“Yes, dear James, and you would but disturb him in what seems to be a very pleasant sleep. But he has granted you his pardon; or, if you doubt, you may come to morrow, to dinner, and then—”
“Yes, Alice; and may not Hector McLean come with me?” The last words were spoken in a playful tone, and intended to probe, what Alice thought was a secret. He rallied, and endeavoured to enjoy himself, and seemed to succeed. Katharine forgave him, and agreed to walk with him, for a few minutes, in the garden. He looked smilingly upon Alice, and by his glance attempted to hint that he knew very well that she did not regret to be left alone with Sir Hector.
The next morning arose fair and bright. The birds, even in the streets, forgot the silence of winter, and cheered the crowded abodes of men with their songs, as they fluttered about the leafless trees, in the squares of the town. The Manchester regiment of volunteers was marching through the streets, to the sound of the drum. At their head was Prince Charles, attended by Colonel Townley. There was an unusual melancholy resting on the features of the former, which was increased by listening to the Scottish song now chanted in the streets, “Bonnie Prince Charlie.” His pale hair fell carelessly over his forehead, as he frequently raised his bonnet, to allow the sun to fall upon his face. The smoke was not yet arising from the chimneys, so early was the hour; and he thought how slow and idle the inhabitants were in their loyalty towards him. The colonel halted.
“Where, noble Prince, will you review my men?”
“In the church-yard,” was the reply, “yet that is an ominous place, and may remind them of a fate they may, by and by, share. It is well, nevertheless, to know what our end, sooner or later, must be. The churchyard, colonel.”
It was nigh at hand. The graves were not crowded, and the Chevalier forbade the troops to violate the abodes of the dead, by trampling upon them. They drew up, and went through their various exercises in military discipline. As their swords flashed in the sun, the Prince thought what a slight chance of fortune these would have with the scythe of death. They were about to retire, when a small company of mourners was seen, attending a dead relative to the grave. They moved sadly and slowly, unlike the quick pace with which the troops had entered. A closely veiled female was at the head of the coffin. The Chevalier raised his cap, and desired his men to approach, and honour these funeral rites. Young Dawson started, as he beheld the blind Prophetess, with faded flowers in her hands. He approached,—the veiled lady gave a shriek, and fell down on the coffin. He sprang forward, drew aside the veil, and beheld his sister Alice! He raised her from the coffin, and there beheld his father’s name upon it!
She had resolved to spare him the heart-rending news until, the war being over, he should return; and thus she, herself, had undertaken to attend to the last rites due to the remains and the memory of a dead father. But here, providence had determined otherwise, and James met his father,—for the first time since his leaving home, to ask his forgiveness,—at the grave. He had formerly entreated Alice to kiss their father, so that he might be induced to pardon him, but now, what token of affection could obtain for him such a blessing! And there was the young Prophetess, with words boding still darker ruin on all the family, and on Prince Charles.
On the first of December, the Chevalier and his troops continued their march, and towards evening reached Macclesfield, with the intention of proceeding to London, and thus terminating the struggle for the crown in the capital of the kingdom. In a few days, however, having reached Derby, where a council of war was held, all the members, save the brave Prince himself, were of opinion that, since, in all probability, they would soon be surrounded by three armies, the only way of safety was to return to Scotland. Accordingly, against the urgent remonstrances and entreaties of Charles Edward, the retreat was commenced, and pressed on by the forces of the Duke of Cumberland, on the nineteenth, they reached Carlisle. All the army spent a night there, and it was resolved that a garrison should be left, consisting of the Manchester regiment, and a few of the Lowland troops.
In the morning they attended the Prince to a short distance from the town, and on an eminence, where his movements might, a little longer, be seen,—halted to take leave of him, with tears in their eyes. The few Highland soldiers who were to form a part of the garrison left behind, approached, and knelt down, their shaggy heads uncovered, heedless of the wintry blast which raged around them, while they prayed for a blessing upon “Bonnie Prince Charlie.” They seemed disposed to follow him back into their native mountains and fastnesses, and they turned many a look of envy and regret upon their more fortunate clansmen who were to guard his person. The Chevalier dismounted, and his tall graceful form was closely, yet respectfully, surrounded, in a moment, by the faithful mountaineers. He smiled, as they gazed in wonder on his kilted dress.
“My friends,” he said, “my limbs, naked though they be, can meet the storm. Have I not, after the fatigues of battle, contended with you in wrestling and leaping, stripped and bare? And yet,” he added to himself, as he glanced at his small white hands, now exposed to the cold, and his half covered thighs, “the ladies of Paris and Edinburgh have fluttered round and embraced me.”