Mabel's Cross. By E. M. P

Chapter I

" Scenes from the great book of Nature, — The same through a thousand editions." — Scott. In the western highlands of Scotland, in one of those deep romantic glens which fad back in sinu ous folds from the chain of lakes linked together by the Caledonian Canal, situated on a bold scarped rock, which Nature on three sides had rendered all but impregnable, stand some rude, yet massive buildings. Thencharacter is of a mixed kind, partaking of the features of that age, when might, not right, formed the code of justice ; and those baronial halls, where the chieftain, the friend and father of his people, gathered round him in a patri archal fold his devoted and loving clansmen. On the rocky height, on its most precipitous side, vol. i. B dominating over the narrow gorge at its feet, rises a solitary tower, dark and stern in its simplicity.

Its single portal, guarded by a heavy portcullis, tells of those days when Albin's chiefs were met as frequently in raid and foray as on the battle field. Old men still speak in hushed voices when ques tioned of the dark deeds and legends of Menteith's Tower, for such is the name it bears. It has its donjon, its oubliette, and other places of torture; and many a maiden of the glen and highland shepherd look up shudderingly at the rusty gratings still deeply fixed in the clefts of the high rock behind which the dungeons lie concealed. On the eastern side of the tower, separated from it by a gentle slope, stands the baronial castle of the Menteiths; dismantled indeed of its battlements, but still retaining, in something of their former pride, the banqueting hall, the chapel, the "gallantly" bower, where the noble matron and her daughters, in the days of its feudal glory, embroi dered with their dainty fingers the scarfs and badges of their kinsmen, whiling the tedium of their absence by singing to their small harps the heroic deeds of their ancestors.

At the time when our story commences there are few remains of its ancient bastions and defences : — a quaintly-devised garden, with grass walks, and terraces intersecting them, and descending by broad flights of steps to the soft green "Pleasaunce," as the fair young mistress of the domain loves to call it, is surrounded by walls, once part of the defences, with here and there an embrasure for archers, which now are covered with climbing plants, and vases fided with the loveliest and rarest flowers brought by the hand of taste from more favoured climes. In the centre of the verdant " Pleasaunce " stands a group in marble, a copy of one of those fountains so frequently found in Italy, representing Venus and her attendant nymphs, who are half hid by the ved of glittering water which fads above and around them from a jet concealed behind the central figure.

At the head of the broad steps leading from the garden to the Pleasance stands an ancient dial, raised on a pedestal beneath a figure of Time, the shadow of whose bent scythe marks the hour as it falls upon the bronze. Nor is animated life wanting to complete the picture, for rarely is the balustrade which divides the steps from the grassy slopes untenanted by a stately peacock, who, spreading his iris-coloured feathers in the sun, moves in measured step, with the pride and dignity of the courtly dames Watteau delighted to paint, as if conscious of his importance in the lordly scene. To the right of the Pleasaunce, but divided from it by a long vista of bowery arches, screened on either side by thick evergreens — giving shade in the sultry heat of the summer, and shelter when b2 the piercing winds blowing over Ben Nevis, drive the inmates of the castle from their favourite pro* menade — is the boundary of the garden, which is entered from a spacious courtyard, by a turreted gateway, one part of which is converted into a dove cot.

Some fifty yards below this gateway, in an angle of the wall, is a small building, still called the " Warder's Tower," though its diminutive proportions resemble more closely the little tourelles so often seen in Switzerland and Tyrol. Here, however, still hangs, suspended above the low portal which opens from the garden on a few broken steps, the " Warder's Horn," for the Laird of Menteith clings with romantic fondness to the hereditary customs of his ancestors. The time at which our story commences is noon, on one of those balmy days of spring which herald in the promised summer. The soft, yet breezy air, laden with the perfumes of a thousand flowers, lifts with sweet violence the masses of foliage now rich in all their vernal beauty. In the clear at mosphere, Alp above Alp of the mountain chain is visible as far as the eye can reach, till the blue lines sink into the ocean.

