The confessor. A novel

Chapter I

O England ! — Model to thy inward greatness Like little body, with a mighty heart, — What mights' st thou do, that honour would thee do, Were all thy children kind and natural ! But see thy fault. France hath in thee found out A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills With treacherous crowns. — Shakspeare: Henry V. On the close of a beautiful autumnal day, in the year 1640, the sun was setting on the Scottish borders with more than his usual briUiancy, and shedding on wood, bank, and river, the harmony of Nature's hues, and the tranquillity of Nature's voiceless imagery. But throughout the two coun tries which this peaceful scene divided, the trum pet call of faction had already sounded ; and the VOL. I. B sword was unsheathed, which was not suffered to rest, till the hands that wielded it had consum mated the sorroAV and shame of the land that could arm her sons against each other, by turn ing its point, even unto the death, against her anointed Monarch.

King Charles, with his attendants, at this time lay at York, engaged in that ill-omened attempt at accommodation with the insurgent Scots, which terminated so fruitlessly. It served but to exas perate the intemperate zeal of the Covenanters, amongst whom were doubtless many who were sincere in the expression of their fears, as re garded the attempt of Charles to impose upon them a liturgy ; while the greater number, guided only by ambition and love of independence, to gether with that hatred of superior power, so fitly placed in the mouth of him who deemed it " better to reign in hell than serve in heaven" — took advantage of pious scruples, founded on ignorance and fanaticism, to identify the cause of religion with that of the covenant : to render their zeal for God himself, the pretext for rebeUion against their sovereign.

At the commencement of these troubles, several of the Scottish nobles, firmly attached to the king and his government, had been induced to lend their support to what seemed to them but a just claim on the part of a nation to regulate her own church, and resist foreign dictation ; and when the violences to which their party had recourse compelled the Government also to resort to arms, these nobles were apt, in the excitement of the period, to justify themselves for their coun tenance of rebeUion, under the plea that they were oppressed sufferers for the truth, simply defending themselves from the compulsory esta blishment of idolatry. Yet, there had been a lingering repugnance to strike the first blow: — that blow which must stamp them for ever as traitors to their king ; and many were the negotiations, many the petitions for redress, which preceded the outbreak of popular resentment.

Cbarles had yielded to the representations of his subjects, to an extent that any of his predecessors would have deemed incre dible ; and his concessions only produced demands the more unreasonable and presumptuous, as indi cative of a want of power on his part to enforce his previous decrees. b2 Still, when negotiation had seemingly ceased, and petitions were at an end, there had been, as we have said, amongst all who valued their coun try, her laws, and her liberties, an almost insur mountable reluctance to strike the first blow. At the period, however, where our narrative commences, the action at Newburn had taken place; and the main body of the Scotch army, after the taking of Newcastle, was on the point of advancing upon the royal party, well organized and ably commanded. At this crisis, the King consented to treat with the insurgents, and him self proceeded to York for the purpose.

All travelling on the frontiers of the two countries was, of course, extremely precarious ; and, as at this early period of the great struggle, the costumes which afterwards pre-eminently distinguished the contending parties, had not been decidedly adopted, men often fell into error and danger, from the difficulty of discerning friends from foes. It was, then, as the last rays of the sun were reflected from the silver waters of the Tweed, that two travellers arrived at a small hostelry on its banks. The long range of the Cheviot Hills terminated within a few hundred paces of their halting -place, and on its last eminence were picturesquely situated the decaying remains of a small chapel, long desecrated. The building, in the anti-papal fury of later times, had been aban doned to the use of the neighbouring shepherds, who were accustomed to kindle there a beacon light, when the deep snows of the northern winter rendered all traces of the surrounding country indiscernible.

In the dress or equipage of the traveller or his attendant, there was none of that display which distinguished the cavaliers of the period ; neither, on the other hand, could there have been detected in the smallest degree, a forced affectation of plainness. But the remark which must have first struck an observer, with regard to the foremost horseman, was his singular grace in riding, and the perfect subjection, in which, without any apparent effort, he held the high-blooded animal on which he was mounted. Little of his figure was distinguishable, until, arriving at the gate of the paved court which fronted the hostelry, he threw aside his tartan travelling-cloak, and, dis mounting, cast the bridle to his attendant. The stranger was of the middle height, or, perhaps, something more ; but his Umbs were so exquisitely proportioned, as to give indication of great physical strength.

