Rose, Shamrock, and Thistle. A story of two Border towers

Front matter

A STORY OF TWO BORDER TOWERS P.Y ROSA MACKENZIE KETTLE Author of " The Magic of the Pine Woods," " J-urze Blossoms," etc. etc. " The World goes up, and the World goes down, As sunshine follows the rain ; And yesterday's smile, and yesterday's frown, Can never come over again — No, never come over again." Charles Kingsley. LONDON T. FISHER UNWIN PATERNOSTER SQUARE 1893 [all rights reserved] part tbe -first. "A traveller through a dusty road Strewed acorns on the lea, And one took root and sprouted up, And grew into a tree. A little spring had lost its way Amid the grass and fern, A passing stranger scooped a well Where weary men might turn.; A nameless man amid a crowd That thronged the daily mart Let fall a word of hope and love Unstudied from the heart. O germ ! O fount ! O word of love ! O thought at random cast ! Ye were but little at the first, But mighty at the last." A A STORY OF TWO BORDER TOWERS.

Chapter I

" Foray rides and battle riot, That adown this vale have driven, Blend they here with summer quiet Of these green hills, calm as heaven. " John Campbell Shairp. THERE was a great silence on land and sea. No wind stirred the branches of the few scathed trees, or ruffled the waters of the stream which passed beneath them on its way to the Solway Firth ; but there was noise enough inside the thick walls of the old Border Tower which overlooked a wide extent of country. Children were running up and down the turret stair, or peeping from the platform on the top, where watch and ward had been kept, in the olden time, for the inroads of the Scottish reivers, — just as, from a corresponding fortress, not many miles distant as the crow flies, the warder looked out and lit his beacon, to give notice of the approach of the English border robbers.

Both these ancient fortalices had been converted into or were attached to modern dwellings, but there was little changed in their outward aspect. Gar landed with ivy, which partially hid the scars and weather-stains of centuries, they still confronted each other, across the somewhat gloomy expanse of land and water, with a hostile air. " Are you sure the children do not worry you, father dear ? " said a fair gentle girl, rising from a low seat in the deep space below the high narrow window where alone there was light enough in the dim chamber for her delicate embroidery work. " They are very restless to-day." She moved quietly towards the door as she spoke. The room was on the ground floor of the tower, and on the steps that wound upward there was the rush and patter of children's footsteps.

" No, no, let them alone. I like to hear them," said the invalid master of the house. " They are making parties — Scotch and English. Just the play I liked best when I was a boy. Do not stop them." Edith Mayne resumed her work in silence, and the shouts and laughter, groans of the wounded, and heavy thuds of the falling, went on unchecked. " Hurrah, hurrah ! — the Scottish land-loupers are beaten," exclaimed her father excitedly, at last, when the mock conflict was over. " Strange, is it not, Edith, how the same instinct runs through a race ? — from sire to son. It is a good many years since the Border thieves lifted our cattle, and yet the mere thought kindles wrath." A deep burning blush mounted to the roots of Edith's fair hair, her lips moved, but she did not speak. Just then the heavy door swung open.

" Did I hear you call, father ? " said a youth, stooping to enter through the low portal. " The children were making such an awful row over their sham fight, that I feared it must disturb you : I wonder you can bear with them so patiently." "I was only giving a shout for the English victors," said his father, good-humouredly. "That was all, no need to disturb your game for me. I wish I could join in it as I used to do." The young man came and sat down by the couch on which Mr Mayne, after a severe accident in the hunting-field, was forced to spend many hours of the day. " That is only children's play up aloft," he said. " I have had enough and too much of such nonsense. I only went up to see fair play." " Nay, Walter, there is good training for a hardy life in their game. Let the little lads and lasses enjoy it," said the once untiring, dauntless sportsman.

" Many a boy has learnt to stand at his post, and carry his country's flag bravely, while pursuing, spite of all difficulties, wind and weather, hunger, thirst, and fatigue, some outdoor sport, or later in life, while following his game. Edith wanted to stay the tumult, but I would not let her." " Is there not some danger in cherishing these national prejudices?" said his daughter gravely. "I have heard the boys say many bitter words against those who are not foes or reivers, but neighbours." " That is girlish nonsense," said her father ; " as well prohibit all manly sports because, on some unlucky day, often from our own carelessness, accidents befall the cricket or football player or the huntsman. If I had not lost temper, and forced a tired horse to take an awkward fence, I should not be lying here like a log.

