“Then am I safe,” said Lachlan Dhu; “but in the meanwhile secrecy is essential to our purpose.”
“I hope I have prudence enough to know how to conduct myself in all cases of delicacy,” replied Ballindalloch.
“’Tis well,” said Lachlan Dhu, again folding his plaid around him, and putting on his bonnet. “Now I must begone; for time presses. Farewell! I shall trust to thee, and thou mayest trust to me.”
“I shall not forget what is due to thee, when thou art my vassal,” said the laird, “nor shall I ever forget what ought at all times to be expected from Ballindalloch. Here, Ian Dhu, see this stranger safe beyond the walls and outposts.”
The night I speak of seemed to be quite pregnant with strange visitations; for, at a still later hour, after old Tullochcarron had himself seen that the guard at the barbican of his small place of strength was on the alert, and had secured the iron doors of the entrance of the peel-tower, and had finally retired to his apartment to go to rest, he was surprised to see a packet lying on his table, of which no one of his attendants could give him any account. It was tied with a morsel of ribbon, the ends of which were secured with wax, but without any impression. It was simply addressed:—
“To Tullochcarron.”
And on cutting it open, he found that it contained the following letter, with a broad seal at the end of it.
“Tullochcarron,—I write this private communication, to tell thee that thou hast a traitor in thy house, that thou dost nourish a viper in thy bosom that would sting thee. The life of thine only son is certain to be taken, if thou dost not secure it by the instant seizure of thy nephew, Lachlan Dhu. Thine own murder will speedily follow. The cold-blooded villain came to me secretly under the cloud of this night, and did unfold his devilish plans, offering to me the feudal superiority of thy lands of Tullochcarron, provided I should protect him as my vassal against all after question. I seemed to listen, and yet I evited direct promise; and I now hasten to certiorate thee of these facts through ane trusty messenger, who engages, by certain means best known to himself, to have these placed upon thine own private table before thou sleepest. This traitorie is as yet alone known to thee, to me, to the foul faitour who planned, and to the devil who prompted it. And that thou mayest have no doubt left in thee of the truth of what I have here written, I do hereto affix my sign-manual, as well as the seal, the which is attached to the last instrument of pacification that passed between our houses.—Ballindalloch.”
You may conceive, gentlemen, that this letter, read alone, at midnight in his chamber, dreadfully alarmed old Tullochcarron. He started from the large oaken chair in which he had seated himself to peruse it, and snatching his lamp, he rushed to his son’s apartment, where he held up the light, and gazed with fear and trembling on his son’s couch, almost expecting to see his boy foully murdered, and weltering in his blood. Stretched on his bed, he did indeed find him; but his eyes were closed in the sweet slumbers that attend the pillow of pure and spotless youth. He gazed on him in silent anxiety for some time, till he was really certain that he breathed; and then the old man’s lip quivered, and his eyes were dimmed by the big drops that rapidly distilled over his eyelids. Stooping gently down, he kissed Duncan’s cheek, and then quitting the room upon tiptoe, he called up an old and tried domestic.
“Hamish,” said he, “I had a strange and troubled dream, as I dozed in mine arm-chair.”