"Come, Marjory," she said, as she grasped the faint hand of the almost unresisting girl. "Come."
And leading her by a half-dragging effort out of the room and along the pa.s.sages, she took her to the large hall, where servants were busy laying the long table for the feast.
"There will be seventy here," she said, "and all to do honour to me. How would _you_ have liked it, Sweet Marjory? You do not envy me, though you look so sad? But oh! there is more honour for me. Come." And still, with the application of something like force, she led Marjory out by the front door towards the lawn, where a number of men were, with the light of pine torches, piling up f.a.gots over layers of pitch. The glare of the torches was thrown over the dark bastle house, and under the relief of the deep shadows, where the light of the moon did not penetrate, was romantic enough even for the taste of Isobel, whose spirit ever panted for display. To add to the effect, the men were jolly; for their supply of ale had been ample, and the occasion of a marriage in the house of the Bowers warranted a merriment which was acceptable to her for whom all these expensive preparations were made.
"This is the marriage-pile, Marjory," said Isobel. "I am not to be put upon it after the manner of Jephthah"s daughter; but it will blaze up to the sky, and tell the G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses that there is one to be honoured here on earth. How would _you_ have liked that honour, Marjory?
But you are not envious. Come, there is more."
And as she was leading Marjory away, an exclamation from one of the men attracted their attention. On turning round, they saw the men"s faces, lighted up by the torches, all directed to the bastle tower on which the glare shone full and red. Their merriment was gone, to give place to the feeling of awe; nor did a syllable escape from their lips. The eyes of the sisters followed those of the men, and were in like manner riveted.
"It is the wraith bride o" the peel," said the old forester. "She gaes round about and round about. My mither saw it thirty years syne, when the laird brought hame his leddy; and we ken he broke his leg in coming off his horse to help her down. I have heard her say
"There"s evil for the house o" Bower, When the bride gaes round the bastle tower.""
"You are a lying knave," cried Isobel. "It is that old cantrup-working witch, Patricia Bower, who should have been burnt with tar-barrels and tormented by p.r.i.c.kers fifty years ago. Nor ghost, nor ghoul, nor demon or devil, shall come between me and my happy destiny."
A speech which, spoken in excitement, was cheered by all the men but the unfortunate forester; for, as we have said, they were merry with ale.
And they knew by report, as they now saw with their eyes, the beauty of the young woman, who, in addition to her natural charms, appeared, as they whirled the torches round their heads, and the cheers rose and echoed in the woods, to be invested with the dignity of a queen. But as this natural enthusiasm died down, they turned again their wondering eyes to the bastle house; and as the figure still went round the bartisan and round the bartisan, they looked at each other, and shook their heads with a motion which appeared very grotesque in the glare of the torches. At length it disappeared, and they began again to pile the f.a.gots, now in silence, and not with the merry words and s.n.a.t.c.hes of their prior humour, as if each of them had foreseen some evil which he could not define.
Meanwhile Isobel had again seized Marjory, to continue the round of her triumphs.
"We will now go to my boudoir, nor mind that witch," she said, "and I will show you all the presents I have got from my neighbours and friends. Oh! they are so fine, that did I not know that you are not envious, I would fear that you would tear my eyes out. Oh, but look, there is Ogilvy"s horse standing waiting for him to carry him home, and I shall see him only this once before I am made his wife." Then, pausing and becoming meditative, she led her sister into the shade of a gigantic elm, the stem of which sufficed to conceal them from observers. "Kneel down," she continued in a stern tone.
"Why so?" replied Marjory, trembling with fear, yet obeying instinctively.
"Swear," cried Isobel, "that you will not, before Ogilvy, contradict what I shall say to him about his mother"s gift. Swear."
"I swear," replied the sister.
And rising up, her hand was again grasped by Isobel, as she led her forward to where the horse stood. Nor had they proceeded many paces, when Ogilvy himself was observed coming forward. He could see them by the light of the torches, as they saw him; and upon the instant, Isobel, clasping Marjory in her arms, kissed her with all the fervency of love.
"How pleasant this is to me," said Ogilvy, as he came up equipped and spurred for his ride, "to see you so loving and sisterly!"
"Did I not swear by Dian and the stars I would love her?" said Devil Isobel; "and is she not called Sweet Marjory?"
