Gang Aft Agley

LD Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, sat alone by a sturdy oak table in one of the largest rooms of his gloomy castle, called The Hermitage, just north of the English border. It was a room in which great affairs of State had been settled, and many a private scheme of his own concocted, as was the case on this summer night, when the crafty old man sat like a spider in his web, sensitive to the slightest trembling pulsation of any of the numerous gossamer threads of intrigue that stretched from this focus to the circumference which marked the limits of his great influence in Scotland. Indeed, some secret lines of communication were supposed to have their terminus even in the English Court, but that no one could prove, and few had the courage to investigate, for the Earl of Angus was supposed to be a treacherous friend, and known to be an implacable enemy. In youth he had been as brave as any of his name, and had hesitated not to stake life or fortune on a twist of the sword, but his mental ability increased as the sinews of his strong right arm diminished in vigour; and experience taught him that even in a turbulent world it is brain and not brawn that wins the ultimate victory. In his time he had been for the King and against the King; an enemy of the English and a friend of the English; a partisan of France and an intrigant against her; but there never was a moment when he failed to play for his own hand, and for that alone. If in his elder days he seemed to have preference rather for the action of the law than for the sweep of the sword, yet no one doubted that if violence became necessary, the strong blade of the Douglas would speedily part company with the scabbard.

There was a slight knock at the closed door and, receiving permission, the Captain of Hermitage Castle entered. Standing stiffly at salute, the warrior said with military curtness:

"The young man is here, my lord."

"Ah!" said the Earl of Angus, with a long drawn breath of satisfaction, as he partly turned in his chair, his emaciated, grey face lighting up for an instant. "How did he manage it?"

"He tied a thin cord round a huge stone, which he flung over bailey wall; then listening a moment, and thinking his feat unnoticed, he climbed and sprang down into the enclosure."

"Ah!" said the Earl again. "What a grand thing it is to be young and strong. A huge stone, you say, flung clear of our bailey wall? There's not many among you could do that, Donald. Was the young man alone?"

"Entirely alone, my lord."

"You think he has none concealed in the forest or among the hills?"

"No, my lord. My men followed him unseen all the way from Hawick."

"And where is he now?"

"He is prowling round the foot of the castle wall, my Lord, reconnoitering."

"Very well. Get me my bonnet, Dona]d, and I will have some conversation with him."

"He has a drawn sword in his hand," cautioned the Captain.

"To be sure, to be sure," commented the Earl, nodding his head three or lour times. "I said he was young and 'tis ever the fault of youth to trust to cold iron." "It is easy for us to lay him on his back, if such is your wish, my lord."

"No, no, Donald. There would be an outcry and a clashing of steel, for the young fellow would fight like a wild cat, I make no doubt. It would he a pity to disturb the peace of the castle. Are all your preparations complete, Donald?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Very well Keep your men out of sight but not out of ear-shot. It's not likely I'll need you, but if I do you will hear my voice rising loud. Be on the watch, and when I cry 'Donald!' you will fall on the young man without any delay, your own first duty being to spring between me and him."

"I'll see to that, my lord," returned the Captain, with a ring of determination in his voice.

The old man went slowly down the stair and out into the courtyard. An open door in an inner cross-wall allowed him to come upon a terrace that flanked one side of the castle. A thin strip of moon hung in the sky and gave a wavering, uncertain light. The aged Earl, with hands clasped behind him, and head bowed, paced the sward as if he had but come out to enjoy the coolness of the summer night. As he passed along he saw close in against the castle wall, trusting to the obscurity of its shadow, the dim outline of a tensely held figure, motionless as the stone it leaned against. In spite of the darkness there was a dull gleam of naked steel. The veteran paid no attention to the intruder, but tramped meditatively on, and thus he placed his enemy between himself and the only exit. The figure in the shadow made no motion to avail himself of this advantage, and the Earl of Angus, reaching the limit of the terrace, turned and came slowly back. When once more nearly opposite the stranger, his lordship paused in his promenade. He peered intently into the darkness and said quietly; "Is that you, Jimmie?"

There was no reply, but the sheen of the sword wavered faintly as its point came towards the questioner.

