Page:Once a Week Dec 1860 to June 61.pdf/646

1, 1861.] tell fra whence they came. I mind me of them noo.

“Sir Patrick took it a’ darklie and silentlie, as wer his fashion, and ne’er stood up for his wife’s father, or so much as turned his head to save her a pang, but contrarywise, seemed as if ’twer something he would e’en brave out; and ’twer about this time, when every one belonging to the Lady Janet, or any o’ the Johnstouns, felt that something wer hanging o’er the clan, though they didna richtlie ken what, that he must needs summon a’ the folk round about for mony a mile to a gran’ ball! At that time naebody could mak’ oot for why.

“My mither, wi’ mony anither o’ the people, wer there in the great ha’, to see all as wer to be seen, and there wer more than Sir Patrick reckoned for, before the nicht wer over.

“They say the Lady Janet looked like a spirit in her white satin robe (ane o’ Sir Patrick’s petty oppressions being that he wad na permit her to wear the garb o’ sorrow for her father), a’ fastened like her hair, wi’ jewels, which wer dim beside the glittering hunted gleam o’ her eyes; and next to her, for remarkableness, wer Sir Patrick’s sister, the Mistress Joan; her face wer dark and heavy, like her brother’s, wi’ a look in it that alway turned a child or dog away. My mither, of course, could only see, nae hear ought except the music; but when the nicht wer far advanced, and the earlie winter’s morn wer comin’, she saw the Lady Janet (as had been standin’ wearie against ane o’ the pillars of the ha’ for half an hour or more) speaking to Sir Patrick’s sister, Joan. And gradually the music ceased, and folks gathered round to hark to what they wer saying; and my mither, for a’ she wer but a servant, wer the Lady Janet’s foster sister, and so she forced her way in, and stood amang the lords and ladies too, unnoted of, and listening. She just cam in time to hear Mistress Joan say scoffinglie, ‘And is’t for this ye glour sae stranglie upon me, my Lady Janet?’

‘It is,’ said Lady Janet, ‘because ye’re your father’s dochter! I ha’ nae power,’ continued she despairinglie, ‘I ha’ nae power, for I am but ane puir simple woman again a powerful craftie mon, assisted by the father o’ a’ such lies. But I can show what I would do had I the power’ (and here her sma’ hand clenched sae that the flowers she held fell withered at her feet); ‘and may your father, Mistress Joan, be ten thousand times dishonoured, in his life and in his death, for every word by which he’s tried to lichtlie mine!’

“Mistress Joan looked almost afraid as the words were said, and a stillness fell over a’ as the Lady Janet leaned wearilie back again the marble pillar, which wer white like her face; when suddenlie a clear voice spoke like a clarion in the hush of all around, and him as had ne’er been seen sin’ they parted on the muir, Lord Archdale, stood amang ’em a’, and his hand grasped his dirk as he said, ‘For ae kiss o’ yer bonnie moo, cousin Janet, I’ll tear his lying tongue out frae his lips, and fling it to the dogs!’

“Lady Janet sprang forward, saying, ‘A hundred, Archie! and God bless ye!’

“I’ll no’ say he took sae mony less, ere he loosed her from his arms, and left the ha’, followed ane and a’ by the nobles and gentles, and his ain men, but nonenane [sic] could tell for why the music maun ever add its voice to the rest, and struck up the auld Johnstoun strathspey. And there wer fierce muttering, and hurrying to and fro, and the dark nicht wer lichted by eyes and blades mair na torches. The Lady Janet, mair proudlie than had e’er been seen, followed her husband frae the deserted room, and what passed between them nane may tell, for strange as it may seem she wer but seldom seen again.

“Troubles followed fast upon her footsteps; the Lord Archdale wer found foulie slain, and nigh upon hacked to pieces by the road-side on that same nicht, and nane could tell by whom the cowardlie deed had been done. And there wer hardlie any but what rejoiced—strange rejoicing!—when Kenneth, Sir Patrick’s father, wer found in his ain braid chamber, decked about wi’ every device to pamper the heart o’ mon, but dead, and wi’ his tongue cut oot frae the mouth. Nane can tell or imagine the deadlie vengeance or horror of a Hieland feud; it wer characteristic of such that in the dead hand wer a scroll o’ paper, and written on it i’ bluid wer these strange words:—

“The perpetrator o’ the deed wer ne’er