“Phoo, ay, troth she’s no meddles mair wi’ her,” said Duncan; “ou ay, troth no, she’ll no meddles.”
CHAPTER LXXIV.
The missing Lady Beatrice.
Whilst preparations are making for the duel, it may not be improper to relieve the reader’s mind regarding the Lady Beatrice, who had thus unwittingly become the subject of a feud likely to terminate so fatally. After having providentially effected her escape, first from the flames of the Hospital of the Maison Dieu, and then from the base and treacherous protection of Sir Andrew Stewart, she fled through the garden, and, being bewildered by a complication of terrors, she ran she knew not whither, and unwittingly taking the direction of the town, rushed wildly through the streets. Terror-struck by the blaze of the Cathedral and the shouts of those who were engaged in its destruction, some of whom her fears led her to imagine had joined in the pursuit which she believed Sir Andrew Stewart still held after her, she darted onwards with inconceivable rapidity, until she passed quite through the town. A little beyond its western entrance, she beheld a light at some distance before her, and believing that it proceeded from the casement of some cottage, she sprang towards it with renewed exertion. To her great disappointment, it turned out to be one of those lamps kept burning within a shrine of the Virgin that stood by the wayside. She sank down exhausted before the image it contained, and clasping her hands together, implored protection from her whom the figure represented.
While she was occupied in devotion, she heard the distant tramp of a horse. At first she was doubtful of the reality of the [[605]]sound, confounded as it was with the far-off shouts of the Wolfe of Badenoch’s people; but it soon became too distinct to be mistaken. It came not very quick, however, and she had yet time to flee. Filled with fresh alarm, she again sprang to her feet; but, alas! their strength was gone. Her limbs refused to do their office, and, tottering for a step or two, she again sank down on the ground, under the half shadow at the base of the little Gothic building. As she fell the horseman came on. He halted in doubt whether that which he beheld sink so strangely was corporeal or spiritual. His horse, too, seemed to partake of his alarm; for when he tried to urge the animal to pass by, he snorted and backed, and could not be persuaded or compelled to advance by any means the rider could use.
Meanwhile, the Lady Beatrice, believing that the man who rode the horse had halted for the purpose of dismounting, lay trembling with apprehension that Sir Andrew Stewart was about to seize her. Fear robbed her for some moments of recollection, from which temporary stupor she was roused by feeling her waist powerfully encircled by two arms of no pigmy size or strength, upon which she screamed aloud and fainted away.
When the Lady Beatrice regained her recollection, she found herself seated on the saddle, and travelling at a good round pace. She was held in her place, and supported by the same sinewy arms, which were also employed in guiding the reins, and pressing on the steed.
“Mercy, mercy, Sir Andrew Stewart,” shrieked she; “oh, whither dost thou carry me?”
“St. Lowry be praised that thou hast gathered thysel back frae the warld o’ sauls, my leddy! Of a truth I did greatly fear that thy spirit had yode thither.”