His countenance was noble and manly, and the glance of his eyes, the colour of which inclined to grey, was piercing in no common degree. The nose was high and rather aqufline, with the curved nostril, which adds so greatly to expression in the human coun tenance ; and his lips, the upper of which was shaded by a short moustache, were full, and firmly set together. The colour of the hair, which fell in clusters around his head and neck, was a rich dark brown, verging on the auburn ; his complexion, naturally light, was tinged by exposure to sun and weather, and his colour varied rapidly with the emotion of the moment. Altogether, his carriage and deportment conveyed that idea which his contemporaries expressed by the term " princely." He wore a doublet of dark coloured velvet, entirely unadorned; his only weapon being a Spanish rapier, which hung from a splendid bal drick.

The falling band at the throat and the cuffs were of plain linen. A rich satin hatband encircled his high crowned beaver, but the usual plume of feathers had been laid aside. His age might be thirty or upwards, and it required no second glance to convince the beholder that to him the game of life was no novelty ; and that his years, whatever their number, had yielded their full harvest of incident and vicissitude. " How caUest thou this tavern, dame ?" said he to the hostess, who, in haste to welcome a guest of so different a caste from her usual customers, was advancing from the door to receive him. The woman pointed to a sign-post which stood in front of the court, and answered with a deep drawn and very audible sigh, " This poor house, master, takes its name from yonder godly man, of blessed memory."

The traveller raised his clear, penetrating eyes in the direction of the sign-post. The board which hung thereon, painted on both sides, exhibited the figure of a tall, emaciated man, dressed in a suit of black originally, (which had, however, been tastefully varied with sundry trimmings,) who was standing in what appeared to be a beer cask, or barrel, which reached nearly up to his middle. Around and about the butt were groups of smaU figures, white, black, and brown; of which one was elevated pre-eminently above the rest, and was also considerably their superior in dimension, so that they presented some analogy in appearance to a hen and chickens. The figure in the cask was throwing out his arms with great ease and freedom. " Is it Diogenes?" said the stranger, when he had thrown a cursory glance upon the picture.

" Alack ! no — master ; no such wicked thing. As if an honest woman would call her house by an awfu' papistical name like that ! Woe is me ! that I should have lived to see the day when the pious and learned John Knox, preaching to Queen Mary and all her court, should be taken for a Popish idolatry I" " I beg the Reformer's pardon, and to make him amends, I will lodge in his house, which I perceive is the one I was in search of, for the night. Is this the way to the parlour, good dame ? " And without waiting for reply from his mystified hostess, the traveller walked for ward towards the room aUotted to visitors of a better order than those who commonly frequented the outer apartment of the little hostelry. Here, on entering, he found that he was not alone. Close to the open lattice of a window, which admitted the last rays of the setting sun, sate a youth whose intensely thoughtful and somewhat melancholy expression of countenance interested the stranger at once, accustomed as was the latter to every variety of character and condition.

Apparently engrossed in deep reflec tion, the youth remained motionless, his face buried in his hands ; yet one glance upwards as the traveller entered sufficed to display the full dark eye, the firm decision of the mouth, slightly relaxed as a salutation passed between the visitors, and the pale forehead and cheeks, with the marked brows. Notwithstanding these characteristics, an ordi nary eye would have detected nothing in the appearance of the silent and unobtrusive youth under its observation, with his chequered mantle buckled round him, his kilt of common grey wool len, and his blue cap, surmounted by a sprig of holly, lying beside him, beyond that of a country lad in quest of pasturage for his flocks, or perhaps bound on an expedition to win the heart of some Northumbrian maiden. b Such, however, was not the impression which our traveller received, on having obtained a second view of his companion's countenance, by a slight remark, which of course elicited a reply.

After this the younger guest relapsed into his reverie. Which of us has not felt the constraint and difficulty of that position, which places us in con tact with an individual, whose manner and appear ance excite our interest, and whose reserve we feel that it were a kindness to overcome, while we ourselves are liable to the imputation of obtru siveness in attempting to urge his confidence ! Impelled by an unaccountable sympathy, and by an impression that he had somewhere met his companion before ; actuated also by a desire to penetrate the disguise in which he beUeved him to be enveloped, the elder traveller advanced to wards the window, and addressed him in a friendly tone. " I know not," said he, " whether this scene be more familiar to thee than to myself; but if it be so, perhaps thou canst tell me the name and purpose of yonder tower."

" It is the ruined chapel of St. Stephen, which you see yonder," replied the youth, without alluding to the former part of the question ; " and since the late troubles, has been used, I believe, as a military post of observation." At the mention of the chapel of St. Stephen, the other gave a quick glance from the casement : but pursuing his inquiry, he resumed, — " And previously to the late troubles, was the chapel used for worship ? Pardon the inquiry if impertinent, but, from your apparent interest in the scene, I should guess that this is not your first visit to the spot?" At the period of our story, a question involving even remotely the furiously disputed questions of faith or mode of worship, so interwoven in the minds of men with those locahties in which they had been celebrated, might also involve much personal risk and danger.

