he tried it
with his hand, but found it locked. He then
listened for a moment for any sounds which
might indicate the king's presence in the rooms
oeyond ; but all was silent, and descending the
stairs again to the court-yard, he said in an in-
different tone, " The king is not there."

" Ramsay, Sir John Ramsay, come hither,"
said Herries, calling him to a corner of the
court, just under the western tower ; " I want
to speak with you ;" and Ramsay, approaching
him, seemed to inquire what he wanted.

In the mean time, Gowrie, with the Duke of
Lennox, the Earl of Mar, and one or two other
gentlemen, passed through the house, and
crossed the court to the great gates, near which
the porter was standing.

" Come, my man," said Mar, addressing the
porter,- " what is this story of the king being
away] Tell us the truth."

" The truth is, the king is still in the house,"
replied the porter. "He could not have gone
by the back gate without my knowing it, for I
have the keys of all the gates."

The man's color varied very much while he
spoke ; and Gowrie at once concluded he was
telling a falsehood.

" I believe you lie, knave," he said, fixing his
eyes sternly upon the man. " His majesty is
always the first to mount his horse. But stay,

v lord duke, and I will go up and see."

Te accordingly turned and left the party,

«r his way to the great staircase ; and

- x, looking after him, said in a low voice

. Ei» ^rl of Mar, " There is something strange

my i 'ord ; know you what it is!"

.■lot I,' ' answered Mar, in an indifferent

e.but addi :ng) immediately afterward, "The
.ing is quite s; -lf6j wherever he is : the earl is
unarmed, withou t SWord or dagger."
"What may th;.lt meanl" said Lennox.
But at that mome nt some one e]se carae Upj
and Mar made no ans wer jn iittle more than
a minute after, Gowrie -came Up agajn jn haste,
saying, " The gallery doc,,r js ,0cked The king
can not be there. Let us tQ hors6( and after
him. Where can he have gQne ,„

And passing through the gates jntQ the stree{)
followed by the other nou ,emer)) he turned t0
Sir Thomas Erskine, wh( ( was standing with
some of his relations and servants under tue

windows, and inquired if he knew which waj
the king had gone.

All was now bustle and confusion, ten times
more confused than ever, in the court and
round Gowrie Place. Lords and gentlemen
were calling loudly for their horses ; grooms
and servants were running hither and thither ;
horses were prancing, neighing, and kicking ;
and Baillie Roy, who had lingered about the
great house ever since the king's arrival, was
putting every body to rights, and drawing down
many a hearty imprecation upon his head for
his pains. Rarnsay and Herries remained qui
etly in the corner of the court, and the two
earls, with the Duke of Lennox, Sir Thomas
Erskine, Alexander Ruthven of Freeland, and
several others, were conversing over the king's
strange departure, and considering in what di-
rection they should seek him, when suddenly
a noise was heard above, proceeding from the
•southwest tower. The long window Ws cast
furiously open, and the head and shoulders of
the king protruded.

"Help, help!" cried the king. "Help!
Murder ! Treason ! Help, Earl of Mar !"

Lennox, Mar, Lindores, and a number of
others, instantly rushed through the gates,
across the court, to the great staircase, and
mounted it as fast as they could go ; but they
found the door of the gallery locked, and could
not force it open.

" Up the black turnpike, Ramsay," said Her-
ries in a low voice. "Up, and save the king.!
Here, man, here ! Up these stairs, to the very
top, then through the door to the left."

" Without an instant's pause, even to cast
away the hawk, Ramsay, with his blood boiling
at the idea of danger to the king, darted past
Herries, up the narrow staircase, three or four
steps at a time, till he came to the very top,
and there finding a door, without trying whether
it was locked or not, he set his stout shoulder
against it, and burst it open. He insfcntly had
a scene before him which I must pause a mo-
ment to describe.

James was at the window, still shouting forth
for help, and at some little distance behind him,
taking no part whatever in that which waa
going on, appeared a tall, powerful, black-look-
ing man, in armor, but with his head bare.
Kneeling at the king's feet, with his head held
tight under James's arm, in the posture of sup-
plication, and with his hands stretched up to-
wards the king's mouth, as if to stop his vocif-
erous cries, was the graceful but powerful form
of Alexander Ruthven, who could, if he had
pleased, by a small exertion of his strength,
have cast the feeble monarch from the window,
headlong down into the street below. He made
no attempt to do so, however, and his sword
remained undrawn in the sheath.

Such was the sight presented to John Ram-
say when he entered the room in fiery haste,
and casting the falcon from his hand, he drew
his dagger.

James instantly loosed his hold of the young
man at his feet, and exclaimed, with an im-
patient gesture, to Ramsay, " St'rike him low,
strike him low ! He has got on a pyne doub-
let !"

He gave no order to apprehend an unresist-
ing man. His order was, to slay him; and

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

136

Ramsay, starting forward at the king's com-
mand, gave the unhappy youth two blows in
the neck and throat, while James, with admir-
able coolness, put his foot upon the jesses of
the falcon, to prevent its flying through the
open window.

Ruthven made not an effort to draw his
Bword, but fell partly back ; and James, then
seizing him by the neck, dragged him to the
head of the narrow stairs, and cast him part of
the way down, while Ramsay, rushing to the
window, shouted to Sir Thomas Erskine,
" Come up, Sir Thomas ! Come up these
stairs to the very head."

Wounded, but not slain, Alexander Ruthven,
stunned and bleeding, regained his feet, and
ran down toward the court. Before he reached
it, however, he was encountered by Herries,
Erskine, and another of the king's bloodhounds,
and without inquiry or knowledge of what had
taken place, Herries exclaimed, "This is the
traitor !" and stabbed him to the heart. Another
blow was struck, almost at the same time, by
George Wilson ; and the poor lad fell to rise
no more, with his sword still undrawn, ex-
claiming with his last breath, " Alas ! I am not
guilty !"

*****

A dead and mournful silence fell upon all.
A terrible deed had been done. A young,
fresh life had been taken ; a kindred spirit had
been sent to its last account. Even Herries
paused, and revolved thoughtfully the act which
he had just performed. Even he, for one brief
moment, however transitory was the impres-
sion, however brief the sensation, asked him-
self, as others have asked themselves before
and since, " What is 'this I have done 1 Is
there an Almighty God, to whom the spirits of
the departed go to testify, not only of all they
have done, but all they have suffered 1 And
must I meet that God, face to face, with the
spirit of this youth to testify against me 1 What
sweet relationships, what dear domestic ties,
have I snapped asunder ! What warm hopes,
what good resolutions, what generous feelings,
what noble purposes, put out forever !"

But that was not all he felt. There is a
natural repugnance in the mind of man to the
shedding of man's blood, which nothing but the
frequent habit of so doing can sweep away.
There is a horror in the deed, which I feel sure
the murderer shrinks from the instant the fatal
deed is accomplished, and it was that more than
any reasoning on the subject that Herries and
his two comrades felt as they stood in the semi-
darkness and gazed upon the corpse, so lately
full of life, and health, and energy, and passion.

