CHAPTER XXIII.

Methinks my soul is rous'd to her last work, Has much to do, and little time to spare.

Dryden.

The Countess of Nithsdale had quitted her husband. She wound her solitary way through the dreary purlieus which had become only too familiar to her. She had gained the long-wished-for consent; she had extracted a vow, a solemn vow, from her lord, and she feared not that he would break it: but never did the difficulties of her undertaking appear to her so appalling as at the present moment; the sentries so innumerable, the guards so alert, the way so long, the walls so lofty, the moat so broad!

While his consent was to be gained, all else seemed easy, but now the dangers rose up in fearful array before her!

But this was not the time to waver. Where could she look for support but to her own unshrinking soul? Amy, she knew, considered her plan impracticable. To no one else had she imparted it.

During the short time which intervened before she reached her home, she had recovered her confident reliance on the protection of Providence, and on the strength which that Providence would vouchsafe to her; and with a firm countenance she informed Amy that her lord's consent was obtained, that every difficulty was smoothing itself before her, and that they had but to go on and prosper.

"Thank Heaven that my lord has consented," answered Amy; "but, dearest madam, is this, in truth, the only hope now left? Here is a packet which arrived even now from the Duchess of Montrose. Who knows but it may contain good news?"

With trembling hands the countess tore it open; but Amy saw with a glance that there was no hope administered by its contents. "No worse news, I trust, madam?"

"No worse than I expected; but read yourself, good Amy. I have nor voice nor eye-sight," as she brushed off a tear, "nor strength. All the strength I possess must be reserved for to-morrow."

The duchess's letter told her that the petition from the Lords had received no more favourable answer from the king than "that on this, and all other occasions, he would do what he thought most consistent with the dignity of his crown and the safety of his people." The duchess added, that this answer would next morning be formally announced to the public, but that meanwhile she had hastened to communicate it to her friend, thinking she might deem it advisable to adopt some farther measures, although she scarcely knew what measures to recommend.

In consequence of this information, Lady Nithsdale resolved, as a last resource, in the event of her scheme proving unsuccessful, to prepare for still presenting one more private petition to the king. To this end she appointed Mr. M'Kenzie, an old friend of her lord's, and, through her sister Lady Seaforth, a connexion of her own, to await her on the following evening, at her lodgings. She felt secure of his friendly support in any emergency. She also applied to the Duchess of Buccleugh; who promised, if Lady Nithsdale called upon her to do so, she would be in readiness to accompany her to court.

She passed what remained of that evening, and the early part of the following morning, in completing every arrangement in case of either contingency. Even had not these manifold cares occupied her time, she could scarcely have trusted herself with her husband. Constant, incessant business was absolutely necessary to her. If she had sat down to think, to calculate the chances, it would have been impossible to her to have preserved the self-command so indispensable to the success of her undertaking.

It was not till towards the afternoon of this trying day, the 23rd, that she desired Amy to request Mrs. Mills would favour her with her company for a few moments.

The compassionate Mrs. Mills instantly obeyed her summons, though almost dreading to find herself in the presence of one whose grief she feared to witness. But Lady Nithsdale was perfectly calm and collected. After thanking her for her constant kindness and hospitality, she at once entered upon the subject; and telling her that having had such experience of the goodness of her heart, she did not doubt but she would continue to prove herself the kind friend she had ever found her; and that she would not refuse to accompany her that day to the Tower, in order that, as she was not personally known to the guards and those in attendance, her lord might the more easily pass for her. She then detailed to her the whole plan for his escape, and urged that as this was the very evening preceding the execution, there was no time for doubt and hesitation. She told her all other hope was now at an end. Reprieves had been despatched for the Lords Wintoun, Widdrington, and Nairne; but at the same time orders had been given for the execution, the next morning, of Lord Derwentwater, Lord Kenmure, and of her husband! She spoke with a firm voice; and such was her excited state of hope and resolution, that the words which struck through Amy's heart, which made Mrs. Mills shrink and tremble, seemed as if they were to her but a matter of business.

Mrs. Mills, all agitated and confused, promised to assist to the best of her ability, and Lady Nithsdale instantly overwhelmed her with thanks; and having despatched Walter Elliot to Mrs. Morgan, to request she also would instantly visit her, she then occupied herself in ascertaining from Amy Evans the exact situation of the house where they were to meet, when she should have succeeded in placing her husband beyond the precincts of the Tower.

Mrs. Morgan delayed not to wait on the countess, who found little difficulty in gaining her consent to any plan which might serve one whom she had quickly learned to love with all the warmth of her enthusiastic heart. Indeed, both she and Mrs. Mills were so taken by surprise, the case was so pressing, the plan to be so instantly carried into execution, that there was no time for indecision or reflection. They must either doom the Earl of Nithsdale to certain death on the morrow, and his wife to utter despair; or they must lend themselves to the scheme so warily, so judiciously, so discreetly contrived.