It is a day when the faintest sound is heard. The many voices of the hdls : the silvery tinkling of the mountain rivulets, leaping from rock to rock, now lost to sound behind some leafy knoll, now swelling into deeper cadence as they fall into the stream far below, fed by their sister tributaries. The echo of the tramp of horses' i'eet on the hard causeway, which forms the high way through the valley, is borne upward on the still air ; the plaintive cooing of the wood pigeons in the pine wood on the opposite hdl, and the thousand chirpings of the birds that tenant cozy hush and brake tuning their thrilling voices, form one universal hymn of praise. On one of the grassy banks which command a view of the road leading from the valley to the narrow glen where stands Menteith's Tower, may be seen a tall youth, reclining in that delicious idle ness, the " dolcefar niente" mood.

His Highland bonnet half covering, but not concealing, a quan tity of rich chesnut hair, which falls back from his moderately high and pale forehead : as one some times sees in the portraits of many of the German poets. His eyes are blue, with a dreamy look in them, which, perhaps may account for the absent manner in which he is holding a small volume : not looking into it, but over it : in truth, he seems to be watching, with a kind of lazy interest, the flight of a large hawk, whose wide-spreading wings bear him with a floating motion over the narrow valley. His figure is slight and graceful, and his whole bearing that of a man who seems formed for the amenities, rather than the battle, of life. Suddenly he is startled by a sweet yet ringing \-oice, calling to him in a kind of mock despair^ " Spirit of Lockiel, what does the gloomy seer of your ancient house unfold of his dark mysteries to-day ?

Has the eaglet fallen from its eyrie in Glenfallagh ? or, shall we meet the Weird Sisters on our path to the Mountain Tarn ?" Then, in an altered tone she continued, " Or are you dreaming of a sonnet to the eyebrow of the lovely Moorish maiden we met last summer in the halls of the Alhambra, who, like myself, boasted of her descent from the grandees of Spain; the dark eyed maiden who so obligingly aUowed you to sketch her portrait ?" " Or, perhaps," added the laughing girl, who now stood revealed before him, " your thoughts were nearer home ;" and as she said this, with a mischievous glance and smile, she directed his eyes to the figure of a young girl, who, seated at the foot of the pedestal which sup ported the dial, was likewise gazing with upturned eyes at the large bird now poised above their heads.

Janet Forsyth, the young girl aduded to, was the true type of a Scottish maiden ; fair and fresh-looking, with rich tresses of paly golden hair, confined by the snood round her pretty head. Her simple dress, and straw hat thrown carelessly aside, were in harmony with her appearance, and her youthful figure contrasted well with the statue of Time, with his bent scythe, under which she had unconsciously seated herself, formed alto gether as pretty and fanciful a picture as any young artist could desire to transfer to his can vass. " Oh Marion," cried the youth, now starting to his feet, " by our cousinly affection, spare me!" and, bounding down the steps leading to the gate way, sprang eagerly forward to escape her bantering tone. "Up, up, Sir Alan, to the turret," she con tinued, " and tell me what thy far-seeing eyes can discover.

The shadow from Times' scythe strikes falsely, if an hour has not sped since Angus, my laggard brother, with the Covenantish maidens from Falconbridge, should have entered the glen. The thirsty sun will have emptied the chalices of my favourite flowers before we reach the mountain side." Alan Cameron, the youth we have described, was now seen leaning over the turretted gateway, apparently looking earnestly into the windings of the glen. Marion, growing still more impatient, resumed her despairing cry, calling out, " Sister Anne, Sister Anne, seest thou anything coming ?" to which Alan, in the same jesting tone replied, 'I see a cloud of dust, but whether it conceals Angus and his fair charges I cannot tell." Just at that moment a breeze sprang up and dispersed the mist, for such it was, which had suddenly filled the valley, and two horsemen were distinctly seen, trotting at an easy pace in the direction of the Castle.

