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Chapter 1

Domum mansit--lanam fecit.

Ancient Roman Epitaph.

She keepit close the hous, and birlit at the quhele.

The time which passes over our heads so imperceptibly, makes the same
gradual change in habits, manners, and character, as in personal
appearance. At the revolution of every five years we find ourselves
another, and yet the same--there is a change of views, and no less of
the light in which we regard them; a change of motives as well as of
actions. Nearly twice that space had glided away over the head of
Halbert Glendinning and his lady, betwixt the period of our former
narrative, in which they played a distinguished part, and the date at
which our present tale commences.

Two circumstances only had imbittered their union, which was otherwise
as happy as mutual affection could render it. The first of these was
indeed the common calamity of Scotland, being the distracted state of
that unhappy country, where every man's sword was directed against his
neighbour's bosom. Glendinning had proved what Murray expected of him,
a steady friend, strong in battle, and wise in counsel, adhering to
him, from motives of gratitude, in situations where by his own
unbiassed will he would either have stood neuter, or have joined the
opposite party. Hence, when danger was near--and it was seldom far
distant--Sir Halbert Glendinning, for he now bore the rank of
knighthood, was perpetually summoned to attend his patron on distant
expeditions, or on perilous enterprises, or to assist him with his
counsel in the doubtful intrigues of a half-barbarous court. He was
thus frequently, and for a long space, absent from his castle and from
his lady; and to this ground of regret we must add, that their union
had not been blessed with children, to occupy the attention of the
Lady of Avenel, while she was thus deprived of her husband's domestic

On such occasions she lived almost entirely secluded from the world,
within the walls of her paternal mansion. Visiting amongst neighbors
was a matter entirely out of the question, unless on occasions of
solemn festival, and then it was chiefly confined to near kindred. Of
these the Lady of Avenel had none who survived, and the dames of the
neighbouring barons affected to regard her less as the heiress of the
house of Avenel than as the wife of a peasant, the son of a
church-vassal, raised up to mushroom eminence by the capricious favour
of Murray.

The pride of ancestry, which rankled in the bosom of the ancient
gentry, was more openly expressed by their ladies, and was, moreover,
imbittered not a little by the political feuds of the time, for most
of the Southern chiefs were friends to the authority of the Queen, and
very jealous of the power of Murray. The Castle of Avenel was,
therefore, on all these accounts, as melancholy and solitary a
residence for its lady as could well be imagined. Still it had the
essential recommendation of great security. The reader is already
aware that the fortress was built upon an islet on a small lake, and
was only accessible by a causeway, intersected by a double ditch,
defended by two draw-bridges, so that without artillery, it might in
those days be considered as impregnable. It was only necessary,
therefore, to secure against surprise, and the service of six able men
within the castle was sufficient for that purpose. If more serious
danger threatened, an ample garrison was supplied by the male
inhabitants of a little hamlet, which, under the auspices of Halbert
Glendinning, had arisen on a small piece of level ground, betwixt the
lake and the hill, nearly adjoining to the spot where the causeway
joined the mainland. The Lord of Avenel had found it an easy matter
to procure inhabitants, as he was not only a kind and beneficent
overlord, but well qualified, both by his experience in arms, his high
character for wisdom and integrity, and his favour with the powerful
Earl of Murray, to protect and defend those who dwelt under his
banner. In leaving his castle for any length of time, he had,
therefore, the consolation to reflect, that this village afforded, on
the slightest notice, a band of thirty stout men, which was more than
sufficient for its defence; while the families of the villagers, as
was usual on such occasions, fled to the recesses of the mountains,
drove their cattle to the same places of shelter, and left the enemy
to work their will on their miserable cottages.