Lady Nithsdale begged Mrs. Morgan, who was of a peculiarly slender make, to put under her own riding-hood that which she had prepared for Mrs. Mills, who was to leave hers in the prison for the earl.

She then hurried them both into the coach; and repeating her directions, enforcing her counsels, she allowed no pause in the conversation, during which they might have leisure to reflect and to repent.

In their hurry and their astonishment, they thought not of the possible consequences, but submitted to obey Lady Nithsdale in all things, who guided them with the overawing mastery which, at the moment of trial, the stronger mind invariably exercises over those of a more feeble and yielding temperament.

The coach stopped at the Tower. Lady Nithsdale had permission to introduce but one person at a time; and leaving Mrs. Mills in the carriage, she took Mrs. Morgan with her.

She had not seen her husband since the preceding night, and this was the eve of execution! If she failed, the morrow would see her a widow! But she drove such thoughts from her mind;--she hurried Mrs. Morgan along,--she almost pushed her into the apartment.

Lord Nithsdale rushed to his wife, and pressed her to his bosom. "Oh, Winifred!" he exclaimed, half reproachfully; "this long, long, weary day, and I have not seen you!"

She disengaged herself from him.

"I must not look on you," she said; "I must not listen to you--I must not think--we must now act, and not a word must be uttered that is not to the purpose! Here is my good, kind, dear Mrs. Morgan! She is, and has been from the first, a true and faithful friend; and now, dear Mrs. Morgan, we must lose no time in speech or compliment."

Mrs. Morgan took off the hood, and soon disencumbered herself of the dress, which had been put on over her own.

Lord Nithsdale meanwhile stood by, passive, but miserable. The long morning had appeared to him interminable. The early February twilight had seemed as if it never would arrive. He still looked upon this day as his last on earth; and his feelings, though not his reason, were almost disposed to murmur at his wife for not being with him during the few remaining hours which they might have passed together. He had to remind himself that she was toiling in his service, not to feel abandoned by her. It was with a strange and mixed sensation that he had watched the waning light. He was impatient for the shades of evening, which he trusted would bring to him the beloved of his soul; and yet, as he dwelt upon the last rays of sunshine, he felt loth to part with them for ever,--to think that he should never again see that glorious luminary fulfil its course in splendour, and shed its brilliancy on all around; hateful to him as was the dreary prospect from his prison windows, he now thought with regret that he should never again see its western beams gild the square turrets of the White Tower. At moments he felt life was worth one desperate effort; but more frequently he hoped, when his Winifred did come, it would be to tell him that her scheme was impracticable, to release him from his vow, and to allow him to meet his fate with dignity and resignation.

She came, and all was turmoil and confusion within his bosom. He was pledged to obey her. Indeed there was no time for argument or remonstrance. She would have listened to none.

Those who stand upon the threshold of the grave--those to whom in a few hours the mysteries of a future existence may all be unfolded--seem as it were a link between the living and the dead, and are ever regarded with a certain awe, as Mrs. Morgan experienced when looking on him of whom she had heard so much--on him for whom, though unknown, she had felt so keenly--on the stranger for whom she was now incurring, what might prove to herself, no inconsiderable peril.

That pensive countenance, that noble brow, those lofty features, all spoke a soul within, which might well justify his wife's devotion, and she felt that such a creature must not perish. She repented not of her consent; but gladly, willingly, incurred the present risk.

When the change in her dress was effected, Lady Nithsdale conducted her back to the staircase; begging her, in the hearing of the guards, to lose no time in sending her maid to dress her, and expressing the greatest fear lest, if she did not come immediately, she should be too late to present the last petition that night.

She presently afterwards descended the stairs to meet Mrs. Mills, who, according to their previous arrangement, concealed her face with her handkerchief, as if in tears. When the door was closed she made her take off her own hood, and put on that which Mrs. Morgan had left for her; and then bidding her assume a more cheerful countenance (in order that when her lord appeared in her dress, he might the more easily personate the lady who had entered weeping and afflicted), she took her by the hand, and led her out of the earl's chamber. In passing through the next room, she said with all the concern imaginable,

"My dear Mrs. Catherine, go in all haste, and send me my waiting-maid. She certainly cannot reflect how late it is. I am to present my petition to-night; and if I let slip this opportunity, I am undone, for to-morrow will be too late; hasten her as much as possible, for I shall be on thorns till she comes."

The guards, to whom the countess's liberality the preceding day had endeared her, disturbed her not, but allowed her to pass and repass with her company: the more freely also, as, having been told by her that the imprisoned lords were likely to obtain their liberty, they were not so strictly on the watch as they had hitherto been. All in the outer room, who were chiefly the guards' wives and daughters, seemed to compassionate her exceedingly; and the sentinel himself opened the door for them. There was nothing in the appearance of the fair and florid Mrs. Mills which could excite the slightest suspicion.