The old man was well aware of his danger, yet there was no tremor in his tall, gaunt frame, for be knew that, although he had probably more enemies than any other man in Scotland, there was not one of them having him at advantage but would hesitate to strike. He was the chief of all the nobles in the realm, and to draw blade on him would be to bring down sure vengeance, not only upon the assassin himself, but upon all his kin, even more certainly than if the weapon had been turned against the king on the throne. "Stand out in the light, man; that is, unless you are afraid."

Whether it was the taunt, or whether it was that the young man saw concealment was no longer possible, he strode out into the moonlight.

"No, my lord," he said, "I am not afraid; yet I admit that at this moment I had rather have encountered any one in the castle but yourself."

"Sir Colin Mangerton!" cried the Earl, in well-feigned surprise. "This meeting is as unexpected as the tryst is unusual. The entrance to Hermitage is on the other side."

A strategist might have noticed that his lordship in omitting to accost the intruder during his forward walk, had now got him placed so that what light there was, shone on his face, and furthermore his back was towards the door in the cross-wall, that the Earl's reinforcement, if it came, might steal upon nan unawares.

"I admit that I am a trespasser, my lord," said the young man. "My unwelcome meeting with you has frustrated the object of my visit, which was to obtain a surreptitious interview with one of your prisoners."

"‘Prisoner!' You amaze me," returned the nobleman. "I have no prisoners. Hermitage is a country gentleman's house, and not a place of custody."

"Then both its reputation and its appearance belie it."

The Earl laughed quietly, and spoke in tones as smooth as the cooing of a dove, casting his eye aloft at the grim walls of his habitation.

"Truth to tell, the character of this fortress has been none of the best, and I fear me that we Douglases in the early days did little to enhance it, but these scenes of violence are long past; and other times, other actions."

"Other times, other crimes," amended the young man.

"Possibly, possibly," said the Earl, with a shrug of his shoulders. "Still, I think the country improves with age, and respect for the law is largely pushing to the background the former might of the strong hand."

"The strong hand usually gave some show of rough justice, and by the law we are not so sure of justice, rough or smooth."

"I am distressed to hear you say so, Sir Colin, and many men might be dismayed to find you standing on their ground with a drawn sword in your clenched fist. There is, I believe, some suiting of law between us. Is it possible, Sir Colin, that you have lost faith in the impartiality of our judges, and are come hither to make your blade your advocate?"

"No, my lord; the case you mention was not in my mind as I climbed your bailey wall. I came instead to seek a word with your niece, Lady Margaret Douglas, whom you have inveigled under this roof."

Again the Earl laughed almost silently.

"Oh, you young people, you young people!" he said, spreading out his hands and shaking his head. "Is my dear Maggie, then, the prisoner to whom you just now referred?"

"I have no doubt, sir, she came here willingly, obedient to your commands. I have less faith, however, that she will be allowed to depart when she wills to do so."

"You flatter me, Sir Colin, and make me quite the uncle of romance—stern and unbending—whereas I am merely a simple old man, a little lonely here in these towers of Hermitage, and perhaps most selfishly anxious for the cheering company of a sprightly young lady, my charming kinswoman. Indeed, I am beginning to suspect that my preference is not unshared when it brings Sir Colin Mangerton thus stealthily to these forbidding old walls. Am I right in surmising that there is some lingering liking between you two?"

"My lord, I have every reason to believe that you are well aware the Lady Margaret has done me the honour to accept me as her betrothed husband."

"Dear, dear; has the acquaintance then gone so far? That is what it is to be buried in affairs of State, forgetting our old days that we ever were young, and thus in your eyes, and probably in hers also, I am the uncle inexorable. Well, well, I never should have suspected it. If the matter had been brought to my attention it is quite possible that I might have demurred. "Lady Margaret Douglas may look high when she casts her eye about for a husband; still, if her affections really are entangled, there seems to me little more to be said. My acquaintance with you, Sir Colin, is unfortunately slight, but I have seen enough of you to be convinced that you know your own mind, and Maggie herself is not one to be swayed in her predilection by what a doddering old relative might say. In other words, she is a Douglas; and so, if you two determined folk imagine that I have the courage to thrust my frail body between you, you are both very much mistaken.

"I have said a long and interesting experience of human affairs, my young friend, and I can tell you where the great mistakes are usually made. They arise generally through mistrust of our fellow creatures. The man who continually doubts the integrity of his opponent, who is eternally making calculation against something underneath the surface, almost invariably goes wrong, for as often as not there is nothing underneath the surface, so his action being based on the non-existent is therefore futile.