One guest only resided generally, if not constantly, at the Castle of
Avenel. This was Henry Warden, who now felt himself less able for the
stormy task imposed on the reforming clergy; and having by his zeal
given personal offence to many of the leading nobles and chiefs, did
not consider himself as perfectly safe, unless when within the walls
of the strong mansion of some assured friend. He ceased not, however,
to serve his cause as eagerly with his pen, as he had formerly done
with his tongue, and had engaged in a furious and acrimonious contest,
concerning the sacrifice of the mass, as it was termed, with the Abbot
Eustatius, formerly the Sub-Prior of Kennaquhair. Answers, replies,
duplies, triplies, quadruplies, followed thick upon each other, and
displayed, as is not unusual in controversy, fully as much zeal as
Christian charity. The disputation very soon became as celebrated as
that of John Knox and the Abbot of Crosraguel, raged nearly as
fiercely, and, for aught I know, the publications to which it gave
rise may be as precious in the eyes of bibliographers. [Footnote: The
tracts which appeared in the Disputation between the Scottish Reformer
and Quentin Kennedy, Abbot of Crosraguel, are among the scarcest in
Scottish Bibliography. See M'Crie's _Life of Knox_, p. 258.] But
the engrossing nature of his occupation rendered the theologian not
the most interesting companion for a solitary female; and his grave,
stern, and absorbed deportment, which seldom showed any interest,
except in that which concerned his religious profession, made his
presence rather add to than diminish the gloom which hung over the
Castle of Avenel. To superintend the tasks of numerous female
domestics, was the principal part of the Lady's daily employment; her
spindle and distaff, her Bible, and a solitary walk upon the
battlements of the castle, or upon the causeway, or occasionally, but
more seldom, upon the banks of the little lake, consumed the rest of
the day. But so great was the insecurity of the period, that when she
ventured to extend her walk beyond the hamlet, the warder on the
watch-tower was directed to keep a sharp look-out in every direction,
and four or five men held themselves in readiness to mount and sally
forth from the castle on the slightest appearance of alarm.

Thus stood affairs at the castle, when, after an absence of several
weeks, the Knight of Avenel, which was now the title most frequently
given to Sir Halbert Glendinning, was daily expected to return home.
Day after day, however, passed away, and he returned not. Letters in
those days were rarely written, and the Knight must have resorted to a
secretary to express his intentions in that manner; besides,
intercourse of all kinds was precarious and unsafe, and no man cared
to give any public intimation of the time and direction of a journey,
since, if his route were publicly known, it was always likely he might
in that case meet with more enemies than friends upon the road. The
precise day, therefore, of Sir Halbert's return, was not fixed, but
that which his lady's fond expectation had calculated upon in her own
mind had long since passed, and hope delayed began to make the heart

It was upon the evening of a sultry summer's day, when the sun was
half-sunk behind the distant western mountains of Liddesdale, that the
Lady took her solitary walk on the battlements of a range of
buildings, which formed the front of the castle, where a flat roof of
flag-stones presented a broad and convenient promenade. The level
surface of the lake, undisturbed except by the occasional dipping of a
teal-duck, or coot, was gilded with the beams of the setting luminary,
and reflected, as if in a golden mirror, the hills amongst which it
lay embossed. The scene, otherwise so lonely, was occasionally
enlivened by the voices of the children in the village, which,
softened by distance, reached the ear of the Lady, in her solitary
walk, or by the distant call of the herdsman, as he guided his cattle
from the glen in which they had pastured all day, to place them in
greater security for the night, in the immediate vicinity of the
village. The deep lowing of the cows seemed to demand the attendance
of the milk-maidens, who, singing shrilly and merrily, strolled forth,
each with her pail on her head, to attend to the duty of the evening.
The Lady of Avenel looked and listened; the sounds which she heard
reminded her of former days, when her most important employment, as
well as her greatest delight, was to assist Dame Glendinning and Tibb
Tackett in milking the cows at Glendearg. The thought was fraught
with melancholy.

"Why was I not," she said, "the peasant girl which in all men's eyes I
seemed to be? Halbert and I had then spent our life peacefully in his
native glen, undisturbed by the phantoms either of fear or of
ambition. His greatest pride had then been to show the fairest herd in
the Halidome; his greatest danger to repel some pilfering snatcher
from the Border; and the utmost distance which would have divided us,
would have been the chase of some outlying deer. But, alas! what
avails the blood which Halbert has shed, and the dangers which he
encounters, to support a name and rank, dear to him because he has it
from me, but which we shall never transmit to our posterity! with me
the name of Avenel must expire."

She sighed as the reflections arose, and, looking towards the shore of
the lake, her eye was attracted by a group of children of various
ages, assembled to see a little ship, constructed by some village
artist, perform its first voyage on the water. It was launched amid
the shouts of tiny voices and the clapping of little hands, and shot
bravely forth on its voyage with a favouring wind, which promised to
carry it to the other side of the lake. Some of the bigger boys ran
round to receive and secure it on the farther shore, trying their
speed against each other as they sprang like young fawns along the
shingly verge of the lake. The rest, for whom such a journey seemed
too arduous, remained watching the motions of the fairy vessel from
the spot where it had been launched. The sight of their sports pressed
on the mind of the childless Lady of Avenel.

