Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland Volume VI Part 3

"Aye, sir, and _the book_ of all books," replied he seriously; "but I hope I am not irreverend when I say that G.o.d may lead us to understand the first image in Eden by showing us sometimes something better here than what we can feel within our own hearts."

"Oh, I am not sceptical," said I; for I thought he was pained by my remark, as if I doubted the qualities of his idol. "I believe all you have said of poor Lillah; and I love for the sake of my own matrimonial hopes to believe it, and more. But this idol died!"

"And died young, sir; perhaps because she was an idol," replied he.

"They don't live long, sir, these creatures. They're like some of those bright winged things of the East, of which I have read, that exist only so long as the rose blooms on which they hang and live. But my lady Lillah never dwined--only there came a sadness over her, and master noticed that she began to cherish more than usual a miniature which she carried about with her in her bosom--the figure of a lady--I have seen it often--so like herself you'd have said they were of the same family--'twas her mother, whom she called Euphrosyne. Even now I think I see her sitting in the rose arbour in the garden, with little Caleb by her side, gazing at that picture, so long, so thoughtfully, so pitifully that she seemed ready to weep; then she would, as if recalled by remorse, hug the child, and bid him run for his father; then Mr. Bernard would no sooner come than she would be so much more loving than was even her wont, that he seemed oppressed by the very fervour of her affection.

Master was a quiet man, sir, and full of thought; and he soon saw that it would be good for my lady that she should have a companion. So the next thing we heard was that Amelia Temple, who had been governess over the muir at Abbey Field, and had been several times at Redcleugh with Mr. Orchardstoun's daughters, was engaged to come to us at the term. And she came. The wind did not whistle that night, nor the owl sound his horn; there was no omen, sir, and this will please you, though it does not shake me in my faith in heaven's warnings. You see Amelia there (holding up the candle, now nearly in the socket), I need not describe what the painter has copied so faithfully. But master did not look kindly on that face, beautiful as it is, with that flas.h.i.+ng eye and joyful expression. No, 'twas not till my lady grew distractedly fond of her that he looked sweetly on her (in the right way) for the love she gave to and got from her he loved the best of all the world. Oh! 'twas a beautiful sight, sir, those women. The rose of the west was a match for the lily of the east; then the pensive sweetness of the one, and the innocent light-heartedness of the other, met and mingled in a friends.h.i.+p without guile--a love without envy."

"Your last visit, Francis," I said, with a smile which I could not conceal, "must have been to the poets of the library."

"'Tis only truth, sir," resumed he. "When one sees a beautiful thing and feels the beauty--a privilege which is probably never denied at all times to any of G.o.d's creatures, and does not belong exclusively to the high born or the learned--he is a poet, be he a gauger or a butler. Aye, sir, a man may be a poet when his nose is right over the mouth of a bottle of burgundy, vintage '81."

"And not very poetical when he reflects that there is not a bottle left in the house," said I.

"He has still 'the pleasures of hope,'" rejoined Francis, with a little newborn moisture on his dry lips.

"Well," rejoined I, as I began to yawn from pure want of sleep, "there is at least little of either poetry or pleasure in 'hope deferred.' We will moisten these dry legends of the Bernards by a little of that burgundy of theirs now."

And this chronicler of the Bernards, as well as of something better than small beer, soon handed me a large gla.s.sful of this prince of wines.

"You will require all the benefit of that, sir," said he, "if I am to go on with my story."

"I'm not afraid," said I, listlessly, "after what I have read of the Grierson horrors."

The old man turned upon me a strange, wild look, rendered grotesque, if not ludicrous, by the effect of the gla.s.sful he had at that moment taken at my request. "Ah! you have heard--yet surely it is impossible. Was it not all between me and master? Who other could know of it? And the book!

Oh, it was never found."

"I know nothing of these mysteries," replied I, not really understanding him, yet amazed at his appearance, as with long grey locks, shaking by his excitement, he kept staring at me in the dim light--for the candle was now out, and the fire burned red and dull. A little more conjuring would have brought all these pictures out into the room, and even as it was, I was beginning to transform my companion's shadow, as it lay on the arm chair behind him, into the very person itself of Lillah Bernard.

"Doctor," he said, gravely, "you must know the dark secret of this apartment."

"Nothing," replied I. "Go on; you have roused my curiosity. I know nothing of the Bernard's but what you have told me, and I request to know more. Go on, Francis."

He was not satisfied; continued to search, so far as he could, my face; but I wore him out.