This the youth weU knew, and regarding the querist with a look of quiet scrutiny, he answered, — " My recoUections of this spot are so very remote, that I am at a loss to give them form or consistency, even to myself; and you will pardon me, if my intercourse with the world, limited as it has been, together with the present state of parties, has rendered me cautious of placing confidence in strangers ; though, in truth, your bearing would appear to warrant it. But my story concerns others as weU as myself, and there is that in your countenance which assures me you were not the man to counsel to a breach of trust, even though the trust be but implied." "Well, keep thy secret, good youth; and since thou wilt not aid me in my researches amongst these Cheviot Hills, I must needs explore them for myself."

So saying, the traveller wrapped himself in his tartan, and wandered forth in the now dusky evening, following the direction of the chapel. A circuitous path, winding round the hill from the foot to the summit, and passing on its way a small rustic cottage, led to the porch of the deserted budding. As the footsteps of the stranger rang upon its pavement, and the hollow echo repeated the clanking sound, he felt, for an instant, startled. But soon all other impressions were lost in the absorbing interest of the scene he sought. Reclining against the rudely-carved stone which had been the altar in former days, her pale face and long dark tresses more strikingly contrasted by the reflection of the yellow light which beamed through a remnant of stained glass in the southern window, stood a young girl, whose attitude and whole appearance, but for the tears which moist ened her cheeks and lashes, might have beto kened a statue rather than a human being.

She started on the entrance of the traveUer, and hastdy coUecting her mantle and hood, she ad vanced mechanicaUy; then stopped, as if uncertain. On gaining a glimpse of his countenance, she uttered an ejaculation of surprise and con sternation. " Now may Heaven aid us !" she exclaimed. " Oh ! teU me, what brought you here ?" " ' My horse, my love, my horse,' " replied he, gaily. " But why so pale and terrified, my Mar garet ? My presence was not wont to make thee tremble, nor to chase the roses from those cheeks. When last we met, they gathered but the deeper tint at my approach." " Oh, Graham !" replied she, " why have you betrayed me into this? I knew not even that you were in Britain, and was prepared for a far different interview. But not time must be lost. Fly for your life, as you love me, or have ever loved me, fly ; for my uncle, your mortal enemy, meets me here this night, and I look for his instant arrival."

" First satisfy me, dearest one, that Graham is still to thee all that once he was ; and then let his deadliest foe appear : he were right welcome." "Alas!" she said, "those days of hope and hap piness were but a dream, and it has passed away. The sentence of fate has gone forth against us, and mark me, Graham, we may not be united — nay, more, after this night we must never meet again." M " And what power on earth shall divide us ?" said the cavalier ; " I had almost said what power in Heaven?" " And there you would have erred," she an swered ; " for it is the will of Heaven we should part. In me you love a devoted follower of the Church of Rome." Surprised for the moment, but not confounded, he replied in a light tone: " And for thy sake I would love the Church of Rome itself — ay, or of Constantinople either.

But tell me, Margaret," he added, after an in stant's reflection, "tell me, I entreat thee, the story thou hast hitherto withheld from me. Who is this uncle, my enemy, as thou affirmest, and thy own, if I may guess by thy dread of his ap proach." "First say," she answered, as desirous to delay the intelligence — " say how you received warning that I was to meet him here to night: an appoint ment I believed secret from all but himself." " I was directed hither by an old beldame, whom I encountered last night as I was taking advantage of the clear moonlight to speed my way towards the Borders, in fulfilment of the commission with which my country has intrusted me, for treating with his Majesty at York. The weird woman bade me inquire in this direction for the deserted chapel of St. Stephen; and there, at the hour of sunset, she promised that I should meet thee.

Though little of a convert to the popular faith in inspirations, judge, my Margaret, whether this unsought warning, however repugnant to proba biUty, could be thrown away." " What was she like, this prophetess ?" in quired Margaret, " and did she teU you more ?" " Simply what I have related, excepting that she promised to announce by a signal when her wisdom should deem fit that I should leave thee. tf In her general appearance there was little to dis tinguish her from any other countrywoman, though her accent was slightly foreign. In her conduct perhaps, rather more, for she persisted in refusing at my hand the small gratuity which her sweet pronunciation of thy name had won her." " Strange !" observed the maiden, musingly — " such a person I met but two days since in tra versing the lowlands ; and it was on the evening of her accosting me that I lost the despatches, the failure of which causes me to dread my uncle's anger, — awful indeed his anger is!"