For my part, I like to cherish a good old hatred almost as much as I value long-tried friendship. Let us keep to Border customs." He laughed, but his words were not altogether in jest. Walter stooped over his sister's shoulder as she bent her head over her work, and gently kissed her. Edith looked up in his face quickly with a blush, but there were tears in her eyes. They were children of the same mother, and deeply attached to each other. Mr Mayne had married again, and soon, finding the loneliness of his home and widowhood intolerable. Though not excluding his young wife from their hearts, they naturally clung together. Edith had, in fact, been like a sister to her, sharing her long days of loneliness when her husband was away with the hunt in the vale and on the plains, or shooting over his extensive moors.

In many domestic troubles Edith had stood by her step-mother, and in her turn derived comfort from her sympathy, and when she was laid by, in frequent illnesses, for her health did not withstand the cold northern climate and the damp air from the marshes, the elder daughter had been like a parent to the little ones. They were fast friends and constant companions in the Border Tower, where there was little or no change of society from year's end to year's end. Mrs Mayne, transported there from a gay happy household in the centre of England, felt its loneliness, and pined away, leaving several strong, rosy little Borderers, who seemed to have stolen away her bloom. When the youngest and merriest of the little romps on the platform of the Tower — Agnes — first woke into life, on a bleak December morning — the soft light which had shone within the dim chambers of the old Border Tower went out — leaving the children motherless, and Edith their self-constituted guardian.

Mr Mayne felt his wife's death deeply, and never was the same man afterwards. He went on with his hardy sports, but not with the same spirits and enjoyment, and even in the hunting-field he was often moody and absent. The accident from which he still suffered was, as he said, the result of reckless impatience, but he was still the upholder of hardy exploits and free English out-of-door sports and pastimes. When their merry game ended the youngsters left the platform on the summit of the Tower, and scrambled down the turret-stair with scant ceremony. Each one of them, however, stopped for a moment, and pressed in, to tell their sympathising parent their tale of success or defeat before hurrying out of doors. When all were gone, and the Tower at last quiet, Mr Mayne said — " Now that we can hear each other speak, I should like to talk to you about a letter from Ireland, which I received this morning.

Rhoda Carysfort, your own mother's second cousin, wishes to pay us a visit. I think it may be a long one, for she is left alone in the world. Edith, will it suit you to receive her?" *' Rhoda Carysfort, the merry little Irish girl who used to keep us all alive with her stirring songs and playful ways ! " said Edith, her eyes brightening. " By all means let her come, and stay as long as she pleases. One person makes little difference in a large family like ours." "Oh, as to fortune, she is quite independent," said her father. " The Court of Chancery makes a liberal allowance wherever she may reside. Castle Rack rent- — as I used to call the old Irish house from which I plucked the fairest flower — is broken up — the family dispersed to the four winds, or the four corners of the earth — and she does not care to go with any of them.

She would like, I think, to make a home for herself with us." Walter did not echo his sister's warm assurance of welcome. He said doubtfully — " We have noise enough already, and if she is as troublesome a lassie as she was a child, the old Tower will not hold her. I remember Nurse used to say Edith and I never made half the clatter that the little maid did who came from the bogs. Already we do nothing but quarrel over our nationalities, how shall we ever agree] when that wild Irish girl comes amongst us?" " Perhaps she will be a messenger of peace," said Edith, smiling. " I remember she was a terrible little Fenian, and shocked dear old Nancy by insisting upon our joining in the chorus when she sang ' The Wearing of the Green,' and the emphasis with which she repeated ' Sarsfield is dying on Minden's Plain,' and various other rebel songs and poems.

But she is older now, and must have seen enough of Ireland's real wants and best friends not to ' Hate the English,' as she used passionately to implore us to do." " I doubt her having learnt any such useful truths at Castle Rack-rent," said her brother. " It is quite possible for an Irish girl to grow older without growing wiser." " Well, this is only an experiment," said Mr Mayne, impatiently. " If we do not agree, it is easy to part company. Rhoda only offers to pay us a visit of a few weeks till her relatives in Ireland have settled their plans. It is a long time since the pretty little Irish lassie, the very image of your mother, sang her songs, and sat before me on my saddle, when I came back from hunting, and rode Percy to his stable-door." He sighed as the image of his dark-haired Irish eyed wife came before him, standing at the ivy-mantled portal of the grey old Tower to greet him on his return from the day's sport.

