Chapter III: The Death of Rashleigh

* * * * *

Mr. Osbaldistone's first impulse seemed to be to preserve his dignity. But nature was too strong for him.

"My son--my dear son!" he murmured.

The head of the firm of Osbaldistone and Tresham had returned from Holland sooner than was expected, and with the resources which he had gathered there, and being now in full credit, he had no difficulty in solving the financial problems which had weighed so heavily upon the house in his absence. He refused, however, every tender of apology from MacVittie and Company, settled the balance of their account, and announced to them that that page of their ledger, with all the advantages connected with it, was closed to them forever.

Soon after the home-coming of Frank Osbaldistone from the Highlands and his reconciliation with his father, the great Jacobite rebellion of 1715 broke out, in which the greater part of the Highlands burst into a flame, as well as much of the more northerly parts of England. Sir Hildebrand led out his sons to battle--all, that is to say, with the exception of Rashleigh, who had changed his politics and become a spy on behalf of the government of King George.

But it was not the will of Fate that the name of Osbaldistone should make any figure in that short and inglorious campaign. Thorncliff was killed in a duel with one of his brother officers. The sot Percie died shortly after, according to the manner of his kind. Dickon broke his neck in spurring a blood mare beyond her paces. Wilfred the fool died fighting at Proud Preston on the day of the Barricades; and his gallantry was no less that he could never remember an hour together for which king he was doing battle.

John also behaved boldly and died of his wounds a few days after in the prison of Newgate, to the despair of old Sir Hildebrand, who did not long survive him. Indeed he willingly laid himself down to die, after having first disinherited Rashleigh as a traitor, and left his much encumbered estates to his nephew, Frank Osbaldistone.

Mr. Osbaldistone the elder now took an unexpected view of his son's prospects. He had cared nothing for his family in the past--indeed, never since he had been expelled from Osbaldistone Hall to make way for his younger brother. But now he willingly spent his money in taking up the mortgages upon the Osbaldistone estates, and he urged upon Frank the necessity of going down at once to the Hall, lest Rashleigh should get before him in that possession which is nine points of the law.

So to Osbaldistone Hall went Frank once more, his heart not a little sore within him for the good days he had spent in it, and especially because of the thought that he would now find there no madcap Die Vernon to tease and torment him out of his life.

First of all, to make his title clear, Frank had been desired to visit the hospitable house of old Justice Inglewood, with whom Sir Hildebrand had deposited his will. As it chanced, it was in that good gentleman's power to give the young man some information which interested him more than the right of possession to many Osbaldistone Halls.

After dinner in the evening Frank and the Justice were sitting together, when all of a sudden Squire Inglewood called upon his companion to pledge a bumper to "dear Die Vernon, the rose of the wilderness, the heath-bell of Cheviot, that blossom transported to an infamous convent!"

"Is not Miss Vernon, then, married?" cried Frank, in great astonishment, "I thought his Excellency--"

"Pooh--pooh! His Excellency and his Lordship are all a humbug now, you know," said the Justice; "mere St. Germains titles--Earl of Beauchamp and ambassador plenipotentiary from France, when the Duke Regent scarce knew that he lived, I daresay. But you must have seen old Sir Frederick Vernon at the hall, when he played the part of Father Vaughan?"

"Good Heavens," cried Frank, "then Father Vaughan was Miss Vernon's father?"

"To be sure he was," said the Justice, coolly; "there's no use keeping the secret now, for he must be out of the country by this time--otherwise no doubt it would be my duty to apprehend him. Come, off with your bumper to my dear lost Die!"

So Frank fared forth to Osbaldistone Hall, uncertain whether to be glad or sorry at Squire Inglewood's news. Finally he decided to be glad--or at least as glad as he could. For Diana, though equally lost to him, was at least not wedded to any one else.

Syddall, the old butler of Sir Hildebrand, seemed at first very unwilling to admit them, but Frank's persistence, together with Andrew Fairservice's insolence, made a way into the melancholy house. Frank ordered a fire to be lighted in the library. Syddall tried to persuade him to take up his quarters elsewhere, on the plea that the library had not been sat in for a long time, and that the chimney smoked.