" Do not fear it, beloved," replied he. " This benevolent enchantress may find means to keep thy relation at a distance, as she has already discovered marvellous skill in bringing us together. But, be the event as it may, with me at thy side, what hast thou to dread? Probably, too, thou over-ratest both his power and his malice. But enough of this; — I have satisfied thy inquiry, I pray thee, Margaret, delay no longer to answer mine." " It is hard to me to tell thee, Graham, that even thy presence will not protect me : — that for the safety of both, this last sad, sweet, interview must terminate. To be brief; thou hast known me hitherto but as Marguerite d'Amville, the name which I bore at the court of France: it was my mother's; and the Lord Cardinal insisted that, with her large inheritance, her name should also descend to me.

My father, a Protestant, and a Scotchman, had died some time before. That dear father — he was, Graham, the brother of your enemy, the Marquis of Hamilton ! " " Of Hamilton?" repeated her lover, " and he is to meet thee here to-night ? " " Even so," she said, " and here he expects me to deliver to him letters from the Cardinal de Bichelieu, intrusted to me, on my quitting France, by my uncle's desire." " The traitor !" muttered the cavalier. " And thou, Margaret, thou hast suffered thyself to be made the medium in this treacherous correspondence?" " Alas! more probably its victim," she replied; " but the letters, as I told you, have been stolen from my charge. I have long believed that, respecting myself, some sinister design existed, in which the writer and receiver of these letters were agreed.

No sooner had you quitted Paris than I received from Richelieu an arbitrary com mand to discontinue all correspondence with you, together with a hint, couched in terms of advice, that the French king would consent to my alli ance with none but a French subject. A harsh letter foUowed from my uncle, the Lord Hamil ton, confirming this prohibition of your suit. Judge, then, of the danger of our lingering together. " " Of that presently, beloved one. But where fore art thou now in Britain? What scheme have these two wily statesmen in making thee their envoy ? " Margaret hesitated, but at length, in a voice half stifled by grief, she repUed, " You have the right to ask that question, and I wiU teU you all, though I would gladly have been spared the recital of the particulars it involves, above all to you.

Our parting, Graham— dost thou remember it? — was rendered sadder by the ignorance in which my surviving parent remained, that we were pledged to each other. Fearing to increase the malady which was consuming her, I withheld all intelligence which might cause emotion, and hoped, from day to day, that her recovery would put an end to my enforced reserve. I greatly erred, but I have greatly suffered. The crisis of the disease arrived, and left me an orphan, my secret untold, and myself bound by a promise which prevented me from having recourse to the protector who now was aU the world to me. Thus, though highly aUied and richly endowed, I was more desolate than the poorest maiden, who, with a pure faith and a clear conscience, may give her hand to the companion of her daily labour. This solemn promise, — dare I tell it you? — it was, that I would never wed a Protestant.

Forgive me, pity me, and reflect that the request of a dying parent brooks no denial. — I gave the pledge. " She told me how through life calamity had pursued herself, in consequence of her union with a heretic. Persecuted by his family, she and my father had sought peace in the shelter of these hills, and for some years they dwelt in the cottage you passed in your ascent hither. At this altar my sainted mother daily offered her devotions, and here she taught me the doctrines and worship of the true church, since, in more populous dis tricts, the open celebration of the Mass exposed ■but — blessed Mary ! — what means that ? — the appointed signal— doubtless ! — and you must go. — You know the worst. — Farewell !" Her exclamation was caused by the sudden appearance, on a point of the hill opposite to that on which they stood, of a bright meteoric light, which shot high into the air, and remained burning steadily and brilliantly, so that its rays penetrated even the little chapel on the neighbouring eminence.

The latter was separated only by a deep but very narrow ravine, from the summit on which the beacon was kindled, so that in the darkness, which was now setting in, a traveller might, without some such guide, mistake the one for the other. The cavalier regarded the beacon attentively for a few seconds, then spoke. " It may be as thou sayest, dearest, the token that I should leave thee; but, unprotected as thou art, I carry by my side a surer token that I should stay. Besides, if Hamilton be on his way, this beacon, whatever be its purport, must perplex him, perhaps mislead. So use the precious mo ments, dear one, and finish thy tale, already too long — or too short." The trembling girl still urged the peril of prolonging the interview, and besought him to depart. At length, soothed by his arguments and en treaties, she resumed her story ; but she spoke rapidly and with less connectedness.

