Domestic stories

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The Last of the Ruthvens ..... l

The Italian's Daughtee . ' . . . .71

Part I

" Davie Caldeewood ! worthy tutor and master ! — Davie Caldervvood!" The old man made no answer to the call, which he scarce seemed even to hear. He sat not far from the shadow of his college walls, watching the little silvery ripples of the Cam. His doctor's robes hid a homely dress of gray ; his large feet, dangling over the river bank, were clumsily shod, and his white close-cropped hair gave him a Puritanical look, when compared with the cavalier air of the two youths who stood behind him.

" Davie Caldervvood — wake up, man! News! — great news. And from Scotland ! " added the elder lad in a cautious whisper.

It pierced the torpor of the old man : he started up with trembling eagerness.

" Eh, my dear bairn! — I mean, my Lord — my Lord Gowrie!"

" Hush!" said the youth, bitterly; "let not the birds of the aiv carry that sound. Was it not crushed out of the earth a year ago ? Call me William Ruthven, or else plain William, till with my good sword I win back my title and my father's name."

B

"Willie — Willie!" murmured the younger brother, in anxious warning.

"He's feared — wee Patrick !" laughed William Euthven. " He thinks that walls have ears and rivers tongues, and that every idle word I say will go with speed to the vain, withered, old hag in London or to daft King Jamie in Edinburgh ! He thinks he shall yet see brother Willie's love-locks floating from the top of the Tolbooth beside those of winsome Aleck and noble John."

The elder youth spoke in that bitter jesting tone used to hide keenest suffering ; but the younger one, a slight delicate boy of nineteen, clung to his brother's arm, and burst into tears.

"My Lord," said Master David Calderwood, "ye suld be rnair tender o' the lad — your ae brother — your mother's youngest bairn! Ye speak too lightly o' things awfu' to tell of — awfu' to mind. Master Patrick," he added, laying his hand gently on the boy's shoulder, " ye are thinking of ilk puir bodie given to the fowls of the air and to the winds of heaven at Stirling, Edinburgh, and Dundee ; but ye forget that while man dishonours the helpless dust, evermair God keeps the soul. Therefore think ye thus o' your twa brothers — the bonnie Earl of Gowrie, and noble Alexander Euthven — that are baith new with God."

As he spoke, the doctor's voice faltered, for nature had put into his lruge, ill-formed frame a gentle spirit ; and though he had fled from his country, and never beheld it since the year when his beloved lord, the first Earl of Gowrie, and father of these youths, perished on the scaffold, still, amidst all the learning and honours gained in his adopted home, David Calderwood carried in his bosom the same true Scottish heart. Perhaps it yearned more over the boy Patrick, in that he was, like his long-dead father, a quiet retiring student, given to all abstruse philosophy; whereas William, the elder, was a youth of bold spirit, who chafed under his forced retirement, and longed to tread in the footsteps of his ancestors, even though they led to the same bloody end.

THE LAST OF THE KUTHVENS. 6

"Well, good master," lie said, "when you have wept enough with Patrick, hear my news."

" Is it from your mother, the puir hunted dove, auld and worn, flying hither and thither about the ruins of her nest?"

Lord Gowrie's — let us give him this title, borne for three months, then attainted, but which yet fondly lingered on the lips of two faithful friends, David Calderwood and Lettice his daughter — Lord Gowrie's brow reddened, and instinctively he put his hand to where his sword should have hung. Then he muttered angrily, "Ah, I forget I am no earl, no Scottish knight, but only a poor Cambridge student. But," he added, his face kindling, " though the lightning has fallen on the parent trunk and its two brave branches, and though the rest are trodden under foot of men, still there is life — bold, fresh life in the old tree. It shall grow up and shelter her yet — ■

my noble, long-enduring mother — the first, the best, the

No ; she shall not be the last Lady Gowrie."