"If you two foolish young people had come tome openly and said in a straightforward manner, 'We desire to be married,' then, as in duty bound, I should have given the subject my consideration, and each of you my best advice, which in all probability you would not have followed; but there my responsibility would have ended. So Maggie is a prisoner!" The old man chuckled. "She will be surprised to hear that Well, the best thing I can suggest is that you come into the castle with me, have some refreshment, and then let us three talk the matter over."

"What three, my lord?"

"Myself, Margaret, and yourself, and the doddering old priest, if you care to make him a fourth."

The young man gazed at the ground for some moments before replying. As he raised his head a frown lined his brow.

"My lord," he said, "I shall emulate the frankness you so strongly recommended. I say then that I distrust you deeply, while acknowledging to myself that I am possibly mistaken. Within the walls which you invite me to enter, your ancestor starved to death Sir Alexander Ramsey, sheriff of this county, having treacherously inveigled him to Hermitage Castle."

"Treachery!" said the old man, speaking for the first time with some heat. "There was no treachery about it. Sir Alexander Ramsey was captured in broad daylight at the parish church of Hawick, conveyed here, and unfortunately forgotten. But I told you I did not defend all that had been done in Hermitage."

"I am merely showing you, my lord, that I know the reputation of your house. The castle is supposed to have sunk some feet in the ground because of the infamies committed within it."

"Not so, Sir Colin; be fair, be fair. Those infamies, if indeed they ever occurred, were committed by the de Soulis family and not by any of my kinsmen. If you fear to enter, then there's no more to be said. I'll bring the lass out here if you like, telling her that her betrothed declines to face the dangers of her residence because of its bad reputation."

"You entirely mistake me, my lord. I am not declining your invitation; in fact I am accepting that invitation, and also the other, which you gave me, to speak frankly. I say then, that you shall precede me as your rank entitles you to do, and I warn you that my sword's point will be within short distance of your backbone, and that, on the very first symptom of underhand work I shall plunge this good steel into your heart. So whatever happens to me within your sinister domain you shall not live to rejoice over it Thus I follow your advice, and acquaint you honestly with my intention."

Once more the earl shrugged his shoulders and sighed deeply.

"Sir Colin, you require more courage from an old man than should be exacted of him. Look you the situation in which you place me. We go through these ancient halls, when suddenly I stumble, or a door bangs, or someone cries 'Whoop!' and at once I am spitted like a plucked pigeon, merely because a timorous young man is behind me with a knife in his hand. Well, well, times have indeed changed, for I remember when I was your age, all the dangers of all the castles in Scotland would not have kept me chattering here, making conditions, if there was a handsome girl at the other end of the route. Follow me then, Sir Colin, while I inwardly pray that we meet nothing in the hall to agitate you."

There was light enough for the eagle glance of the old man to see that Sir Colin felt somewhat ashamed of his suspicion; nevertheless he relaxed none of his vigilance, but followed the old earl into the castle and up the stairway. Once his lordship looked over his shoulder, and cautioned the other against a broken step, adding that the castle was somewhat out of repair; that he hoped, in truth, to sell it shortly, being, indeed, on the verge of doing so. They met nothing in the passage-way and saw no sign of human life within the castle. Coming to the door of his own room, the Earl opened it and walked inside. The lamp still burned on the table, as he had left it shortly before. Waving his hand to the young man, he asked him to be seated while he called his niece. Sir Colin did not avail himself of this privilege, and was left alone, standing in the middle of the room.

There were three doors to the apartment—one at the side by which they had entered, one at the end to the left, and one at the end by which the Earl had disappeared. Perplexity wrinkled the brow of the waiting man, for now that his host had departed, the scarcely-allayed distrust of him reasserted itself. Momentarily he expected the three doors of the apartment to open simultaneously and armed men stream in, but he stood his ground resolutely, ready to give a good account of himself, even against overwhelming numbers. Presently, however, the Earl re-entered by the door that had closed upon him. A lingering smile moved his thin lips. He shook his head with something of sadness in the motion.

