"You must be more upon your guard, Donald," he said, speaking to the first, "and, moreover, 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 they 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 good sister to-night, for I know not, from moment 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 surprise Trochrie, let it come under whatever authority it may. But we will speak more to-night before 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 realization of 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 now before him sitting with those who were bound to him by the ties of kindred and of early association and long affection, winning their love 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 on 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 power of fate. He himself was very silent with much joy; but Beatrice spoke cheerfully, and led forth Julia's more timid but more deep-toned thoughts; and the sister gazed and smiled with strong grave interest at the fresh spirit and the eloquent originality of the brother's promised bride, and declared aloud, that it was charming, that it was unlike anything of the earth, that it was like an angel sent down now 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 persuaded 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 opened 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 sunshine, so bright in contrast with the dark cloud coming up upon the wind. But the cloud advances--Fate is moving slowly, but inevitably, forward. It cannot 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 deserved the name of The Palace which it sometimes obtained. It was generally called, however, Gowrie House, or Gowrie Place, and occasionally, by the Earls of Gowrie themselves, was termed "The Great House," to distinguish it, probably, from their other mansions, of which they possessed several. The extent of this building may be conceived, when we recollect that the great court in the centre 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 centre 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 remarkable care, lay at the back and to the south, stretching in that direction to the town wall. At the south-eastern angle of the garden rose a curious and very ancient tower, called the Monk's Tower, from some tradition which has not reached me. The parts of the building towards the Tay, and those towards the south, were of an unknown antiquity, with walls of immense thickness; and legends were current, even at the time of which I speak, of persons having been confined by former lords, in secret recesses within those heavy walls, and left to perish miserably. The northern and western sides of the quadrangle were far 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 Ruthven. By whomsoever they were built, much pains had been employed to remodel the internal arrangements of the older building, so as to make it harmonize, within at least, with newer parts; and each successive Earl of Gowrie 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, pictures by the greatest artists of the day.
At each corner of the house was a tower or turret, and both at the south-east and north-west corner of the great court was a broad stair, leading to the rooms above. Several smaller stairs opened also into the court, and one especially, in the south-west 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 side of the great iron gate 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.
Towards the afternoon of the 14th of March, 1600, a man was standing with his back towards the great gates of Gowrie Place, which were partly open. The court behind him was vacant, and there were not many people in the streets, for the labours 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 along that which led in an 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 cunning in the expression of his face, especially about the small black twinkling eyes, which did not prepossess a beholder in his favour. If one might judge by the half-open mouth and narrow jaw and chin, there was also in his character that species of weakness by no means 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 a small dagger in his girdle, and might well have been taken for one of the substantial 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. From time to time, he turned and looked back into the court, as if he expected somebody to appear 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 towards him, with a "Good day, Mr. Henderson."