CHAPTER XXIV.

And all extremes how link'd! Do we not weep For joy?--and laugh, ay, laugh, for anguish? A hideous laugh, that tells of sorrow, more Than tears and sighs!

_MS. Play._

When Lady Nithsdale arrived at her lodgings, she found poor Mr. M'Kenzie in waiting to accompany her to present her last hopeless petition, had the attempt, in the success of which she had so confidently, and, as it proved, so justly relied, proved ineffectual.

She told him, with exultation, there was no need now of any petition, as her husband was safe out of the Tower, and out of the hands of his enemies, as she supposed; although, she added with truth, she knew not where he was.

It was also necessary to inform the Duchess of Buccleugh that she should not require her good offices that evening, but at the same time she was unwilling to spread the news of her lord's escape. She had discharged the coach which had conveyed her from the Tower; but, sending for a sedan-chair, she resolved to go immediately to the Duchess of Buccleugh's. She inquired if she was at home; and being answered in the affirmative, and that she was in expectation of the countess's arrival, but was at that moment engaged with another duchess.[A] Lady Nithsdale declined going up stairs, but desired to be shown into a chamber below, begging at the same time that the duchess's maid might be sent to her.

She was glad to escape being questioned by the duchess herself, and bade the maid acquaint her grace that her only reason for not waiting upon her was her having been informed she was engaged with company. She charged the maid with her most sincere thanks for her grace's kind offer of accompanying her to court, but desired her to say, she might spare herself any further trouble, as it was judged more advisable to present one general petition in the name of all: still, she should never be unmindful of her particular obligation to her grace, which she hoped soon to acknowledge in person.

She had dismissed the chair which brought her to the Duchess of Buccleugh's, lest she should be pursued and watched; and she therefore now desired one of the servants to call another, in which she proceeded to the Duchess of Montrose's.

Upon hearing of Lady Nithsdale's arrival, the duchess was seized with such a panic,--she so dreaded the notion of witnessing her despair,--that she suddenly quitted the apartment, and hastened to deny herself. Her husband, seeing her abruptly break from her company, anxiously followed to inquire the cause of her evident agitation.

"I cannot see her," she exclaimed: "I could not bear to behold my poor cousin of Nithsdale's anguish. I have no power to save her, and I have not courage to contemplate the agony I cannot alleviate. Oh! make some excuse for me! I am weak and helpless; I cannot preach resignation. Alas! alas!" she continued, wringing her hands, "I know too well what must be her feelings; I am too well aware of what a nature is her devotion to her lord; it would be mockery in me to bid her be patient,--to tell her time will temper her despair. I know it will not: I could but feed her grief! It must be some stronger, firmer mind than mine that dare face such agony as hers!"

Even while she spoke, the servants, who had not understood the order to deny their mistress, and who were accustomed at all hours to admit Lady Nithsdale, entered the apartment to inform her grace that the countess was below.

"What shall I do?" exclaimed the duchess, in dismay.

"Go to her, dear Christian," answered the duke; "though you may not be able to inspire her with firmness to bear such affliction, your sympathy must soothe."

"Oh, that is true! Yes, I will go to her, poor soul! Assuredly I would rather die than be unkind; and have I not promised she should always find a friend in Christian Montrose. But if you knew how fearful her grief is when she is so resolutely calm, you would not wonder that I shrink from seeing her under her present circumstances."

The duchess slowly, hesitatingly, descended, and fearfully entered the apartment where Lady Nithsdale awaited her.

Instead of the harrowing image of despair, which the duchess had pictured to herself, she saw the countess with glowing cheeks and a countenance brilliant with joy, who rushed into her arms in her ecstasy of delight. The duchess stood appalled. She apprehended that her cousin's troubles had, indeed, unsettled her reason, and that it was the light of madness which flashed from her eye. She shrank in fear and amazement.

"He is safe!" exclaimed the countess. "My husband is in freedom!--he is restored to me!"

"My gentle cousin, my sweet Winifred!--Alas! you are not well; be seated, and let me entreat you to compose yourself!"

"You do not rejoice with me!" she cried, seizing both the duchess's hands. "Why do you not congratulate me? I am the happiest creature in the whole world!" she exclaimed, bursting into a flood of tears. The duchess's alarm increased every moment. "I tell you, Christian, he is out of prison!--he has escaped them all!--he is, I trust, safe from all discovery. Oh! Heaven has been very merciful to me!" she continued, bowing her head with a meek fervour, which somewhat re-assured her friend, and made her hope the countess's words were not all the hallucinations of a maniac.

By degrees she became more composed, and gave some account of how her lord's escape had been effected: then, indeed, did the duchess mingle tears of joy with hers, and smile to think how she had misconstrued her friend's expression of happiness.

When they had sufficiently recovered themselves to converse with some composure, the duchess informed Lady Nithsdale that the king was so much incensed against her for attempting to force her petition upon him, that she advised her to keep herself as closely concealed as possible. She told her she would herself go to court that evening, that she might the better judge how the intelligence of the Earl of Nithsdale's evasion was there received: and the friends once more parted.

The countess, as before, had discharged her chair, and now procured another, in which she proceeded to the house at which she had appointed to meet Amy Evans.

The duchess repaired to St. James's, where she found the king much irritated, and declaring that such a thing could not have been effected without a conspiracy: he that night despatched two persons to the Tower, to ascertain that the other prisoners were well secured: and on all sides the duchess heard different surmises as to the mode in which the earl's evasion could have been accomplished. Some threw the blame in one, some in another quarter,--none glanced at the true mode.

The duchess alone was acquainted with the countess's part in it; and if she had not still felt too deep an anxiety for the ultimate fate of such dear friends, she could almost have smiled at the confident assertions, the contradictory reports, the consequential hints, which were either loudly spoken or mysteriously whispered in all directions.

Indeed it has been a singular circumstance that an event of considerable importance, and one of such recent occurrence, should for many years have been enveloped in such mystery!

Meanwhile Lady Nithsdale had been the first to reach the appointed spot; but Amy Evans soon joined her. She told her how, after having placed the earl in temporary security, she had returned in search of Mr. Mills; how she had traced him to his own home, which he had regained when he recovered from his astonishment; and how they had then removed her lord to the house of a poor woman, directly opposite the guard-house. They imagined that, having changed the disguise in which he had made his escape, all means of tracing him would become difficult; and that the last place which would be searched would be one so near the Tower itself.

The poor woman had but a single small room to spare, up one pair of stairs, and which was almost destitute of furniture. Guided by Amy, the countess hastened to this humble abode, and there she had the inexpressible happiness of finding herself re-united to her husband.

There are moments of agony too intense to bear description; there are also moments of bliss which baffle the power of language to paint. And if it is sometimes a relief to think the woes that excite our sympathies too acutely are fictitious woes, there ought to be pleasure in reflecting that the happiness which these two devoted spirits then enjoyed was real;--that this is no fiction, but a plain and simple narrative of what has actually occurred.

[Footnote A: These details are from Lady Nithsdale's letter.]