"It's no use denying it, sir," he at length said, "but take your own way now;" then heaving a deep sigh, which might have been heard at the farthest end of the large room, so silent was all, he went on: "'Twas not to last, sir, all that happiness among those three, and little Caleb was the centre by which they were all joined. There's an enemy abroad to such heart-unions--unseen by all but G.o.d, who views him with the eye of anger, but lets him have his way for a season, and why we know it. Such little Edens grow up here and there among roses, as if to remind us of the one paradise which has gone, and to make us hope for the other which is to come; the old tragedy is wrought within a circuit of a few feet and the reach of a few hearts. Oh! the old fiend triumphs with the old laugh on his dark cheek. Yes, sir, it is even so; there is nothing new with the devil, nor nothing old, nor will there be till his neck is fastened; but in this meanwhile of days and years of time, oh! how the soul pants as it looks through the clouds of sorrow which rise under his dark wing, and can see no light, save through the deep grave where lie those once beautiful things in corruption. 'Twas the beauty did it all, sir; the enemy cannot stand that loveliness; it makes him wild; he raves to get between the hearts and tear them so that the sanctified temples shall have no incense in them--nothing save the heavy odours of carrion.

My lady Lillah one day felt a drowsiness come over her; it seemed, as Christy said, she felt only as if she had been inclined to sleep at an unusual time; she made no complaint, but Mr. Bernard observed something in her eye, and his watchfulness took alarm at every turn of her quiet manner. The drowsiness increased, and then it was observed that her pulse was slow and languid; it seemed to beat with fewer pulses every hour, and then master became more alarmed, and Amelia could not be away from her an instant. 'Twas strange the change which all of a sudden took place in Miss Temple; the gay laugh which Mr. Bernard used to encourage as a welcome light thrown on the soul of his wife was no more heard; a pitiful sympathy took its place, and, as Christy described it, looked like the light which we see so beautiful in the thin haze when the sun seems to melt all through it; it was the spirit of love, sir, dissolved in the shadows of grief. She hung over our dear lady as if she would have poured her own spirit into her to raise the still ebbing pulses.

Nothing would stop that ebbing; the pulse would beat a little stronger after something given to her, but never quicker. Then these long silken eyelashes fell farther and farther down, and the voice which had ever been all meekness, fell and fell into half whispers. At length she said something into master's ear; and he motioned to Miss Temple to go out for a little, but Christy remained. It was an awful moment, sir, when she made a sign that she would speak. 'Dear Edward,' she said, as she seemed to try to lift higher the drooping lids, 'I will never more see the beautiful valley of the Kabarda, where stands my father's castle, with its gardens and roses of s.h.i.+raz. Oh, strange it seems to me, as all the things about me grow dim, the vision of those beloved scenes of my childhood wax brighter and brighter. I hear my father's voice crying Euphrosyne, and my mother's Lillah; my brothers and sisters take up the cry, and the mountaineers salute the favourite daughter of their chief.

But she is here in this far land, and you, my best beloved, are there before her. Edward, I am going to die--soon--soon. I wished the dear Amelia away for a little--only a little--to be here again, and never to go more. She is faithful and loving and true. Edward; listen, my love: when I am gone, and you can forget me, take that dear girl into that place where you treasured me--into your affections, as your wife, Edward. The thought pleases me, for I think you will in her marry happiness, and my life seems to ebb away in the hope that you may be with her as you have been with me. Farewell; bring Caleb to kiss me before I go. There is a voice in my ears; it is Allah! Allah! but it is not listened to by the heart which whispers Jesus! the Mediator! the Saviour!'

