"It was now past six o'clock—the quarter had chimed upon the clock of St Giles. I had my hand on the latch to go once more to the captain's, to know how he continued since my last inquiry, when the rasp was gently moved. I opened the door, and your mother staggered into my arms, pale as death, and swooned away. With difficulty Mary and I restored her to consciousness. I told her of your father's safety; and she replied that she was now, save for her husband, a destitute outcast; that her aunt, who only waited a pretext, had turned her out upon the world; and that the cause of her expulsion was her conduct in being the mean of her aunt's favourite, Captain Ogilvie's death. I told her that the captain was not yet dead, and would, I hoped, survive; and, leaving her in charge of Mary, I hurried to ascertain what ground there was for any hope. I found that the captain was still alive, but that his death was hourly expected.
"With a sorrowful heart I hurried out by Bristo Port, after getting the word for the night from the keeper, that I might be admitted, on my return, into the city. I was at the chapel some time before ten o'clock, and found my master waiting for me. When I told him that the captain was still in life, he took my hand—'Square,' he said, 'this has been a sad and dreary day to me. It is a fearful thing to have blood upon our hands, even in a just cause. I pray with my whole soul he may recover, both for his own sake and mine.'
"I then told him what had befallen your mother.
"'I am happy it is so,' he said, 'I shall leave her under the keeping of Mary and you with more confidence than I could in her aunt's. My mind is relieved of a burden; my greatest difficulty was how to dispose of my beloved until my return; for, by the command of my father, I set off for France to-morrow—to St Germains, where I will remain until this untoward affair blows over. If all go as we anticipate, you will, perhaps, see me here sooner than you expect—ay, with a gallant band of patriots, to redress Scotland's wrongs, and restore our rightful prince. My father is not displeased at my conduct—would that he knew the right I had to take my Rose's part! But the time will come. As I know not how soon the officers of justice may be in quest of me, I must depart to-morrow morning for England, on my way to France. I must therefore see Rose, to bid her good-by for a short season. I shall be waiting for her near St Anthony's Chapel, to weep our parting, where we have so often smiled at our meetings. O William, William! these thoughts unman me.'
"'My dear master,' said I, 'am I to accompany you?'
"'No, William,' replied he—'no; I leave my beloved wife to your care until my return, when I will requite you as she shall report of you.'
"It was early in the morning before I reached Edinburgh. I found your mother and Mary still out of bed, awaiting my return. The night was spent in tears by the females, and a melancholy presentiment was on my own heart. Before we set out to meet the fugitive, I caused them to disguise themselves—your mother having my wife's maud, and she a dress she had never before worn. They proceeded down the street by themselves, while I went to inquire how the captain had spent the night. I found he was still in life, but no hopes were entertained of his recovery.
"The shades of evening were beginning to fall before this last and sorrowful parting terminated. They never met again. Your mother, who was in the family way, although we knew not the fact for weeks afterwards, began to droop and pine—a sadness of heart seemed to consume her; in vain we strove to cheer her gloom; and her aunt made no inquiries after her. Once a-week I visited the banks of the Esk to inquire after my master; and occasionally got accounts of his welfare; but they were few and far between—only, indeed, when the letters could be forwarded by some one coming to Scotland. No letter had as yet come to me for his wife. How often have I left her, with a faint smile of hope dispelling the habitual sadness of her lovely countenance, and returned with an aching heart to witness her increased melancholy. Your father had left her all the gold he could, even more than he could spare; yet we would have given it all for a single letter from his hand; but none came. Meanwhile Captain Ogilvie, who continued long in a precarious state, ultimately recovered.
"At length you were born; but your unfortunate mother did not survive many days; and scarcely was the sod green on her grave, when my master came back to Scotland. His grief, his agony, I shall not attempt to describe. In a few weeks after he returned to France, for his native country was hateful to him; and I would have accompanied him, but that Mary was in delicate health, and I could not leave her. As his father was displeased at him for relinquishing his study of the law, he gave him only a small sum to maintain him in France. You passed, meanwhile, as my own child, and went under my name.
"At length the long-expected deliverer came. I concealed the certificate of your father's marriage, and some other papers, in the wainscot of our room, and would have joined my master in the north; but, as the party were in rapid advance to Edinburgh, I thought I could be of more service to the cause in Edinburgh. It was I who contrived the way, and caused the easy entry of the Prince into the city, by the Netherbow Port. The gentleman you saw once or twice in conversation with Mary, whom you took for your mother, was your father; but it was not thought prudent to undeceive you. We had the greatest confidence in the success of our righteous cause. Alas! we were prosperous for a time, only to feel more bitterly our reverse. We advanced into England, elate with the victory of Tranent, where we scattered the red-coats like frightened deer. I had no opportunity of visiting Edinburgh again, until it would have been death to me to dare the act. Your father was wounded at the Battle of Falkirk, and required my utmost care. After the Prince retired from the siege of Stirling, and Cumberland's arrival in the north, our affairs began to wear a different aspect. Carlisle had been recaptured, and our success seemed farther from us than at the commencement. My master's wound was, by good management, so much better that he could travel by easy stages. The volunteers and adherents of the Hanoverians were beginning to show more bravery, by apprehending all whom they knew belonged to the Prince; so that, without taking leave, we left our landlord in the night; and, crossing at Kincardine, got into Fife, and travelled down the shores of the Forth until we reached Dysart, where your father was confined to bed, by fever, for some days. Here we received the heart-breaking intelligence of Culloden Field, and the massacre of the friends of royalty. Scotland was no longer a country for us. My master had acted too open and conspicuous a part to hope for pardon. I would, perhaps, on Mary's account and yours, have ventured my life in a return to Edinburgh; but I could not leave your father in his present situation. As yet no one suspected we had belonged to the Highland army; for I had so adroitly concealed my master's wound, that he was thought to be only sick of a fever. Fortunately, there was a vessel about to sail for Rotterdam. We embarked for Holland without interruption, and arrived safe. During your father's convalescence we were reduced to great straits; for our supply of cash was, when we left Scotland, much reduced, and here it entirely failed. My master had written to his brother for assistance; but he had found it for his advantage to change sides; and, so far from sending a remittance, he never answered one of his letters. Had it not been for the disinterested aid of a Scottish merchant, who was established in the place of our retreat, and who had been a college friend of your father, we must have been reduced to absolute want. Through his influence, he obtained for him a commission in the Scottish Brigade, then in the service of the States; and thus relieved him from the humiliation of dependence; but this was not accomplished until nearly the end of the second year after I had left my peaceful home. During all this time we were in the greatest anxiety—he about his son, I about my dear wife. Yet we had no means of ascertaining your fates; and the consciousness of the poverty you must be plunged in embittered all our thoughts. As soon as my master joined the division of the brigade, which was quartered in Bergen-op-Zoom, he borrowed a sum of money for my use. At all hazards I had resolved to return to Edinburgh, use all the precaution I could to avoid being recognised, and bring over with me to Holland you and my dear Mary.