"Ah, you young people, you young people!" he murmured, "you are inexplicable to a doddering old man like me. I find that you are right in your surmise about Margaret. She indeed appears to have little faith in her father's brother, and utterly refuses to believe that you are in this room. She declines to accompany me hither, although what could happen to her here more than in her own apartment, she is not logical enough to say. So, my young friend, two courses are open to you. You may betake yourself once more outside to the spot where I found you, and there pursue your own devices, although I doubt it will lead you to Margaret, for she seems to have no suspicion that you are in the neighbourhood. She tells me plainly that it is the young Earl of Bothwell I have here, whereas I do not even expect him until to-morrow at the earliest."

"And what is the second course open to me, my lord?"

"The second course is to come with me to the door of Margaret's drawing room, and convince her of your presence." "That alternative I shall gladly accept, my lord."

"Very well. I don't like to suggest that you should sheathe your sword, although in my day a young man could hardly have been brought to enter a lady's presence as if about to begin a tourney. I merely give you a hint; you may act on it or not as you please."

"I shall act on it, my lord, at least in part. I shall keep my hand on the hilt until we are at the door of the Lady Margaret's boudoir; I shall sheathe my sword before we are come into her presence."

"Excellent, excellent," commented the old man heartily, nodding his head again and again. "I do admire caution in youth, which is so apt to be hot-headed at that time of life."

The Earl again led the way down an empty and ill-lighted hall. He paused at a door and rapped gently upon the panel. The door formed a most forbidding-looking entrance to a lady's apartment, being of heavy oak thickly studded with iron bolts, and having at the height of a man's head, a grated aperture by which a person within could hold converse with one outside without opening the door; but all Hermitage was grim and more of a fortress than a palace. As the door opened with some caution the young man slipped his sword into its scabbard, and during the brief moment when his head was bent to give attention to this act, a quick sign from the Earl brought two men from the obscurity, who flung their victim headlong into the room, the third man inside stepping quickly out, and drawing the door shut after him. The huge iron bolls on the outside were thrust into place, and Sir Colin Mangerton was as tight a prisoner that night as existed in all Scotland.

A gentle smile softened the grey countenance of the Earl as he stood somewhat aside from the aperture of the door and listened. The Captain of the Guard, his two men behind him at attention, awaiting any further commands of his master. They heard Sir Colin getting on his feet again, and at a sign from the Earl, the Captain, keeping well back from the aperture, lifted the shutter which obscured it. Instantly a sword blade darted out like the quick tongue of a snake, but it pierced the empty air.

"You old scoundrel!" came the voice from within, trembling with rage. "You treacherous villain! What do you expert to make of this? Even you, highly placed as you are, dare not imprison thus, without warrant, a free man of the realm."

"The answer to that, Sir Colin," said the Earl, with a genial laugh, "is that I have done so, and I think if you knew as much about law as apparently you do of swordsmanship, you would find that I have every right to imprison you here or elsewhere. However, I leave to-morrow for Edinburgh, where our case is to be tried, and where I fear the defendant will not put in a personal appearance, and so the cause is like to go by default against him, whereupon Sir Colin Mangerton will find himself legally landless, without the wherewithal to pay the cost of the action. When I am in Edinburgh, Sir Colin, I shall take pains to inquire into the powers I have of imprisoning free men of this realm. If I find I have exceeded them in your case I shall be most happy to release you, with my humble apologies."

"You treacherous dog!" exclaimed the angry victim.

"No, no, Sir Colin; there your indignation, possibly quite justified, obscures your logic. I offered to conduct you within the cattle, and if you had sheathed your sword, accepted my word, and followed me, the outcome might have been different, but you refused my safe conduct, trusting to your own blade, which proved but an unstable reed to lean upon. A man cannot have at the same time the protection of his own sword and the girdle of his host's word. He must choose one or the other. A guest does not enter a house with an unsheathed knife, an enemy does; you came in as an enemy, and are treated as an enemy. And so, good-night. I shall not starve you, as my ancestor did Sir Alexander Ramsey, and if his ghost does not disturb you, you will find yourself fairly comfortable in that room."

And so to the possible companionship of poor Ramsey's ghost the young man was left.

Success brought forth the more genial attributes of the Earl's nature, as sunshine develops the tender flower, and at dinner that night the courtly old man was at his best. He was gracious, witty, considerate, and chivalrous, so there was little wonder that his niece was delighted with him. The aged priest who formed the third at the board, did not count for much in the conversation, as he was rather deaf, not too brilliant at best, and a thorough believer in attending to the things of the table while one was at the table.

