Chapter IV: The Grahams of Dundargue

Who would have imagined that within a few yards of the elegant and stately modern drawing-room in which these three handsome women of the best style were chatting and sipping their tea, there still existed within the old walls of Dundargue a hideous oubliette or bottle dungeon, like those that were in the Castle of St. Andrews and ancient peel of Linlithgow--so named from the French word to 'forget.'

Shaped like a bottle, it was--and is--totally dark and of great depth, with no outlet but its narrow mouth, through which prisoners were precipitated and left to die. 'Dante,' says Victor Hugo, when describing that in the Bastille, 'could find nothing better for the construction of his hell. These dungeon-funnels usually terminated in a deep hole like a tub, in which Dante has placed his Satan, and in which society placed the criminal condemned to death. When once a miserable human being was interred there--farewell light, air, life, and hope! It never went out but to the gibbet or the stake. Sometimes it was left to rot there, and human justice called that forgetting. Between mankind and himself the condemned felt an accumulation of stones and jailers, and the whole prison was but one enormous and complicated lock that barred him out of the living world.'

From such places the shrieks and wails of despair and death--death from thirst and hunger--never reach the upper air.

When the oubliette of Dundargue was examined a few years ago there was found in it a mass of unctuous-looking mould that made those shudder who looked upon it. It was full of skulls and human bones. Of whom those beings had been even tradition was silent; but, as some coins of Edward I. of England were found among the ghastly remains, they were supposed to have been certain English prisoners or fugitives, who, when flying from the siege of Perth, had fallen into the hands of Sir Malise Graham of Dundargue, in the Carse of Gowrie, a relentless enemy of the invaders of his country, who said, grimly, 'A few Englishmen less in the world would make the world all the better,' and, dropping them successively into the oubliette, placed a huge stone over the mouth of it, and 'forgot' all about them.

From a short distance beyond Dundee, called 'The Beautiful' in the days of old, the lovely and fertile Carse of Gowrie, so famed in Scottish song, stretches far westward, bounded by the Firth of Tay on the south, and a line of undulating hills on the north, till it narrows to a vale among the rocky eminences that overlook the fair city of Perth.

The Carse is not quite a dead level, for here and there slope up wooded or cultivated elevations, named Inches, serving to show that in the ages they won their name the Carse had been a wide, open lake; but above one of these inches towers the abrupt, though not very lofty, rock crowned by the Castle of Dundargue, an edifice on which the surrounding hills have looked down for centuries.

Bronze or iron rings, to which the Romans are said to have moored their galleys, were lately to be seen in the rock of Dundargue, and cables have been found at the foot of the Sidlaw Hills, relics of the time when an inland sea rolled its waves against their now grassy slopes.

The original castle, or strong square tower, starts flush from the edge of the rock, out of which its oubliette and lower vaults are hollowed, standing clear and minute against the sky, and its machicolated battlements rise high above the more florid modern additions of the days of James VI. and Queen Anne.

From its stone bartizan can be seen the sweep of the broad, blue Firth of Tay, with its vessels, the varied surface of the beautiful Carse of Gowrie clothed with leafy timber, narrow stripes of sand-edged land, and long stretches of cultivated ground, studded with curious old orchards and ancient and hoary forests of dwarf oak; and on the north and west the glorious blue mountains, piled over each other in ranges, and capped, afar off, by the historic Grampians.

The earliest portion of the edifice is said to have been built by Sir Malise Graham, and possesses the battlemented bartizan, which was a decided feature in the architecture of Scotland long before her intimate connection with the Continent; and the tenures of many houses in the vicinity are still held by owners who, if they had to fulfil the original obligations, would be compelled to bring to the castle coal for its fires, beer and beef for its tables, and oats for the chargers of the men-at-arms, with cords to bind and hang prisoners condemned to the dule-tree.

The Grahams, Viscounts of Aberfeldie and Barons of Dundargue in the peerage of Scotland, had the barony bestowed on them in 1600, in consequence of the bravery of the then laird at the battle of Benrinnes, six years before, and the viscounty in 1648, for doughty deeds done in the wars of the Covenant; but they had been lairds of Dundargue in days that were remote indeed--the days of that Graham who, when expiring of a mortal wound on the field of Dunbar, gave his sword--the same weapon now preserved in the house of Montrose--to his son, 'the Graham' of future battles, 'the Richt Hand of Wallace,' in whose arms he expired of a wound, after the battle of Falkirk, leaving the patronymic of 'gallant' to all his descendants.

