Cumbe Harly's Ghost. A novel

Chapter I

Who that has ever been in Perthshire will not all his life after retain in the mind's eye a vivid recollection of the grand majesty of the scenes ? Rocks piled on rocks ; and the foaming rivers, dashing down like some released prisoner hurrying onwards, onwards to liberty and life; who could look on this and then turn away without bearing in his mind for ever a memory of Scotland's grandeur ? But in the midst of all, thoughts will go back to the old days we read of in history. Could those grand old hills, that smiling river, and those waving woods tell their tale ! On how many joys have they smiled; on how many quarrels frowned; and how many fond love tales have they heard whispered, of which the world knows B nothing ; history does not tell us of them, and now, they are all buried in oblivion, and their actors forgotten.

But since the world first sprang into being, those mountains and rivers have been there ; un altered during each change of this changeful world. We cannot but join the old Romans in their admiration of the valley of the Tay. So calmly and peacefully it lies spread before one ; the eye that has gazed with rapture on Scotland's noblest mountains and ravines, and turned shuddering from its yawning precipices, looks down, calmly resting, on a fairer, sleeping beauty. A word or two from a poet of whom we have heard, explains it all, better and clearer than we can. His words are : — " Beauty lying in the lap of terror." But it is not a sleeping beauty either, for far famed Perth is stretched below ; which, it is said, owes it origin to that valiant general, Ao-ricola. To bear out which idea, we are told that we can see some Roman remains.

Hearing this we hurrry away to search for any remains of the " fair city's " predecessor, the ancient " Bertha " which figured in the old days as an important station placed at the junction of three great highways. But we are dreadfully stupid people, unfortu nately not antiquarians, and again our eyes turn to the surrounding beauties of nature. Standing on the Hill of Kinnoul, one looks down on as fine a scene as can be found in Scot land. Certainly it lacks the wild splendour of Glencoe; the striking scenery of The Trosachs, and the rugged grandeur of Argyleshire, but there is a soft attractive beauty in what we view from the old ruined castle, perched on a point of Kinnoul Hill. But why attempt to picture a scene that would require an abler and more practised pen than ours ; and with which almost every Briton must be acquainted ?

Whoever has once viewed our Highlands, wherever else he may wander, will never forget them ; even the magnificent Alps, and the beautiful Rhine will only serve to bring them back more forcibly to his mind. Dear, old, cannie Scotland, looking suspiciously at each one before offering a greeting. One must be dreadfully " proper " before getting a warm corner in Scotland's " ingle neuk ; " even though b her east winds and " Scotch mists " are enough to drive all goodness out of one's head. The dear, blessed old kirks, that our forefathers delighted to honour, are they not enough to make one forswear one's country ? Oh, bah ! do not mention it ; to an English mind there must ever be something terrible in the bare idea ; perhaps it only seems so at this moment because the effects of last Sunday's penance still remains ; it re quires more than an ordinary back to stand twice a day in her hard, straight pews.

The recollection is more than sufficient. Imagine listening to a lengthy discourse which was prefaced by the following words ; " Let us seng togither in the Hundradth Psaulm " ! Dear, dehcious, old Scot land, you are wonderfully dear, but God forbid that one should be obliged to live from one year's end to another in it ! No, no, old Scotland, but for your moors and thrice blessed shootings, you would be triste d faire fremir ; though, " With all thy faults, I love thee still." But, we have wandered. Everybody has heros and heroines now-a-days ; so, for a change, we shall dispense with introduc ing any such nondescript character. Of course we have one of each, mayhap two, in our mind's eye ; but why describe them ? It would be ad absurdum to imagine that each one would admire the same style, &c. Vulgarity says "What is one man's meat is another man's poison," and vulgarity says true.

From all our characters, as each in turn steps on this our stage, let each one pick out that which seems to please most. It will be more satisfactory, than per force swallowing descriptions, which, at the best, are un-understandable. Don Quixote says : " Liberty is one of the most precious gifts that Heaven has given to man." So, our precious gift to our readers is hberty to use their own judgments. We have left Roman encampments, Kinnoul and all, behind, and have wandered three miles from fair Perth ; and there, after peering among trees, and losing ourselves amidst winding avenues, we come upon Beechcroft ; a large, plain house, nestled in a wood of fine old beeches, which gave the name to the house. It was not a pretty house : — nay, some said it was a clumsy-looking building; but, be that as it may, it was a comfortable house ; thick, square stone walls, with good, large square rooms inside; staircases that one could drive a carriage and pair up ; and landings where they could easily turn should they find the rarissime ascent too difficult.

