He breathed more freely as his followers traversed the deserted road that led to the barrier of Bristo, and thence striking westward, proceeded by a narrow horseway leading to the thatched hamlet and manor-house of Lauriston, a suburb a few hundred yards from the city wall, which, with its row of embattled bastelhouses, rose on the right hand.
It was a long and monotonous line of crenelated wall, the outline of which was broken only by the spire of the old Greyfriars' Kirk (which was accidentally blown-up in 1718 by powder stored therein by the thrifty bailies of Edinburgh), the turrets of Heriot's Hospital, and at intervals a fantastic stack of great black chimnies studded with oyster-shells. On the left were fields of waving grain, and rows of foliaged trees, that spread over the gradual slope to the sandy margin of the beautiful lake. The little village was buried in silence and sleep; all was hushed under the green thatch of its humble cots. Scarcely a star was visible; it was nearly midnight, and utter solitude surrounded them.
Poor Lilian! Her daring abductor had not as yet formed any defined plan of ultimate procedure. His first object was to have Lilian completely at his mercy, and nowhere could she be more so, than in the strong and solitary house of Drumsheugh, watched by the infamous being introduced to the reader in the preceding chapter.
Within the grated chambers of that house, which he had made the scene of a thousand enormities, Clermistonlee hoped soon by terror, persuasion, or force, to overcome the repugnance Lilian had so long expressed for his addresses. The cold, but decided refusal, of old Lady Grisel, the startled dismay and ill-concealed hauteur of Lilian, when but a few months before he had made a somewhat abrupt and unexpected proposal for her hand, now rose vividly to his mind, and spurred him on to triumph and revenge.
He contemplated with a malicious satisfaction, that even if to-morrow, or a week hence, he should free Lilian from durance, she would go forth with a stain upon her reputation, and imputations upon her honour, worse than death to a girl of her delicacy and spirit—imputations which ultimately might force the proud little beauty into his arms, when the web of his machinations was stronger, and when even her lover would shrink from her as from one contaminated.
Then would be his hour of triumph! and—but here his cogitations were interrupted by the yelling of a great wolf-dog, which thrust its black nose through the barbican-gate of the Highriggs, and barked furiously.
Clermistonlee had hoped that, fatigued with dancing and the lateness of the hour, sleep had overpowered Lilian, and now he trembled lest she should awake, and by her cries summon aid to her rescue from this old baronial mansion, which terminated the Portsburgh. In wrath, he thrust with his long rapier at the dog; but its baying redoubled, and, in great consternation, Juden and Jock hurried northward down the slope at their utmost speed. To the joy of Clermistonlee, his fair captive expressed no alarm, and the curtains of the sedan remained undrawn. Her voice was unheard, and no sound broke the stillness of the place, save the wind sweeping over the fields, and the tramp of the chairmen's feet, as they ascended by a narrow bridle path to the ancient gate of Drumsheugh.
"She is mine at last!" exclaimed the triumphant roué, through his clenched teeth, as they entered the damp gloomy avenue. "Ha, Master Fenton, I have the odds of thee! Ha, ha! Not all hell itself could save her from me now."
At the base of a tower where a small doorway gave entrance to the house, Juden, who was in front, to his great tribulation, saw Beatrix Gilruth with a long pikestaff in one hand, and an iron cresset in the other. She held it aloft at the full stretch of her meagre arm, and fitfully the flame streamed in the night-wind, casting a bright but uncertain glare on her pinched unearthly features, her sunken eyes, matted hair, and tattered attire, on the mossgreen walls, the grated windows, and striking façade of the ancient mansion, and the thick trees that grew around it, revealing the dewy leaves and threads of silver gossamer that spread from branch to branch—but Beatrix was the most striking object, for the wildness of her air imparted to her the aspect of an antique Pythoness, a sorceress, or maniac. Juden fearfully eyed her askance.
"Gude e'en to ye, cummer," said he breathlessly.