To the old man's confusion, however, when they entered the room, a fire was blazing in the grate. He took up the tongs to hide his confusion, muttering, "It is burning clear now, but it smoked woundily in the morning!"

Next Frank ordered Andrew to procure him two stout fellows of the neighbourhood on whom he could rely, who would back the new proprietor, in case of Rashleigh attempting any attack during Frank's stay in the home of his fathers.

Andrew soon returned with a couple of his friends--or, as he described them, "sober, decent men, weel founded in doctrinal points, and, above all, as bold as lions."

Syddall, however, shook his head at sight of them.

"I maybe cannot expect that your Honour should put confidence in what I say, but it is Heaven's truth for all that. Ambrose Wingfield is as honest a man as lives, but if there be a false knave in all the country, it is his brother Lancie. The whole country knows him to be a spy for Clerk Jobson on the poor gentlemen that have been in trouble. But he's a dissenter, and I suppose that's enough nowadays."

The evening darkened down, and trimming the wood fire in the old library Frank sat on, dreaming dreams in which a certain lady occupied a great place. He chanced to lift his eyes at a sound which seemed like a sigh, and lo! Diana Vernon stood before him. She was resting on the arm of a figure so like the portrait on the wall that involuntarily Frank raised his eyes to the frame to see whether it was not indeed empty.

But the figures were neither painted canvas nor yet such stuff as dreams are made of. Diana Vernon and her father--for it was they--stood before the young man in actual flesh and blood. Frank was so astonished that for a while he could not speak, and it was Sir Frederick who first broke the silence.

"We are your suppliants, Mr. Osbaldistone," he said; "we claim the refuge and protection of your roof, till we can pursue a journey where dungeons and death gape for me at every step!"

"Surely you cannot suppose--" Frank found words with great difficulty--"Miss Vernon cannot suppose that I am so ungrateful--that I could betray any one--much less you!"

"I know it," said Sir Frederick, "though I am conferring on you a confidence which I would have been glad to have imposed on any one else. But my fate, which has chased me through a life of perils, is now pressing me hard, and, indeed, leaving me no alternative."

At this moment the door opened, and the voice of Andrew Fairservice was heard without. "I am bringing in the candles--ye can light them when ye like--'can do' is easy carried about with one!"

Frank had just time to rush to the door and thrust the officious rascal out, shutting the door upon him. Then, remembering the length of his servant's tongue, he made haste to follow him to the hall to prevent his gabbling of what he might have seen. Andrew's voice was loud as Frank opened the door.

"What is the matter with you, you fool?" he demanded; "you stare and look wild as if you had seen a ghost."

"No--no--nothing," stammered Andrew, "only your Honour was pleased to be hasty!"

Frank Osbaldistone immediately dismissed the two men whom Andrew had found for him, giving them a crown-piece to drink his health, and they withdrew, apparently contented and unsuspicious. They certainly could have no further talk with Andrew that night, and it did not seem possible that in the few moments which Andrew had spent in the kitchen before Frank's arrival, he could have had time to utter two words.

But sometimes only two words can do a great deal of harm. On this occasion they cost two lives.

"You now know my secret," said Diana Vernon; "you know how near and dear is the relative who has so long found shelter here. And it will not surprise you, that, knowing such a secret, Rashleigh should rule me with a rod of iron."

But in spite of all that had happened, Sir Frederick was a strict and narrow Catholic, and Frank found him more than ever determined to sacrifice his daughter to the life of the convent.

"She has endured trials," he said, "trials which might have dignified the history of a martyr. She has spent the day in darkness and the night in vigil, and never breathed a syllable of weakness or complaint. In a word, Mr. Osbaldistone, she is a worthy offering to that God to whom I dedicate her, as all that is left dear or precious to Frederick Vernon!"

Frank felt stunned and bewildered when at last they retired. But he had sufficient forethought to order a bed to be made up for him in the library, and dismissed Syddall and Andrew with orders not to disturb him till seven o'clock in the morning.

That night Frank lay long awake, and was at last dropping over to sleep when he was brought back to consciousness by a tremendous noise at the front door of Osbaldistone Hall. He hastened downstairs only in time to hear Andrew Fairservice bidding Syddall stand aside.

"We hae naething to fear if they come in King George's name," he was saying; "we hae spent baith bluid and gold for him."

