Lord Evandale's good word saved Morton a second time when Claverhouse routed the Presbyterian army at Bothwell Bridge. Morton was taken prisoner, but his life was spared, and at Leith he was put on board a vessel bound for Rotterdam with letters of recommendation to the Prince of Orange.

_IV.--Henry Morton Returns in Time_

By the prudent tolerance of King William Scotland narrowly escaped the horrors of a protracted civil war. The triumphant Whigs re-established Presbytery as the national religion, and only the extreme sect of Cameronians on the one side, and the Highlanders, who were for the deposed Stuart king, on the other, disturbed the peace of the land.

Balfour of Burley refused to sheathe his sword, and Evandale followed his old commander Claverhouse (now Viscount Dundee) in joining the rebel Jacobites. Major b.e.l.l.e.n.den was dead.

No news had ever come of Henry Morton, and it was believed with good reason he was lost when the vessel in which he sailed went down with crew and pa.s.sengers. But Morton was already back in Scotland, in the service of King William.

In the belief of her Morton's death, Edith b.e.l.l.e.n.den had become betrothed to Lord Evandale, though she postponed marriage, and her prayers went out to him that he would refrain from joining Claverhouse, when he came to bid her farewell.

"Oh, my lord, remain!" said Edith. "Do not rush on death and ruin!

Remain to be our prop and stay, and hope everything from time."

"It is too late, Edith," answered Lord Evandale. "I know you cannot love me, that your heart is dead or absent. But were it otherwise, the die is now cast."

As he spoke thus an old servant rushed in to say a party of horse headed by one Basil Olifant, a rascal who was anxious to take Evandale for the sake of reward, had beset the outlets of the house.

"Oh, hide yourself, my lord!" cried Edith, in an agony of terror.

"I will not, by Heaven!" answered Lord Evandale. "What right has the villain to a.s.sail me or stop my pa.s.sage? I will make my way, were he backed by a regiment. And now, farewell, Edith!"

He clasped her in his arms, and kissed her tenderly; then rushed out and mounted his horse, and with his servants rode composedly down the avenue.

As soon as Lord Evandale appeared, Olifant's party spread themselves a little, as if preparing to enclose him. Their leader stood fast, supported by three men, two of whom were dragoons, the third in dress and appearance a countryman, all well-armed. Whoever had before seen the strong figure, stern features, and resolved manner of the third attendant could have no difficulty in recognising Balfour of Burley.

"Follow me," said Lord Evandale to his servants, "and if we are forcibly opposed, do as I do."

He advanced at a hand gallop; Olifant called out, "Shoot the traitor!"

and four carbines were fired upon the unfortunate n.o.bleman. He reeled in the saddle, and fell from his horse mortally wounded. His servants fired and Basil Olifant and a dragoon were stretched lifeless on the ground.

Burley, whose blood was up, exclaimed, "Down with the Midianites!" and advanced, sword in hand. At this instant the clatter of horses' hoofs was heard, and a party of horse appeared on the fatal field. They were foreign dragoons led by a Dutch commander, accompanied by Morton and a civil magistrate.

Only the belief that Evandale was to marry Edith had kept Morton hitherto from revealing his return.

A hasty call to surrender, in the name of G.o.d and King William, was obeyed by all except Burley, who turned his horse and attempted to escape. Pursued by soldiers he made for the river, but was shot in the middle of the stream, and felt himself dangerously wounded. He returned towards the bank he had left, waving his hand as if in token of surrender. The troopers ceased firing, and as he approached a dragoon laid hands on him. Burley, in requital, grasped his throat, and both came headlong into the river, and were swept down the stream. They were twice seen to rise, the trooper trying to swim, and Burley clinging to him in a manner that showed his desire that both should perish. Their corpses were taken out about a quarter of a mile down the river.

While the soul of this stern enthusiast flitted to its account, that of the brave and generous Lord Evandale was also released. Morton had flung himself from his horse, to render his dying friend all the aid in his power. Evandale knew him, for he pressed his hand, and intimated by signs his wish to be conveyed to the house. This was done with all the care possible, and the clamorous grief of the lamenting household was far exceeded in intensity by the silent agony of Edith. Unconscious even of the presence of Morton, she was not aware that fate, who was removing one faithful lover, had restored another as if from the grave, until Lord Evandale taking their hands in his, united them together, raised his face as if to pray for a blessing on them, and sunk back and expired in the next moment.

The marriage of Morton and Miss b.e.l.l.e.n.den was delayed for several months on account of Lord Evandale's death. Lady Margaret was prevailed on to countenance Morton, who now stood high in the reputation of the world, and Edith was her only hope, and she wished to see her happy. So Lady Margaret put her prejudice aside, for Morton's being an old Covenanter stuck sorely with her for some time, and consoled herself with the recollection that his most sacred majesty Charles the Second had once observed to her that marriage went by destiny.

Peveril of the Peak

"Peveril of the Peak," the longest of all the Waverley novels, was published in 1823. For the main idea of the tale Sir Walter was indebted to some papers found by his younger brother, Thomas Scott, in the Isle of Man. These papers gave the story of William Christian, who took the side of the Roundheads against the high-spirited Countess of Derby, and was subsequently tried and executed, according to the laws of the island, by that lady, for having dethroned his august mistress and imprisoned her and her family. "Peveril" is one of the most complicated, in respect of characters and incidents, of Scott's works. The canvas is crowded with personages, good, bad, and indifferent, yet all full of vitality and responding to the actual forces which their creator set in motion.

