The two friends were among the first to hurry out, in obedience to these orders from the old man. Both were extremely agitated; and, so far as this example went, it would have been difficult to have, from it, determined the question whether the affection of a loving brother or a tender lover, should be accounted the greater. Arthur Forbes was eager for some explanation from Patrick Stewart as to what he knew of the Lady Catherine. But, alas! Patrick could give him no information beyond that which I have already detailed to you. Leaving the crowd of the retainers to examine every hole and corner, bush and brake, immediately around the castle walls, Arthur and Patrick, from their knowledge of circumstances, pushed their search farther; and as they secretly knew the way that Catherine had taken from the pine grove homewards, they looked diligently for her all along the path. Of her, or any thing belonging to her, they discovered nothing. But at last, in one place, where the path ran through a thicket, where the ground was soft, they were struck with the appearance of numerous newly impressed prints of footsteps. On examining these more closely by means of a torch, they observed, among those of many a rude brogue and sandal, mixed and mingled together, and pointing in all directions, as if those who wore them had been engaged in hurried action—among all these, I say, they observed one tiny and delicate footprint, which was here and there perceptible, and which Patrick Stewart at once declared, could have belonged to no one but to the Lady Catherine Forbes.—Wild with dread and alarm, they returned to the castle. On questioning the warder, he admitted that he did remember having heard something like a woman’s shriek, that came faintly from some distance in the direction of the thicket, but as it was immediately drowned by the first drone of the piper’s warning, and had been heard by him no more, it had passed away altogether from his thoughts. Not a doubt now remained in their minds, that the Lady Catherine had been carried off by some villains, who had been lurking about the castle. The old Lord of Curgarf was inconsolable.—He was quite unmanned, and unable to give an order as to what should be done. His son Arthur, the Master of Forbes, lost no time in acting for him.—The retainers were hastily armed, and commanded to prepare for instant pursuit; and, being divided, at Patrick Stewart’s request, into two bands, the friends determined each to take the command of one of them,—and accordingly, with such hasty refreshments as the men could snatch, and carry with them, they took leave of one another, and started off, each upon such a line of country as he, in his quickly summoned forethought, judged to be the most likely to bring his expedition to a successful termination.
As we have already learned from the conversation of the Master of Forbes, when he first met Patrick Stewart after the accident which befell him near Dalestie, it was pretty generally known in the country, at this time, that a gang of Catteranes, or free-booters, from the west, were occasionally harboured somewhere among the neighbouring mountains, but no one could precisely tell whereabouts they most commonly secreted themselves. On this point, however, Patrick Stewart had some general suspicions, though he knew nothing that could lead him to guess—even within miles—as to the exact spot where their lurking place might be.—He took his way directly over the mountain that separates the upper part of the river Don from the Aven, and he descended towards the valley of the latter stream, through that precipitous ravine, that affords a course for the little tributary burn of Cuachan-Seirceag, down the face of the white cliffs that almost overhang the small house of Inchvory, which, if we be all spared gentlemen, we shall see this night before we sleep. There is not a tree there now; but, at that period, the ravine was thickly shaded by such timber as could find footing, or nourishment among the rocks, and it therefore formed a good and well-known place of shelter. Having fixed on it as the point of rendezvous, Patrick took his way up the valley of the Aven for some little distance, and then, dividing his people into two parties, he sent one of them off by the pass leading in the direction of Loch Builg, whilst he continued to lead the other up that which is more properly called Glen Aven, by the Lynn of Aven, where the river throws itself over the rocks in a fine wild fall. Having then ascended the mountains, he began, by break of day, to march, and countermarch, over and across them, visiting, and carefully examining every retired nook or corner that he thought might be the least likely to be chosen, by such villains, as a hiding-place, until mid-day came without bringing him the least clue to the object of his search. Then it was that he unwillingly halted his party in a hollow by the side of a spring, that the poor fellows might refresh themselves with food, and rest for a time.
THE SERJEANT HALTED FOR REFRESHMENT.
Clifford.—(Interrupting the Serjeant.)—Gentlemen, I beg to remark, that I think it would be quite proper that we should refresh ourselves with food, whilst Mr. Patrick Stewart and his party are engaged in doing so. We shall thus save time, as must be self-evident to all, seeing that the action of the story is thus brought, for a little while, to a state of repose. Of bodily rest we have had enough, in all conscience—thanks to the length of Mister Archy’s yarn.
Grant.—I beg to second the motion of our worthy secretary, which, in my mind, is most sensible.
Clifford.—Methinks, then, that a slice or two from that cold round of beef, which I saw so carefully bestowed in the right hand pannier on the pony’s back, would come well in as an episode to Serjeant Stewart’s story. Here Davy, untruss, if you please.
Grant.—Spread the cloth before us here on the grass, and then lay out the eatables.
Clifford.—Now, methinks, we can more readily sympathise with Patrick Stewart and his people at their luncheon. But come, Davy; we must have something potable too.
Author.—Bring us one of those bottles from the pannier on the other side of the pony.