CHAPTER II.

Hail, Childhood! lovely age, in thy short race Too oft we know our only happy hours. With what fond yearnings later we retrace Each several step in thy sweet path of flowers. The spirit bounding wild, unknowing why, And still expectant of new ecstacy-- The little sorrows that to memory seem As 'twere joys undefin'd in some fair dream.

_Unpublished Poems._

One evening the Lady Winifred was alone in the small and simple apartment of which she was now the sole inhabitant; the fading light had obliged her to relinquish her employment, and she gazed through the narrow grated window as the sun sank behind the bank of purple clouds which, in low flat countries, so frequently accompany the decline of day. She thought on old Rachael Evans's descriptions of her home, and she remained lost in fanciful imaginings, conjuring the masses of vapour into the forms of mountains which she had never beheld, when she was roused from her meditations by the entrance of the sister porteress, who came to announce to her that a messenger from England had arrived, and to summon her to the parlour grate.

What were her joy and surprise at recognising old Evans herself, who, with a trusty servant, was sent to convey her in safety to London, where she would meet her mother, the Duchess of Powis, as she was called by all her immediate dependants, although the title conferred upon her husband by James the Second was not allowed to her son at the court of Queen Anne.

The Lady Winifred listened with even fresh delight to all which Rachael Evans could impart respecting her family and her country, though she could not but express her surprise that her mother should so suddenly command her to her presence.

"Your lady mother may have her reasons," replied the old woman, with a mysterious and important air; "and it is likely his gracious majesty himself, (Heaven bless and restore him to his own!) may also have his reasons for wishing you should not follow your sister's example."

"The king! He cannot surely take any thought of what my fate may be!"

"It is not for me to make so bold as to dive into a king's counsels; but it would not be fitting for all the heads of noble Catholic families and true Jacobites to be intermarrying with the daughters of crop-eared Whigamoors, as many of the young lords have done of late. If all the beautiful young ladies of loyal families were to take the veil, as the Lady Lucy has done, it would not be the better for the true cause. Your fair sister, the Lady Anne, is about to be married to the Viscount Carrington; and there may be other nobles as great, or greater, whom King James may also wish to see attached to his cause, rather than withdrawn from it, by the lady whom they may chance to marry."

Lady Winifred was half alarmed at Rachael Evans's insinuations. Love and marriage were topics of conversation interdicted by the elder nuns, and subjects on which she had never wittingly allowed her thoughts to dwell. Yet she could not but collect from various expressions which Evans let drop, that some alliance, by which the Jacobite cause might be strengthened, was in contemplation for her.

Her thoughts were all duty, submission, and obedience, both towards her mother and her king; but her pure and ardent soul recoiled from the idea of being condemned to love and honour one of whom she knew nothing. She questioned Evans more closely, and extracted from her that Colonel Hook had been despatched with credentials from the court of St. Germain's, for the purpose of ascertaining the situation, numbers and ability of King James's adherents in Scotland; that he had reported the Earl of Nithsdale to be a nobleman of much weight and consideration in the southern counties, and the head of a Jacobite family; and that he was considered by the Chevalier de St. George as a person whom it was of great importance to attach firmly to his cause, by uniting him to a lady of undoubted loyalty.

The Lady Winifred received this intelligence with tears and sorrow. The notion of resistance to the wishes of her superiors never crossed her mind as within the scope of possible events; but the prospect which unfolded itself before her seemed to her simple, yet ardent imagination, awful in the extreme.

"Have you ever seen the Earl of Nithsdale?" she timidly inquired, after the long silence which succeeded Rachael Evans's developement of the views entertained with regard to her.

"No, my sweet young lady," replied Evans; "but you need not harbour a fear that he is other than a good and a noble gentleman. There never was a Whig nor a traitor among any of the Maxwells of Caerlaverock. Was it not his ancestor, the noble Sir Eustace, who was as true to King Robert Bruce, as your own blessed father was to his king? and rather than that the enemy should have a chance of turning it into a garrison for themselves, did he not, with his own hands, assist in demolishing his fair castle of Caerlaverock? The king gave him twenty-two pounds in money for this piece of service; and though that sounds little enough in these days, they say it was then thought a great sum of money. It was his ancestor, Lord Robert, who was killed at the battle of Flodden, fighting by King James's side. They always were a noble family, and true to their lawful sovereign. It was the first earl who spent all his princely fortune in the wars of King Charles the Martyr;--nor would he surrender his castles of Caerlaverock and Thrieve, till he had received his majesty's own letters commanding him to do so. It may be a bold speech for me who am but a servant--though, I am proud to say, a trusted one--but I think a young lady should esteem herself honoured to ally herself with one descended from such worthy parentage."

The Lady Winifred sighed: she also set a high value upon an honourable and noble lineage; that a woman should match herself beneath her station appeared to her a shameful degradation. The idea of a Jacobite intermarrying with a Whigamoor was as revolting to her imagination as to Rachael Evans's; yet she would fain have learned something more of her future husband's character, his age, and his appearance.

"But, Evans," she replied, "it sometimes happens that persons of noble birth are mean and sordid in their minds, and such that it would be difficult to love and honour them, as a wife should love and honour her husband, and as I have heard you say my mother loved and honoured my father. Oh! I could tell you a sad tale which one of our nuns has often told to me, how a friend of hers was married to a great duke, who was of the oldest and noblest family in France."

"And was he not noble in mind, as such a great person should ever be?"

"I will repeat it all to you, as sister Margaret has so often told it to me, and you will not wonder at my fears:--She was brought up in the same convent as Eugénie de St. Mesnil: they were friends from childhood; and when Eugénie was removed to her father's house, previous to her betrothment, she begged that her friend might be permitted to accompany her. One morning they were all dressed in their most brilliant apparel,--sister Margaret says that poor Eugénie looked more like an angel than a woman,--the relations were assembled, and in the adjoining apartment waited the notaries and the family of the bridegroom. The folding doors opened:--sister Margaret kept close to Eugénie, who stole a fearful glance towards the gentlemen at the farther end of the room. She whispered softly to sister Margaret 'she only hoped it was not he who wore the blue and silver!' The future bride and bridegroom were now summoned to sign their names to the parchments. Eugénie advanced, and from among the gentlemen she indeed saw him who wore the blue and silver step forward, and it was he who signed his name with hers. Sister Margaret says, that to her dying day she shall never forget the expression of despair in poor Eugénie's countenance. At that moment she resolved she would profess herself a nun; and the very day which saw Eugénie become a miserable wife, sister Margaret returned to her convent. She was soon afterwards removed hither, that she might take the veil among others of her own country.--Alas! alas! how often have I wished to see my native land; and now how much rather would I embrace the fate of sister Margaret, than that of Eugénie de St. Mesnil, if I could do so without failing in duty to my mother!"

"My dear young lady, you should not listen to these love tales; they are almost as bad for young people as reading idle romances and songs."

The Lady Winifred could not suppress a smile. "Nay, dear Evans, I do not think my tale has been a tale of love," she replied.

"I dare say sister Margaret's French friend was very happy after a while, when she became accustomed to the strange duke."

"Alas! I believe not"--and the young Winifred shook her head. "Sister Margaret never would tell me any more of what befel her. She says poor Eugénie is at rest, and bids me ask no farther of her history. It was a very sad one, she always adds; so sad, that she rejoiced when she heard of her friend's death!"