Sir Thomas Erskine had not struck him, it was
true ; and that seemed to him a consolation, but
yet he felt that he had been art and part in the
deed — that he had known what was meditated
beforehand, and that though his hand was not
imbrued in the youth's blood, he was as much a
murderer as themselves.

With a strong mind Herries made a strong
effort to conquer the sensations which oppress-
ed him, but it cost him several moments so to
do, and moments, in such circumstances, are
hours.

That which first roused him and the rest was
the voice of the king, bringing back in an in-

stant by its very tone all the worldly thoughts
which had been scattered to the winds by the
sight of the dead body and the perpetration of
the deed.

" Hout, lad," cried James, apparently address-
ing Ramsay, " dinna keep skirling in that way.
He's dead enough by this time ; but there are
other traitors to be dealt with — traitors more
dangerous and desperate than this misguided
lad — Here, take the birdie, and keep quite still.
We must not scare the quarry before the hounds
are upon it. I must be King of Scotland now
or never ; and, approaching the top of the stairs,
he called out, beritnng somewhat forward,"
" Wha's doon there — Hae ye dispatched him V

'.' He's gone, sire, never to return," replied the
voice of Herries from the bottom.

" Then pu' him up here," cried James, " and
come up yersels — Wha the de'il's that knocking
so hard at the door there 1 Come up, come up.
They may be Ruthven folk. We must have
help at hand. Where the de'il's the fellow with
the harness ganeT' *

Sir Hugh Herries hurried up the stairs, leav-
ing Sir Thomas Erskine and the servant of his
brother James Erskine, to drag up the body of
Alexander Ruthven ; and a hurried consultation
took place as to what was to be done next.

" Better for Heaven's sake, sire, call up all
the noblemen and gentlemen from the court,"
cried Ramsay, while the knocking at the gallery
door still continued. " We are strong enough,
when gathered together, to defend .you against
all the Ruthvens in Scotland."

" I ken that, ye fule guse," cried James, with
a sinister leer, " four or five of ye are quite
enough for that ; but that's no the question,
man. The greater traitor of the two is to be
dealt with ; and you must do it, Jock, unless
you want a Gowrie for your king. He'll soon
be here seeking his brother. He must not get
away alive, or we've missed the whole day's
work."

"I'll deal with the traitor," cried Ramsay,
zealously. " Your majesty showed me such
proofs of his guilt, 'tis a wonder you let him live
so long."

" That's a good bairn, that's a good bairn,"
answered James. " Aye defend your king.—
Somebody look to the door there that they din-
nae break in ; but speak no word till you've
done execution on the earl. 'Tis he set his
brother on," he continued, addressing Ramsay.
" The other had not spirit for it without. — Aye,
here they bring him ! There, cast him down
there. The earl 'II soon be here ; and I'll just
stay in the closet till it's all done. Here, Geor-
die Wilson, take my cloak, and cast it over the
callant. Then when his brother sees him he'll
get such a fright thinking it's mine ainsel, ye
can do with him what ye like."

Sir Hugh Herries looked almost aghast, to
hear the king so completely betray his own
counsel ; but the rest seemed to notice the mat-
ter but little. Ramsay, with all his fierce pas-
sions roused taking every thing for granted ;
and the rest ready to obey the king at his light-
est word. George Wilson, the servant, took
the king's cloak, and spread it over the dead
body of Alexander Ruthven, from which a dark
stream of gore was pouring forth upon the
rushes which strewed the room ; and, when tbia

136

GOWRIE : OR, THE KINGS PLOT.

was done, . ames took a look at the corpse, say-
ing, " A wee bit more o'er the head, man. He'll
see the bonny brown hair. Then retreating into
the earl's cabinet, he closed the door, calling to
those without to lock it and take the key. Sir
Thomas Erskine sprang to obey, saying, " Stand
on your guard, Ramsay. They are thundering
at that door as if they would knock it down.
It's well I bolted it as well as locked it before
I came down."' Then springing across the
-00m to the entrance of the great gallery he
said, " Wha's there knocking so hard V

"It's I, the Earl of Mar," cried a voice from
without. " Open directly ! The Duke of Len-
nox is here, the Lord Lindores, and others."

"All is right, all is right," said Erskine. The
king safe, one traitor slain. Keep quiet or you
will scare the other from the trap. It is Sir
Thomas Erskine speaks ; keep quiet as you wish
for favor."

All were still immediately, and, the moment af-
ter, steps were heard upon the narrow staircase.

CHAPTER XLIV.

What had become of Gowrie while this dark
tragedy was enacted above 1 He was standing,
as I have said, talking with Sir Thomas Er-
skine and a considerable party of noblemen and
gentlemen in the street, at. a little distance from
his own gate, when suddenly the window above
was thrown open, and the king's head thrust
forth. Baillie Roy had sidled up toward the
group of courtiers, and he instantly looked up.
while the Duke of Lenox, at the first sounds of
James's outcry, exclaimed, "That is the king's
voice, Mar, be he where he will."

"Treason! treason!" shouted Baillie Roy.
"Treason against the king! Ring the com-
mon bell ! Call the town to arms ! Treason !
treason !"

At the same moment, and without an in-
stant's pause, Lennox, Mar, Lindores and
others rushed into the court, as I have before
stated, and up the broad stairs, and Sir Thomas
Erskine and his brother James, and George
Wilson, the servant of the latter, sprang at
Gowrie's throat, and seized him by the neck,
crying, without proof, or even probability,
" Traitor, this is thy deed ! Thou shalt die !"

Totally unarmed, and assailed by three strong
armed men, the young earl, notwithstanding
his great personal vigor, must have been over-
powered in an instant, and probably would have
been slain on the spot, for he made no resistance,
merely exclaiming, with a look of consternation,
" What is the matter ! — 1 know nothing !"

But at that moment, Alexander Ruthven, of
Freeland, started forward to his aid, and hav-
ing no sword, struck Sir Thomas Erskine to
the ground with a buffet, while Mr. Cranston
and Donald MacDuff rushed forth from the court
to the rescue of their lord. Almost at the same
time, the voice of Ramsay was heard shouting
to Sir Thomas Erskine from the window above,
and springing up from the ground, the latter
ran into the court with George Wilson, the
servant, and rushed up the narrow turnpike-
stairs with Herries to finish the murderous
work which had begun in the tower.

Freed from the fell hands which had grasped

his throat, Gowrie gazed round bewildered, ex-
claiming, " My God, what can this mean !"

" Arm, arm, my lord !" cried MacDuff, " they
are for murdering you on pretense of treason."

But Gowrie rushed immediately toward the
palace gates, exclaiming, " Where is the king 1
I go to aid him."

As he approached, however, the gates were
suddenly closed in his face by his own porter,
Christie, and a voice called through the bars,
" Traitor, you enter not here !"

" Arm, in God's name, or they will take your
life," cried Cranston, seeing a number of the Mur-
rays and the king's followers gathering round.