And kindness and hospitality reigned over all. The Maxwells were an old family; proud of their long genealogy. They did not rank among the aristocrats, nor wished to do so. B y a long temps — when men were made by bravery, a grateful ( ! ) king (one of the few) would have showered honour upon honour, title upon title ; but no — a Maxwell was a Maxwell. What could have been greater ? Could a new made lord have been nobler or grander than what a Maxwell had been from time immemorial ? And so they went on from father to son ; de generating certainly (does the latter "Vage d'or" and the present age de Iromperie make people any better ?) but still revelling in their proud, wealthy commonism ; secretly, this is not affirmed as a fact, looking down on some of the paltry lordling-s — " creatures of a day."

Now we have come down to Arthur Maxwell ; fte proud and haughty as any of his predecessors, but certainly degenerate, though men have not much chance of making themselves by bravery in these days — at any rate, in the way of saving kings; 'tis surely a scarcer commodity than it used to be, even in the kings themselves ; for kings degenerate too ! The present Maxwell had one mania, that was horses — some said they had led him far astray. Problem. Do horses lead a man, or a man the horses ? We are not going to say much about Arthur Maxwell; certainly it was true what one said to him — " You have all your pleasures a, votre gre." But, he had as noble a wife as ever stepped, and she thought him a perfect Jupiter ; surely she must have known best ! In one point he shewed his bravery ; no two year colt of his ever stood on the turf ; he said he liked the Ascot cup well enough, but not won by cruelty.

Why they pressed him, the creme de la crime of turf circles, we know not ; it is such an abomi nation ! And he won enough. Many bright eyes looked lovingly on Arthur Maxwell in his racing days. Ah, it was a picture to see him seated lightly, yet firm as a rock, on his famous " Champion." Many a heavy book had been made on his favourite horse ; and never yet had he disappointed his friends. CUMBE HARLY'S GHOST. The last time he rode, the eyes never wandered from that well knit, though slight figure, part and parcel of the good bay horse, leading the first flight over ridge and furrow ; clearing stiff shire thorn fences like a bird ; over doubles and crop pers ; and coming in stirrupless but winner of the Golden Cup. Who would have thought it, looking at his fair gentle face, never knowing a care, only taking the dolce far niente of this life, yet riding like a professional ; and, as his horses knew, those small white hands could grasp like iron.

But all that has passed away. Maxwelton and Beechcroft know their master no longer. A sorrow has fallen on them. While staying at Beechcroft, Mr. Maxwell had been cut down in all the pride of life and manly beauty. He had gone out to try a young horse, promising to be back in two hours for luncheon. An hour after Mrs. Maxwell was standing at the hall door when she heard the ring of quick horse's feet, and immediately after Thomas, the groom came up the avenue — alone. A dull stino-ino pain shot across her heart ; and with a wild prayer on her lips ; — " Oh, my God, spare me this ? " she ran down to meet him. "What is the matter, Thomas, tell me quickly ? " she ejaculated, breathlessly. " The horse ran away ; and, I doubt master's killed," blundered out the man, in his blind stupidity. " Where, where ?

" " Half a mile down the Perth road." There was neither shriek nor tear ; but like an arrow shot from a bow she had passed him ; and was running down the avenue. " Blockhead ! What hae ye dune, what hae ye dune ? " cried the man, in sore distress, turning to ride after his mistress ; but, another thought seemed to strike him, for he rode round to the stable yard and shouted : " John, John," and, on an old man coming to the stable door, he said ; — " Get ready the carriage quickly ; there has something happened to master ; and mistress is tearing down the road like mad ; drive towards Perth, you will see them. I am going for a doctor." "Dr. Brown is at Larchgrove ; he passed about ten minutes since ; if ye ride smart ye'll catch him," said the old coachman, without stopping to ask questions ; but getting on with his work as fast as his trembling fingers would let him. b John had been with Arthur Maxwell's father ; he was firmly attached to the son; and could scarcely understand that the words might mean that he was to lose him now, so suddenly ;— "It canna be, it canna be," he muttered to himself as he worked, " the auld tree maun gang afore the young sapling.