Marion was instantly at her cousin's side, for her curiosity was excited, as she knew not that her father expected other guests; and there was something in the appearance of the two horsemen now rapidly approaching the steep ascent, totally unlike that of any of the visitors she had been accustomed to see beneath her father's roof. It would be an ungracious act to enter into any description of the horsemen who now reined up their steeds below the arch of the gateway, before we had in a more personal manner introduced the charming Marion to our readers, for " when a lady's in the case," &c, &c. ; so we will leave our readers no longer in doubt as to the relation ship existing between the fan: Marion and the Chieftain of Menteith; as they have, perhaps, already inferred, she was the daughter of the Laird.

Here, however, we must diverge a little, and give some account of the chieftain himself, the present owner of the broad lands surrounding the domain. Malcolm Menteith was the youngest son of the late chieftain, and had early Test his paternal roof to seek distinction in the wars of Spain, for at that time England was at peace with all the world. He had enrolled himself in the ranks of Don Carlos, and was distinguished, even in that brief career, by a spirit of bravery and daring courage. The campaign ended, he was again thrown upon the world, but having now inherited a considerable fortune from his mother, a sister of the father of Lockiel, he became enamoured of the climate and customs of Spain, rendered still more seductive by the love of a beautiful girl, whose affections he had gained whde quartered in one of the small towns near her mountain home, he determined on making Spain his home, and was soon wedded to Inez di Gonzalva, whose beauty was her only dower, descended though she was from a grandee of Spain.

The only drawback to their happiness was the difference in thenreligious creeds, for Malcolm had inherited a strong attachment to the Episcopal Church of Scotland, while Inez had been reared a rigid Catholic. Bhnded by his passion for Inez, Malcolm had concealed his true opinions, and it was not untd after thenunion that the parents of Inez discovered they had given thendaughter to one whom they esteemed a heretic. Malcolm's devotion to their beloved daughter, however, soon led them to hope he might be persuaded to embrace her faith, and, had she hved, such might probably have been the case, but a brief period of two years terminated their happiness, and Menteith was left a sorrowing widower, with one son and a httle daughter, whose birth had been followed by her mother's death. About this time, Angus, the elder brother of Menteith, was drowned by the upsetting of a boat on Loch Ness, which so affected the health and spirits of the aged chieftain, his father, that his heart yearned for his surviving son, and with trembling hands he wrote to entreat his return to his native land, and receive at once his inheritance and his blessing.

Malcolm, whose love for his country had never been extinguished, though in a manner so long expatriated, gladly obeyed the parental summons, and his affectionate and filial devotion, joined to the infantde caresses of his chddren, contributed so much to the happiness of the old chieftain that several years were added to his life. Menteith, the head and chief of his clan, possessor of a noble property, was a different man from the Malcolm who had early left his father's hall, a careless youth, seeking only to gain himself a name in the world's page. His pride of ancestry had been increased rather than diminished by his union with Inez, and the dream of his present ambition was to budd again the glory of his ancient house in the person of his son Angus, the name by which the chieftains of Menteith had been famous for so many generations.

The year following the death of the old laird, Malcolm had devoted to a partial restoration of the castle, and forming gardens and pleasure grounds more in accordance with the tastes and habits of the age we live in. Accompanied by his son, now a youth of fourteen, and his little daughter Marion, the pride and darling of his heart, Menteith spent a few years in travel, giving his children the advantages of a good education, combined with a love of the arts, and a taste for refinement, and love of all that is beautiful in nature. The year preceding their return to Scot land, his sister, who had early married a soldier of fortune of the name of Clavering, and after many years of wandering, had been left a widow with an only daughter, accompanied Menteith and his son and daughter, and his nephew Alan Cameron, into Spain, as the chieftain desired his chddren should revisit the land of their birth.