" That I will," answered Gowrie, now roused
to anger. " Away to Glenorchie's ! He will
give us arms," and running with all speed
about a couple of hundred yards down the
street, he entered the large old house of a
friend of his family and seized a sword and
steel cap from among many that hung in the
outer hall.

" Here's a better blade, my noble lord !"
cried Glenorchie's old porter, " take them both
— one may fail." .

Thus armed with a sword in either hand,
Gowrie rushed out again, exclaiming, " I will
either enter my own house, or die by the way."

" I am with you, my lord," cried Cranston,
meeting him ; and at the same moment his
page, who was running down the street, ex-
claimed, " Let me fasten your salat, my lord, it
will fall off."

Gowrie paused for an instant till the steel
cap was clasped under his chin, and then hur-
ried on to the gates of the great house.

But a change had taken place. The gates
were wide open ; the servants and retainers
who had followed the king from Falkland were
all either in the house or at the further side of the
court, and without pausing to ask any question,
Gowrie rushed to the narrow stairs at the foot
of the southwest tower, and ran up, followed
closely by his faithful attendant Cranston. The
door at the top, leading into the gallery chamber
was partly closed, and a shoulder placed against
it. Gowrie pushed it open, exclaiming, "Where
is the kingl I come to defend him with my
life," and at once entered the room with the
two naked swords in his hands. Before him
lay a dead body, bleeding profusely, and partly
covered with the king's cloak.

" You have killed the king, our master," cried
Herries, " and will you now take our lives 1"

Gowrie's strength seemed to fail him in a
moment ; his brain reeled ; and pausing sud-
denly in his advance, he dropped the swords'
points to the floor, exclaiming, "Ah, woe is me!
Has the king been slain in my house 1"

Without reply Ramsay sprang fiercely upon
him, and unresisted drove his dagger into the
young earl's heart.

Gowrie did not fall at once, but for an instant
leaned upon the sword in his right hand, with-
out attempting to strike a blow. Cranston
sprang forward to support him, and caught him
in his arms ; but the earl sank slowly to the
ground, and with the indistinct murmur of one
well-loved name, expired.

The murderers gazed upon their victim for a
moment in silence ; but it was no time now for
hesitation or inactivity. They were four in

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

137

number, it is true, and there remained but one
living man opposed to them in the gallery
chamber ; but the sound of persons ascending
the turret staircase was heard, and Erskine
rushed upon Cranston with his sword drawn.

Cranston, furious at the base treatment of
a lord he loved and reverenced, instantly re-
pelled the attack ; and, no mean swordsman,
wounded Erskine in hand and arm; but all the
others fell upon him, and drove him back to the
head of the staircase. Succor, however, was
near, for three gentlemen, headed by Hugh
Moncrief, who had dined with the earl that
day, alarmed by the tumult and the vague ru-
mors that were circulated below, were now
rushing up — unhappily too late — to the assist-
ance of the noble friend whom they had lost
forever. Unprepared for meeting immediate
hostility, however, they were encountered at
the very entrance of the room by those who
were too well prepared to receive them, and
after a sharp but short encounter, were driven
down, as well as Cranston, into the court-
yard. Hugh Moncrief, Patrick Eviot, and Hen-
ry Ruthven, of Freeland, forced their way into
the street, and joined a small knot of the dead
earl's friends, collected under the window; but
Cranston, less fortunate, was taken in the
court-yard.

The situation of the king was, however, less
eafe than he had imagined it would be. There
was much tumult in the streets of Perth, where
he family of the dead had ever been extremely
;opular ; and when James, informed that the
teed he had long meditated was fully executed,
ame forth from the cabinet, it was with a pale
>ce, for seditious cries were rising up from be-
eath the windows, and one of the most loyal
awns in Scotland was well-nigh in a state of
isurrection.

" Give us our noble Provost," cried one, "or
the king's green coat shall pay for it."

"Come down, thou son of Signor David,"
6houted another. " Thou hast slain an honest-
er man than thyself."

The next minute, however, the head of Ro-
bert Brown, one of the king's lackeys, appeared
at the door, to which he had crept quietly, and
casting himself on his knees before James, he
said, " God save your majesty ! There are the
Duke of Lennox and Earl of Mar, with eight or
ten of your best friends in the gallery there,
but they can not get in to your help, for the
door is locked."

" For God's sake ! let them in," cried James ;
and strange to say, from among the party
present, the key of the gallery-door was pio-
duced, and Lennox and the other gentlemen
admitted.

The door was instantly locked again, although
the purposes for which it had been first secured
were now accomplished. Fortunately for the
king was such precaution taken ; for almost
immediately after a number of Gowrie's friends
and servants rushed to the gallery, loudly de-
manding their lord and kinsman. Vain efforts
were made to burst open the door ; swords
were thrust through where a crevice gave the
means, and one of the Murrays, leaning against
the partition, was wounded in the leg. The
voice of Alexander Ruthven of Freeland, was
then heard, exclaiming, " My lord duke, for

God's sake tell me the truth ; how goes it with
my lord of Gowrie."

" He is well," answered Lennox, in a sad
tone ; " but thou art a fool. Go thy way ; thou
wilt get little thanks for thy present labor."'

Still the tumult in the street increased ; the
common bell of the town continued ringing,
and James became seriously alarmed.

" Run down, my lord of Mar, run down," he
said, " and take good heed to the court, and all
the gates. Drive out all the traitor's people,
or slay them, and then set a good guard at each
of the gates and in the gardens. Young Tulli-
bardine is in the town with all his men. — Could
ye not find him, meickle John Murray ?"

" I will try, your majesty," replied Murray
of Arknay, who had been wounded in the leg ,
" but there is Blair of Balthayock with full
fifty men in the hall. He can keep the gates."

" Ay, tell him, tell him," cried James ; " the
lad Christie will show him all the points of de-
fense. Christie's a good serviceable body, and
shall be weel rewarded. Now, gentlemen," he
continued, "let us proceed to the examination of
the dead traitors' persons. We may find some-
what, perchance, that will tend to the purposes
of justice. Uncover that one first, and see
what you can find."

The body of Alexander Ruthven was then
uncovered, and without stopping to look at his
handsome face, now calm in the tranquillity
of death, the courtiers searched his pockets.
Little was found, indeed, except a purse con-
taining a small sum of money, and a letter,
which was handed immediately to the king,
for it was in his own handwriting.

" That must be put out o' the way," said
James, looking at it ; " is there a fire in the
kitchen V

" Oh, yes, there must be," replied Ramsay ;
and after tearing the letter into very small
pieces, the king gave it to his page, saying,
" Put them in the fire, Jock, instanter. But
bide a wee, there may be mair."

"There is nothing more, sire," said the Earl
of Mar ; and then added, "His sword has never
been drawn — it is rusted in the sheath."

" That has nothing to do wi' it," cried the
monarch, angrily. " Search the other man —
see what ye can find on him."