He's ni' twenty years younger than me. Oh, it canna be, it canna be that I'll ne'er hear his blythe cheerie ' Good morning, John ; fine morning this for a ride. ' ' The carriage was soon ready ; and, with an anxious heart, John called to some of the men to come along with him, in case they were needed to lift master, who was hurt, though he hoped " No that bad, either." Soon all were busy actors in the sad scene ; Thomas had quickly overtaken the doctor ; and, they soon found the group of servants who were gathered round their prostrate master and broken-hearted mistress; wishing to help but not knowing how. The doctor, a kind-hearted man, had taken in the entire scene at a glance. He had known Arthur Maxwell in his brave young days ; he, too, had looked on admiringly as the bold rider passed the grand stand; he had watched that CUMBE HAE [.Y'S GHOST. 11 impassive face, almost womanish in its fairness and gentleness ; and he had seen a look pass over it, changing it all into haughty manhood and tell ing of le diable which lurked within.

He had been very proud of this friend who had never been a patient, and now, he knew he was too late ; that the brave young spirit had flown ; that another of the Maxwells had passed away ; showing little of the much-thought-of bravery, because he had had no chance. But in spite of all the softness, his eye told that he would " conquer or die." Had it not borne it out now ? It was a little thing truly in which to show his bravery ; only to conquer a horse ; and in the conquering to die ! But did it not show the iron will within ? He had been a little of the grand Seigneur in all the littles of life, — but, looking in his face, it had been said, " Ce gaillard ira loin." And now, it was all past ; —the doctor saw that, quicker than one can read this ; and he saw, too, that dull hard look in the lady's eye that told him too surely that the sudden blow had caused even her strong reason to totter on its throne.

But it was only for a moment that he could see all this ; for when he dismounted, she rose quickly from the ground where she had been, motionless, since all her efforts to rouse her husband had failed. There was no wild cry of sorrow ; no sign of tear on the marble face ; but the hard look still remained, as the sad cry went wailing forth : — " Save my darling, doctor. Oh, save my darling !" " I cannot do anything for him here, dear Mrs. Maxwell, would you allow me to remove him into the carriage ? The sooner he is home the better." So spoke the doctor in his sad despair of com forting ; yet dreading to drive the wedge in still deeper. It is hard to say that a loved one must die. She neither assented, nor opposed what he said ; but again catching the hand which she had dropped when he came, she walked quietly beside the body till it was placed in the carriage ; when she stepped in also.

The doctor quietly took a seat beside her, and in silence the party returned to that mansion, which a few hours before had been the abode of health and happiness. How suddenly all was changed. Why write of the slow dawning of the truth on the broken-hearted CUMBE HARLY'S GHOST. 13 wife ; the wild grief of her children ; and how the good doctor watched the fragile mind which had been so nearly shattered ? At last came the gush of tears for which he had so longed ; and after a long hour of agonised weeping, Mrs. Maxwell came forth, still beautiful, but who could believe that it was only one week since she had parted so fondly from the husband she was never more to see in life. Her raven hair was thickly threaded with silver; and her eyes were dull and spiritless, which so lately had beamed with light and love.

What mattered it to her what sins were laid to the charge of her Arthur ? To her he had always been the noblest and the best. There had never been a cross word passed between them. How many husbands and wives can say as much after twenty-five years of married life ? Twenty-five years ! Aye, twenty-five days ? A few weeks of blissful hallucination; soft cooings of the turtle dove; then some little discord in the nest ; forgiven and thought little of the first time ; some pretty little make-believe lover's speeches of " first quarrels making love grow stronger." Alas, alas, it is the first step on the downward road ; after the first, how easily the second follows suit, and so on, and on. Not, of course, to the public cat-and-dog life which some of our friends may personify. Oh, no, no, we are much too genteel for that.

There are still little loving speeches, and soft caresses ; but the sharp words come very frequently now, without the little for givenesses after; altogether forgetting that "a soft answer turneth away wrath." And yet, this is a " happy couple ! " Is it not so ? Do not the most of our friends, rushing on to their fate, end in this ? Yet, it is said, " marriages are made in Heaven." Can this be true ? Looking around us, is this to be believed ? Is it not rather the business of the Evil One to bring together two unfortunate mortals, simply to snap and snarl at each other ? No, Heaven would not do that ! But there are one or two which may lay claim to a Heaven-born origin. One or two lives spent in devotion; each thinking the other the best. The one remembering her vow " to love, honour, and obey," and acting up to it each hour of her life ; the other remembering that it is a weaker vessel committed to his care ; not expecting impossibilities as our sex is wont to do, but bearing the burden of life, in all other things equal.