The ties of family, however, had long been broken, for the parents of Inez were dead, and her only brother settled, with many of his compatriots, at Rio Janeiro. As we should not be consulting the feelings of Marion by introdiicing her at the end of a chapter, we must beg our readers will reserve their impatience, and be content for a short time to form their own ideal of the charming girl who wid form one of the principal subjects of the following pages.

Chapter II

Maiden with the meek brown eyes, In whose orbs a shadow lies, Like the dusk in evening skies!" — Longfellow, Marion, or we should say " Inez Marion," for she bore her mother's name in conjunction with that of her father's sister, Mrs. Clavering. " Marion," as her father loved to call her, from its being, as he said, the only Scottish feature belonging to her, so completely did she resemble her mother in person, was rather under than above the middle height, with a figure more fully developed than is usual at her age, which at the period we speak of was just eighteen. She had the large almond shaped dark eyes, and raven hair of her country, with a clear olive complexion, through which, when animated by pleasure or roused by passion, her southern origin and impulsive nature so quickly betraying her into either, the mantling blush gave a richness of co-. louring rarely seen in our colder clime.

Her seatures were well defined, and her short upper lip disclosed a row of pearly teeth. Perhaps the most remarkable features in her face were her eyebrows, which were straight and fine across the low broad brow; then curving softly towards the outward corners of the eyes, seemed to add to their length, the deep black lashes which fringed the eyelids were thick and long, giving that shade of langour so much prized in southern climes. Her feet and hands were small, and exquisitely formed, and her carriage had that graceful movement, for which the daughters of Andalusia are so celebrated. There was music in her voice and step ; — indeed, a more attractive or lovely creature than Marion Menteith, at the period we speak of, was rarely seen. We must now return to the strangers at the gate : they were evidently master and servant.

The elder stranger, though somewhat singular and even grotesque in his appearance, had the bearing of a gentleman of good birth, which was easily re cognised by Marion, in the manner in which he raised his cap to salute her, and the deep reverential bow which followed this salutation. At this instant Alan Cameron sprang eagerly down the steps of the turret, and clasping the hand of the stranger, who had now alighted from his horse, and given the reins to his groom, exclaimed, in a tone of delighted surprize, " Sir Mike Donovan, this is indeed an unexpected pleasure;" then turning to Marion, who had quickly followed him down the steps, he said, " Allow me, my dear cousin, to have the honour of presenting to you Sir Mike Donovan, a brave cavalier, and one of your father's earliest friends, as well as his brother-in-arms."

Marion, with a graceful inclination of her head, and at the same time presenting her hand, replied, " Sir Mike Donovan, I bid you welcome in my father's name," The old knight at this took her hand, and bowing over it as he raised it respectfully to his lips, with all the gallantry of a courtier, said, in the rich brogue of the county of Galway, " By my faith, young lady, if your father's welcome be as gracious as your own beautiful smile, it's well content old Mike Donovan will be." At this instant chimed in from the wild-looking creature, half man and half boy, who had stood staling at the blushing girl with unmistakeable admiration, in tones a trifle broader than those of his master, " By my troth, Sir Mike, you may as well say there'll be two of us contint any how." Whde Alan and his cousin are conducting the newly-arrived guest to the castle, we will in as few words as possible give some account of the gallant old cavalier and his grotesque-looking squire — his " Sancho Panza," as he sometimes called Tim Doolan, the groom, the valet, and whatever else his master chose ; and faithfully the poor fedow served him, though he sometimes presumed on the good nature of Sir Mike.

Tim Doolan was the son of the knight's foster brother, — a tie which is ever warmly acknowledged in the Emerald Isle, and which accounts for the indulgence with which he was treated. Besides many other good qualities possessed by Tim, was a large share of ready wit, which rendered him very acceptable to his master, who, like ad his com patriots, had a keen relish for everthing humorous. Sir Mike Donovan had volunteered into the ranks of Don Carlos at the same period as the chieftain of Menteith, and there was just that difference between them which is so often found to cement a friendship where perhaps too great a simi larity might have clashed. Sh- Mike Donovan was of an old Milesian famdy, and boasted of being descended from one of the kings of Ireland ; but, as Tim Doolan naively expressed it, " he could not bother himself to remember which of them."