" Rhoda is on your mother's side one of your nearest of kin, Edith," he added. " She has not many friends, and your mother loved her dearly. That ensures her a welcome here. Let me hear no more of such puerile objections." His son, rather offended, and a little ashamed of himself, turned away ; and Edith, after receiving some farther instructions, left the room to write to the young girl whom she remembered faintly but with affection. Mr Mayne leaned back wearily on his couch. Away, far away in the past, his mind and thoughts were busy. An old Irish mansion backed by the Galtees and facing towards dark heathery Slieve-a-rea. On the one hand light slopes and summits touched with bright tints such as a painter tries to catch but can never emulate — on the other sombre heights with storm-clouds gathering over them — rose up before him.

He was young again, following the hunt — watching the deep clear pools — steeple-chasing — anything mad and merry — with a gay following of Irish boys and girls, across moor and mountain. They were all full of youthful spirits then — not perceiving, not apprehending, — now where were they all? His Nora, bland and beautiful, with her dark grey eyes, firm seat in the saddle, light hand on the rein, swift foot on the heather, had lain still for years under the green turf of the churchyard in the English Borderland. He himself was a chronic invalid, and all the gay companions of that day were dead or scattered abroad. Only this one waif and stray was left seeking for a home which should not be denied her, if she chose to find it under his roof. Walter's slight, half-jesting objection to the reception of a new almost unknown inmate had been rather strengthened than removed by his father's unaccustomed, perhaps unnecessarily stern reproof.

He was a quiet, studious youth, much disturbed by the constant noise and unrest in their already over crowded house. He was a sound Churchman and strong Conservative, often troubled by scientific researches and arguments of long-since-buried philoso phers and scholars — with a good deal of the arrogance of inexperienced youth, and a firm conviction that the world would in time come round to his opinions. His future career was not yet decided upon. He was the eldest son of the house ; and he would also, from another quarter, inherit probably at no distant period, a considerable property ; so that a profession was not a matter of necessity ; but his father wisely considered employment advisable. Just now the decision was postponed. Walter had sufficient practical occupation in the management of his father's property, Mr Mayne having lately be come too great an invalid to fulfil his usual active duties.

All the rest of his time the young man devoted to study, not entering at all into the very limited society within reach. One of Walter's most engrossing pursuits was the searching out in old parchments and papers and hunt ing up in local traditions the history of the ancient Border Tower in which the family had resided since it was purchased from a descendant of one of the old English families, situated in what had once been the Debateable Land, on which so much blood was shed by both countries. Mr Mayne was not a man of ancient lineage. The fortune inherited from his father had been made in business during the war-time, but, when he came to reside on the Border, he took up vehemently its feuds and prejudices. No Percy ever hated the Douglas more bitterly than Robert Mayne detested his nearest Scottish neighbour.

Various causes had inflamed his wrath. They disagreed on every conceivable point, and on more than one their interests clashed. There had been a great right of fishery case pending for years in the law-courts, bandied about from one to another, and left still undecided by all. And beside and beneath successive causes of dispute, there was a deeper rankling root of bitterness which prevented any friendly relations or intercourse be tween the inmates of the two Border Towers.

Chapter II

, The wild winds hushed ; the angry deep Sank like a little child to sleep ; The sullen billows ceased to leap At Thy Will. So when our life is clouded o'er, And storm-winds drift us from the shore, Say, lest we sink to rise no more, Peace be still." The ever-turbulent waves of the Irish Sea, which had rocked Rhoda Carysfort to sleep, woke her at last with a start. The dawn was breaking in storm and uproar, there were sounds of confusion overhead, and, below, stifling heat. Rhoda dressed hurriedly, steadying herself with difficult)*, for everything was knocking and tossing about. It was a relief to escape from the close atmosphere of the cabin, though the wind almost baffled her first efforts to stand upon the deck. " Are you wise to attempt it ? Let me help you ? " said a kind manly voice ; and the girl gladly accepted the support of a strong arm, while the warmth im parted to her shuddering form by a Scottish shepherd's plaid, hastily flung round her, lent her fresh vigour.

She could not see the face of her unknown friend, but it cheered her in the gloom to cling, as to a pillar of refuge, on that firm support, and to be guided to a sheltered corner where she could sit down, out of the reach of the cold blinding spray, after her struggle with the fierce wind. " Anything is better than staying below," she said, when she had recovered her power of speaking. " At first I slept ; when the storm woke me I longed to see it on the sea. Are we in danger?" " I trust not," said the stranger in a low firm voice. He did not sit down but stood between her and the blast. " Daylight will help us, and this boat is well managed and quite under control. Are you alone on board ? " " Yes," said Rhoda Carysfort, in a rather sad tone, but with a sudden feeling of confidence. " I am alone in this vessel 1 was going to say in the world — but I am on my way to where I hope to find friends."