"Sweet she is," said he, as he timidly scanned the face of his first love, and pressed her hand; but his countenance changed as he felt the silky-skinned hand of the girl tremble within his, as if it shrunk from the touch, and saw her blue eyes turned on the ground, and heard a sigh steal from her breast. A feeling that was new to him thrilled through the circle of his nerves, and made him tremble to the centre of his being. He had never calculated upon that strange emotion, nor could he a.n.a.lyze it: it was inscrutable, but it was terrible; it was not simply a return of his own love under the restraint of the new one, neither was it simple remorse, but a mixture of various thrills which induced no purpose, but only rendered him uncertain, feeble, and miserable. So engrossed for a moment was he, that he did not even seek the eye of Isobel, who was watching him in every turn of his countenance. Then he would seek some relief in words.
"You have my mother"s love at least, Marjory," he said; and he could not help saying it. "And I shall be pleased to see you wear her gift, which she sent to you through me, who gave it to Isobel."
Marjory was silent, and Ogilvy turned his eye upon Isobel.
"She rejects it," said Isobel, "and wishes me to return it."
"Rejects it!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the youth, as he again looked at Marjory.
Marjory was still silent, and her eyes were even more timidly turned to the ground.
"I did not regard the gift as valuable for the brilliants and opals,"
continued he, "but as conveying the love of my mother; and surely Marjory cannot reject that love."
Yet still was Marjory silent, for she had sworn.
"Oh, she is frightened, poor Sweet Marjory," cried Isobel, with a satirical laugh; "for she has seen the wraith bride on the bastle tower."
"The wraith bride!" responded Ogilvy, relapsing into silence, and instinctively looking round him, where only glared the torchlight among the trees of the lawn, and the dark bodies of the f.a.got-pilers were moving backwards and forwards. He had heard the couplet mentioned by the forester, and had of course viewed it as a play of superst.i.tion; but reason is a weak thing in the grasp of feeling, and now he was all feeling. The remorse of which he had had premonitions, had now taken him as a fit. His eye sought Marjory"s down-turned face, and shrunk from Isobel"s watchful stare; but the direction of that organ did not form an index to his mind, for his fancy was, even during these swift instants, busy weaving the many-coloured web of the future of his married life, and clouding it with sombre shades; nor did the active agent hesitate to draw materials from the past fortunes of the house of Bell"s Tower, and mix them up as things yet to be repeated. Even the wraith bride performed her part now, where she had feeling to help her weakness, and set her up among realities.
At this critical juncture of Ogilvy"s thoughts, there came up from the mansion good Dame Bower herself, of portly corporation, often resonant of a comfortable laugh; and now, when flushed with the exercise of her domestic superintendence, looking the very picture of the joyous mother of a happy bride.
"I had forgotten," she said as she approached, "to ask you to convey my thanks to Dame Ogilvy for that beautiful locket with her hair therein--more precious, I ween, than the diamonds and opals, though these, I"m told, are worth five thousand good merks--which she has so thoughtfully sent to Isobel."
"Isobel!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Ogilvy, fixing his eye on the face of his bride, where there were no blushes to reveal the consciousness of deceit. "To Isobel!" he repeated; "and did Isobel say this?"
"Yes," replied the mother.
"It is false," cried the damsel, precipitated by anger into the terrible imputation.
The mother stood aghast, and Marjory held her head away.
"Speak, Marjory," said Ogilvy, with lips that in an instant had become white and parched.
"I have sworn," said Marjory.
"And dare not speak?" said Ogilvy. Then a deep gloom spread over his face, his eye flashed with a sudden flame. He spoke not a word more; but, vaulting into the saddle, he drove his spurs into the side of his horse, and rode off. As he pa.s.sed the f.a.got-hewers, he saw them cl.u.s.tered together, and heard high words among them, with names of so potent a charm to him, that, even in his confusion and speed, he could not drive them from his mind. These names were, Sweet Marjory and Devil Isobel.
And as if the words had entered the rowels and made them sharper, his horse reared, and he sped on with a whirling tumult in his brain, but yet without uttering a word--nor even to himself did he mutter a remark--still urging his steed, yet unconscious that his journey"s end would bring no a.s.suagement of that tumult, nor mean of extricating him from his strange and perilous predicament. Nor was he aware of the speed of his riding, or how far he had gone, till he came to some huts in the outskirts of the Craigwood, which bounds the domain of Bell"s Tower on the west, where he saw some cottagers a.s.sembled at a door, and again heard words which pierced his ear--no other than those of his own marriage. Again urged by curiosity, he put the question,
"Whom do you speak of, good folks?"
"Sweet Marjory," said one; and another added, "Devil Isobel."