In an agony of terror Frank could hear bolt after bolt withdrawn by the officious scoundrel, who continued to boast all the while of his master's loyalty to King George. He flew instantly to Diana's room. She was up and dressed.

"We are familiar with danger," she said with a sad smile. "I have the key of the little garden door. We will escape by it. Only keep them a few moments in play! And dear, dear Frank, again--for the last time, farewell!"

By this time the men were on the stairway, and presently rapping on the library door.

"You robber dogs!" cried Frank, wilfully misunderstanding their purpose; "if you do not instantly quit the house, I will fire a blunderbuss upon you through the door!"

"Fire a fool's bauble," returned Andrew Fairservice; "it's Clerk Jobson with a legal warrant--"

"To search for, take, and apprehend," said the voice of that abominable pettifogger, "the bodies of certain persons in my warrant named, charged of high treason under the 13th of King William, chapter third."

The violence on the door was renewed.

"I am rising, gentlemen," said Frank, trying to gain as much time as possible; "commit no violence--give me leave to look at your warrant, and if it is formal and legal, I shall not oppose it."

"God save great George our King," cried Andrew Fairservice, "I telled ye that ye would find no Jacobites here!"

At last the door had to be opened, when Clerk Jobson and several assistants entered. The lawyer showed a warrant for the arrest of Diana Vernon, her father,--and, to his surprise, of Frank himself.

Clerk Jobson, evidently well-informed, went directly to Diana's chamber.

"The hare has stolen away," he said brutally, "but her form is still warm. The greyhounds will have her by the haunches yet."

A scream from the garden announced that he had prophesied too truly. In five minutes more Rashleigh entered the library with Diana and her father, Sir Frederick, as his prisoners.

"The fox," he said, "knew his old earth, but he forgot it could be stopped by a careful huntsman. I had not forgot the garden gate, Sir Frederick--or, if the title suits you better, my most noble Lord Beauchamp!"

"Rashleigh," said Sir Frederick, "thou art a most detestable villain!"

"I better deserved the name, my Lord," said Rashleigh, turning his eyes piously upward, "when under an able tutor I sought to introduce civil war into a peaceful country. But I have since done my best to atone for my errors."

Frank Osbaldistone could hold out no longer.

"If there is one thing on earth more hideous than another," he cried, "it is villainy masked by hypocrisy!"

"Ha, my gentle cousin," said Rashleigh, holding a candle toward Frank and surveying him from head to foot, "right welcome to Osbaldistone Hall. I can forgive your spleen. It is hard to lose an estate and a sweetheart in one night. For now we must take possession of this poor manor-house in the name of the lawful heir, Sir Rashleigh Osbaldistone!"

But though Rashleigh braved it out thus, he was clearly far from comfortable, and especially did he wince when Diana told him that what he had now done had been the work of an hour, but that it would furnish him with reflections for a lifetime.

"And of what nature these will be," she added, "I leave to your own conscience, which will not slumber forever!"

So presently the three prisoners were carried off. Syddall and Andrew were ordered to be turned out of the house, the latter complaining bitterly.

"I only said that surely my master was speaking to a ghost in the library--and that villain Lancie--thus to betray an auld friend that has sung aff the same Psalm-book wi' him for twenty years!"

However, Andrew had just got clear of the avenue when he fell among a drove of Highland cattle, the drivers of which questioned him tightly as to what had happened at the Hall. They then talked in whispers among themselves till the lumbering sound of a coach was heard coming down the road from the house. The Highlanders listened attentively. The escort consisted of Rashleigh and several peace-officers.

So soon as the carriage had passed the avenue gate, it was shut behind the cavalcade by a Highlandman, stationed there for the purpose. At the same time the carriage was impeded in its further progress by some felled trees which had been dragged across the road. The cattle also got in the way of the horses, and the escort began to drive them off with their whips.

"Who dares abuse our cattle," said a rough voice; "shoot him down, Angus!"

"A rescue--a rescue!" shouted Rashleigh, instantly comprehending what had taken place, and, firing a pistol, he wounded the man who had spoken.