" Here is something worth finding," exclaim-
ed Sir Thomas Erskine, who had unclasped
Gowrie's belt, and now held up the scheme
of the young earl's nativity, as drawn up by
Manucci, displaying the various signs and fig
ures which it contained to the bystanders.

" It's magic," cried the king, in great delight
" I tell't ye so. He was a dealer with sorcerers
and devils, and would have taken our life by
his damnable arts. I kenned it weel. I tell't
ye, Jock Ramsay."

" And me, too, sire," said Herries. " Your
majesty's wisdom is never at fault."

" See ; the body does not bleed," cried the
king. "This is a magical spell, upon my life.
Turn him over. He will soon bleed now this
is taken away."

And so indeed it proved ; for as soon as the
body was turned over, so as to bring the wound
of which he had died in a different position, the
dark blood poured forth in a torrent.

While they were gazing at this sight, and

138

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

the king was again and again pronouncing that
the paper which he held in his hand was a
magical speli, the noises in the streets suddenly
increased very greatly, but the tone seemed to
be different.

" De'il's in the folk," cried the king, "will
they pu' the house down. Look out of the
window, my lord of Mar."

" These are some friends that are crying
now," said Mar, after looking from the window.
" The baillies and their folk have forced their
way in among the mob, and seem well-affected."
Then leaning forth from the window, he listened
for a moment to something that was shouted
up from below. " They desire to see with
their own eyes that your majesty is safe," lie
continued, turning again to James, " and to
receive your commands from your own lips."

" Is it safe, man 1 Is it sure 1" demanded
the king. " Are they no feigning 1"

" Oh, no," replied Mar. " They have got
that little baillie, Roy, I think they call him, at
their head."

" Oo, ay, that wee pockit-Iike body, Roy,"
cried James. " I'm no feared o' him ;" and
advancing to the window, he cried at the ut-
most extent of his voice, " Baillie Roy, Baillie
Roy ! I am safe and weel, praise be to God !
and I strictly command you to cause all the
people to disperse, and retire quietly to their
lodgings."

This said, he withdrew his head again ; and
the good baillie made every effort that he could to
obey the royal injunction, and disperse the peo-
ple. But his municipal eloquence, and his proc-
lamation at the market-cross proved of little
effect ; an immense crowd continued to occupy
the street before the great house, and cries
and impiecations upon those who had slain the
innocent, continued to rise up from time to time.

It is not, indeed, improbable, that but for the
imposing force which Blair of Balthayock kept
drawn up in the court-yard with their swords
unsheathed, and which could be seen by the
people through the iron gates, the mob would
have burst in, and, as Nisbet says in his Her-
aldry, would have cut the court to pieces.

For more than an hour, James and his prin-
cipal nobles and favorites continued in delibera-
tion up-stairs, the nature of which only trans-
pired in vague rumors. It is supposed by some
that this hour was spent in patching together
the somewhat disjointed tale which was after-
ward given to the public on royal authority,
and endeavoring to make the story which James
had previously told in coming from Falkland,
harmonize, in some degree, with the dark and
bloody transactions which followed.

However that may be, there was still at
seven o'clock so great a multitude assembled
in the street, as to render it dangerous for the
king to attempt to pass that way. The porter
Christie, and a man named Dowgie, were sent
for to the king's presence ; and acting upon a
suggestion they threw out, it was resolved that
a boat should be brought down to the garden-
stairs, by which James and his principal court-
iers should be conveyed along the Tay to the
South Inch ; while the rest of the monarch's
retinue should attempt the passage by the
streets, and the young master of Tullibardine
should be directed, with the strong body of

horse he had brought into the town, to guard
all approach to the Inch, against those who had
not a certain password. This was executed
skillfully and promptly ; and toward eight
o'clock, under a gloomy sky and heavy rain
James mounted his horse at the South Inch,
and escorted by Tullibardine and the Murrays.
rode away toward Falkland.

Thus perished the noble, the brave, and the
true. Thus triumphed the feeble, the base, and
treacherous. Let any man read attentively
the page of history, where too many events
like this are recorded, and then doubt, if he
can, the coming of a future state, where such
things shall be made equal.

CHAPTER XLV.

Austin Jute rode on toward Dirlton ; but
he did it with an exceedingly strong feeling of
ill-will. He had doubts and apprehensions in
his mind with regard to the fate of his well-
loved master, which, under any ordinary cir-
cumstances, would have bound him to his side
to share his peril, to labor to avert it, or to light
in his defense till death. But Gowrie's order
had been peremptory ; the necessity of warn-
ing the earl's mother and Julia was great ; and
Austin Jute, as I have said, rode on, though
with a heavy heart. I shall not trace his jour-
ney minutely ; but merely noticing that he took
means to avoid an encounter with the royal
cavalcade in its approach to Perth, and then
made the best of his way to the old family seat
of the Ruthvens and Halyburtons, which, owing
to some delay in the passage, he did not reach
till nearly eight o'clock. He was admitted in-
stantly to the presence of the old countess, who
at the moment was standing by the side of her
son's promised bride, watching a portrait of
Gowrie, which Julia was painting from memory.
Every line of his countenance was impressed
so deeply upon her mind, that with the perfect
knowledge of the art which she possessed, she
had no difficulty in transferring the image to
the canvas. She had but to raise her look and
fill the vacant air by the power of imagination,
and Gowrie in all his young and high toned
beauty stood visible to the mind's eye.

As Austin Jute entered, the countess turned
partly toward him, saying, " I think I know
your errand already, good man. The pleasure
of my son's arrival is to be delayed for a day.
Is it not sol"

" It is to be delayed, madam," replied Austin,
in a tone so grave, that Julia instantly dropped
the brush and started up.

"What did he say?" she exclaimed, fixing
her bright eyes eagerly upon the servant's coun-
tenance; "Austin, Austin, what has happened?"

"My dear child, do not agitate yourself so
much," said Gowrie' mother, in a soothing tone.
"You know, the king sent yesterday to ask
William to meet him to-day in Perth ;* and, oJ
course, with the king for his guest, Gowrie
could not leave his house even to visit you,
sweet one."

" There is something wrong," cried Julia,

This fact is positively asserted in Calderwood's man

rint Memoirs.

uscript Memoirs.

COWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

139

still Keeping her eyes fixed upon Austin's coun-
tenance." " I see it there. Something has
happened."

" No, indeed, dear lady," replied Austin Jute,
"nothing has happened that I know of. The
king's coming took my lord by surprise ; for
he knew nothing of it till this day, at his din-
ner."

"Nothing of it," exclaimed the old countess,
her brow contracting a good deal. " Why, it
was announced to my boy William by four
o'clock yesterday evening. — But let us hope,"
she continued, " that this is one of the king's
wild jests. He loves to take people by sur-
prise, I have heard, and to make merry with
the embarrassment he causes. Had the king
arrived ere you departed 1"

" No, madam ; but he was within a mile of
the town," replied Austin Jute. " My lord sent
me to warn you and — "

He paused, and hesitated ; and the old count-
ess finished the sentence for him, saying, " And
to tell us he would come to-morrow. Was it
not sol"

Austin shook his head " He was going to
say so, my lady," he replied ; "but he stopped
himself as the words were on his lips, and said,
• No. I will make no promises for to-morrow.
God, and God only, knows what may be to-
morrow.' "

Julia sank into a chair, and covered her eyes
with her hands ; and the old countess put her
hand to her brow, and fell into deep thought.