Having seen her safe out, Lady Nithsdale returned to finish dressing her lord. She had prepared false hair of a fair colour; the more to resemble Mrs. Mills, whose hair was inclined to be flaxen. She coloured his dark eye-brows with light paint; and she also painted his face with red and white, for there was no time to shave his dark beard. She dressed him in some of her own petticoats, and in the hood Mrs. Mills had worn. As the evening had by this time closed in, and she feared that the light of candles might betray them, she hastened him from the apartment. She led him by the hand, whilst he held his handkerchief to his eyes; and being dressed in the same dress, and his hair and complexion being made somewhat to resemble those of Mrs. Mills, he easily passed for the weeping young lady whose affliction at having parted for the last time from a dear friend might very naturally be even more over-whelming than when she entered a short time before.

Lady Nithsdale spoke to him in the most piteous tone of voice, bitterly bewailing the negligence of her maid Evans, who had ruined her by her delay. Yet, while she spoke, it almost went against her to accuse of negligence the devoted Amy! Still, addressing the earl, she continued:--

"My dear Mrs. Betty, for the love of God run quickly, and bring her with you. You know my lodging, and if ever you made despatch in your life, do it at present. I am almost distracted with this disappointment."

The guards opened the door. She was permitted to pass with one friend at a time: they had not kept exact account of the number who had entered, satisfied that all was right while she was accompanied by only one female, and one also whom they believed to have seen so lately enter the chamber within. She went down with him, still conjuring him to make all possible haste.

As soon as he had cleared the door, she made him walk before, lest the sentinel should take notice of his walk; and she still continued to press him to make despatch. At the bottom of the last outer step, she met the faithful Amy Evans, and into her hands she committed him.

She had before engaged Mr. Mills to be in readiness before the Tower, to conduct him to a place of safety, which at that period might be the more easily effected, as, instead of a clear and open space without the walls, the purlieus were choked with mean habitations, with close and narrow alleys. The gates were no sooner passed, than they found themselves in the throng of the most dense and busy part of the London population; but Mr. Mills had looked upon the affair as so very unlikely to succeed, and his astonishment threw him into such a consternation when he actually beheld them, that he was bewildered and quite out of himself.

Amy Evans perceived his confusion, and with that presence of mind which had so justly entitled her to her lady's confidence, instantly decided on her own line of conduct. She took no notice of his agitation, lest she might attract the attention of the passers-by; and she feared that possibly the earl might mistrust them, if he should perceive wavering and uncertainty in those to whom he was confided. She therefore at once took him to some friends of her own, on whom she felt certain she might rely; and leaving him with them, immediately returned in search of Mr. Mills.

Meanwhile the Lady Nithsdale had in safety regained her lord's apartment. As she passed, all sympathised in her distress, and pitied her for the disappointment she had met with.

She closed the door, and then kept up a conversation as if her lord had been really present. She answered her own questions in his voice, as nearly as she could imitate it. She walked up and down the room, as though they had been conversing together, till at length she imagined the earl and Amy must have thoroughly cleared themselves of the guards.

During all this time she had not allowed herself once to pause or to reflect. She had contemplated nothing but success--she had not permitted herself to anticipate failure--she had not suffered her mind to glance towards the fatal morrow. Still calm and collected, she now calculated that she might with safety depart herself. She neglected no possible precaution: she opened the door, and standing half within it, so that those without might not have an opportunity of commanding a view of the interior, she bade her lord a formal farewell for the night, saying, "That something more than usual must have occurred to make Evans negligent on this important occasion, who had always been so punctual in the smallest trifles;"--she added, "there was no remedy; but that she should go in person; that if the Tower was still open when she had finished her business, she would return that night; but bade him be assured she would be with him as early in the morning as she could gain admittance, and, as she flattered herself, should bring him favourable news."

Then, before she shut the door, she pulled through the string of the latch, so that it could only be opened from within; she closed it with some force, to make sure that it was well fastened; and as she passed she told the servant he need not carry candles to his master till his lord sent for them, as he desired to finish some prayers.

She descended the stairs. She found herself in the open air; for a moment all seemed to reel around her; she scarcely dared trust her senses that he was really free. She trembled as she passed on. She thought each sight, each sound, might be that he had been discovered, overtaken, and that they were now leading him back to captivity and certain death.

She feared to excite suspicion by looking too eagerly and curiously about her, and yet she fancied every moment she heard hurrying footsteps in pursuit of her. She reached the outer gates at last--she passed them! There were several coaches on the stand: she called one, she threw herself into it, and drove to her own lodgings.

It was all true! He was free! She had saved him! The joy seemed too great for endurance--her heart felt bursting! But there was still much to be done, she must not yet relax.