One of the Six Hundred: A Novel
with him at his own request, and was the gift of other years; but the
next heir, his nephew, William Calderwood, whose initials we may see
above the eastern gate of the old fortalice, when he repaired it in
1686, in lieu of the palm branch of his name, placed above the helmet an
arm and clenched hand, which holds a lock of hair--the same crest we all
saw this morning.
From that time the Moultrays of Seafield never prospered. The last of
the family was killed during the insurrection of 1715. Their line
passed away. It was long represented by the Moultrays of Rescobie, also
now extinct, and their tower is a crumbling ruin by the sea-shore.
* * * * *
Such was Cora's strange story, to which we all, myself included,
listened with attention, though, sooth to say, I had heard it frequently
before. Berkeley declared it to be "doocid good, but doocid queer."
In another land I was yet to hear a story still more gloomy and
improbable than this--a story to be related in its place, and in some
points not unlike the legend of the clenched hand.
While Cora had been rehearsing her gloomy story of the two ruined
towers, my eyes had scarcely ever wandered from Louisa Loftus, who, with
Miss Wilford and I, was seated in the same flirting, or tete-a-tete
chair, and who, on this night, was in all the pride of her calm, pale,
aristocratic beauty.
She was in the zenith of her charms; her figure, finely rounded, was
full--almost voluptuous; her features were remarkably expressive to be
so regular; and her eyes and glorious hair were wondrously dark when
contrasted with the pure whiteness of her skin.
Seated under the brilliant crystal gaselier, the fine contour of her
head, and the exquisite proportions of her bare shoulders and neck, on
which a circlet of brilliants sparkled, were seen to perfection, and I
felt bewildered while I watched her. Thus, I fear, Miss Wilford, in
whose blue eyes a mischievous expression was twinkling, did not find me
very entertaining company.
Down that fair neck a long black ringlet wandered, as if to allure, and
at times it almost touched, my hand. Intoxicated by her beauty and
close vicinity, I determined to do something to express my passion, even
if I should do it--miserable timidity and subterfuge--under cover of a
jest--a mockery.
Tremulously, between my fingers, unnoticed by others, I took the stray
ringlet, and whispered in her ears--
"A strange story, that of my cousin's, Lady Louisa."
"And the lock of hair! such a terrible idea!" said she, shuddering,
while her white shoulders and brilliants shone in the light together.
"Does it terrify you?"
"More than it gratifies me."
"As the chances are that I may be killed and buried in the East,
will--will you give me _this_ to lie in the trenches with me?" said I,
curling the soft ringlet round my finger, with mock gallantry, while my
heart beat wildly with hope and expectation.
She turned her dark, full eyes to mine, with an expression of mingled
surprise and sweetness.
"Take it _now_, Mr. Norcliff, for heaven's sake, rather than come for
it, as William Calderwood came," said the sprightly Miss Wilford, taking
a pair of scissors from a gueridon table that stood close by; and ere
Lady Loftus could speak, the dark ringlet was cut off, and consigned to
my pocket-book, while my lips trembled as I whispered my thanks, and
laughingly said--
"What says Pope?
'The meeting points the sacred hair dissever,
From the fair head for ever, and for ever.'"
"This is all very well, Mr. Norcliff," said she, laughing behind her
fan; "but I cannot submit to be shorn in jest, and shall insist on
having that lock of hair from you to-morrow."
She had a lovely smile in her dark eyes, and a half-pout on her
beautiful lip; but Cora--I know not why--looked on me sadly, and shook
her pretty head with an air of warning, that seemed as much as to say I
had erred in my gallantry, if not in my generalship.
That night my heart beat happily; I went to sleep with that jetty tress
beneath my pillow; thus, for me, Cousin Cora had not in vain told her
quaint old legend of "The Clenched Hand."
*CHAPTER X.*
I loved--yes. Ah, let me tell
The fatal charms by which I fell!
Her form the tam'risk's waving shoot,
Her breast the cocoa's youngling fruit.
Her eyes were jetty, jet her hair,
O'ershadowing face like lotus fair;
Her lips were rubies, guarding flowers
Of jasmine, dimned with vernal showers.
STONE TALK.
The next day was to see a crisis in my fate which I could not have
anticipated, combined with the narrow escape from mutilation or death of
more than one of our pleasant party assembled at the Glen.
With all the intensity of my soul, I wished to learn my chances of
success with the brilliant Lady Louisa, yet trembled to make the essay.
Why, or how was this?
Timid and irresolute, fearing to know the best or the worst from the
lips of a mere girl, I asked myself was it I--I, who, at the bombardment
of Rangoon, at the storm of the Dagon Pagoda, and in the night attack on
Frome, had feared neither the bullets nor poisoned arrows of the
two-sworded barbarians whom it was our ill-luck to encounter in those
tropical regions; I, who, without fear or flinching, was now ready to
meet the Russians in Turkey, or anywhere else; was it I that could not
muster hardihood to reveal the emotions, the honourable love, of an
honest heart? It was; and, at times, I felt inclined to utter a malison
on that which General Napier so truly and happily termed, "the cold
shade of aristocracy;" for that it was which chilled and baffled me.
In the drawing-room the first who met me was my Cousin Cora, looking
pale, but bright-eyed, with her pure complexion, and in all her morning
prettiness.
"Lady Loftus, I presume, has not appeared yet?" said I.