" Let me not alarm you more than needful,
dear ladies," continued Austin Jute, after re-
maining silent a moment or two, " though my
lord seemed quite bewildered by the sudden-
ness of the king's visit, and perhaps he might
Jhink the matter more serious than it really
was. — But let me tell you what he said. I can
give it you word for word, for I have repeated
it over and over again to myself as I came
along. The order was, 'Tell them the king
comes. Tell them I know not why he comes ;
and let their own judgment speak the rest. But
of all things,' added my noble lord, ' let my
mother be upon her guard, and see to the safety
of my young brothers.' "

" Wise and thoughtful ever," exclaimed the
old countess. " Oh, Gowrie, Gowrie !"

Julia remained in silence. She wept not,
spoke not, hardly seemed to breathe ; and Aus-
tin Jute at length demanded, in a low tone,
addressing the countess, " Shall I go back,
madam, and obtain tidings'!"

"Oh, do, do," cried Julia, starting up and
wringing her hands. " Bring me tidings, bring
me tidings."

" Stay," cried the countess, with recovered
calmness. " Not you, my good man. You are
known to some of the people there. I will
send a stranger. Go and refresh yourself in
the hall, but first send William Laing to me,
and bid some of the grooms prepare a horse for
him without delay."

" We are giving too much way to fear, my
child," continued the countess, addressing Ju-
lia, as Austin Jute retired. "We are taking
for granted that some evil is meditated against
my son, and without cause. True, we know
the king did at one time suspect him ; but we
kcow also, that the suspicion was groundless,

and as James has lately shown him greater
favor, we may well conclude that he is satisfied
he was wrong in his doubts."

Julia went and knelt down on the cushion by
the countess's feet, and laid her broad, fail
brow upon her knee. " It was predicted to
him," she murmured in a low voice, "that at
this time great peril should befall him ; and we
were warned in a strange manner that we should
never be united — shake me not, dear lady. I
feel I am superstitious now, though I never
was before ; and I feel, too, that it is in vain,
when superstition has possession of the mind,
to struggle against it. God grant that my fears
may prove vain and idle, and if not, God gran'
that we may both have strength to bear up un-
der his will ; but my brain feels on fire, and m}
heart has hardly power to beat."

The countess cast her arms round her, and
kissed her neck ; and at the same moment, the
servant she had sent for, entered the room.

"Mount directly, William Laing," the count-
ess said, " and ride for Perth with all speed.
Bring us news, without pause or delay, how
fares the earl ; but if you get important tidings
by the way — mark me, tidings that you can de-
pend upon, return and let us know, be the hour
what it may. Now away, and lose not a mo-
ment by the road. There is money for you,
for you will need a boat."

As the man was retiring, young William
Ruthven entered the room, and seeing the anx-
ious countenances before him, he exclaimed in
a tone almost gay, " Why, what is the matter,
dearest mother 1 What is the matter, sweet
sister Julia 1 I came in all glad to tell you,
that my new falcon, Bell, has struck the largest
old heron in the county, and — But this must
be something serious," he continued, as Julia
turned away with the tears in her eyes. " Gow-
rie— what of my brother V

"Nothing, nothing," answered the countess.
" His southron servant has just arrived, to say
that he can not come to-day, as the king pays
him a sudden visit, which he heard not of till
dinner time ; and our dear Julia, whose heart
is not accustomed to the rough things of the
world, has taken fright — needlessly, I do hope
and trust. Stay with her and comfort her,
William. I have some orders to give;" and
going out she sent at once for the factor of the
Dirlton estates.

The man came almost immediately ; for
there was that kind of indefinite uneasiness,
that looking forth for evil, through the whole
house, which so frequently precedes calamity,
and every servant was about and active.

As soon as the door of the little room to
which she had retired was closed, the countess
said, " I know I can trust you, Guthrie. I have
had news I do not like from Perth. The king
goes to visit my son suddenly and by surprise ,
and the earl sends me word to be upon my
guard, and watch for the safety of his brothers.
Keep four horses ready saddled in the stable,
and two men, ready to fly with the boys should
need be, at least till we hear more ; and now,
Guthrie, collect me all the money you can get.
Go to all the tenants nearest at hand, and ask
them for any sums they may have by them,
within their amount of rent. Tell them the
countess has need of it. They know I never

140

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

press them hut in dire need ; and they will not
grudge it, I think."

" There is not one o them who will not give
his last penny willingly, my lady," replied the
factor, " if it he not old Jack Halyburton, of the
mill. 1 11 go my round, and be back in an
hour."

" Go, then, go, Guthrie," answered the count-
ess ; and, leaning her head upon her hand, she
remained for somewhat more than half an hour
in deep, bitter, painful thought. She noticed
not that there was the sound of several feet
moving past the door, and the first thing that
roused her from her reverie was a loud, shrill,
piercing shriek from the adjoining chamber.

Starting up at once, she rushed in ; but by
Ihe faint light which now prevailed, for a mo-
ment she could gain no clear view of the scene
before her. All she saw was that there were
two men, besides her own sons, in the room.
The next instant she perceived the form of poor
Julia lying prostrate on the floor, near the win-
dow, with the lad William bending tenderly over
her, while the younger boy, Patrick, stood near-
er to the door, as pale as death, and wringing
«is hands in bitter grief.

" Oh, Henry, you have killed her ! Poor
blighted flower," cried William Ruthven, as his
mother entered.

" I knew not she was in the room," replied
Henry Ruthven, of Freeland, who was one of
the two men whom the countess had seen ;
and, nearly at the same moment, his brother
Alexander, who was with him, took the old lady's
hind, saying, " Alas, dear l?dy, this is a bitter
day!"

"Your newsl" said the countess, in a tone
preternaturally calm and cold, at the same time
seating herself in a chair near.

The young man hesitated for an instant, and
then replied, " I and my brother, Henry, here,
are forced to fly with all speed, for having
drawn our swords, dear lady, in defense of your
noble sons."