While speaking, a flush deeper even than that of youth's enthusiasm burned on the young Earl's cheek, and he looked up to the window where Lettice sat — sweet Lettice Calderwood, sweeter even than she was fair! She at a distance dimly saw the look; she met it with a frank smile — the smile a single-hearted, happy girl would cast willingly on all the world.

"The news — the news!" murmured old David. "My bairns, ye talk and ye rave, but ye dinna tell the news."

" My mother writes that the cloud seems passing from our house ; for the Queen Anne — she favours us still, despite her lord — the Queen Anne has secretly sent for our sister Beatrice to court."

" Beatrice, whom brother Alexander loved more than all of us," said Patrick. But the elder brother frowned, and rather harshly bade him hold his peace.

" Patrick is a child, and knows nothing," said the young Earl ; " but I know all. What care I for this weak Queen's lolly or remembered sin? What care I whether my bold

b2 brother Alexander encouraged her erring love or not, if through her means I creep back into my father's honoured seat? Oh, shame! that I can only creep; that I must enter Scotland like a thief, and steal in at the court holding on to a woman's robe, when I would fain come with fire and sword, to crush among the ashes of his own palace the murderer of my race!"

lie spoke with a resolute fierceness, strange in such a youth ; his black brows contracted, and his stature seemed to swell and grow. Simple Davie Calderwood looked and trembled.

"Ye 're a Ruthven, true and bold ; but ye 're no' like the Earl o' Gowrie. I see in your face your father's father — him that rose from his dying bed to be a shedder of blood — him that slew Eizzio in Holyrood !"

"And when I stand in Holyrood — whether I creep in there or force my way with my sword — I will kneel down on that bloody spot, and pray Heaven to make me, too, as faithful an avenger."

Then turning off his passion with a jest, as he often did, Lord Gowrie said gaily to his brother, " Come, Patrick, look not so pale ; tell our good master the rest of the news — that to-night, this very night, thou and I must start for bonnie Scotland!"

"Who is talking of bonnie Scotland?" said a girl's voice, young indeed, but yet touched with that inexplicable tone which never comes until life's first lessons have been learned — those lessons, whether of joy or grief, which leave in the child's careless bosom a woman's heart.

Lord Gowrie turned quickly and looked at Lettice, rapturously, yet bashfully, as a youth looks at his first idol. Then he repeated his intention of departure, though in a tone less joyous than before. Lettice heard without emotion, as it seemed, only that her two thin hands — she was a little creature, pale and slight — were pressed tightly together. There are some faces which, by instinct or by force of will, can hide all feeling, and then it is often the hands which tell the tale

THE LAST OF THE EUTHVENS. 5

—the fluttering fingers, the tight clench, the palms rigidly crushed together. But these tokens of suffering no one sees: no one saw them in Lettice Calderwood.

" Do ye no' grieve, my daughter, over these bairns that go from us ? Wae's me! but there's danger in ilka step to baith the lads."

" Are both going ? " asked Lettice; and her eye wandered towards the younger brother, who had moved a little apart; and stood by the little river, plucking leaves, and throwing them down the stream. " It is a long, severe journey, and Master Patrick has been so ill, and is not yet strong," added the girl, speaking with that grave dignity which, as mistress of the household, she sometimes assumed, and which made her seem far older than her years.

" Patrick is a weakly fellow, to be sure," answered Lord Gowrie, inwardly smiling over his own youthful strength and beauty ; " but I will take care of him — he will go with his brother."

" Yes," said Patrick, overhearing all, as it appeared. But he said no more : he was a youth of few words. Very soon Calderwood and the young Lord began to talk over the projected journey. But Patrick sat down by the river-bank, and began idly plucking and examining the meadow-flowers, just as if his favourite herbal and botanical science were the only interests of life.

"Patrick!" whispered Lettice's kind, sisterly voice. She sometimes forgot the difference of rank and blood in her tender compassion for the young proscribed fugitives who had been sent, in such utter destitution and misery, to her father's care — " Patrick !"

