Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 18

by Unknown

"But is't true?" here inquired another.

The reply to this question came from a very unexpected quarter: it came from the stranger, who, starting fiercely to his feet, and stretching towards the company with a look and gesture of great excitement, exclaimed—

"Yes, gentlemen, true it is—true as God is in heaven—true in every particular. An eternal monument to the justice and clemency of the tyrant Murray. The wife of Bothwellhaugh was turned naked out of her own house in a cold and bitter night, and died of bodily suffering and a broken heart. She did—she did. But"—and the stranger ground his teeth and clenched his fist as he pronounced the word—"there will be a day of count and reckoning. The vengeance, the deadly vengeance of a ruined, deeply injured, and desperate man, will yet overtake the ruthless, remorseless tyrant."

Having thus delivered himself, the stranger again retired to his former place, reseated himself, and relapsed into his former silence; although the deep and laboured respiration of recent excitement, which he could not subdue, might still be distinctly heard even from the farthest end of the apartment.

It was some time after the stranger had retired to his place before the company felt disposed to resume their conversation. The incident which had just occurred, the energy with which the stranger had spoken, and the extreme excitement he had evinced, had had the effect of throwing them all into that silent and reflective mood which the sudden display of anything surprising or interesting is so apt to produce even in our merriest and most thoughtless moments.

At length, however, the chill gradually wore off; the conversation was resumed, at first in an under tone, and by fits and starts; by and by it became more continuous; and, finally, began to flow with all its original volume and freedom. No more allusion, however, was made by any of the party to the case of Bothwellhaugh. This was a subject to which, after what had taken place, none seemed to care about returning. Neither did the stranger evince any desire to hold farther correspondence with the revellers; but, on the contrary, appeared anxious to avoid it; nay, one might almost have supposed that he regretted having obtruded himself upon them at all, and that he could have wished that what he had uttered in an unguarded moment had remained unsaid. Be this as it may, however, he sought no farther intercourse with the party, but having hastily despatched the supper which was placed before him, and finished his measure of wine, he glided unobserved out of the apartment, and, conducted by his host, retired to the sleeping chamber which had been appointed for him.

On the following morning, the stranger, who was sojourning at the Stag and Hounds, went out to transact, as he told his landlord, some business in the town; saying, besides, that he would not probably return till evening.

Strongly impressed by the manner and appearance of his guest, and not a little awed by his grim and fierce aspect, he of the Stag and Hounds could not help following him to the door, when he departed, and furtively looking after him as he stalked down the main street of the town; and much, as he looked at him, did he marvel what sort of business it could be he was going about. This, however, was a point on which the worthy man had no means of enlightening himself, and he was therefore obliged to be content with the privilege of muttering some expressions of the wonder he felt.

In the meantime, the stranger had turned an angle of the street, and disappeared—at least from the view of the landlord of the Stag and Hounds. Not from ours; for we shall follow and keep sight of him, and endeavour to make out what he was so curious to know.

Having passed about half-way down the main street of the town, the former suddenly halted before a large unoccupied house, with a balcony in front. It was a residence of the Archbishop of St Andrew's. Standing in front of this house, the stranger seemed to scan it with earnest scrutiny. He looked from window to window with the most cautious and deliberate vigilance, and appeared to be noting carefully their various heights and positions. While pursuing this inquiry, he might also have been frequently observed glancing, from time to time, on either side, as if to see that no one was marking the earnestness of his examination of the building.