"Then are my sons no more!" said the
countess solemnly ; " their friends would not
fly, if they still lived. Oh, accursed race of
Stuart ! — tyrannical, weak, and bloodthirsty !
Could not the father's death sate your appetite
for vengeance 1 and must you wreak it upon
the innocent children 1 Oh, may Heaven avert
from you the reward due to those who shed the
blood of the unoffending, and visit you only with
the remorse that works repentance. Oh ! my
poor boys, what had you done to merit this 1
But I must not yield. No, I will not shed a
tear. Thank God, I am old, and the separation
will be but short ! 1 will remember my noble
son's last injunction, and care for his poor
brothers. Lads, lads, get ready to ride at once,
for this is no longer a land for you. James
Stuart will never rest while there is a drop of
your blood unshed, an acre of your land un-
seized. Away and prepare ! The horses, are
saddled in the stable ; the gold will be here
anon. Ride with them, Henry and Alex ; you
will be some protection. And you, poor thing,"
she continued, rising and moving across the
room to where Julia lay, " your prophetic heart
gave no false augury. Oh ! it was the oracle of
deep, true love that spoke. Fatherless, moth*
er'ess. oereft, you shall remain with me whom

this man would make childless. My home shall
be your home, and you shall be to me as a
daughter. Try not to rouse her, William. Let
her have a respite from agony. You know not
the blessing you would take from her, when
you seek to call her back to life and memory.
Weep not, my dear boy : weep not now. Keep
your tears for another hour, as I shall do ; and
when you are safe afar, then we may weep foi
others who are safer than ourselves. Go, go,
my boy, prepare ; and you, too, Patrick, for you
must not see another sun shine upon you in
your native land. Go with them for a while,
good cousins, while they make ready, and leave
me with my maidens to tend this poor child !"

It was nearly an hour before Julia awoke — I
was going to say to consciousness ; but that I
can not say. When she opened her eyes, she
gazed wildly round her, and pronounced the
name of Gowrie in a low, plaintive tone, that
wrung his mother's heart.

" Come, my child," said the countess tender
ly, " come with me to your chamber."

" Gowrie," said Julia again, in the same tone,
gazing vacantly in his mother's face, " Gowrie."

It was all that she ever said. No other word
ever passed her lips but that. She was gentle,
tractable — did all that was required of her, but
speak. That she never did after, but to utter
the one name. Ail language seemed lost to
her but that single sound ; and that grew faint-
er and fainter every day, while the rose died
away from her cheek ; the light, wandering and
wild as it was, faded from her eye ; the hand
grew thin and pale. Ten weeks, all but a day,
passed, and Julia found rest and peace.

Happy, most happy for her, that reason never
returned. She would have heard of him she
loved being pronounced a traitor, though he
never dreamed of treason ; she would have
heard of his dead body being mangled by the
hand of the executioner ; she would have heard
of the faithful friends and servants who had
drawn their swords to save him from assassin-
ation, being torn by the torture and dying a dis-
honoring death, his lands forfeited, his family
proscribed, his very name forbidden to be used ;
and oh ! solemn mockery of God's omniscience !
she would have heard of thanks offered up for
his destruction and his murderer's safety.

There could have been but one comfort
— to hear and know that all men thought him
innocent ; that the best and noblest of the
clergy in his native land refused, even under
pain of deprivation and banishment, to mock
God as they were required, a*nd that far and
wide throughout Europe the history of his as-
serted treason was treated with contempt, and
the tale of his death received with sorrow and
with pity. But she died ; and without ever re-
covering a glimpse of reason, to groan undor
the burden, or to feel the relief, went down to
that calm home where the wicked cease from
troubling and the weary are at rest.

CHAPTER XLVI.

CONCLUSION.

It may seem strange to place at the end of a
work like the present, those observations which
are usually placed at the beginning, and to add

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

14.

in a postscript, that general view of the subject
which is generally afforded in a preface. Ex-
cept in those cases where a right understanding
of the scope and object of the work, and a clear
view of the principles upon which the author
writes, are necessary to the comprehension of
that which is to follow, I greatly object to
prefaces. I do not wish to prepossess my
reader in favor of my book, nor to imbue him
with my own peculiar ideas in order to gain
his assent to what is to come after. I there-
fore may as well say at the close, where the
reader is more likely to peruse it, what many
others would have said at the commencement,
and, having formed a very strong and decided
opinion upon a matter of history in regard to
which, others, inconceivably to me, have adopt-
ed a different view, add a few remarks in justi-
fication of my own judgment.

On the work itself, I have little to say, ex-
cept inasmuch as it is an essay, intended to
prove what is really the feeling of the public
in regard to cheap literature. I have heard
from ministers and statesmen, from individuals
in high, and in humble life, a great deal said
upon this subject of cheap literature. The
highness of the price at which books are sold
in this country, from a combination of causes,
too many and too intricate to discuss, or even
to mention here, has been made an excuse for
denying to the literary men of England their
just rights, for opposing them in the main-
tenance of them, and for taking them from
them when they have obtained them. I have
even heard it advanced as an argument for ex-
cluding them from all those honors and dis-
tinctions to which almost all other classes are
admitted, but from which they have been uni-
formly shut out, except when political partisan-
ship has been superadded to liierary merit, and
from all offices in the state or under the gov-
ernment. Of which rule we have one, or per-
haps two, splendid exceptions.

On this subject, too, I have formed a strong
opinion; and, notwithstanding the difficulties
which Government itself throws in the way of
that diminution of the price of literary produc-
tions, which it strives to enforce by just and
unjust means — I speak of the paper tax and
the enormous advertisement duties — no man
has labored more zealously than I have to
lower the price of new books. I have done so
to my own severe loss and to my detriment in
many ways. I now, however, make another
effort, and give to the public the same work,
which, under ordinary circumstances, would
be charged one guinea and a half, at a fraction
more than one fourth of that sum. There has
been some saving in paper and print, but the
great loss will fall upon the author, unless the
public show that cheap literature is what they
really do desire.

I was aware from the first, that snould the
experiment not succeed, I might be met by the
reply, that what the public desire, is good as
well as cheap literature ; and I therefore chose
a subject of deep interest, which I had ponder-
ed for some years, which was first brought to
my attention by a gallant officer descended
from the family which figures most conspicu-
ously in the foregoing pages. To those who
Lave really read the book, and arrived fairly at

these concluding pages, I think I may venture
to appeal as to whether I have spared labor, re-
search, and thought upon the work. I know
that I have not, and I believe the evidence
thereof will be found in the tale itself.

I would have done as I have said, had it
been merely because the work was to be given
to the public at a cheaper rate than usual;
but there were other strong motives for con-
sidering well every sentence I wrote. An im-
portant point of history was involved : a point
which has been rendered dark only by the pas-
sions and prejudices of partisans, who refused
to judge of it as they would judge of any other
matter of evidence brought before them.

The question is, whether the young Earl of
Gowrie and his brother laid a plot for entrap-
ping James VI., King of Scotland, to their house
at Perth for the purpose of murdering him, and
the king escaped by a miracle, causing them
to be slain in return : or, whether he laid a
plot for surprising them in their house, undei
the appearance of a friendly visit, and, by a
prearranged plan, murdered them in their own
dwelling.

I have maintained, as the reader has seen,
and ever shall maintain, that the latter was
the case.

When any man is accused of a crime, it
must be shown that the crime was committed,
that the accused had a sufficient motive, and
that the act is brought home to him by con-
clusive evidence.