Such had been the married life of Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell. It had truly been a union, in every sense of the word ; it had been the amalgamating of two spirits into one during all the twenty-five years. Neither were perfect, nor had a special fancy for rural felicity. Remember what had been said of him : — " You have had all your pleasures a votre gre," and, she had had her share of, and loved, gaity ; and yet, making up their minds that they could be happy together, they had taken what had fallen to their share, or lived quietly ; and through it all, they had loved. Now the separation had come, she felt, in the midst of her solitude, alone ; that her stay was gone ; that henceforth she must walk forth in the world unsupported. It was not in her to trouble the world with her weepings and wailings ; but few knew what agony that noble wife had suffered.

The hard, unfeeling world — who has not suffered from its lashing tongue ? said she was cold ; that she did not care. But, it was only the world that spoke ; she knew not, nor cared not what it said. " Who alone suffers, suffers most i' the mind." She came forth, changed indeed, but doing her duty to her children, and all around her ; while in private her heart was breaking for him who "was not." CUMBE HARLY'S GHOST. 17

Chapter II

Our story opens about three years after the sad event recorded in the preceding chapter. Mrs. Maxwell, still calmly resigned, sheds light and love on all around, helping the needful, sooth ing the broken-hearted, comforting the bereaved, with whom she has such a deep sympathy ; but never for a moment forgetting her first charge, in each action shewing her devotion to her children. Henry, the eldest, is about twenty-four years of age. How the mother's heart clung to that boy; surely he could not do wrong ; the whispered rumours that floated to her ears could not be true; he had grown up, in face and form so like his father, he must be like him in mind also, so thought the fond mother. Of extravagances and debts she thought very little ; young men must sow broad-cast their wild oats. In the Maxwell family the eldest son could not claim his own until he had reached the age of twenty-five.

So his mother thought that all would be well when her boy came into his own ; when he was not obliged to be dependent on her, he would marry soon like his father and Maxwelton would again be the centre of love and happiness. But mother's hopes are blasted; mother's prayers seem sometimes as if they were unlistened to ; mother's dreams are of the brightest ; sometimes, alas, to be too quickly dispelled. Helen was her mother's truest comfort ; so gentle, quiet, and thoughtful ; she seemed to her mother and Henry as an angel of light sent to comfort them, in their time of trouble. She thought of everyone. After her first burst of grief, she had been quiet, only giving way in her own chamber. And she was amply repaid for her self-restraint by seeing her mother's anxious eye brighten as she came near.

She was seven years younger than Henry, aud, at her birth, her father had bought Beechcroft as her dowry. Such were the inmates of Beechcroft when we commence our story, on a resplendent summer day. Everything seems happy and bright ; the little birds are carolling in the air; and the flowers look joyous and gay; quite unconcious of any trouble to the poor mortals of this earth. Even troubles and sadness are almost forgotten amidst all this sunshine and loveliness. Can the heart go on mourning for ever ? Helen Maxwell is very happy, as she stands on the door steps drawing on her gloves and looking at her good horse, that is neighing and pawing the gravel, as if also happy to be in his mistress' presence. But there is a sad look sometimes in Helen's full, dark eye. It is the first time they have been at Beechcroft since the sad bereavement of three years before.

They have been there now three months, but still each turn reminds them of their loved one ; and Nellie is thinking of him as she stands there. As she glances round she cannot but feel that he is not there to enjoy the beauty of the scene. When the gay answer comes to her lips, as she converses with her companion, she feels that he has not seen him. She would have felt happier if her father had known and liked Guy Harrison, as she knew and liked him now. But surely there is treason in that thought ; for her eyes fall, and the fair cheek tinges with crimson. But we must also have an examination of the gentleman who is with her. Canny Scotland likes to know to whom she is talking, so do we ; therefore, we have discovered that Guy Harrison, aged twenty, was the only child of a certain old Colonel Harrison, who had a small property in Perthshire — no matter where.

He is tall, dark, and handsome; of course possessing the usual complement of nose, eyes, mouth, &c, and each placed in the proper position, thereby producing a very pleasing whole ; and, as the last item, is studying for the Bar; perhaps, at some time, the vision of a well-stuffed woolsack has flitted before his mind's eye. But not just now, a fairer image has banished all that. His father being an old friend of Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell's, although they had not chanced to meet for years, the son was invited to Beech croft to spend part of his vacation ; perhaps in the scarce breathed hope that a companion would draw Henry away from more dangerous company. But, alas, it required more than one companion to draw Henry away from his gay London doings, and, it required still more, that they should be of a different stamp than his mother would care to welcome.