"And with these words in her lips she died. O, sir, had you seen master--it was pitiful; and as for Amelia, who knew nothing of Lillah's words, she kept weeping till her eyes were inflamed. But the grief was everywhere throughout Redcleugh. It seemed as if some dreadful fate had befallen the whole household; gloom--gloom and sadness all about--in every face--in every heart; for never was a daughter of Scotland beloved as was this dear lady of the far east; and I think somehow it was her having died so far away from the land of her kindred that softened the hearts of the people, and made them take on as I never saw servants take on for a mistress. 'Twould be a sharp eye, sir, that could distinguish now, in the vault of death's croft, the grey ashes of the beautiful Circa.s.sian from the dust of the Bernards--ay, or that of my poor Christian Dempster! It was now a long dark night to the house of Redcleugh, but the longest night is at last awakened by a sun in the morning. Mr. Bernard--always a moody man--scarcely opened his mouth for months and months. He was like a tree, that stands erect after being blasted--it may move by the winds, but the sun has no warmth for it, and there is nothing inside or at the root to give it life. They say that when a beloved wife dies, it is to the husband like the sun going away out of the firmament, and that by-and-by she appears as a pale moon. Ay, sir; everything here is full of change. Mr. Bernard's moon had no waning in it, till he began to catch the echoes of Miss Amelia's voice as he wandered among the woods. It was the grey dawn of another sun, and the sun rose and rose, promising to gild the east again with its glory. The long burden was taken off Amelia. Her laugh began again to enliven Redcleugh, when she saw that Mr. Bernard was able to bear it. Then, sir, to bear it was to begin to love it, for it was the most infectious joyfulness that ever gladdened man's ears. The change, once begun, went on; he hung upon her voice as if it had been music. Every laugh shook him out of his long misery--it appeared to be to him like new life running along the nerves of the old dead tabernacle. So might one think of a man in the desert, as he looks down into the well, with the reflection of the sun in it; the water is drunk in living light; he shakes off all the horrors of his long-borne thirst, and rises renewed and glad. It was pitiful--yea, it was pleasant too--to see how he followed her, gazed at her, listened to her, just as if he were always praying her, for mercy's sake, to give him some more of that medicine of his spirit. But, perhaps, he never would have thought of marrying Amelia, but for the parting words of Lillah. Christy, in her curious way, said that it was Lillah's moon that lighted him on to the rising of the new sun of Amelia; and as Christy wanted this new match, for the sake of saving, as she thought, the life of our master--it was strange enough that she saw no omens now save good ones; for was it not a good one, that every living thing about Redcleugh looked as joyful as Amelia herself? A wonderful work this world, sir! No magician could have worked a greater wonder than the scene of that marriage after the scene of that deathbed; yet it delighted me to see old Redcleugh all in a blaze again, and to go down into the old catacombs for the old-crusted vintages.

Bless your heart!--it was just like the beginning of a new term of life to me. Then the memory of Lillah threw no shade over the scene of enjoyment, for we all knew that if her spirit were not hovering over her beloved Circa.s.sia, it would be here looking down on the fulfilment of her dying wish."

Here Francis drew breath, as if to prepare himself for something much more wonderful. It may easily be conceived that he had enlisted my sympathy, as well by the facts of his story, as his manner of telling it; and as one turns to the woodcut of a tale to get his impressions enlivened or verified, I felt a desire to see again, by the light of a candle, the face of the second wife. Francis gratified me by getting another candle, lighting it, and holding it up full in the face of Amelia.

"'Twas all well for Redcleugh for a time," he resumed, "save for me, who lost my dear Christy shortly after Mira was born. That's she there, sir, as I have told you, alongside of my lady Amelia. When the grief was still heavy upon me, I was surprised by an almost sudden change in Mr.

Bernard. I had gone up in the morning, expecting to find him in his dressing-room, which, as you see, enters as well from the lobby as by a door from the parlour, where breakfast was served. As I proceeded along the pa.s.sage, I saw my lady hurrying away, with her handkerchief over her eyes, and her right hand held up, as if she were addressing Heaven; then deep sobs came from her, and a groan, which burst from the heart as she turned away into the west angle, sounded through the long lobbies and corridors. Master was not in his dressing-room. I heard his voice calling me from his bed-room, and I started at the sound, so unlike his utterance--so deep, heart-ridden, and agonized. On entering, I found him in his morning gown, sitting in that chair; his head thrown back, and his eyes fixed on my lady Lillah's portrait. It seemed, also, as if Amelia could not rest in the room in the west angle, where I thought I had seen her hurrying. Her foot was distinctly heard as she pa.s.sed again along the lobby, which stretches along to the east tower, and pa.s.ses this room, where my master and I were. A succession of groans followed, and died away as she receded. Mr. Bernard was too much occupied by some heart-stupefying thought to heed these sounds, and I stood before him not knowing what to say, far less what to do. At length he held up his hands, and placing one on my arm, said, in a voice which seemed the sound of one choking:--

"'Francis, you are an old friend, not a servant--not now at least. I trust you. The house of Redcleugh is doomed, nor shall a Bernard be ever again happy within its walls.'

"'What is wrong, master?' I inquired.

"'The core,' said he; 'the master's heart. I must go to the East again.

There may be peace there for me; here, in my father's house, there is none. But what shall become of Caleb and Mira?'

"My heart was too full to answer, and still Amelia's groans came from the pa.s.sages, changing and changing, like the voice of a restless spirit. My master rose, and, folding his arms, paced along the room. His brow was knit tight as the muscles would draw. He seemed to contract his arms, as if to compress his heart--nor did a word escape from him. A thought seized me, that, like the older Bernards, he was under a fit of alienation. I made for the door, to seek my lady Amelia, and even in her agonies to consult her what was to be done. My master seized me sharply by the arm.

"'Whither going?' he said.

"'For my lady,' replied I.

"'For Amelia?' he said--'for the murderer of my Lillah, my first love, my angel?'