Sir Mike had but a small estate saved out of the ruins of his father's and grandfather's reckless extrava gance, and, with more prudence than most of his countrymen, contented himself with leading a bachelor's life. He was a keen sportsman, sang a good song, and was suspected of having more claret in his cellar than had ever paid duty to her Ma jesty's revenue. In addition to these social qualities, Sir Mike was really a kind-hearted man, ever ready to do a good turn to others, even though it should cost him some trouble : his greatest difficulty, or " snare," as he called it, seemed to lie in the repugnance to say " No," to any demand on his assistance or co-operation, and this not unfrequently led him into serious dilemmas. To sum up all, he was, as Tim said, " a raal good Catholic : none of your unbelieving Protestants, who would as soon say the Creed backwards as forwards, for all the good it would do them."

Had Tim been aware that the family his master had come to visit were some of those " heretics," it would have puzzled him sorely how to act. Now Tim loved visiting as well as his master, and was generally as welcome a guest. "By the holy St. Michael," said Tim, with a knowing wink, " mayhap to faaste with these heretics will only be a trifle more of penance, which any how i'll be sure to desarve." Tim always swore by the patron saint of his master. " For who knows," said he, with a cunning leer, " whether he mayn't be doing us botlra,, good turn under one?" With the shrewd suggestion of a trifle more or less of penance, Tim satisfied his conscience, and contrived to make himself very contented during his sojourn at Menteith Castle. Our readers will no doubt like a sketch of his personal appearance, which was quite as original as his manner.

He was very short in stature, with a large head, covered with thick matted hair, in colour and quality greatly resembling an old door mat, something between ochre and a dingy brown. His eyes were grey and piercing, with a strong inclination to squint ; large ears, which stood out from his head, as if always listening ; a broad chest, with short arms, that never seemed to hang close to his sides ; short legs, so much bowed in by constant riding that they gave you the idea of his never being able to straighten them. His mouth was wide and large, but redeemed by teeth so dazzlingly white and regular, that the proudest duchess in the land might have coveted them. Add to this description a ruddy complexion and good-natured countenance, and you have a sac-simile of Tim Doolan. His dress was as eccentric as his person.

Tim had evidently succeeded to the habihments of a man twice his size : his hat might have belonged to the Irish giant, for it half covered his face, and the sdver-lace band which decorated it had, through the exertion of riding, slipped halfway up the hat, giving it very much the appearance of an electioneering ribbon, only lacking the name of the candidate. He had on a long and heavy drab over-coat, with plated buttons as large as a crown piece ; a red plush waistcoat, garnished in the same elaborate manner; and yellow corded " shorts," which, by the way, seemed the only part of his attire that belonged to him. A pair of huge vol. i. c top boots completed his costume; and whatever others might think of Tim, he was perfectly satisfied with his own appearance, and pulled up his collars, which corresponded in size with the rest of his garments, with a jaunty air of self-admiration.

Chapter III

" Bessie Bell and Mary Gray, They were twa bonnie lasses."— Scotch Song. The arrival of Sh Mike Donovan and his trusty squire, at Menteith Castle had for a while dis tracted the attention of Marion from her impatience under the delay of the party from Falconbridge, but now, having done all that politeness and hospitality dictated as a welcome to the guest of her father, and having delivered Tim Doolan over to the care and good fellowship of the servant's hall, her thoughts reverted to the party of equestrians so eagerly watched for. Marion now flew back to the turret, where she found her cousin Alan had already taken his post. This time they had not to look in vain, for two ladies on horse back were seen entering the glen from the road though the valley, whom they quickly recognised as Mabel and Ldias Balfour.