In one apartment hung with Gobelin tapestry stood a bed wherein Charles II. had reposed before his coronation at Scone; and another had been occupied by his nephew, James VIII., of the Scottish Jacobites, before he went to visit Castle Lyon, the guest of John, Lord Aberfeldie, who declined to sit in the Union Parliament, and who, to the end of his days, even when George III. was king, was wont to assert 'that green peas and the other edibles were always a month later, after that vile and degrading incorporation,' and that many a sweet flower never blossomed again after the White Rose was destroyed at Culloden.

In right of gift to an ancestor, the present peer was Hereditary Keeper of the Royal Palace of Falkland, and as such wore a key and chain of silver at his neck on collar days at Windsor and elsewhere.

It was a September afternoon--almost evening--when the pastures had become parched, the foliage shrivelled and of various tints, and high-piled wains came rocking over the furrowed fields and through green lanes as the harvest was led home, that a horseman 'might have been seen' (to use the phraseology of Mr. G. P. R. James)--nay, was seen--to ride leisurely down the Carse and take a flying leap over a hedge into the great lawn of Dundargue, and then, after trotting his horse between belts of trees, he drew his bridle for a few minutes, while he lingered and regarded fondly and admiringly the old structure, which he had not seen for well-nigh seven years; and Allan, the Master of Aberfeldie--for he the rider was--thought there was not in all the Carse of Gowrie another residence to compare with Dundargue for the many stories and characteristics that circle about a house which has been for ages the home of one family, with all its historic memories, its traditions and patriotism.

The shadows of the great old trees under which more than one Scottish king had blown his hunting-horn fell far along the turf, that was green as an emerald and soft as velvet. A semi-transparent haze, mingling with the sunshine, pervaded the Carse land; the smoke of an adjacent village ascended from the hoary orchards around it, and far eastward fell the shadow of the tall and weather-worn keep of Dundargue, with all its tourelles, or Scottish turrets, tinted redly by the rays of the setting sun; and Allan's heart swelled as he looked around, for the love of his native land was strong within him, and he recalled the words of an English writer, who describes it as the place chosen by Nature as the mirror of her beauty:

'She has planted it in the northern seas, with its mountains fronting the western sun, and watered its plains and valleys with a thousand streams, over which the lights of heaven are poured with an illumination and a glory, with an entanglement and a mingling of all the colours that can make earth beautiful. There is no land in all the world which, for the softer splendours of mountain and fell, wood and stream, surpasses Scotland!'

And Allan now remembered that the green ridge on which he had reined up his horse for a moment or two had been to him a place of fear, when a child, as the abode of the _Daoine Shi_--the goblins or fairies--who could be heard at work in the heart of the knoll, busily opening and shutting great chests, the contents of which were alleged to be the pillage of pantries, larders, and meal-girnels; and once an old housekeeper at Dundargue, who contrived to circumvent them by securing the door of her premises, was struck with blindness, from which she did not recover till the barrier was removed.

Allan saw a lady suddenly appear upon a path close by that which led to the avenue; and she proved to be no other than Olive Raymond, who, intent on being absent when he arrived, came thus upon him face to face, yet neither knew the other.

On her arm she bore a little basket, with some presents for her poor pensioners. The cordiality and kindness of Olive to the poor and labouring people made the periodical return of the household from London and elsewhere more than a matter for local rejoicing. There were none about Dundargue but loved her, as they also did Eveline Graham, though the latter did less among them; and the Scottish peasantry, it must be borne in mind, unlike others elsewhere, are usually too self-reliant and full of proper pride to accept aid from Dorcas, blanket, food, or coal societies.

Well mounted, Allan had substituted a light-grey tweed suit, which well became his dark complexion, for his shooting-kilt and jacket, and as a sudden light or conviction came upon him, aided by a memory of the photo he had seen in Holcroft's possession, he sprang from his horse when the young lady drew near.

'I beg your pardon,' said he, as he threw the bridle over his arm and lifted his hat; 'I cannot be mistaken, changed though you are--you are my cousin, Olive Raymond?'

She blushed deeply, and said,

'And you--are Allan Graham!'

'Yes, Olive. Oh! how good, how kind of you to come and meet me,' he replied, his heart beating lightly as he looked into her beautiful face and deftly possessed himself of her hands.

'Far from it,' she replied, seeking to release herself, and now growing pale with positive annoyance at his supposition. 'I have some duties to do at the village. I hope you enjoyed your shooting excursion?' she observed, after a pause.

'I did--and yet----'

'So much so, indeed, that you were in no haste to come home,' said she, laughing to conceal her secret vexation at the rencontre.

Allan found his intended wife all that he could have wished, and more than he could have imagined. The little girl he had left, had now expanded into a tall, proud, and lovely one--lovelier than he had ever dreamed of her being; and under her pretty black velvet hat her grey-violet eyes regarded him with a curious mixture of shyness and confusion in their expression, and--though he did not then detect it--resentment.