" Yes, Mistress Lettice."

" The evening closes cold ; take this !" She had brought a cloak to wrap round him.

"You are very kind, very thoughtful — like a sister." Saying this, he turned quickly, and looked at her. Lettice smiled. Whether gladsome or sorry, she could always bend her lips in that pale, grave smile.

" Weil, then, listen to me, as you always do — I being such a staid, wise old woman "

" Though a year younger than I."

" Still, listen to me. My Lord Gowrie, your brother, is rash and bold ; you must be prudent for the sake of both. When you go from us, Patrick, cease dreaming, and use your wisdom. You have indeed the strength and wisdom of a man ; it will be needed. Let not William bring you into peril ; take care of him — and of yourself."

Here the lips that spoke so womanly, grave, and calm, began to tremble ; and Lettice, hearing her name called, went away.

Patrick seemed mechanically to repeat to himself her last words, whether in pleasure, pain, or indifference, it was impossible to tell. Then his features relapsed into their usual expression — thoughtful, quiet, and passionless. An old-young face it was — a mingling of the child with the man of eld, but Avith no trace of youth between — a face such as we see sometimes, and fancy that we read therein the coming history as plainly written as in a book. So while, as the evening passed, Lord Gowrie's fiery spirit busied itself about plots and schemes, the fate of kingdoms and of kings — and David Calderwood, stirred from his learned equipoise, troubled his simple mind with anxiety concerning his two beloved pupils — Lettice hid all her thoughts in her heart, brooding tremblingly over them there. But the young herbalist sat patiently pulling his flowers to pieces, and ruminating meanwhile, his eyes fixed on the little rippling stream. He seemed born to be one of those meek philosophers who through life sit still, and let the world roll by with all its tumults, passions, and cares. They are above it ; or, as some would deem, below it. But in either case it touches not them.

It was the dawn of a September day, gloomy and cold. All things seemed buried in a dull sleep, except the Cam that went murmuring over its pebbles hour after hour, from night till morn. Lettice heard it under her window, as she stood in the pale light, fastening her head-tire with trembling hands. They were just starting — the two young Scottish cavaliers. Both had cast off the dress of the student, and appeared as befitted their birth. Bold, noble, and handsome looked the young Earl William in his gay doublet, with his sword by his side. As he walked with Lettice to the garden (he had half-entreated, half-commanded to have a rose given by her hand), his manner seemed less boyish — more courtly and tender withal. His last words, too, as he rode away, were a gay compliment, and an outburst of youthful hope ; alluding to the time when he should come back endowed with the forfeited honours of his race, and choose, not out of Scottish but of English maidens, a " Lady Gowrie."

Patrick, stealing after, a little paler — a little more silent than usual — affectionately bade his master adieu ; and to the hearty blessing and good-speed only whispered " Amen." Then he took Lettice's hand ; he did not kiss it, as his brother had gracefully and courteously done ; but he clasped it with a light cold clasp, saying gently, " Farewell ! Lettice, my kind sister."

She calmly echoed the farewell. But when the sound of the horses' feet died away, she went slowly up to her little chamber, shut the door, sat down, and wept. Once only, looking at her little hand — holding it as if there still lingered on it a vanished touch — the deep colour rose in her cheek, and over her face there passed a quick, sharp pang.

" His sister — always his sister!" She said no more. After a while she dried her tears, wrapped round her heart that veil of ordinary outer life which a woman must always wear, and went down to her father.

" Lettice, what are these torn papers that thou art fastening together with thy needle ? Are they writings or problems of mine?"

" Not this time, father," said Lettice, meekly ; " they are fragments left by your tAvo pupils."

" That is, by Patrick ; William did not love to study, except that fantastic learning which all the Euthvens loved— the occult sciences. Whose papers are these ? "

" Master Patrick's ; he may want them when he returns."

" When.' Ah, the dear bairn, his puir father's ain son; will I ever see his face again ?"