_I.--Cavalier and Roundhead_

In Charles the Second's time, the representative of an ancient family in the county of Derbyshire, long distinguished by the proud t.i.tle of Peverils of the Peak, was Sir Geoffrey Peveril, a man with the attributes of an old-fashioned country gentleman.

When the civil wars broke out, Peveril of the Peak raised a regiment for the king, and performed his part with sufficient gallantry for several rough years. He witnessed also the final defeat at Worcester, where, for the second time, he was made prisoner, and being regarded as an obstinate malignant, was in great danger of execution. But Sir Geoffrey's life was preserved by the interest of a friend, who possessed influence in the councils of Cromwell. This was a Major Bridgenorth, a gentleman of middling quality, who had inherited from his father a considerable sum of money, and to whom Sir Geoffrey was under pecuniary obligations.

Moultra.s.sie Hall, the residence of Mr. Bridgenorth, was but two miles distant from Martindale Castle, the ancient seat of the Peverils; and while, as Bridgenorth was a decided Roundhead, all friendly communication which had grown up betwixt Sir Geoffrey and his neighbour was abruptly broken asunder at the outbreak of hostilities, on the trial and execution of Charles I., Bridgenorth was so shocked, fearing the domination of the military, that his politics on many points became those of the Peverils, and he favoured the return of Charles II.

Another bond of intimacy, stronger than the same political opinions, now united the families of the castle and the hall.

In the beginning of the year 1658 Major Bridgenorth--who had lost successively a family of six young children--was childless; ere it ended, he had a daughter, but her birth was purchased by the death of an affectionate wife. The same voice which told Bridgenorth that he was a father of a living child--it was the friendly voice of Lady Peveril-- told him that he was no longer a husband.

Lady Peveril placed in Bridgenorth's arms the infant whose birth had cost him so dear, and conjured him to remember that his Alice was not yet dead, since she survived in the helpless child.

"Take her away--take her away!" said the unhappy man. "Let me not look on her! It is but another blossom that has bloomed to fade."

"I will take the child for a season," said Lady Peveril, "since the sight of her is so painful to you; and the little Alice shall share the nursery of our Julian until it shall be pleasure, and not pain, for you to look on her."

"That hour will never come," said the unhappy father; "she will follow the rest--G.o.d's will be done! Lady, I thank you--I trust her to your care."

It is enough to say that the Lady Peveril did undertake the duties of a mother to the little orphan, and the puny infant gradually improved in strength and in loveliness.

Sir Geoffrey was naturally fond of children, and so much compa.s.sionated the sorrows of his neighbour, that morning after morning he made Moultra.s.sie Hall the termination of his walk or ride, and said a single word of kindness as he pa.s.sed. "How is it with you, Master Bridgenorth?"

the knight would say, halting his horse by the latticed window. "I just looked in to bid you keep a good heart, man, and to tell you that Julian is well, and little Alice is well, and all are well at Martindale Castle."

"I thank you, Sir Geoffrey; my grateful duty waits on Lady Peveril," was generally Bridgenorth's only answer.

The voice of Peveril suddenly a.s.sumed a new and different tone in the month of April, 1660. He rushed into the apartment of the astonished major with his eyes sparkling and called out, "Up, up, neighbour! No time now to mope in the chimney-corner! Where is your buff coat and broadsword, man? Take the true side once in your life, and mend past mistakes. Monk has declared at London--for the king. Fairfax is up in Yorkshire--for the king, for the king, man! I have a letter from Fairfax to secure Derby and Chesterfield with all the men I can make. All are friends now, and you and I, good neighbour, will charge abreast as good neighbours should!" The st.u.r.dy cavalier's heart became too full, and exclaiming, "Did ever I think to live to see this happy day!" he wept, to his own surprise as much as to that of Bridgenorth.

The neighbours were both at Chesterfield when news arrived that the king had landed in England, and Sir Geoffrey instantly announced his purpose of waiting upon his majesty, while the major desired nothing better than to find all well at Martindale on his return.

Accordingly, on the subsequent morning, Bridgenorth went to Martindale Castle, and gave Lady Peveril the welcome a.s.surances of her husband's safety.

"May Almighty G.o.d be praised!" said the Lady Peveril. The door of the apartment opened as she spoke, and two lovely children entered. The eldest, Julian Peveril, a fine boy betwixt four and five years old, led in his hand a little girl of eighteen months, who rolled and tottered along.

Bridgenorth cast a hasty glance upon his daughter, and then caught her in his arms and pressed her to his heart. The child, though at first alarmed at the vehemence of his caresses, presently smiled in reply to them.

"Julian must lose his playfellow now, I suppose?" said Lady Peveril.

"But the hall is not distant, and I will see my little charge often."

"G.o.d forbid my girl should ever come to Moultra.s.sie," said Major Bridgenorth hastily; "it has been the grave of her race. The air of the low grounds suited them not. I will seek for her some other place of abode."

"Major Bridgenorth," answered the lady, "if she goes not to her father's house, she shall not quit mine. I will keep the little lady as a pledge of her safety and my own skill; and since you are afraid of the damp of the low grounds, I hope you will come here frequently to visit her."