"I can go, and avoid the dungeons."
"No, I will; it will be easy to frighten these simpletons so much they will not tempt the lower regions," said the Captain, in a low voice, and then aloud, "I am your man; I will come and guard you against the ghosts, Floss, and the murdered old dame: Musgrave and L'Estrange, come along, there's a beau apiece for you."
"Dear me, wonders will never cease!" said Lady Florence, laughing, "when you shelter young ladies, John."
Leading the way, the Captain strode towards the doorway, whilst L'Estrange and Musgrave filled the girls' heads with nonsense, and exaggerated tales of horror, mystery, and deeds of blood done in the dark dungeons. The Peel was an old, antiquated-looking square tower, and the rooms were lofty, with thin cross-shaped windows, which let in the least possible light; the walls were hung with tapestry, behind which were many secret doors. Ascending the irregular stone staircase, the party, increased by several new members, began a close scrutiny of all the chambers, and rummaged everywhere,—looking into every dark passage, but getting more and more alarmed, to the Captain's great delight, who magnified every sound made by the rats, which frequented the tower in swarms, into the footsteps of bogles and goblins, and so worked on the terrors of the ladies, that none had the hardihood to descend to the dungeons, in one of which was hidden old Stacy. This being given up, by universal consent they left the tower, and once more emerged on the green grass. They found all the servants busily engaged devouring the remains of the feast, like "filthy jackalls," as the Captain remarked, "devouring the relics of the lions' repast." They then all commenced roaming the woods, and the Captain and L'Estrange soon managed to give them the slip, leaving Musgrave to take care of the ladies.
Whilst this party was busy searching the tower, the rest of the company had proceeded, in parties of two and three, to the cool retreats of the woods. The Earl, accompanied by his sister the Marchioness, and Ellen, began rambling up the burn, along a rough footpath, in order to show Ellen a waterfall at the top of the wood. Before they had proceeded far they were met by the Marquis, with whom Lady Edith walked another way, leaving the lovers alone. Taking Ellen's hand, the Earl helped her to climb the path, rough with the roots of fir trees protruding from the soil, and exceedingly steep. As they got still higher the acclivity became more and more perpendicular, and the stones they loosened from the hill side went thundering down below, crashing among the trees, till they at last plunged into the brown waters. It was hot work as well as arduous, and often they paused to rest on the fallen trees that now and then lay across the pathway. Their footsteps on the withered fir branches that strewed the ground, often started the denizens of the wood,—the weasel, the rabbit, and the timid hare, that fled past them like a shadow, stopped a moment, with ears erect, and then started off again; and the wild pigeons, or cushats, as they are called in Scotland, flew off their nests with a loud noise, as if one clapped his hands together. As they neared the summit of the wood, the fall of the water became more and more distinct, and soon they emerged from the dark trees into sunshine and open air, and beheld the cascade they had so long heard. The top of the wood opened on a rushy dell, surrounded on either side by a half circle of high banks, on which blossomed the whin and flowering broom. In front rose high rocks, over which raved and foamed the black moss waters, lashed into foam by their descent; the troubled waves then found a way through the centre of the dell, and were almost hidden by reeds and bracken,—or, as the English call it, fern. Beneath the cascade, on either side, grew several nut trees, and as the sun shone brightly, their light green stood out boldly relieved against the black rocks behind; through these trees were caught glimpses of the flashing waters as they heaped themselves into a dark lynn that eddied below. Countless insects,—dragon flies, azure wings, fritillaries, and other butterflies sported in the sunshine over the rushes, and from them the dell took its name of "Butterfly Dell." Half hid by the waterfall in the sides of the rock, a large dark hollow was just visible, over which danced the iris painted by the sunshine on the silvery spray,—now faint and dimly distinguishable, now radiant and bright as the bow in the day of rain. A few steps, rudely cut in the naked rock, led to the cavern, towards which the lovers directed their steps. The Earl guided his fair companion's footsteps up the rough stairs, assisting her with his arm, and in another moment they were both inside the cool retreat. The air of this grot was extremely pleasant after their hot climb; and, when their eyes became accustomed to the dim light, they perceived a rootwork seat placed against the further end of the cave which extended but a short way into the rocks. From the roof of this cell dripped some fine stalactites; and through the circular entrance they had a view of the dell bathed in sunshine. The burn looked like a streak of silver thread winding its way among the green rushes, and the trees rose dark behind; now and then a light wind blew the vapoury mist of the fall past the cave's entrance, and for a moment everything was lightly obscured. The Earl and his fair partner sat down on the seat, and for some minutes enjoyed the sweet scene in silence. We must, however, reserve their conversation for another chapter, as this has already exceeded its bounds.
CHAPTER XVII.
"And plead in beauty's ear, nor plead in vain."
Pleasures of Hope.
"Thy heart is sad—thy home is far away."—Ibid.
"Years have flown by," said the Earl, "since I saw this dell. When my feet last roamed here I was a careless boy, rambling the woods gun in hand, or, with my brothers and sisters around chasing the butterfly over hill and dale. It was with my eldest sister, now in heaven, that I last tracked the stream; it was with her by my side I last sat on this very seat. All seems unchanged,—all is as bright and fair as it was that day, except the two roamers: one is gone, and the spot brings bitter as well as blissful associations to the other."