There was no answer save that of silence and paleness. Lattice's fingers worked on. But a dull, cold shadow seemed to spread itself over the room — over everywhere she turned her eyes ; duller than the gloomy evening — colder than the cold March rain which beat against the narrow collegewindows, that shadow crept over her heart. She looked like one who for many days and weeks had borne on her spirit — not a heavy load, that is easier to bear, but a restless struggle — sometimes pain, sometimes joy — doubt, fear, expectation, faith — wild longing, followed by blank endurance. It was now a long time since she had learned the whole bitter meaning of those words : " The hope deferred which maketh the heart sick."

" My dear lassie," said the old doctor, rousing himself from a mathematical calculation which had degenerated into a mere every-day reverie, " where hae ye keepit the puir young Earl's letter, that said he and Patrick were baith coming back to Cambridge in a week ? Can ye no tell how lang it is sin syne?"

Lettice could have answered at once — could have told the weeks, days, hours — each passing slowly like years — but she did not. She paused as though to reckon, and then she said, " It is nigh two months, if I count right."

" Twa months ! Alas, alas !"

" Do you think, father," she said, slowly, striving to speak for the first time what had been so long pent up that its utterance shook her whole frame with tremblings — "do you think that any harm has come to the poor young gentlemen?"

" I pray God, no ! Lettice, do you mind what our puir Willie — I canna say ' the Earl' — tauld us of their great good fortune through the Queen ; how that he would soon be living in Edinburgh as a grand lord, and his brother should end his studies at St. Andrews ; only Patrick said he loved better to come back to Cambridge, and to his auld master. The dear bairn ! Do ye mind all this, Lettice ?"

" Yes, father." Ah, truly poor Lettice did !

" Then, my child, we needna fear for them. They are twa young gentlemen o' rank, and maybe they lead a merry life, and that whiles gars them forget auld friends ; but they'll come back safe in time."

So saying, the old doctor settled himself in his highbacked chair, and contentedly went to sleep. His daughter continued her work until the papers were all arranged, and it grew too dark to see ; then she closed her eyes and pondered.

Her thoughts were not what may be called love-thoughts, such as you, young modern maidens, indulge in when you dream of some lover kneeling at your feet, or walking by your side, know yourselves adored, and exult in the adoration. No such light emotion ruled Lettice's fancy. Her love — if it ivere love, and she scarce knew it as such — had crept in unwittingly, under the guise of pity, reverence, affection ; it had struck its roots deep in her nature ; and though it bore no flowers, its life was one with the life of her heart. She never paused to think, "Do I love?" or "Am I loved?" but her whole being flowed into that thought, wave after wave, like a stream that insensibly glides into one channel, leaving all the rest dry.

Lettice sat and thought mournfully over the many weeks of wearying expectation for him who never came. How at first the hours flew, winged with restless joy ; how she lay down in hope, and rose in hope, and said to herself, calmly smiling, " To-morrow — to-morrow ! " How afterwards she strove to make those words into a daily balm to still fear and pain that would not sleep ; how at last she breathed them wildly, hour by hour of each blank day, less believing in them than lifting them lip like a cry of despair which must be answered. But it never was answered ; and the silence now had grown so black and dull around her, that it pressed down all struggles — left her not even strength for fears.

She had feared very much at first. The young Earl William, so sanguine, so bold, might have been deceived. The King's seeming lenity might be but assumed, until he could crush the poor remnant of the Ruthven race. She pondered continually over the awful tale of the Gowrie plot ; often at night, in her dreams, she saw the ensanguined axe, and the two heads, so beautiful and young, mouldering away on the Tolbooth. Sometimes beside them she saw another. Horror ! she knew it well — the pale, boyish cheek — the thoughtful brow. Then she would wake in shudderings and cries ; and falling on her knees, pray that wherever he was — whether or no he might gladden her eyes again — Heaven would keep him safe, and have pity upon her.