" My father, did I tell thee ? perished at Ro chelle. He was wearied of inaction, and disap pointed in his hope of making my mother a convert to his creed, and in consequence he joined that iU-fated enterprise which offered employment to his ardent spirit. Thus we were in the power of his elder brother, whose malice against my mother took the colour of zeal against popery, until his persecutions drove her to seek refuge once more in France. The reason of this un generous conduct on the part of the Marquis of Hamilton was, as I have heard, an ancient grudge which he bore her for slighting his addresses, in favour of those of his younger brother, during her residence at the court of Henrietta Maria. The king interfered, contrary to his custom with regard to the foreign attendants of the queen, and endeavoured to advance the pretensions of the Marquis; and my mother's final choice caused the sovereign's displeasure, and the exile of both her her and my father from court.

Of the events of my mother's life previously to her marriage I know nothing, for she forbade all allusion to them. She was, however, as she herself informed me when circumstances compelled us to adopt the title, an heiress of the house of d'Amville ; and she frequently spoke of some individual as my future protector, though it appeared she dared not to reveal to me his name. Here, then, is my calamity. In the conflict between conscience and motherly love, she gave me this jewel, which forms, as you see, the half of a clasp, with the assurance, which even then trembled on her lips, that if I met with him who owned the corresponding jewel, forming the other half, he had a right to my affection and confidence. What that right is, I know not. " Thus, when recently pressed by the French minister to an alliance which was intended to enrich one of his creatures, I obeyed the harsh summons of my guardian, Lord Hamilton, to return and place myself under his protection.

Richelieu suffered my departure; perhaps as an unsuspected medium for the conveyance of his letters to my uncle, — perhaps also partly as relying on Lord Hamilton's promises to compel my acquiescence in his views. " And now, Graham, this has been a long tale and a sad one — but you would have it. Think but of Margaret henceforth as one who once loved you, and charge her, if you will, with weakness, with superstition, with foUy — with anything but fickleness. And now we must say fareweU for ever." " That wdl we never do — no, Margaret. — I swear by all that is sacred, that as long as we both Uve, unless you should have vowed fidelity to another, never will I cease to entreat, to implore you not to sacrifice your own peace and mine to a false scruple; for no subsequent promise can annul the vows you made to me — and to a mistaken duty; for the confessor, and not your dying parent, was probably the originator of that request.

As to this other individual, whoever he be, he cannot have the right to your confidence that I have — your accepted, your affianced husband. Tell me of a claim on earth equal to that, and I release you." " The claims of my conscience, of my faith, of the Holy Church, forbid that I should satisfy yours," she said. "Oh! tempt me not, tempt me not to enter into that most sacred of all en gagements without the hallowed influence of a parent's blessing, and against the solemn voice of the Holy Church. Leave me — oh, leave me !" " In darkness and in danger, and alone !" ex claimed he. And on the instant his words seemed verified, for while he spoke, the beacon, which had hitherto burned equally and steadily, fell, extin guished on the sudden ; and all around relapsed into gloom. Margaret shuddered, and faltering, laid her hand on the strong arm of her lover for support ; whilst heavy footsteps were heard advancing towards the porch, and in another instant two men entered the building.

One of them struck a light, which enabled the lovers to recognize the foremost as the Marquis of Hamilton. His companion, who held the torch, was a mean and ordinary looking man, with dark and sinister features : he wore the dress of a friar of the Dominican order, which served but poorly, however, to cover the vulgarity of his demeanour or the low cunning of his countenance. Lord Hamilton, on entering, immediately strode iHE CONFESSOR. 25 forward to the spot where stood his pale and trem bUng niece supported by his well known foe. As he approached, she fell prostrate at his feet, ex claiming, in the impulse of excited terror, — " Revenge yourself on me, but spare him." Involuntarily the cavalier drew out his rapier ; but Hamilton, after collecting himself in a fearful pause, which seemed to carry life or death for all present, retreated a few paces, and laying aside his weapon, smded that bitter smile which conveys, more surely than the fiercest words, the presage of misery and ruin.

" Methinks," said he, " amongst friends and relatives, these weapons can be of little service. I give thee good even, Earl of Montrose. Our sovereign liege the king hath looked for thee at York these two days, impatient for thy pro posals from his rebel subjects. Knowest thou of news?" " Of none with which your lordship is not already probably better acquainted than myself," answered the Earl of Montrose, for it was he. " But strange news indeed I shall have to relate should I longer behold the Marquis of Hamilton an unmoved spec tator of this fair girl's distress. Methinks the VOL. I. c parental authority which he affects, if not his courtesy, might teach a bearing something more humane than thus to suffer her to kneel at his feet unnoticed. Margaret, I entreat thee, rise, and remember thou owest no duty to this gentleman, save as his conduct merits it."