“My mother, my honoured mother,—Fate has delivered me into the power of Murray of Elibank, the enemy of our house. He has doomed me to death, and I die to-morrow; but sit not down to mourn for me, and uselessly to wring the hands and tear the hair; but rouse every Scott upon the Borders to rise up and be my avenger. If ye bewail the loss o’ a son, let them spare o’ the Murrays neither son nor daughter. Rouse ye, and let a mother’s vengeance nerve your arm! Poor Simon o’ Yarrow-foot is to be my companion in death, and he whines to meet his fate with the weakness of a woman, and yearns a perpetual yearning for his wife and bairns. On that account I forgie him the want o’ heart and determination which he manifests; but see ye to them, and take care that they be provided for. As for me, I shall meet my doom wi’ disdain for my enemy in my eyes and on my tongue. Even in death he shall feel that I despise him; and a proof o’ this I have given him already; for he has offered to save my life, providing I would marry his daughter, Meikle-mouthed Meg. But I have scorned his proposal.”——
“Ye were right, Willie! ye were right, lad!” exclaimed his mother, while the letter shook in her hand; but, suddenly bursting into tears, she continued—“No, no! my bairn was wrong—very wrong. Life is precious, and at all times desirable; and, for his poor mother’s sake, he ought to have married the lassie, whate’er she may be like.” And, turning to the bearer of the letter, she inquired—“And what like may the leddy be, the marrying o’ whom would save my Willie’s life?”
“Ye have nae doubt heard, my leddy,” replied the stranger, “that she isna what the world considers to be a likely lass—though, take her as she is, and ye might find a hantle worse wives than poor Meg would make; and, as to her features, I may say that she looks much the same as I do; and if she doesna appear better, she at least doesna look ony waur.”
“Then, if she be as ye say, and look as ye say,” continued the lady, “my poor headstrong Willie ought to marry her. But, oh! weel do I ken that in everything he is just his father ower again, and ye might as weel think o’ moving the Eildon hills as force him to onything.”
She perused the concluding part o’ her son’s letter, in which he spoke enthusiastically of the kindness shown him by the fair messenger, and of the promise she had made to liberate him if possible. “And if she does,” he added, “whatever be her parentage, on the day that I should be free, she should be my wife, though I have preferred death to the hand o’ Sir Gideon’s comely daughter.”
“Lassie,” said the lady, weeping as she spoke, “my poor Willie talks a deal o’ the kindness ye have shown him in the hour o’ his distress, and for that kindness his mother’s heart thanks ye. But do you not think that it is possible that I could accompany ye to Elibank? and, if ye can devise no means for him to escape, perhaps, if ye could get me admitted into his presence, when he saw his poor distressed mother upon her knees before him, his heart would saften, and he would marry Sir Gideon’s daughter, ill-featured though she may be.”
“My leddy,” answered the stranger maiden, “it is little that I can promise, and less that I can do; but if ye desire to see yer son, I think I could answer for accomplishing yer request; an’ though nae guid micht come oot o’t, I could also say that I wad see ye safe back again.”
Within an hour, Lady Scott, disguised as a peasant, and carrying a basket on her arm, set out for Elibank, accompanied by the fair stranger.
Leaving them upon their melancholy journey, we shall return to the young laird. From the windows of his prison-house, he beheld the sun rise which was to be the last on which he was to look. He heard the sentinels, who kept watch over him, relieve each other; he heard them pacing to and fro before the grated door, and as the sun rose towards the south, proclaiming the approach of noon, the agitation of Simon increased. He sat in a corner of the prison, and strove to pray; and, as the footsteps of the sentinels quickened, he groaned in the bitterness of his spirit. At length the loud booming of the gong announced that the dial-plate upon the turret marked the hour of twelve. Simon clasped his hands together. “Maister! maister!” he cried, “our hour is come, an’ one word from yer lips could save us baith, an’ ye winna speak it. The very holding oot o’ yer hand could do it, but ye are stubborn even unto death.”
“Simon,” said the laird, “I hae left it as an injunction upon my mother, that yer wife an’ weans be provided for—she will fulfil my request. Therefore, be ye content. Die like a man, an’ dinna disgrace both yourself an’ me.”