Again she thought of him in prosperity, living honoured and secure under the glory of the Ruthven line — forgetting old friends, as her father had said. Well, and what right had she to murmur ? She did not — save that at times, even against her will, the selfish cry of weak human tenderness would rise up— "Alas, thou hast all things, and I — I perish for want 1" But her conscience ever answered, "He neither knows nor sees, so with him there is no wrong."

Night, heavy night, fell down once more. Lettice had learned to long for the dull stupor it brought — a little peace, a little oblivion mercifully closing each blank day. "Is it not time for rest, father ? " she often asked long ere the usual hour ; and she was so glad to creep to her little bower-chamber, and shut out the moonbeams and the starlight, and lie in darkness and utter forgetfulness, until lulled to sleep by the ripple of the stream close by. There had been a time when she had either sat up with her father, or else lain awake until midnight, listening for steps in the garden — for voices beneath the window — when every summons at the gate made her heart leap wildly. But all this was passed now.

Lettice put down the lamp, took off her coif, and unbound her hair. Before retiring she opened the window, and gazed out into the night, which was cold, but very clear. She halfleaned forward, and stretched out her hands to the north. No words can paint the look her countenance wore. It was yearning, imploring, despairing, like that of a soul longing to depart and follow another soul already gone. In her eyes was an intensity that seemed mighty enough to pierce through all intervening space, and fly, dove-winged, to its desire. Then the lids drooped, the burning tears fell, and her whole frame sank collapsed, an image of hopeless, motionless dejection.

She was roused by a noise — the dash of oars on the usually-deserted river. She shut the window hastily, blushing lest the lamp should have revealed her attitude and her emotion to any stranger without. The sound of oars ceased — there were footsteps up the garden alleys — there was her father's eager voice at the door, mingled with other well-known voices. They were coming ! — -They were come !

In a moment all the days, weeks, months of weary waiting were swept away like clouds. The night of her sorrow was forgotten as though it had never been.

" And now that I am returned, thou wilt not give me another flower, Mistress Lettice?" said the young Earl, as he followed her up the garden-walks in the fair spring morning. She had risen early, for sleep had been driven away by joy.

" There are no flowers now, at least none gay enough to be worth your wearing. Daisies and violets would ill suit that courtly dress," said the maiden, speaking blithely out of her full-hearted content.

" Does it displease you, then ? Shall I banish my silverhilted sword, and my rich doublet with three hundred points, and don the poor student's hodden gray? I would do it, fair damsel, and willingly, for thee 1 " And he smiled with a little conscious pride, as if he knew well that six months passed in the precincts of a court had transformed the bashful youth into an accomplished cavalier — brave, handsome, winning, yet pure and noble at heart, as the young knights were in the golden time of Sidney and of Raleigh.

Lettice regarded him in frank admiration. " Truly, my Lord Gowrie, you are changed. Scarcely can I dare to give you the name you once honoured me by permitting. How shall I call you and Master Patrick my brothers ?"

" I wish it not," said the young man, hastily. " As for Patrick — never mind Patrick," as Lettice's eyes seemed wandering to the river-side, where the younger Ruthven sat in his old seat. " You see he is quite happy with his herbal and his books of philosophy. Let him stay there ; for I would fain have speech with you." He led her into a shady path, and began to speak hurriedly : " Lettice, do you know that I may soon be summoned back to Scotland — not as a captive, but as the reinstated Earl of Gowrie ? And, Lettice " — here his voice faltered, and his cheek glowed, and he looked no more the bold cavalier, but a timid youth in his first wooing — " dear Lettice, if I might win my heart's desire, I would not depart alone."

" Not depart alone ! Then thou wilt not leave Patrick with us, as was planned?" said the girl, uttering the first thought that rose to her mind, and then blushing for the same.