Fain would he have asked more--these were not to him more than sufficient; but pride interposed, and fear aided pride, and away he again sped even at a still quicker pace. Never before had he been so agitated: fear, anger, or remorse had never ruffled the tenor of an existence which pa.s.sed amidst rural avocations and unsophisticated pleasures,--knew nothing of intrigue, falsehood, or dissimulation--those parasitic plagues that follow the societies of men. The moon that shone over his head was as placid and beautiful, and forest and wold as quiet, as they used to be when his mind was a reflection of the peace that was without; but now, as he rode on and on, wild images arose from the roused autonomy of the spirit, and seemed to be impressed by fire,--the face of Isobel reflecting the light of the moon, and those eyes which, looking up, were in their own expression an adjuration similar to that p.r.o.nounced by her lips, that she would obey him, and deliver the diamond gift to its rightful owner; then the same eyes when, inflamed by the fire of her wrath, she called her mother a liar, and proved her own falsehood, while she cast off the duty of a daughter. But through all glided the face of Sweet Marjory, with its mildness, beneficence, and timidity; and the eye that, quailing under her sister"s tyranny, looked so lovingly in the face of the mother, but dared not chide him who had been false to her. He felt within him that revolution from one feeling to its opposite, which, when it begins in the mind, is so energetic and startling. His love for Isobel--which had been a frenzy, tearing him from another love which had been a sweet dream--began to undergo the wonderful change: her beauty faded before a moral expression which waxed hideous, and grew up in these pa.s.sing moments into a direct contrast with the gentle loveliness of her sister, which, coming from the heart, beamed through features fitted to enhance it. Nor could he stop this revolution of his sentiments, the full effect of which, aggravated by remorse, shook his frame, as his horse bounded, and added to the turmoil within him. Yet ever the words came from his quivering lips--"Am I fated to be the husband of Devil Isobel? Is Sweet Marjory destined to bless the nuptial bed of another?" And at every repet.i.tion he unconsciously drove the spur into the sides of his now foaming steed.
But whither all this hot haste--whither was he flying? To his home, where he knew that his mother condemned his choice, though her delicacy had limited her dissatisfaction to that strange but pregnant expression, whereby she had sent her most valuable jewel to her whom she valued and loved, and whom, in the madness of fascination, he had left to sorrow, if not to heartbreaking--perhaps death. He felt that he behoved to be home to make certain preparations for his appearance on the morrow, as a bridegroom by the side of Isobel Bower; and yet he felt that he could not face his mother under the feelings which now ruled him, and the very weakness of his resolution prompted the device of tarrying by the way until she should have gone to bed. He knew where to watch her chamber light, and he began to draw the rein. Yet how unconscious he was of a peculiarity of that power that had been for some time working within him!--yea, even remorse, who, true to her unfailing purpose, was moulding his heart into that yearning to visit the victim on which she insists for ever as a condition of peace to the betrayer. He had come to the cross-road leading eastwards; and even while muttering his purpose of merely prolonging the period of his home-going, he was twitching the rein to the right, so that the obedient steed turned and carried him forward at the old speed. Whither now, versatile and remorseful youth?
From this eastern road there goes off, a couple of miles forward, a rough track, leading to the mansion he had so recently left. And it was not long ere he reached the point of turn. Nor was he even decided when there, that he would again draw the rein to the right. But if he was master of his horse, he was not master of himself: the rough track was taken, and Ogilvy was in full swing to Bell"s Tower. He did not know that it is only when the act is accomplished that one thinks of the decrees of Fate, though it is true that the purposes of man are equally fated in their beginnings, when reason is battling against feeling, as in their termination. In how short time was he in the pine wood, behind the house, where were his bane, and perhaps his antidote, though he could not divine the latter! And he trembled as through the trees he saw the flitting lights, as they came and went past the windows, indicating the joy of preparation: not for these he looked, only for one, sombre and steady, like Melancholy"s dull eye, wherein no tear glistens.
Leaving his horse tied to a pine stem, Ogilvy was in an instant kneeling at the low cas.e.m.e.nt at the foot of the bastle house, where glimmered that light for which he had been so intensely looking.
Was it that grief, forced into an excitement foreign to its lonely, self-indulgent nature, wooed the evening air, to cool by the open window the fever of her slow-throbbing veins? Certain it is at least that Marjory Bower expected no salutation from without at that hour.
"Sweet Marjory, will you listen to one who once dared to love you, and who has now sorrow at his heart, yet Heaven"s wrath will not send forth lightnings to kill?"
"What terrible words are these?" replied the maiden, as she took her hand from her brow and looked in the direction of the open cas.e.m.e.nt.
"Not those," replied he, "which are winged with the hope of a bridegroom. But I am miserable! Marjory Bower, I loved you, and you returned my love; I deserted you, and you never even gloomed on me; and I am now the bridegroom of your sister,--ay, your sister, Devil Isobel!
Will you give me hope if I break off this marriage?"
"Nay," rejoined she; "that cannot be. You have gone too far to go back with honour."