She felt a slight pressure of the hand which still rested in the grasp of her companion in danger, for the outlook before them was more serious than he had admitted. " Poor child," he said, pityingly ; " you are very young to sight the battle we all must fight, unaided. Well, I am alone, too, I may say in the world. Perhaps — who knows ? — we may help each other." " You have helped me already," said Rhoda. " I was feeling very solitary before you spoke to me, and I am sure I could not have crossed this storm-swept deck without the aid of your arm. I thank you from my heart." They were both silent for some minutes. The man was thinking compassionately of the young stranger who was on her lonely way through tempest and darkness to a new home among untried friends — perhaps even worse. Most likely a young governess leaving some over-crowded but happy home to win independence.

Meanwhile the clouds were parting. Faint rays of light stole from beneath their sombre canopy. Rhoda could see the outlines of the tall form bending over her, but his face was still in shadow. "The wind is falling. It will go down at sunrise," said the cheering voice out of the dimness. " Shall I get you some more wraps, or will you go below ? The danger, if it ever existed, is over. We shall be able to see our way now into the harbour." " No, I am not cold. I would rather stay here with you," she added timidly. " If it does not trouble you. But I have taken your plaid. You are getting wet. It must be cold standing in the teeth of the blast to shelter me." " No, I am neither cold nor wet, or if I am it does not matter. My days and nights are not usually spent in luxurious ease. Out on Solway Frith, or on our marshes — in an open boat, or on horseback over the Border Moors, the winds are keen enough to temper man and beast to meet them."

" On the Border ! That is where I am going," said Rhoda, joyfully. " Oh, I am so glad ! Perhaps we shall be neighbours, and may, as you said just now, help each other." " No, I have no neighbours. Life is hard and very lonely where I live," said the man beside her. "There are some cattle-grazing farms and one or two villages, and, at a distance, towns, but I eschew them ; and some poor hinds and gipsies whom I know better. My home is in an old Scottish Border Tower, not far from these troubled waters, and I dwell in it alone." " I am going to live in a Border Tower," said the girl, with increasing interest. " I wonder whether it will be like yours, and as solitary. Mine was an English fortress in the old days of feud and foray. My cousin's father bought the property many years ago." The tall figure beside her suddenly straightened itself.

Rhoda's hand was released from the kind clasp which had helped her to bear up the umbrella which sheltered her from the wind and rain. The storm certainly was over, and through the clouds the dawn was brightening into day. " You need not fear. We are getting into smoother water. We shall soon be in port," the stranger said somewhat coldly. " Perhaps you would like to go below and prepare for landing?" Rhoda felt, for the first time in his presence, embarrassed. She rose at once, and tried to loose the folds of the heavy plaid he had wound round her. " No, no," he said hurriedly. " Keep it. I have plenty of our rough plaids — such as the hill shepherds wear, often carrying a weak lamb in their folds. You may find it useful on your land journey." Then, in a y softer tone, he added, " If we do meet in the Debate able Land, you can, if you so will, return it to me."

He took her hand again, and felt it tremble as he led her across the deck. After one silent pressure, he released it, and the girl went below feeling very sad and lonely. When Rhoda, after performing a fresh toilette, came on deck again, all was bustle and confusion. She looked round for her kind protector, although some instinct at her heart told her that for the present, at all events, she would see him no more. When she asked the steward where the gentleman was who had kindly lent her his plaid, he told her that a boat had come off for him, and he had gone on shore half-an hour before. "And I have not even seen his face !" the warm hearted Irish girl said to herself in her own idiom. " Will I know him again when we meet, as I know we will meet in the Border land ? " — and an answer came out of her heart's depths — " Yes."

No impulsive confidence sprang up when Rhoda's glance fell upon the tall figure of the English youth who was seeking for her among the crowd of pas sengers who were eagerly pressing to get to land after the rough passage. She heard Walter Mayne ask the steward whether Miss Carysfort was on board, and felt inclined to shrink back. Then, resuming her self-possession, she frankly put out her hand, introducing herself as the person for whom he was inquiring. B The young man received her courteously, but not warmly, and went to see after her luggage. He had brought a close carriage, he said, as the weather was unfavourable, and it was a long drive to Ailsa Tower. Notwithstanding the rain, which was falling heavily, he declined taking a seat inside, saying that he was used to all kinds of bad weather and should not mind it.

