Chapter II.
Francis went straight to the tower of Over Cassway, and inquired for his brother, resolved to fulfil his father’s stern injunctions to the very letter. He was informed his brother was in his chamber in bed, and indisposed. He asked the porter farther, if he had not been forth that day, and was answered, that he had gone forth early in the morning in armour, but had quickly returned, apparently in great agitation, and betaken himself to his bed. Francis then requested to be taken to his brother, to which the servant instantly assented, and led him up to the chamber, never suspecting that there could be any animosity between the two only brothers; but on John Burgess opening the door, and announcing the Tutor, Thomas, being in a nervous state, was a little alarmed. “Remain in the room there, Burgess,” said he. “What, brother Frank, are you seeking here at this hour, armed cap-a-pie? I hope you are not come to assassinate me in my bed?”
“God forbid, brother,” said the other; “here John, take my sword down with you, I want some private conversation with Thomas.” John did so, and the following conversation ensued; for as soon as the door closed, Francis dropt on his knees, and said, “O, my dear brother, I have erred grievously, and am come to confess my crime, and implore your pardon.”
“We have both erred, Francis, in suffering any earthly concern to incite us against each other’s lives. We have both erred, but you have my forgiveness cheerfully; here is my hand on it, and grant me thine in return. Oh, Francis, I have got an admonition this morning, that never will be erased from my memory, and which has caused me to see my life in a new light. What or whom think you I met an hour ago on my way to the Crook of Glendearg to encounter you?”
“Our father, perhaps.”
“You have seen him, then?”
“Indeed I have, and he has given me such a reprimand for severity as son never before received from a parent.”
“Brother Frank, I must tell you, and when I do, you will not believe me—It was not our father whom we both saw this morning.”
“It was no other whom I saw. What do you mean? Do you suppose that I do not know my own father?”
“I tell you it was not, and could not be. I had an express from him yesterday. He is two hundred miles from this, and cannot be in Scotland sooner than three weeks hence.”