Lady Margaret was in high spirits throughout the meal, and it its close, when her uncle leaned back in his chair, genially beaming benevolence upon the world, he was hardly prepared for the question she asked him.

"Uncle Archibald," she said, arching her brows, "am I prisoner in Hermitage Castle?"

"A prisoner, my dear!" he said, with such a look of amazement in his eyes, that the simple girl thought the expression too genuine to suggest counterfeit.

"Well," she continued, "the idea has suggested itself to my mind several times. Whenever I ride abroad I am very closely followed."

"That is but natural," returned the earl. "A lady of the Douglas family cannot wander about unattended like a Lowland milkmaid."

"But when I wish to prolong my journey in any direction, I am told that this road or that is dangerous, and that I must proceed no further. It has never yet come to a contest of will between my following and myself, but I surmise from the tone of the expostulation, that if it did, my wishes would be overborne, and that, of course, by your commands."

"is it unnatural, Margaret, that I should have keen anxiety regarding your safety? What your attendants tell you of peril in the environs is strictly true. You must not forget that Hermitage is the vanguard of Scottish fortresses, situated in the midst of the turbulent Borderland."

"Then why was I brought from the security of my own home to a place that has all the restrictions of a prison?"

The earl s eyes twinkled with an appreciation of the shrewdness of her questioning.

"My dear, you underestimate the yearning of an old man for the charms of your company. It gives me great pleasure to hear your sweet voice lifted in song throughout the gloomy halls of Hermitage. It is selfishness I admit, Margaret, but a loving selfishness."

"Still, uncle, it is your intention to forego the delights of my society and betake yourself to Edinburgh to-morrow. Is it your purpose to leave me here alone?"

The crafty old fox chuckled humorously, and seemed to take pleasure in the searching nature of his cross-examination; he was being driven from covert to covert.

"You will not be alone," he said at last. "To-morrow there should arrive at the castle young Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, with his mother. To tell you the truth, my dear girl, I am in negotiation with the Earl regarding an exchange of castles. I am growing too old and too unwarlike to care for the rigours of life on the frontier, so I have cast my eyes on Castle Bothwell, near Glasgow, as a suitable refuge for my declining years, and Hermitage is just the place for a young ambitious man like Hepburn, who will be made Lord of the Marches, and thus acquire glory as the premier of Scotland's defenders."

"Then in your absence, uncle, am I to complete the bargain; if so, I shall speedily change this sinister fortress for the palace near Glasgow."

"Nothing could give me greater pleasure, Margaret, than for you to come to terms with young Bothwell; his father was one of my staunchest friends, and if during your conference the Earl should show a desire to possess the fair inmate as well as the castle which contains her, I hope, dear Margaret, you will lend an indulgent attention to his desire."

"Oh, I am thrown in with the castle, am I? How good of you to let me know that. I believe the family of Bothwell is as young as the man himself; the earldom is recent creation, is it not?"

"True, true. Still our family is old enough to bestow antiquity on several others. You may easily shuffle off my authority by substituting for it that of a much younger man, and if you juvenile people lack the patience to wait for my return, the reverend father here will unite you with my absent blessing. You hear that, father," continued the Earl, raising his voice. "Our Margaret thinks of getting married, and it is my command that when she does so, she is to be free to leave the castle whenever she likes, for then my authority over her shall be ended."

"It's all very well to say that, my lord," replied the priest, with his hand to his ear, but your captain will pay no attention to what I tell him; therefore, you should lay your commands upon him before you depart."

Margaret sat in silence looking at the two, a heavy frown upon her fair brow, hesitating whether or not to tell her uncle the real state of affairs. The Earl had resumed a jocular air, as if the whole matter were rather an entertaining jest than otherwise; but the girl knew enough of him to be aware that serious intention underlaid his light words, and that this intention was not to be thwarted by any protest of hers, so she remained silent. "A capital ideal" cried the Earl, still keeping up his altitude of hilarity. "Let us have in the good captain."