A gentle man was walking by the side of the latter' s pony, c leading his own mettlesome steed, which apparently was not pleased with this constrained movement — this could be no other than Marion's brother Angus. As they mounted the rising ground leading to the Castle, and came within a hundred yards of the Turret, Marion gave a scream of delight, and clapped her hands so loudly, that all the party looked up, then waved their handkerchiefs in acknowledgment. Marion's merry laugh had waked all the echoes of the glen, — so clear and ringing was her voice. Mabel and Lilias Balfour were the daughters of a Lowland laird, who had only recently succeeded by inheritance to the old mansion and estate of Falconbridge. Hugh Balfour, the father of the two girls who were now approaching the castle, was, like the chieftain of Menteith, a younger son.

He had been sent at a very early age to India, to seek his fortune, and had found the world a hard taskmaster. He had known great reverses, and many hardships, and met with little that could be considered gifts of fortune. His numerous failures and disappointments had soured him, and given him a darker view of human nature than, perhaps, his natural disposition would have prompted. He had been nurtured a strict and bigoted Presbyterian, and, though separated at so early an age from all the ties of home and kindred, the peculiar doo-mas of his creed clung to him in ad their severity. He was an austere man, and few had ever seen him smile ; yet he was not without strong affections, which centred, however, solely in his own imme diate family. He had no general sympathies, con sequently had few friends : and, at the age of sixty five, Hugh Balfour led a lonely, isolated life, with out local interests or attachments, excepting as regarded his children, and a maiden sister, who feared as much as she loved the stern old man.

With the heritage of his ancestors he had also inherited their hatred of Episcopalians. His hall was hung with the grim portraits of the Old Covenanters, and he adhered strictly to the disci pline and gloomy religion of that period. On his return from India, having at length realized a moderate competence, he had married the daughter of the pastor who had succeeded to the duties and Lowland Manse of the parish where his boyish days had been passed. Mabel Bruce was a gentle being, and her sweet and guileless nature, added to her extreme beauty might have softened the stern character of her husband, had she lived : but after a few years she fell into delicate health, and her naturally fragile constitution sank into decline without any apparent cause. It was at this time that "Aunt Maggie," as she was called, came to reside with her brother and take charge of his " mitherless bairns."

Kindly and lovingly did she watch over them, often shielding them from the harsh temper of their father, who had felt his young wife's death as another instance of what he considered the hard dealings of Providence towards him. The famdy had lived in much seclusion for several years after the death of Mrs. Balfour, and every year seemed to widen the distance between Hugh Balfour and his fellow men. It was only at the earnest solicitation of their aunt that the two girls, now growing up into womanhood, were permitted to accompany her to Edinburgh, the scene of her former home, and where she now proposed remaining a year, in order to give her nieces the opportunity of cultivating those tastes and accomplishments suited to their age and station. They were both gifted with great musical talent, though as yet it had only shown itself in hymns and old Cameronian songs, for thenfather had no taste for lighter melodies, or Jacobin airs, and dancing he styled equady as one of Satan's devices to catch souls, and strictly interdicted both.

The year in Edinburgh only flew too swiftly, and it was with regret they left the city to return to their secluded home and the monotonous life they had led for so many years. Mabel, the eldest daughter, who had just com pleted her eighteenth year when she returned from Edinburgh, soon ceased to sigh for the variety and comparative gaiety of their life in the capital. She was of a more thoughtful nature than her aunt and sister, and was keenly alive to the duty she owed her father, who seemed to have felt the absence of his chddren more deeply than they expected, so rarely had he ever indulged in any demonstration of feeling towards them. Mabel, with the generosity of an unselfish nature, devoted herself entirely to her father; was his constant companion, anticipating, if possible, his every wish, and neglecting all those pursuits and tastes she so dearly prized, if they clashed in any way with her self-imposed task.