“Patrick,” said Sir Walter aside to his brother, with a more than ordinarily serious air, “I give thee but thine own in advance. One day or other it will be all thine own. There is something within me that tells me that I am not long for this world. The last words of that wretch, delivered to me, as I told thee, from the midst of those flames that consumed him, were prophetic. But, be that as it may, I have never had thoughts of marrying, and now I am firmly resolved that I never shall marry, so that thou art the sole prop of our house.”
The entrance of the retainers, and the spreading of the evening meal, put a stop to all farther conversation between the brothers. Patrick had not yet seen either the Lady Stradawn, or her son Murdoch. On inquiry, he was told that Murdoch had gone on some unknown expedition on the previous day, and that he had not yet returned. A circumstance, so common with him, excited no surprise. As for the Lady Stradawn, she now came swimming into the hall, with her countenance clothed in all its usual smiles. Her salutation to her stepsons was full of well-dissembled warmth and affection. She hastened, with her wonted affectation of fondness, to bustle about Sir Allan, with the well-feigned pretence of anxiety to attend to his wants, after which she took her place at the head of the board. It was then that Patrick’s eyes became suddenly fixed upon her with a degree of astonishment, which, fortunately for him, the busy occupation of every one else at the table left them no leisure to observe. To his utter amazement, he beheld in her bosom that very garnet brooch which he had given to Catherine Forbes! His first impulse was to demand from her an explanation of the circumstances by which she had become possessed of it; but a little reflection soon enabled him to control his feelings, though he continued to sit gazing at the well-known jewel, altogether forgetful of the feast, until the lady arose to retire to her chamber.
“My dearest Sir Allan,” said she, going up to the old knight’s chair to bestow her caresses on him ere she went; “My dearest Sir Allan, thou hast eaten nothing for these two days. What can I get for thee that may tickle thy palate into thy wonted appetite? Said’st thou not something of a deer’s heart, for which thou hadst a longing? ’Tis a strange fancy, I’m sure.”
“Oh, aye! very true,—a deer’s heart!” said the doting old man. “Very true, indeed, my love. I did dream—oh, aye—I dreamed, I say, Bella, that I was eating the rosten heart of a stag—of a great hart of sixteen,[2] killed by my boys on the hill of Dalestie—aye, aye—and with arrows feathered from an eagle’s wing. As I ate, and better ate, I always grew stronger and stronger, till at length I was able to rise from my chair as stoutly as ever I did in my life—ouch, aye! that day is gone! Yet much would I like to eat the rosten heart of a deer; but it would need to be that of a great hart of sixteen.”
“My dear father, thou shalt not want that,” said Sir Walter; “thou shalt have it ere I am a day older, if a hart of sixteen be to be found between this and Loch Aven.”
“Aye, aye, Walter boy, as thou sayest,” said the old man; “a great hart of sixteen—else hath the heart of the beast no potency in’t—aye, and killed with an arrow feathered from an eagle’s wing—och, aye—hoch-hey!”
Though the two brothers were satisfied that this was nothing but the drivelling of age, they were not the less anxiously desirous to gratify their father’s wish to the very letter. Accordingly, the necessary orders were given, and the trusty Dugald Roy[3] was forthwith summoned to prepare six arrows, which would have been easily supplied, with the small portions of feather which were necessary for them, from the eagle wing in Sir Walter’s bonnet. But Sir Allan stopped him as he was about to tear it off.
“What, Sir!” exclaimed the old man testily, and in a state of agitation that shook every fibre of his frame like a palsy;—“What! wouldst thou shear the eagle plume of my boy Walter, thou ill-omened bird that thou art? Yonder hangs mine; it can never more appear bearing proudly forward in the foremost shock of the battle-field. Och, hey, that is true! Take that, thou raven! Thou may’st rend it as ye list. But, my boy’s!—the proud plume of mine eldest born boy!—thou shalt never take that!”
“I crave your pardon, Sir Knight,” replied Dugald Roy; “and now I think on’t, I need not take either, for I have some spare wing feathers in my store that will do all the turn.”
The next morning saw Sir Walter and his brother Patrick early on foot, dressed in their plainest hunting attire, stretching up the valley at the head of their attendants. Each of the brothers had three of the eagle-winged arrows stuck into his belt; for, as both were dexterous marksmen, and as they had resolved to use their shafts against nothing else but a great hart of sixteen, they felt themselves to be thus most amply provided to insure success. Fortune was somewhat adverse to them, however; for although they saw deer in abundance, they found themselves in this very part of the valley, when the day was already far spent, without having once had a chance of effecting their object.