When an attendant had brought in the captain, the Earl of Angus said to him meaningly:

"Donald, it is quite possible that our Mistress Margaret here may be a wife before many days are past; therefore, it is my command that should she marry during my absence, she and her husband and their train are to win free of the Castle as they like, and you are to give them every assistance in your power. The reverend father appears to think that if he gave you my commands at second hand you might not obey them, although Heaven knows my rule exceeds on the side of mildness; therefore, I present you with my orders direct."

The captain saluted, said the injunctions laid upon him would be strictly obeyed, and departed. Lady Margaret took her leave also, anxious to ponder over the new complication that threatened to imperil her future.

Next day the Earl of Bothwell with his mother and their following arrived at Hermitage, with all the pomp of a very new family not yet assured of its position in the realm. Bothwell expressed his entire willingness to exchange castles. He was eager to take on the duty of Lord of the Marches, and expressed in adequate, if somewhat hesitating, terms the honour done his family by the proposed union between it and the great House of Douglas.

Everything thus falling well with the old man's plans, the earl departed for Edinburgh without pomp or circumstance, leaving the young people to become better acquainted under the chaperonage of Bothwell's mother.

The Lady Margaret had little joy in her guests, but she took pains to conceal her disinclination for their society, except that the young man found he had no opportunity of seeing her alone. He seemed a bashful, inoffensive, hesitating youth, who wished to have some converse with her, but knew not how to manage an interview, while Margaret clung persistently to the company of his mother, and when that refuge was unavailable, flew forthwith to her own apartment. Now that her uncle was gone, she found herself a prisoner indeed, for the gruff captain refused to let her go outside the gates unless the Earl of Bothwell accompanied her; so she confined her walks to the grand terraces of the castle.

The day after the departure of her uncle she paced back and forth along the grand promenade singing to herself the ballad of Lord Soulis, former owner of Hermitage Castle:—

The tune was one of her own composing, and she sang it well. Her thoughts were far away upon one who had loved to hear her sing this ballad, and now she was startled by the voice of another.

"That is a sweet song you sing, Lady Margaret," said the Earl of Bothwell coming up behind her.

The girl was startled by his sudden appearance, but she answered smilingly:

"It is merely a ballad of the bad former times in this castle, when Lord Soulis made prisoner of a lover who sought his lass."

"I hope his lordship was discomfited," said Hepburn.

"Discomfited!" laughed Margaret again, "he was boiled in melted lead."

"It served him right," commented the earl; "may such be the fate of all interlopers where true love is concerned. I beg you to sing some more of the verses, that I may have the double pleasure of hearing your voice and learning the legend of the castle which has so lately become my own."

Margaret, anxious to ward off a conversation that might take a more intimate turn than she cared for, sang the interesting ballad through from beginning to end, his lordship, with a fine tenor voice, mastering the tune, then, expressing a fear that his mother might think herself neglected, the girl escaped from the unsought conference and entered the castle.

When next she sang in the open-air she took care that there should be no interruption, and so passed through the door in the cross-wall, bolting it securely behind her, and thus on the grimmer side of the castle she walked and sang:

She had got thus far when her heart stood still to hear a well-known bass voice sing the two final lines of the verse:

She remained stock still, too much amazed to give utterance to the hope and fear that agitated her; then the voice, abandoning the tune, and speaking low but distinctly said:

"Margaret, is that you? are you alone?"

"Colin!" she cried, "where are you?"

"A close prisoner in the castle Soulis built, through the impetuosity of my own folly and the treachery of the Earl of Angus."

"Can you put out your hand, Colin, so that I may see where you are?"

An instant later, the hand appeared in the upper story near the centre of the building, through a cutting in the stones evidently intended for the shooting of arrows, and not for the exit of human beings.

"Colin," she said, "no one is like to hear us. Is there a chimney in your cell—and is it barred?"

"There is a chimney," answered the young man, "but whether barred or no I shall quickly discover."

The hand was withdrawn, and presently Margaret, listening intently, heard the breaking of iron.

"The chimney was barred, but the iron, through the action of age and fire, is useless; I can thus escape to the roof. What then? Is there a way down to the entrance of the castle?"

"There is a way down," answered Margaret, "but closely guarded. Wait to-night, Colin, until your gaoler comes to you, and when he has left, get out on the roof. On the further side of the castle is a chimney leading to my drawing-room. I shall bar my door, and there await you."