"It is always Lady Loftus with you, Cousin Newton," said she, pettishly,
"though you came here to see papa and me. What have you done with that
celebrated lock of hair? Put it in the fire, eh?"
"In the fire, Cora! It is here, in my pocket-book."
"Doubtless you are very proud of it?"
"I cannot but be, Cora," said I, taking her hands in mine, and drawing
her into the recess of an oriel window; "and she is herself so proud and
reserved. I am sure that she knows what you have seen, Cora; at least,
what my uncle says you have detected,--that--that----"
"What, Newton? How rambling and mysterious you are!"
"That I love her."
"You are sure she knows this?" asked Cora.
"Yes, my dear cousin; it is impossible that the regard with which she
has inspired me could fail to be known, seen, or felt by her--I mean
that it must have been apparent to her, by a thousand mute indications,
since we first met in England. It is so to you, is it not?"
"Ye--yes," replied Cora, with her face averted, for no doubt she was
smiling at my earnest simplicity.
"Do you think she would tolerate attentions that were valueless, or
would trifle with me?"
"I cannot say."
"But you are her particular friend. Oh, Cora, be mine too!"
"What on earth do you mean?" asked Cora, showing me still only her
pretty profile; "you cannot wish _me_ to propose to her for you?"
"No; but you hide your sweet face, Cora. You are laughing at me!"
"Oh, no, I am not laughing," replied Cora, in a rich, low tremulous
voice. "Heaven knows, Newton, how far my thoughts are removed from
laughter."
"And--what is this, Cora dear? Your eyes are full of tears!"
"Are they?" she exclaimed angrily, as she withdrew her hands from mine.
"Yes--ah, I see it all," said I, bitterly; "you know Lady Louisa's heart
better than I do, and deem my love for her a hopeless one."
"It is not so," replied Cora, while her cheek flushed, and, though her
long lashes drooped, an air of hauteur stole over her usually gentle and
lovable bearing. "I know nothing of the matter. Search her heart for
yourself; assist you I cannot; and what is more, Newton Norcliff," she
added haughtily, "I will not!"
"Cora!" I exclaimed, with surprise; "but be it so. Myself then must be
my own advocate, and if my love for Lady Louisa----"
What I was about to add, or how I meant to finish the sentence, I know
not, for at that moment she approached, with her calm, somewhat
conventional, but beautiful smile, to kiss Cora, and present her hand to
me. The rest of our party rapidly assembled.
Had she heard the _last_ words of my interrupted speech? I almost
feared, or rather hoped, that she had.
"This, I find, is to be the day of another expedition, Mr. Norcliff,"
she observed.
"So it appears. We are to see the Fifeshire hounds throw off at Largo
House; and afterwards we are to drive home by a circuit, through half
the country, to let Lady Chillingham see the scenery."
"In a January day!" drawled Berkeley. "Do we--aw--start before tiffin?"
"If by that you mean luncheon, I say after it, decidedly," said Lady
Chillingham, in her cool, determined manner, which few--the earl, her
husband, especially--could gainsay. "I have to write to my Lord Slubber
and others."
"Pardon me, my dear Lady Chillingham, but this arrangement is
impossible," said my uncle; "we must leave this in time to see the
hounds throw off."
"And the hour, Sir Nigel?"
"Sharp twelve. Binns will take luncheon for us in the boot of the drag.
Berkeley, you, I believe, are to don the pink, and ride with me. I
shall cross the country to-night, but not in my official capacity, as I
have not yet assumed all the duties appertaining to the honourable
office of the master of the Fifeshire hounds. And now to breakfast.
Lady Chillingham, permit me--your hand, and we shall lead the way."
"When I do take the hunting of the country into my own care," resumed my
uncle, "I shall show you as noble a pack as ever drew cover; ay, dogs as
smart as ever had their tails running after them, even before
cub-hunting begins next season; and so compactly shall they go, that a
tablecloth might cover them all when in full cry."
"By that time, uncle, I shall be testing the mettle of the Russian
cavalry; but my heart will be with you all here in Calderwood Glen."
Lady Louisa's eyes were upon me as I said this; their expression was
unfathomable, so I was fain to construe it into something sympathetic or
of interest in my fate.
The day was clear and beautiful; the air serene, though cold, and the
swelling outlines of the green and verdant hills were sharply defined
against the blue of the sky, where a few fleecy clouds were floating on
the west wind.
Our party lost no time in preparing for the expedition of the day, and,
ere long, the vehicles, the horses, and even the ladies, were all in
marching order. I had too much tact to attempt to engross Lady Loftus
at the beginning of the day; but resolved, as she was to be with "mamma"
in the drag, to become one of its occupants when returning home, if I
could achieve nothing better.
My man Pitblado, and other grooms, brought forth the saddled horses, and
my uncle appeared in a red hunting-coat, boots and tops, with whip and
cap complete, his cheek glowing with health and pleasure, and his eyes
sparkling as if he were again sixteen.
"By the way, Newton," said he, slapping his boot-tops, "that lancer
fellow of yours----"
"Willie Pitblado, my servant?"
"Yes, well, he has tumbled Lady Chillingham's French soubrette about, as
if he had known her from infancy; and what suits the meridian of
Maidstone barracks won't do at Calderwood Glen, so tell him. And now,
Mr. Berkeley, here are Dunearn, Saline, and Splinter-bar. You can have
your choice of cavalry; but shorten your stirrups. I always take the