When he had last seen his 'little wife,' as he was wont to call her _then_, she was a madcap girl, with all her golden hair flying far and wide from a pearly neck and brow, rippling and unconfined. Now her braided hair was of the richest brown, and she was the belle of a London season, and he could not help acknowledging in his heart the many charms she possessed, and suddenly becoming very appreciative thereof.

'I hope Mr. Holcroft is enjoying his sport among the hills?' said she, after another pause.

'Never mind Holcroft,' replied Allan, a little piqued by her manner; 'have you no welcome for me, Olive?'

'Of course you are glad to be home again,' said she, evasively.

'I have always loved dear old Dundargue, even when I came home as a boy from school, and now I shall love it more than ever.'

'Why?'

'Can you ask me--when you are its permanent inmate?'

'I may not be so always,' said she, pointedly. 'Nothing lasts for ever; but as we are cousins--' she was about to add something, yet paused.

'And more than mere cousins can ever be to each other. You might at least give me your hand, Olive,' said he, drawing nearer to her as she looked up at him, earnestly, shyly, and then, he began to think, rather defiantly, with those wonderful violet-grey eyes of hers. She gave him her right hand, and, though cased in a tight glove, a soft and warm little hand it felt; but he drew her towards him, and, ere she could avert the act, was softly and swiftly kissed by him.

'_Don't_,' she exclaimed, as she snatched her fingers from his clasp. 'How dare you?' she added, repelling him with both hands outspread, and a laughing indignation that was _not_ all laughter; but he looked at the sweet red lips as though he longed to offend again.

'Olive, how can you treat me thus, after all these years?' he asked, with an emotion of annoyance. 'Have you forgotten what jolly playmates we used to be; how we went nutting and seeking birds' nests together, made rag dolls, and chorused "Alexander, King of Macedon," and so forth, with our old nurse, Nannie Mackinnon, the wife of Dugald Glas?'

'I have not forgotten; but I had thought, or hoped, that you had done so.'

'Why?'

'I cannot say,' replied the wilful beauty, pouting and yet confessing in her secret heart how handsome he looked, and how winning he was in eye and manner.

'I remember, too,' said he, laughingly, 'the scores of times we used to wander in the garden, or on the heather braes, seeking bees to _blob_ and get the honey out of them; and when on May mornings you used to catch a snail by the horns, and toss it over your left shoulder as an omen of luck in marriage.'

'Allan, such odious and absurd things should be forgotten.'

'We were children, then; and what fun we had when fishing with tinnies in the burn for minnows and pow-wowits under the old brig-stone. Do you remember how I used to climb to get birds' nests for you, and how we wove fairy caps of rushes and bluebells in many a green howe of the Sidlaw Hills?'

'How can you treasure such childish memories, Allan?' she asked, but with momentary softness in her manner.

'Because such were very dear to me when far away in other lands and other scenes, when the Indian sky was like a sheet of heated iron overhead, and the breeze that came from the sandy desert was like the breath of the death-blast; when cattle perished by the empty tanks, the birds sat on the dusty trees with eyes closed and beaks agape, and when strong soldiers died on the line of march, stricken down by sunstroke or sheer exhaustion.'

'Poor Allan!'

'And you are going to the village?' said he, inquiringly, seeing that she manifested no desire to return with him.

'Yes.'

'But won't you accompany me home, now that I have returned?'

'You must excuse me--I do so enjoy a walk in the evening before dinner.'

'I have not seen my mother for seven years,' he said, reproachfully; 'yet, if you will permit me to accompany you to the village, I shall do so, and then escort you home.'

'I cannot trespass on your time so much,' she replied, with a slight _soupçon_ of sarcasm in her tone; 'besides, what would Aunt Aberfeldie think of your being in no haste to see her, after lingering so long at the deer-forest?'

Allan thought rightly that he now detected the true source of her pique and peculiar greeting; but he knew nothing yet of her bitter opposition to the terms of her father's will.

'Aunt and Eveline are anxiously waiting you, so do not let me detain you longer. If an escort back is requisite, I shall doubtless find one with ease,' and, nodding her head smilingly, she tripped down the tree-shaded avenue and left him; thus he had no choice, though looking after her with a sigh, but to remount and ride towards the house, or rather the castle, of Dundargue.

So--so she had so little interest in him, in his return and his society--that she would neither turn back with him nor permit him to escort her, but had left him to pay some trumpery visits which she could do at any other time, day, or hour.

'How was this?' he asked of himself. 'Holcroft has certainly something to do with it. Why the deuce did my father bring the fellow here?'