"How shall I know which chimney it is?" "I shall stand on the hearth and sing the ballad of Soulis Castle. If you, making your way round the roof, listen at each chimney, you may thus tell which will bring you to me. How you may escape afterwards I know not, but I shall give the matter my deepest thought from now until I see you. Farewell; I must not further risk detection."

Sir Colin waited impatiently until his goaler brought him the last meal of the day; then when all was quiet he clambered up through the wide chimney and so to the roof. Once there he made his way stealthily to the other side of the castle. There were chimneys numerous enough to give him ample range of choice, and he paused beside one after another listening. At last he heard the Lord Soulis tune hummed in a room below, but climbing to the chimney's top he was taken aback to find himself in suffocating smoke. He choked and laughed to think the girl had forgotten the important matter of raking out the fire. There was nothing for it but a dash, and so dropping like a plummet he alighted fairly in the centre of a log fire, from which he sprang instantly into the room.

There was not at that moment in all Scotland a more amazed young man than the Earl of Bothwell when this frightsome figure leaped up apparently out of the flames, without a word of warning, into the centre of his apartment. Hepburn hastily grasped his rapier, which lay unsheathed on the table, and struck an attitude of defence, but a moments contemplation of the blackened, smoke-wreathed figure thus precipitated upon him, told him that he had to deal with the powers of the nethern world; therefore he hastily crossed himself, when the demon, rubbing smoke from his temporarily blinded eyes and brushing the sparks from his clothing, said with a laugh:

"Margaret, my dear, you forgot all about the fire, didn't you?"

"Who, in the fiend's name, are you, sir?" cried the bewildered earl; "and are there no doors in this house that you must drop thus from the sky?"

Sir Colin, astounded in his turn, whipped forth his blade and rapidly blinked eyes to which the sight was slowly returning, eyes which showed him a young man, dressed in the pink of fashion, standing with his back to the wall and a rapier in his hand.

"Are you a friend of the Earl of Angus?"

"Naturally," returned Hepburn, "otherwise I should not be a guest in his house."

"Oh, as far as that is concerned, I too have been a guest in his house, yet am I his enemy. I escaped from a cell, where he treacherously imprisoned me, to the roof, and so came down the wrong chimney."

"You mentioned the name of Margaret a moment since. Did you refer to the Lady Margaret Douglas of this house?"

"Before I answer that question, I must know your right to ask."

"My right, sir, is not far to seek. If a man comes down through fire and smoke into my apartment, surely I may have the privilege of making some enquiry."

"You are certainly entitled to some explanation. Well, here is how the case stands. My land lies in jeopardy through a suit brought against me in the Courts of Edinburgh by Archibald, Earl of Angus, and his lordship succeeded in trapping me within this stronghold, doubtless hoping to win his suit through my enforced absence. My name is Sir Colin Mangerton; and now, sir, may I enquire your title?"

I am the Earl of Bothwell, and may tell you that I am here to exchange castles with the Earl of Angus, giving him my house on the Clyde for his among the mountains. When I say this I have probably spoken as truthfully as you."

"Truthfully as I, sir? Do you question my veracity?"

"As far as it goes, no, but I think there is something perhaps untold in both our stories. You mentioned the Lady Margaret before you were aware that you had come down the wrong chimney; there is nothing of her in your tale of wrong by her uncle."

Sir Colin drew himself up proudly.

"If, sir, you wish to question about the lady, then your sword, and not your tongue, must make the inquiry."

The Earl of Bothwell however made no motion to attack, but disarmed himself, flung his sword on the table and laughed heartily.

"You find some cause for merriment in my language?" said Sir Colin haughtily.

"Not in your language, friend, if you will permit me to call you so, but in your appearance. Glance, I pray you, in this mirror; you will then be thankful you descended not into a lady's presence."

Sir Colin, somewhat abashed at this request, stepped forward and looked at himself in the mirror. He saw before him a figure black as jet, with rims of white round the eyes where he had rubbed them. His appearance was most unearthly yet most comical, and he was unable to refrain from joining in the hilarity of his host.

"Sir," said Bothwell, when the laughter had subsided, "I find in you an unexpected ally. To tell the whole truth as far as my story is concerned, the Earl of Angus expects me to become suitor for his charming niece, but my affections are already engaged. Now we both know that the earl, smooth as he appears, is not a man to be lightly offended, especially by one like myself, who has his career before him. You may then well imagine my predicament. A gentleman scarcely cares to go to a beautiful young lady, and say to her, 'Madame, your uncle wishes me to marry you. I am afraid to incur his resentment by refusing, so I beg of you, take the onus of rejection upon yourself, and set me free.' That is my position at the present moment. Now tell me exactly what is yours."

