The Scottish Chiefs. Jane Porter
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himself being attacked and slain, "go forward to the end of this passage; it will lead you to a flight of stairs; ascend them; and by drawing the bolt of a door, you will find yourself at once in the prior's cell."
"Talk not of delay," replied Helen; "return quickly, and I will await you at the entrance of the passage." So saying, she swiftly retraced with him her steps to the bottom of the stone stairs by which they had descended. He raised the flag, sprung out of the aperture, and closing it down, left her in solitude and darkness.
Murray passed through the first cellar, and was proceeding to the second (among the catacombs of which lay the concealed entrance to the private stairs), when he saw the great gates of the cellar open, and a large party of English soldiers enter. They were conducted by the butler of the castle, who seemed to perform his office unwillingly, while they crowded in, thirsty and riotous.
Aware how unequal his single arm would be to contend with such numbers, Murray, at the first glance of these plunderers, retreated behind a heap of casks in a remote corner. While the trembling butler was loading a dozen of the men with flasks for the refreshment of their masters above, the rest were helping themselves from the adjacent catacombs. Some left the cellars with their booty, and others remained to drink it on the spot. Glad to escape the insults of the soldiers who lay wallowing in the wine, Bothwell's old servant quitted the cellar with the last company which bore flagons to their comrades above.
Murray listened anxiously, in hopes of hearing from his garrulous neighbors some intimation of the fate of his uncle and aunt. He hearkened in vain, for nothing was uttered by these intoxicated banditti, but loud boastings of the number each had slain in the earl's apartment; execrations against the Scots for their obstinate resistance; and a thousand sanguinary wishes, that the nation had but one neck, to strike off at a blow.
How often, during this conversation, was Murray tempted to rush out amongst them, and seize a desperate revenge! But the thought of his poor cousin, now awaiting his return, and perhaps already suffering dreadful alarms from such extraordinary uproar, restrained him; and unable to move from his hiding-place without precipitating himself into instant death, he remained nearly an hour in the most painful anxiety, watching the dropping to sleep of this horrid crew, one by one.
When all seemed hushed—not a voice, even in a whisper, startling his ear—he ventured forth with a stealing step toward the slumbering group. Like his brave ancestor, Gaul, the son of Morni, "he disdained to stab a sleeping foe!" He must pass them to reach the private stairs. He paused and listened. Silence still reigned; not even a hand moved, so deeply were they sunk in the fumes of wine. He took courage, and flew with the lightness of air to the secret door. As he laid his hand on it, it opened from without, and two persons appeared. By the few rays which gleamed from the expiring torches of the sleepers, he could see that the first wore English armor. Murray made a spring, and caught the man by the throat; when some one seizing his arm, exclaimed, "Stop, my Lord Murray! it is the faithful Grimsby." Murray let go his hold, glad to find that both his English friend and the venerable object of his solicitude were thus providentially brought to meet him; but fearing that the violence of his action, and Halbert's exclamation, might have alarmed the sleeping soldiers (who, drunk as they were, were too numerous to be resisted), he laid his finger on the tip of Grimsby, and motioned to the astonished pair to follow him.
As they advanced, they perceived one of the soldiers move as if disturbed. Murray held his sword over the sleeping wretch, ready to plunge it into his heart should he attempt to rise; but he became still again; and the fugitive having approached the flag, Murray drew it up, and eager to haven his double charge, he thrust them together down the stairs. At that moment, a shriek from Helen (who had discovered, by a gleam of light which burst into the vault, a man descending in English armor), echoed through the cellars. Two of the soldiers jumped upon their feet, and rushed upon Murray. He had let the flag drop behind him; but still remaining by it, in case of an opportunity to escape, he received the strokes of their weapons upon his target, and returned them with equal rapidity. One assailant lay gasping at his feet. But the clashing of arms, and the cries of the survivor had already awakened the whole crew. With horrid menaces, they threw themselves toward the young Scot, and would certainly have cut him to pieces, had he not snatched the only remaining torch out of the hand of the staggering soldier, and extinguished it under his foot. Bewildered where to find their prey, with threats and imprecations, they groped in darkness, slashing the air with their swords, and not unfrequently wounding each other in the vain search.
Murray was now far from their pursuit. He had no sooner put out the light, than he pulled up the flag, and leaping down, drew it after him, and found himself in safety. Desperate as was the contest, it had been short; for he yet heard the footsteps of the panic-struck Helen, flying along the passage. The Englishman and Halbert, on the first falling of the flag, not knowing its spring, had unsuccessfully tried to re-raise it, that they might assist Murray in the tumult above. On his appearing again so unexpectedly, they declared their joy; but the young lord, impatient to calm the apprehensions of his cousin, returned no other answer than "Follow me!" while he darted forward. Terror had given her wings, and even prevented her hearing the low sounds of Murray's voice, which he durst not raise to a higher pitch, for fear of being overheard by the enemy. Thus, while she lost all presence of mind, he did not come up with her till she fell breathless against he stairs at the extremity of the vault.
Chapter X.
St. Fillan's.
As soon as Murray found her within his arms, he clasped her insensible form to his breast, and carrying her up the steps, drew the bolt of the door. It opened to his pressure, and discovered a large monastic cell, into which the daylight shone through one long narrow window. A straw pallet, an altar, and a marble basin, were the furniture. The cell was solitary the owner being then at mass in the chapel of the monastery. Murray laid down his death-like burden on the monk's bed. He then ventured (believing, as it was to restore so pure a being to life, it could not be sacrilege) to throw some of the holy water upon his cousin's face; and by means of a little chalice, which stood upon the altar, he poured some into her mouth. At last opening her eyes, she recognized the figure of her young kinsman leaning over her. The almost paralyzed Halbert stood at her feet. "Blessed Virgin! am I yet safe, and with my dear Andrew! Oh! I feared you were slain!" cried she, bursting into tears.
"Thank God, we are both safe," answered he; "comfort yourself, my beloved cousin! you are now on holy ground; this is the cell of the prior of St. Fillan. None but the hand of an infidel dare wrest you from this sanctuary."
"But my father, and Lady Mar?" And again her tears flowed.
"The countess, my gracious lady," answered Halbert, "since you could
not be found in the castle, is allowed to accompany your father to
Dumbarton Castle, there to be treated with every respect, until De
Valence receives further orders from King Edward."
"But for Wallace!" cried she, "ah, where are now the succors that were to be sent to him! And without succors, how can he, or you, dearest Andrew, rescue my father from this tyranny!"
"Do not despair," replied Murray; "look but at the banner you held fast, even while insensible; your own hands have engraven my answer—God armeth the patriot! Convinced of that, can you still fear for you father? I will join Wallace to-morrow. Your own fifty warriors await me at the bottom of Cartlane Craigs; and if any treachery should be meditated against my uncle, that moment we will make the towers of Dumbarton shake to their foundation."
Helen's reply was a deep sigh: she though it might be Heaven's will that her father, like the good Lord Douglas, should fall a victim to royal revenge; and so sad were her forebodings, that she hardly dared to hope what the sanguine disposition of her cousin promised. Grimsby now came forward; and unloosing an iron box from under his arm, put it into the hands of Lord Murray.
"This fatal treasure," said he, "was committed to my care by the earl, your uncle, to deliver to the prior of St. Fillan's."