He has been at Beechcroft a week, and is wondering to what next to turn, to kill time; though, he whispers quietly to Harrison that his presence makes it more endurable, and thinks to himself, " Not to mention the game keeper's daughter." Guy has hngered on, though — the why's and wherefore's of the case may be best explained by hastening on with our story. " It is really too bad that we have to wait for Henry so long," laughed Harrison, as he turned to look into the hall for about the twentieth time. " He is with mama," replied Helen quickly, " she has probably detained him." He noticed and admired her eager desire to screen Henry from blame ; he knew as well as she could that he was with Mrs. Maxwell, only too lazy to rise and join them ; so, with a gentle manly feeling of respect for such sisterly love he quickly changed the subject.

" It will soon be time to gather together my goods and chattels; I have already tormented you too long with my lingering presence." " Tormented, Mr. Harrison ! Oh, pray do not say so ; I am sure mama will always be glad to see you here." A flush rose on his handsome face, perhaps caused by a wish that the daughter would rather express her own gladness ; but that could scarcely be expected ; and he was about to reply, when a footman came across the hall. " Mr. Henry sent to say, Miss Helen, that he does not feel inclined to ride at present : but if you would start just now by the low road he will come to meet you." " Very well, John, we shall be back in about an hour," replied Miss Maxwell, a shade of disappointment crossing her face. " It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," thought Harrison, as he assisted his companion to mount.

By his pleased look, John's information seemed to have given him immense satisfaction. But we are but poor judges of that mass of subtle machinery, the human heart. A con glomeration of strength and weakness; good and evil ; love and pride. Who is fit to judge his neighbour ? There is no one able to govern himself ! We cannot but remember the good sayino-. spoken from the lips of the highest of men : — " First cast out the beam out of thine own eye, and then shalt thou see clearly to cast the mote out of thy brother's eye." Who does this, who can do it ? But what a dissertation upon a simple look of pleasure in Guy Harrison's face, which might naturally, nay, probably did arise from being permitted to assist Miss Maxwell to mount. The disappointment soon faded from Helen's face as she talked gaily with her companion.

The colour rose more brilliantly on her cheek, and her eyes flashed back mirth and laughter to the beaming looks which Guy fixed on her. As they were returning home, Guy spoke of the pleasure he had enjoyed in Beechcroft, and how he should regret leaving such a happy home, again to take up his abode in his " old, musty chambers " as he called them. " But we hope to see you again at Maxwel ton at Christmas, Mr. Harrison," was Nelhe's reply. "Thank you, Miss Maxwell, you are very kind; and nothing can give me greater pleasure than to accept your, and your mama's invitation ; but I must study hard, that I may fulfil my heart's dearest wish." " A wish, Mr. Harrison ? " she repeated, glancing enquiringly at him. "Yes, Miss Maxwell, to win the greatest honour to which man can aspire. I dare not tell you farther now."

As her eye met his, no need to ask further questions ; that glance told volumes. Bending her head that he might not see the burning blush that spread over her face, she urged her horse into a canter ; and for some time kept far ahead. It seemed to her as if he too must know of the wild throbbings of her heart. But again he was at her side, and she felt calmed by his gentle tones. " You expect a number of visitors at Christ mas, Henry tells me." " Yes, I believe so." How strangely quiet her own voice seemed to her ears. " Among others there is a Lord Morecumbe." " Lord Morecumbe ! " cried Guy, hastily. " Yes, do you know him ? " " No, but I have often heard him spoken about; he seems a rather peculiar man." " So I understand. Henry met him in London, and wished to ask him to Maxwelton ; of course mama was quite agreeable ; therefore he was asked for Christmas, and has been graciously pleased to accept.

I am sure I shall dislike him." Guy turned a quick, searching glance on her for an instant ; evidently it was satisfactory, for he smiled softly to himself. " He has a place in England, I beheve ? " he said, still continuing the subject. "Yes, Cumbe Harly is the name of one of his places, so Henry told me. Some people say it is haunted ; but I think that is the fate of all old places ; in the public mind at any rate." " Is he married ? " " I think so; but it must have been very, very long ago, his wife must have died about the year one, for she has evidently disappeared from everyone's recollection." " How long has Henry known him ? " " I am sure I do not know. Why, Mr. Harrison, you seem to have acquired quite a sudden interest for his lordship ; or are you simply un homme curieux?" Helen cried, laughing gaily.