"Mine, sir, is this. The Lady Margaret has promised to be my wife; her uncle has lured her to this castle, and I, endeavouring to have speech with, her, fell into his clutches, and so into his dungeon."

"Does the lady know that you are here?"

"Yes. She it was who suggested my chimney-sweeping adventure. She was to sing the song you were humming, and so was to gain access to her boudoir, and I afterwards plan our escape. Your musical accomplishment, sir, is a blessing."

"And I am not sorry," said the earl, "for I submit to you that you are in no condition to appear to advantage in a lady's boudoir. The way out of the castle is clear enough if the lady and yourself agree to the method. The Earl of Angus told me I was to be speedy with my wooing, so that I might bring my wife with me to Edinburgh, for it seems the Lady Margaret is almost as much a prisoner in this castle as you have been. His lordship gave command before he left that she and her husband were to be permitted to take their departure whenever they pleased. A priest is ready to marry you in the private chapel, and I can lend you the best horse you ever bestrode. Lady Margaret has a steed of her own, so nothing but a marriage ceremony stands between you two and Edinburgh. I counsel you to wash your face, and my wardrobe is quite at your disposal. Meanwhile, I shall leave you to take some of the soot off, while I warn the lady that you are making preparation for your wedding."

Sir Colin was about to grasp the hand of the young earl, but Bothwell, laughing, stepped back at his approach.

"Anything but that," he said, "until you have washed."

Sir Colin looked at his grimy hands.

"My Lord of Bothwell," he said, "if you stand my friend at this pinch, my sword, and those of all my followers, are yours to command whenever you need a blow struck for you."

The Earl of Bothwell had some difficulty in communicating with Margaret, but when he whispered through the door that a package intended for her had tumbled down his chimney, she opened speedily, blushing like a red rose.

Arrayed in borrowed apparel the bridegroom looked vastly different from the man who had entered so hastily by way of the hearth. The earl kept to his room, for it was understood that he had no hand in the marriage, and the old priest mumbled through the ceremony to the visible impatience of bride and groom. Then the gates were opened, the silent old captain saluted, and the newly-married pair set off on their journey with twelve good hours the start of pursuit.

It was the angered captain himself, with half-a-dozen mounted and armed men at his back who started after the fugitives, but they beat him in the race to Edinburgh, and then there confronted him the ordeal of telling the Earl of Angus that his prisoner had escaped.

The old Earl took the news better than the captain had expected, drawing merely one of his long 'Ahs,' and half closing his eyes. He was the first caller on the bridal couple, arrayed in his very best—quite the ancient beau. Sir Colin, when he heard who his visitor was, stood silently in the middle of the room, right hand ready to the hilt of his sword, Margaret a little way behind him, with something as near an approach to fear in her fine eyes as could appear in the eyes of a Douglas. But the old man was all suavity and politeness.

"My dear Sir Colin," he said, "allow me to be the first to congratulate you, for really this charming mansion is so much better and more luxurious than the poor quarters you honoured by your presence at Hermitage. Alas! it will be the last time I shall be able to offer you hospitality there, for I have disposed of the castle to Bothwell. You should not frown at me, Sir Colin, for you must remember that I am now a member of your family; I am your uncle-in-law, and indeed there is no trouble between us, for as you have been so successful in the court of Cupid, I feared you would be equally fortunate in the Scottish Law Courts, therefore I have withdrawn the suit."

"I am ready and willing to fight the case, my lord."

"Oh, no, no, no, no. Let us have no lawing between relatives, Sir Colin. There is nothing which tends so much to make this contentious earth a paradise as to see peace and amity between friends. You will appreciate that the more, Sir Colin, as you get nearer my own age. Ah, Maggie, Maggie—and you couldn't wait for your old uncle to be present at your wedding? Oh, the impatience of youth—and quite right too, for it is a period of life which, once fled, never returns. Well, my blessing on you both, and you will never lack shelter while an old man has a room to share with you."

"I hope it will be better furnished than the last one I had of you," answered the bridegroom.