Gowrie pressed her gently to his heart, and then withdrew his arms again; for he felt that, lonely, protected only by his honour, 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 replied, "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 sisters 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 will open to them like a humble flower to the bright sun; but Gowrie's presence is life enough for me. But I have many things to tell you, too; and yet, I know not why, but I think you have not told me all."
"Oh, there are many minor things to mention," answered the young earl, doubtful whether it were wisest to inform her of the dangers which had menaced, or to conceal them, now that he was safe, at least for the time. "What need," he asked himself, "to disturb her mind, and keep her in constant agitation, whenever I am absent, by fears for me, whose life has been already menaced? Better let her remain in ignorance of the perils that beset my path, when she can do nought to avert them. Could she act, could she counsel, could she direct, I would conceal nothing from her; but she is here 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 apprehensive also? 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 be said."
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 demeanour 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 impediment from any other source but his ignorance of the way. The difficulties he met with from that cause, he described with considerable humour, 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 exactly, that Gowrie could not refrain from laughter.
Julia rejoiced to see him so gay; and if she had entertained any suspicion that he was withholding 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 solemn 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 room which he had ordered to be prepared for himself in the gate tower. There he held a somewhat long conversation with Donald Macduff, his baron bailie in Strathbraan; and having ascertained from him that all strangers had withdrawn from the neighbourhood, and that a keen watch had been kept up ever since Austin Jute'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 officers of a municipal court of justice, as they existed at that time, although I am unable to give their designations; and towards the door were seen two or three halbardiers, with their imposing 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 magistrates of the town, was seated the Earl of Gowrie, as provost of Perth and heritable sheriff of the county; and at a little distance from him, on the same raised place of honour, 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 barrier of iron about three feet high in front, appeared the prisoner, David Drummond, with a stout jailor on either side. His strong and muscular 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 himself had twice inflicted upon others. Sadly but calmly, after the most convincing proofs of his guilt, Gowrie had pronounced the fatal words, with his eye fixed firmly on the man's countenance.
Drummond gasped as if for breath to speak; but the two jailors laid their hands upon his arm, and were about to remove him, when the earl interposed, exclaiming, "Stay, stay; he desires to speak. Let him say whatever he thinks fit."