The crime of which the Earl of Gowrie and
his brother were accused, was having seduoed
King James to their house at Perth, with the
intention of putting him to death ; for the in-
tention in such cases is the crime.

The motive which has been assigned, is the
desire of succeeding to the throne of Scotland
as the next heir. This has been tenderly
touched upon, because it was too shallow a
pretense not to fail at once before examina-
tion, but it is still clearly indicated as the mo-
tive. Gowrie was only remotely related to
James by Margaret Tudor, Queen of Scotland,
the king's great grandmother, an English prin-
cess whose blood gave him no claim what-
ever to the Scottish throne, whatever it might
do to that of England. Moreover, the king had
one son then living, and another was born two
months after. So that had the king been killed
on the fatal fifth of August, Gowrie woukl have
been as far from the throne of Scotland as ever

The evidence of any crime having been com-
mitted by the earl and his brother now comes
to be examined, and I do not scruple to say
that, to the eyes of any man of common under-
standing, it not only proves that Gowrie and
his brother were innocent, but that James was
guilty. First, let it be remarked, that this evi-
dence was all on one side ; that no defense
was made on the part of the dead accused ;
that no witnesses were examined on their be-
half; that those on the other part were not
cross-examined. The king himself was the
principal witness; for his statement must be
taken as a deposition. He declared that Alex-
ander Ruthven, the earl's brother, came up to
him when he was going out to hunt at Falk-
land, and besought him to come immediately
to Perth, as he, Alexander, had seized and im

<

14S

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

prisoned in his brother's house, a stranger
with a pitcher full of foreign gold, which he
wished to secure for the king, and that he must
come privately, without letting any one know,
for he feared that the man might cry out, and
call the attention of the earl, who knew. noth-
ing of the fact. James says he determined to
go — (though the tale was too absurd to obtain
credence from any rational being) — but instead
of going immediately, he continued to hunt
from seven till ten o'clock, and instead of go-
ing privately, took the whole court, all his
usual attendants, and moreover, two lackeys
from the palace, together with the porter at
Falkland, and tije keeper of his ale cellar. Of
the conversation between the king and Alex-
ander Ruthven we have no testimony but that
of James himself. It is true, as he rode toward
Perth, he related the tale privately to the Duke
of Lennox, when that nobleman at once ex-
pressed his opinion of the improbability of the
story ; but yet the king went on. His majesty
did not send forward to announce his coming
to the young earl till he was within two miles
of Perth ; but there he was met and received,
not by Gowrie and his attendants in private
and alone, but by the earl as lord provost, at
the head of the magistrates of the town, hur-
riedly assembled. The king then proceeds to
relate what occurred at the earl's palace, and
comments on the young nobleman's demeanor,
which, instead of being courteous, flattering,
and calculated to lull and deceive, was exactly
what might be expected from a man taken un-
prepared by the sudden and unannounced visit
of a sovereign, when he was about to set out
on a journey of some length. He was distant,
silent, and though attentive to the king, any
thing but so to the immense train he had
brought with him. After dinner the king was
led, by Alexander Ruthven, to a chamber near
the picture gallery, to repose for a little ; and
the king says that he was taken through many
rooms, the doors of which were all locked be-
hind him. The king's prudence must have
,been sadly at fault to go on under such cir-
cumstances. In the chamber to which he was
led was, according to the account of the king,
and also that of Ramsay, a tall, dark, strong
man, armed. The monarch described him par-
ticularly, but implied that he was not one of
his own attendants, but a stranger ; yet he re-
mained a long time conversing with Mr. Alex-
ander Ruthven, without any apparent alarm,
and suffered the young gentleman to go out and
in, he avers, to meet his brother. It is shown
by the other depositions that Gowrie was, dur-
ing the whole of this time, except one short
moment, either in the hall with the large body
of courtiers, or walking with them in his gar-
dens. At length Alexander Ruthven assaulted
the king, James declares, and attempted first
to stab him with a dagger, and then to bind his
hands with two garters, saying, coolly, " Trai-
tor, thou must die, and therefore lay thy hands
together that I may bind thee." If we are to
credit the testimony of Moyses, one of the
king's most faithful servants, there were five
hundred gentlemen in Perth on that day, of
whom it would appear full three hundred were
of the family of Murray, sent for to meet the
ting, under the master of Tullibardine. The

rest were the king's friends and followers, al-
ready completely in possession of Gowrie'*
palace. Many of these were in the street just
below the room, with the Duke of Lennox, the
Earl of Mar, Lord Lindores, and Sir Thomas
Erskine. Alexander Ruthven must have been
a bold man, and not a prudent one, if he really
sought the king's death, to make so cool a pro-
posal rather than run him through the body
with his sword, especially if the armed man in
the room was put there by himself to aid in
the assassination. The armed man, however,
according to the king's account, remained
quaking and trembling, and Alexander Ruth-
ven did not draw his sword during the whole
day. James then declares he rushed to the
window, and shouted treason, and when John
Ramsay entered the room in haste, having
been informed by some one how to reach it,
which none of the others could divine, he found
the younger Ruthven on his knees trying to
stop the king's vociferation.

The other depositions — with one exception,
which I shall notice presently — go to prove
merely the facts which I have mentioned in
the preceding chapters, that Gowrie was taken
by surprise, and discontented with the king's
unannounced visit ; that he was unarmed dur-
ing the whole day ; that when the report was
spread that the king was gone, he called for
his horse in order to ride after him, with the
rest of the court, unarmed as he was ; that he
never left his guests for more than a moment ;
and, as a very strict investigation has been
made into his occupations during the whole of
the early part of the day, it is shown that he
attended the morning service at the parish
church ; transacted important business with
several parties ; invited some common ac-
quaintances to dinner ; dined with them calm-
ly ; made no preparation whatever against the
king's coming ; and even sent two of his serv-
ants to a distance, though he had but eight or
nine in the house, one of whom was ill in bed.
In the testimony of not one of the credible wit-
nesses is there a word that implicates Gowrie,
and there is much to show that it was well-
nigh impossible he could have any share in
the attempt of his brother, if any attempt was
really made. At the same time, however, a
great deal transpires which shows that Gowrie
was not the injurer, but the injured. No prep-
aration is alleged for the commission of the
crime; no force was collected, no arms laid
up ; he himself was totally unarmed ; his
brother had only an ordinary sword (for the
dagger was said to have been snatched from
the armed man) ; Andrew Ruthven, who ac-
companied his cousin to Falkland, was totally
unarmed ; so was George Davor, one of the
earl's servants. He had drawn round him no
great body of friends. These are all negative
testimonies to his innocence. Then again,
we find, when he called for his horse to follow
the king with the rest of the court, he found
that his horse had been removed from his own
house. Was this to prevent his escape 1
When the very act was said to be doing which
was intended to deprive his sovereign of life,
he went unarmed and stood under the very
window of the room where it was to take place
with a large party of the king's most attached

GOWRIE: OR, THE KING'S PLOT.