"I stood petrified, the word 'murderer' twittering on my shaking lips in fragments.

"'Yes,' he said, 'come in, come in--bolt that door; the other is already cared for. Francis, you know how my Lillah died; there was no disease--she slept away as a drugged victim. Now, listen. During this last night I was awoke by the restlessness of Amelia. I heard her leave my side, and rise from the bed'--that on which you are now lying.--'The rush-light burned on the mantelpiece, and I could see my wife, as she rose and began to pace the floor. I called out gently, "Amelia;" but got no answer. Her eyes, I saw, were fixed; and she moved her arms, as if she were addressing some imaginary being. I concluded she was sleep-walking, and immediately she began to speak, as she paced backwards and forwards. Part of what she said I lost, but I could join together enough for conviction.

"'"She stood between me and my love," she said, as she stopped for a moment, laying one hand upon another, "and it was necessary she should be put out of the way. A Grierson was never a waverer when a deed of blood was to be done." "How did you do it?" "How did I do it? Poison! I made her sleep the long sleep, which the sun never breaks, nor the moon, nor time." "What poison did you say?" "The sleepy poison. I made for her a draught, that I might draw the sweet life away; and"--

"'She stopped and laughed, as a sleep-walker laughs--hollow and distant.

"'"And get into the _Temple_ she occupied. Was you still kind to her while you watched the effect of your draught?" "Was I, did you say? Yes, very kind. Oh! I nursed her dying spirit, that he might think me a ministering angel to his wife, whom I wanted to succeed. He was deceived. Yes, yes; simple fool, he was deceived. Ay, and not deceived, for I loved him."

"'She began to walk again to and fro, sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly, then of a sudden turned and stood--"She was fair," she continued, as she kept looking at the wall; "but so am I. He got as good a bargain in me as in her." Then she made devious movements, turning and returning, muttering to herself, but so thickly that I only caught words much disjointed--"Remorse!--yes, yes!--no, no!--not till I am to be hanged; but that cannot be; no one saw me. Say nothing, nothing!--mix the draught--away to bed. 'Tis late, late! and I am cold."

"'She came to bed, Francis, cold and s.h.i.+vering. My mind began to regain some form of thinking, after having been tossed about by the effect of her horrible monologue, or rather part of a dialogue. The conviction was instant, unavoidable, and certain. I never thought of awakening her to question her, but lay distant from her as from a reptile. I slept none.

In the morning she turned to kiss me. I drew back my head in horror, and saw that she too was horrified at my manner. I bade her begone for a murderer, and, committed thus by my agony, told her she had confessed the whole story in a fit of somnambulism. Then she flew from me, crying she was innocent, tearing her hair in good acting--and there she walks by the pa.s.sages under the sting of her guilt. Oh! she dare not face me, even were I to allow a meeting, which I wont. Francis, I am convinced.'

"My master," continued Francis, addressing me as I lay listening and thinking of the old brochure, "was always moody, as I have said--ay, and crotchety; no one had any power to drive from him a settled opinion or resolution. After I had listened to him I said--

"'Master, permit me, your poor servant, to say that this is not evidence on which I would beat a dog.'

"'I am convinced,' he replied sternly and unkindly, and he moved his hand as a sign that I should leave him. I retreated, grieved to the heart, for I knew master's nature. When I got to the top of the stair, I saw my lady beckoning me from the door of the library. I went to her.

"'Francis,' she said, as she shut the door, 'what is this? Has my husband told you anything?'

"'All,' I replied. 'He has recounted to me some strange words uttered by you in your sleep, from which he infers that you poisoned my lady Lillah.'

"'Repeat them--repeat them,' she said hurriedly.

"I did so, and when I mentioned the name Grierson, she seemed to brighten a little. O how she hung upon my words!

"'Francis,' she said, 'I may be saved. You may help me. Some nights ago I was occupied in reading the history of Jane Grierson--a little pamphlet which you will find in the drawer of the escritoire, in the dressing-room. There is the key. That story is the story I had recounted in my sleep. Go get the book, and bring it to me. That will save me, and nothing but that will save me.'

"'G.o.d be praised,' I e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, and then hurried with all speed to get the book. I searched the escritoire; it was not there. I examined other drawers with no better success. At length I returned to my lady, and reported my failure. Without saying a word she hurried away from me, rushed along the lobby, and entered the parlour opening into the dressing-room. Not doubting her word, and agitated by the hope of all being thus satisfactorily explained when the book should be got, I flew to my master's room through the door from the pa.s.sage.

"'It is all explainable,' I cried, as I entered.

"'Indeed!' answered Mr. Bernard satirically.