Allan's hitherto languid interest in her had become quickened by the sight of her undoubted beauty and grace, and he was, perhaps, a little unreasonably piqued by her open indifference as to his return from remote foreign service, and to his views and whole affairs. Thus the breach between these two--if such we may call it--seemed likely to widen.

In a few minutes more the affectionate effusiveness of the welcome home accorded him by his mother and his tender sister consoled him, but it contrasted in his mind powerfully and painfully with that of his cousin; yet he could scarcely expect that she would have flung her soft arms round his neck and kissed him again and again with hungry affection on both cheeks as they did.

'The pater, dear old fellow, will be home in the course of a day or two,' said he. 'Mr. Holcroft is coming with him, and Stratherroch, of Ours, too,' he added.

He noticed that Eveline's pale cheek coloured for a moment at the name of the latter.

'Ah, you know him, it seems?' said he.

'Yes, very well,' replied Eveline, frankly.

'He has been at home with the dépôt lately. A right good sort is Evan Cameron, but desperately hard up, poor lad. I often think he will have to exchange for India or something of that kind, though it would break his heart to leave the Black Watch.'

Eveline's long lashes drooped as her brother said this, all unconscious that his casual remarks were secretly wounding her.

The expression he could plainly detect in the sweet and expressive face of his sister at the mention of Evan Cameron gave Allan some occasion for thought.

He loved and esteemed his friend and brother-officer, but felt it would be a serious misfortune indeed if any affection took root between him and Eveline; for Evan was poor, as we have hinted, his estate valueless to him, and 'at nurse;' and there was, moreover, a necessity for Eveline making a wealthy marriage--indeed, her father, Lord Aberfeldie, had already a suitor in view for her.

'I am so sorry that our dear Olive is out,' said Allan's mother, breaking a little pause; 'but we knew not at what hour to expect you.'

'I met her in the avenue----'

'And you knew each other--how strange!' exclaimed Lady Aberfeldie, with a brightening face.

'Yes, after a minute or two. She seems as charming a girl as one--to use a soldier's phrase--might see in the longest day's march.'

'And such she is. She did not turn back with you?'

'No, mother,' he replied, with hesitation.

'But she was, of course, glad to see you?'

'I can't say that she was particularly, mater dear; and she got into a regular pet because I dared to kiss her, even in a cousinly way.'

'Dared, my darling boy!' exclaimed his mother, indignantly.

'Fact, mater,' said the Master, smiling and twirling up the ends of his long dark moustaches.

Lady Aberfeldie and her daughter exchanged a swift and mutual glance; but the latter knew more of the views of the young lady in question than the former did.

'I am glad you are pleased with Olive,' said she; 'and when your acquaintance is fully resumed you will find the dear girl all you could wish.'

'She has wonderful blue-grey eyes; they seem violet-blue when she smiles, and black when she is angry.'

'Angry?' said Lady Aberfeldie, inquiringly.

'Well, she rather looked so when I ventured to kiss her in the avenue,' said Allan, laughing, and referring to a kiss that, though snatched, he was never to forget, perhaps, in the long years that were to come.

'She has grown the very image of her mother, your poor Aunt Muriel, who was one of my bridesmaids.'

By visits to the minister's manse and elsewhere Olive had wilfully and petulantly contrived to protract her absence from home to the last moment; the dressing-bell had rung, and before dinner she was hastily giving a few touches to her costume--not that she cared to attract her cousin (quite the reverse)--but she dismissed her foreign maid, Clairette Patchouli, on a sign that Eveline wished to talk with her alone.

'Now, Olive,' began the latter, 'that you have seen Allan----'

'I saw him years ago,' interrupted Olive, pettishly.

'He was a boy then; but now that he is a man, and not the boy you remember, what do you think of him?'

Olive made no reply, but continued to slip her bangles on the whitest, roundest, and most taper pair of arms that ever bewildered the senses of man.

'Isn't he very handsome?' persisted Eveline.

'To partial eyes, perhaps, but there are plenty of men in the world quite as handsome--even more so, I doubt not. I like him already, but don't let him think so; besides, I also like our English visitor, Mr. Holcroft.'

'I do _not_!' said Eveline, decisively.

'Why?'

'He is horsey in bearing, and his face, though handsome, I grant you, often wears a sinister, sharp, and supercilious expression.'

'How tanned Allan is by the Indian sun!'

'I think his face and head both grand and handsome!' exclaimed his sister, with affectionate enthusiasm; 'he quite reminds me of the old Greeks.'

'I was not aware you knew any of them,' laughed Olive.

'Their sculptures, I mean,' replied Eveline, as they swept down the great staircase to the dining-room.