142

"riends. in the midst of the royal servants.
Ramsay's deposition shows that he knew at
once how to find his way to the monarch, and
Sir Thomas Erskine's proves that James did
not go with Mr. Ruthven alone to the earl's
cabrnet, but that he, Erskine, accompanied
them, and was stationed by the king himself
at the door of the gallery chamber. It is
proved, also, by the various depositions, that
when Erskine, Ramsay, James and George
Wilson were together in the chamber after
Gowrie's death and before the bodies were
searched, that the key of the door into the gal-
lery was among them, and was used to admit
the nobles from the other side, and to exclude
the earl's friends. It is not even pretended
that any keys were found upon Alexander
Ruthven after his death.

Moreover, it is proved that the king, who is
represented as having been struggling for life
with a traitor, was so cool that while his
friends dispatched his enemy, he put his foot
upon the jesses of the falcon to prevent it
from flying away.

Setting aside the monarch's own evidence,
therefore, the testimony of all other persons
was rather in favor of Gowrie and against the
king than otherwise ; and the proofs of the
monarch having assembled a large body of men
in Perth are easily to be obtained, showing a
preconcerted plan for going to that city before
Alexander Ruthven could by any possibility
have told the story of the pot of gold. That
story was in itself so absurd, and many parts
of the king's statement so unlike truth, the fact
of the earl and his brother having been slain
unresisting, when they could without difficulty
or danger have been taken and tried according
to law, was so suspicious that it must have
seemed necessary to all James's advisers, to
<v\rt his testimony by some corroborative
ce or circumstance. No one could give
vidence of what took place in the gallery
cu .ber or its cabinet, but the armed man who
was present ; but it would have been something
to prove that the armed man was one of Gow-
rie's servants. He, therefore, was to be sought
for, or at least a substitute ; but unfortunately
the king in his first proclamation had given a
very accurate account of the man's personal
appearance. He was described by the monarch
as a black grim man, and his head was uncov-
ered ; and as James had some conversation with
him, he could not be mistaken in his complex-
ion. David Calderwood quoted by Mr. Scott
in his life and death of the Earl of Gowrie, de-
clares that the king first asserted the man was
Robert Oliphant, one of Gowrie's servants.
Oliphant proved, however, that he was not at
Perth that day Two others were then suc-
cessively pointed out as the criminal, but they
freed themselves from the imputation. The
next person accused was Henry Younger, like-
wise one of the earl's servants ; but setting out
to establish his innocence, he was met, pursued
through the fields, and put to death by a party
of the king's horse. The matter now seemed
settled ; the dead body was exposed at the
market-cross at Falkland and Galloway ; the
king's chaplain had the assurance to address
the monarch publicly at the cross, saying, " Sir,
the man who should have helped to do the deed

could not be taken alive, but now his dead body
lies before you."

It was soon proved, however, that Henry
Younger was at Dundee during the whole of
the fifth of August, and another had to be sought
for.

In this exigency Andrew Henderson, the
earl's factor, volunteered, or was persuaded
upon promise of pardon to acknowledge himsell
the man whom the king and Ramsay had seen.
How this was brought about has never been
known ; but he was suffered to make his depo-
sition, and therein told a story even more in-
credible than that of the king. He said that
his lord had commanded hirn to arm himself to
assist in apprehending a notorious robber, and
for that purpose to suffer himsell to be locked
into a closet at the top of the house, where he
remained for about half an hour — in fact till the
king and Alexander Ruthven came.

The other depositions clearly prove that this
statement was false," as well as absurd ; for
from the time of the king's arrival to the mo-
ment at which James proceeded to the rooms
above, and especially during the last three-
quarters of an hour, every moment of which is
accounted for, Gowrie never quitted the mon-
arch's presence, except to go with the nobles
to the adjoining hall, or afterward to drink to
them by the king's command. The contradic-
tions between Henderson's evidence and the
statement of the king, are pointed out both by
Lord Hailes and Robertson, and well summed
up by Mr. Scott. The sermons of Bishop Cow-
per prove that many persons in Perth denied
that Henderson was in Gowrie's palace at all
after the king's arrival ; and though that wor-
thy pastor states he had spoken with persona
who saw Henderson there, he seems not tc
have given information to ttie monarch foi
whom he was so zealous, of the names of these
parties ; for not one of them was called forward
to prove the truth of a tale which nobody 'be-
lieved. Even James himself threw discredit
upon the account, by not naming Henderson as
the armed man, though be published a state-
ment after the depositions were taken, and, in-
deed, with no face could the king have done so,
for he had previously stated that the man was
a black grim man, and Henderson was a little
ruddy man with a light brown beard. He was
moreover contradicted by other witnesses upon
various points, and by the king himself upon
many. Yet Henderson, we may well suppose,
did James good service in some way; for we
find that he was honored and rewarded with
lands and offices, as well as Christie, the Earl
of Gowrie's porter, whose services are un-
known, though strongly suspected, and another
domestic named Dowgie, of whose deeds we
know nothing.

The guilt of the Earl of Gowrie was disbe-
lieved in Scotland all but universally, and the
accusation of magic and sorcery brought against
him was treated with the contempt it merited,
except by a few persons more curious than in-
telligent. Five ministers of Edinburgh refused
to offer thanks for the king's deliverance, ir*
which they did not believe ; and three of them
suffered very severely for their contumacy and
incredulity. The estates of the earl of Gowrie
were forfeited and divided among favorites,

144

GOWRIE : OR, THE KING'S PLOT

and thiee of the earl's faithful servants were
executed at Perth, declaring their innocence
and his with their dying breath. An annual
thanksgiving was appointed in England and
Scotland, but the English laughed at the farce,
and the Scotch were indignant at the impiety.
An annual feast also was held, which Wilson
mentions as follows : " Sir John Ramsay, for
his good service in that preservation, was the
principal guest, and so did the king grant him
a-ny boon he would ask that day. But he had
such limitation made to his asking, as made
his suit as unprofitable, as the action which
he asked it for, was unserviceable to the
king."

I have endeavored in the account of the last
few days of the earl's life to keep as near to
the truth as possible, only indicating circum-
stances not absolutely proved, as natural con-
clusions from established facts. I have not
ventured to represent the scene which took
place in the earl's gallery chamber and cabinet

between his brother and the king, for my ac-
count would probably be nearly as wide of the
truth as that of the monarch or the factor,
though it might be less absurd. But I have not
felt myself bound to adhere to historical truth
in those parts of a romance which are conven-
tionally established as fiction. The character
of Julia Douglas is purely imaginary; and were
there at present any descendants from the Re-
gent Morton, I would apologize for the liberties
I have taken with their ancestor. The lady
whom it was proposed the earl should marry,
was, in reality, the Lady Margaret Douglas,
daughter of the Earl of Angus ; but particular
circumstances, which it would be tedious to
dwell upon, prevented me from mixing her
name up with this history; and there were
rumors current, both before and after the earl's
death, of another more powerful but secret at-
tachment which might probably have frustrated
the views of friends, under the influence of a
stranger power

TDK sua.