"_Claymore!_" cried the leader of the Highlanders, and an affray instantly engaged. The officers of the law, unused to such prompt bloodshed, offered little real resistance. They galloped off in different directions as fast as their beasts would carry them. Rashleigh, however, who had been dismounted, maintained on foot a desperate and single-handed conflict with the leader of the band. At last he dropped.

"Will you ask forgiveness for the sake of God, King James, and auld friendship?" demanded a voice which Frank knew well.

"No, never!" cried Rashleigh, fiercely.

"Then, traitor, die in your treason!" retorted Mac-Gregor, and plunged his sword into the prostrate antagonist.

Rob Roy then drew out the attorney Clerk Jobson from the carriage, more dead than alive, and threw him under the wheel.

"Mr. Osbaldistone," he said in Frank's ear, "you have nothing to fear. Your friends will soon be in safety. Farewell, and forget not the Mac-Gregor!"

* * * * *

"_And that_," I said, "_is all!_"

But I was instantly overwhelmed by the rush of a
living wave.

"No, no," cried the children, throwing themselves
upon me, "you must tell us what became of Rob
Roy--of the Bailie--of Dougal!"

These demands came from the boys.

"And if Diana married Frank, or went to the
convent?" interjected Sweetheart.

"Well," I said, "I can soon answer all these
questions. Sir Frederick died soon after, but
before his end he relieved his daughter from her
promise to enter a convent. She married Mr. Frank
Osbaldistone instead."

"And lived happy ever after?" added Maid Margaret,
who was at the "fairy princess" stage of
literature.

"Except when she got cross with him," commented Sir
Toady, an uncompromising realist, with pessimistic
views on womenkind.

"And Rob Roy held his ground among his native
mountains until he died."

"Tell us about the Bailie," said Hugh John; "I
liked the Bailie--he's jolly!"

I told him that he was far from being alone in that
opinion.

"The Bailie," I answered, "lived, as the Maid says,
happily ever after, having very wisely married his
servant Mattie. He carried on all the northern
affairs of Osbaldistone and Tresham, now a greater
commercial house than ever, and lived to be Lord
Provost of the city of Glasgow."

"Let Glasgow flourish!" cried Sir Toady,
spontaneously. And the audience concluded the
fourth tale and last from _Rob Roy_ with a very
passable imitation of a Highland yell.

THE END OF THE LAST TALE FROM "ROB ROY."

RED CAP TALES

TOLD FROM

THE ANTIQUARY

THE FIRST TALE FROM "THE ANTIQUARY"

THE children lay prone on the floor of the library
in various positions of juvenile comfort, watching
the firewood in the big wide grate sparkle and
crackle, or the broad snowflakes "spat" against the
window-panes, where they stuck awhile as if gummed,
and then began reluctantly to trickle down. As Sir
Toady Lion said, "It was certainly a nice day on
which to stop IN!"

The choice of the book from which to tell the next
Red Cap Tale had been a work of some difficulty.
Hugh John had demanded _Ivanhoe_, chiefly because
there was a chapter in it about shooting with the
bow, the which he had read in his school reader
when he ought to have been preparing his Latin. Sir
Toady wanted _The Fortunes of Nigel_, because the
title sounded adventurous. Sweetheart, who has been
sometimes to the play, was insistent for _The Bride
of Lammermoor_, while as to Maid Margaret, she was
indifferent, so long as it was "nice and eecitin'."

But the tale-teller, being in the position of the
Man-with-the-Purse (or in that of the House of
Commons with regard to the granting of supplies),
held to it that, in spite of its "growed-up" title,
_The Antiquary_ would be the most suitable. First,
because we had agreed to go right through the
Scottish stories; secondly, because _The Antiquary_
was one of the first which Sir Walter wrote; and
thirdly and lastly, because he, the tale-teller
aforesaid, "felt like it."

At this, I saw Hugh John look at his brother with
the quick glance of intelligence which children
exchange when they encounter the Superior Force.

That unspoken message said clearly and neatly,
"Pretty thing asking us to select the book, when he
had it all settled from the start!"

Nevertheless, I made no remark, but with my eyes on
the click of Sweetheart's knitting needles (for in
the intervals of nursery wars Sweetheart grows a
diligent housewife), I began in the restful silence
of that snowy Saturday my first tale from _The
Antiquary_.