" I spoke not of Patrick — he may do as he wills. I spoke of some one dearer than brother or sister ; of her who "

" What! is it come to that?" merrily laughed out the unconscious girl. " Is our William, at once, without sign or token, about to bring to Cambridge, and then carry away home, a bonnie Lady Gowrie ? "

The Earl seemed startled by a sudden doubt. " It is strange you should speak thus ! Are you mocking me, or is it a womanly device to make me woo in plainer terms ? Hear, then, Lettice ! Lettice that I love ! It is you I would win, you whom I would carry home in triumph, my beautiful, my wife, my Lady Gowrie!" She stood transfixed, looking at him, not with blushes, not with maiden shame, but in a sort of dull amaze.

" Do my -words startle yon, sweet one ? Forgive me, then, for I scarce know what I say. Only I love yon — I love you ! Come to my heart, my Lettice, my bride that shall be; " and he stretched out his arms to enfold her. But Lettice, uttering a faint cry, glided from his vain clasp, and fled into the house.

In their deepest affections women rarely judge by outward show. The young Earl, gifted with all qualities to charm a lady's eye, had been loved as a brother — nothing more. The dreamy Patrick, in whose apparently passionless nature lay the mystery wherein such as Lettice ever delight — whose learning awed, while his Aveakness attracted tender sympathy — he it was who had unconsciously won the treasure, which a man, giving all his substance, could not gain — a woman's first, best love.

Her wooer evidently dreamed not of the truth. She saw him still walking where she had left him, or passing under her window, looking up rather anxiously, yet smiling. One thought only rose clearly out of the chaos of Lettice's mind — that he must be answered ; that she must not let him deceive himself — no, not for an hour. What she should say she mournfully knew — but how to say it ? Some small speech she tried to frame ; but she had never been used to veil any thought of her innocent heart before him she treated as a brother. It was so hard to feel that all this must be changed now.

Lettice was little more than eighteen years old, but the troublous life of a motherless girl had made her self-dependent and firm. Therefore, after a while, courage caine unto her again. Strengthened by her one great desire to do right, she descended into the garden, and walked slowly down the alley to meet the Earl. His greeting was full of joy.

" Did I scare her from me, my bird ? And has she flown back of her own accord to her safe nest — her shelter now and evermore ? " And he extended his arms with a look of proud tenderness, such as a young lover wears when he feels that in wooing his future wife he has cast off the lightsome follies of boyhood, and entered on the duties and dignities of man.

Lettice never looked up, or her heart would have smote her — that heart which, already half -crushed, had now to crush another's. Would that women felt more deeply how bitter it is to inflict this suffering, and if wilfully incurred, how heavy is the sin ! Even Lettice, with her conscience all clear, felt as though she were half guilty in having won his unvalued love. Pale and trembling she began to say the words she had fixed on as best, humblest, kindest — " My Lord Gowrie "

" Nay, sweet Lettice, call me "William, as you ever used to do in the dear old times."

At this allusion her speech failed, and she burst into tears. " Oh, William, why did you not always remain my brother ? I should have been happy then ! "

"And now?"

" I am very — very miserable."

There was a pause, during which Lord Gowrie's face changed, and he seemed to wrestle with a vague fear. At last he said, "Wherefore?" in a brief, cold tone, which calmed Lettice at once.

" Because," she murmured, with a mournful earnestness there was no doubting or gainsaying, " I am not worthy your love, since in my heart there is no answer — none ! "

For a moment Lord Gowrie drew himself up with all his ancestral pride. " Mistress Lettice Calderwood, I regret that

— that " He stammered, hesitated, then throwing himself

on a wooden seat, and bowing his head, he struggled with a young man's first agony — rejected love.

Lettice knelt beside him. She took his passive hands, and her tears rained over them ; but what hope, what comfort could she give ? She thought not of their position as maiden and suitor — Lord Gowrie and humble Lettice Calderwood— she only saw her old playmate and friend sitting there overwhelmed with anguish, and it was her hand which had dealt the blow.