Rhoda thought that he preferred even wind and rain to a tete-a-tete with an unknown female, and felt rather glad of it. It was, however, a somewhat dreary drive past loch and moor. The floods were out, making the low country look like one vast swamp, less lovely, Rhoda thought, than an Irish bog in summer. She missed the bright Galtees and dark Slieve-a-rea and those thousand tints on the morass which were dear and familiar to her in her own country. The moaning of the wind, the roar of the sea, came back into her ears, as she leant back and closed her eyes, shutting out the dismal waste of water. She shuddered as she recalled the night storm and her terrified awakening. Then she thought of the kind voice that had cheered her, and seemed again to feel the support of the strong arm to which she had clung while crossing the slippery deck.

The touch of the stranger's plaid still felt comfort ing in the rain and mist, as she once more drew it around her, remembering his words, that she might find it useful on land during her long drive through the bleak sea-coast country, and partly closed the window near her ; wondering when and where she might find an opportunity of returning it to the considerate giver. There was no want of warmth in Mr Mayne's reception of his young guest. He clasped her in his arms as if she had been his own child, and indeed she was the very image of his lost Nora — the wife of his youth — the beloved companion of his early manhood. For each man and for each woman there is one counterpart on earth, and only one. The}* may never meet, or they may be for ever separated after meeting and recognising each other's affinity.

Other ties may have been formed from expediency, even from inclination — time may strengthen these bonds, or lighten the endurance of enforced isolation — but there is only one heaven-made marriage, only one heart-breaking severance. Robert Mayne had loved his English wife dearly, had most truly mourned her loss, but she was not Nora — not the vision that had flashed upon him in his youth by the Irish lough, amid storm and sunshine, smiles and tears, and gladdened and broken the heart of her husband. Edith was very dear to her father, but neither in mind nor in person did she resemble her dark-eyed, bewitching, Irish mother. Rhoda might much more easily have been taken for her daughter — and, as such, as if she were his own and Nora's child — Robert Mayne at once took her in his arms, and welcomed her to his home.

The Irish girl was delighted and surprised by the warmth of his greeting, to which her heart at once responded. She forgot the long dreary drive, the night of storm, the at first repellent aspect of the ancient ivy-girt Tower, misty lakes, and flooded marshes, with wild sea-birds flocking for food and shelter to the watery mainland, and felt at home beneath the roof of her English cousin. Edith's nature was more reserved, and early cares and trials had checked the impulsiveness of youth, but she received their guest very kindly. Rhoda looked so young that at first sight she felt disappointed in her hope of companionship. She seemed only a rather older, perhaps still more mischievous child to be added to the merry group crowding at the door, over whom she with some difficulty held control. The little boys and girls, on the contrary, were delighted with the acquisition, and, instead of the grand unknown young lady of whom they had felt afraid, acknowledged their pretty young Irish cousin at once as one of themselves.

They saw in the first glance through tears and smiles of the bright dark Irish eyes, the spirit of fun — jf daring — of mischief, which would make her leader in all their sports — their companion in dangerous exploits— their unswerving, loyal, truth-telling com patriot.

Chapter III

" I have a heart, I'd live And die for him whose worth I know But could not clasp his hand and give My full heart forth as others do. And they, who loved me, the kind few, Believed me changed in heart and tone, And left me, while it burned as true, To live alone — to live alone."- — Gerald Griffin. THE Border-riders, as Mr Mayne called Edith and Rhoda, made many a raid through the Debateable Land together during the next few weeks. They were fearless and well-trained horsewomen from their childhood, and never looked better than when, as now, well mounted and equipped. Miss Carysfort had brought her own bright bay mare, Colleen, with her ; Edith rode one of her father's hunters. Mr Mayne often watched their start regretfully, and wondered that Walter never chose to accompany them. He professed to be studying too hard, just now, to be able to spare the time ; but, hitherto, he had usually been his sister's companion.

The girls were not afraid to go alone, or if they had visits to pay, or shopping to do in the town some miles distant, they took a groom with them to hold the horses. Edith was quite reconciled to the addition to the family circle, and enjoyed the society of a companion of her own sex only a few years younger than herself. But Walter's prejudices were not easily overcome, and his habits were those of a recluse. The gay young stranger had not cast her spell over him as well as over the rest of that secluded household. And yet it would have been difficult for him to say in what the bright Irish girl's offences consisted. The children were certainly merrier, but much less noisy and boisterous. Rhoda's witching songs and legends kept them quiet during bad weather, indoors ; and she shared gleefully their outdoor sports and pastimes.