"Why are none of these prattlers mine?" she continued, pursuing the
tenor of her melancholy reflections. "Their parents can scarce find
them the coarsest food--and I, who could nurse them in plenty, I am
doomed never to hear a child call me mother!"

The thought sunk on her heart with a bitterness which resembled envy,
so deeply is the desire of offspring implanted in the female breast.
She pressed her hands together as if she were wringing them in the
extremity of her desolate feeling, as one whom Heaven had written
childless. A large stag-hound of the greyhound species approached at
this moment, and attracted perhaps by the gesture, licked her hands
and pressed his large head against them. He obtained the desired
caresses in return, but still the sad impression remained.

"Wolf," she said, as if the animal could have understood her
complaints, "thou art a noble and beautiful animal; but, alas! the
love and affection that I long to bestow, is of a quality higher than
can fall to thy share, though I love thee much."

And, as if she were apologizing to Wolf for withholding from him any
part of her regard, she caressed his proud head and crest, while,
looking in her eyes, he seemed to ask her what she wanted, or what he
could do to show his attachment. At this moment a shriek of distress
was heard on the shore, from the playful group which had been lately
so jovial. The Lady looked, and saw the cause with great agony.

The little ship, the object of the children's delighted attention, had
stuck among some tufts of the plant which bears the water-lily, that
marked a shoal in the lake about an arrow-flight from the shore. A
hardy little boy, who had taken the lead in the race round the margin
of the lake, did not hesitate a moment to strip off his
_wylie-coat_, plunge into the water, and swim towards the object
of their common solicitude. The first movement of the Lady was to call
for help; but she observed that the boy swam strongly and fearlessly,
and as she saw that one or two villagers, who were distant spectators
of the incident, seemed to give themselves no uneasiness on his
account, she supposed that he was accustomed to the exercise, and that
there was no danger. But whether, in swimming, the boy had struck his
breast against a sunken rock, or whether he was suddenly taken with
cramp, or whether he had over-calculated his own strength, it so
happened, that when he had disembarrassed the little plaything from
the flags in which it was entangled, and sent it forward on its
course, he had scarce swam a few yards in his way to the shore, than
he raised himself suddenly from the water, and screamed aloud,
clapping his hands at the same time with an expression of fear and

The Lady of Avenel, instantly taking the alarm, called hastily to the
attendants to get the boat ready. But this was an affair of some time.
The only boat permitted to be used on the lake, was moored within the
second cut which intersected the canal, and it was several minutes ere
it could be unmoored and got under way. Meantime, the Lady of Avenel,
with agonizing anxiety, saw that the efforts that the poor boy made to
keep himself afloat, were now exchanged for a faint struggling, which
would soon have been over, but for aid equally prompt and unhoped-for.
Wolf, who, like some of that large species of greyhound, was a
practised water-dog, had marked the object of her anxiety, and,
quitting his mistress's side, had sought the nearest point from which
he could with safety plunge into the lake. With the wonderful instinct
which these noble animals have so often displayed in the like
circumstances, he swam straight to the spot where his assistance was
so much wanted, and seizing the child's under-dress in his mouth, he
not only kept him afloat, but towed him towards the causeway. The
boat having put off with a couple of men, met the dog half-way, and
relieved him of his burden. They landed on the causeway, close by the
gates of the castle, with their yet lifeless charge, and were there
met by the Lady of Avenel, attended by one or two of her maidens,
eagerly waiting to administer assistance to the sufferer.

He was borne into the castle, deposited upon a bed, and every mode of
recovery resorted to, which the knowledge of the times, and the skill
of Henry Warden, who professed some medical science, could dictate.
For some time it was all in vain, and the Lady watched, with
unspeakable earnestness, the pallid countenance of the beautiful
child. He seemed about ten years old. His dress was of the meanest
sort, but his long curled hair, and the noble cast of his features,
partook not of that poverty of appearance. The proudest noble in
Scotland might have been yet prouder could he have called that child
his heir. While, with breathless anxiety, the Lady of Avenel gazed on
his well-formed and expressive features, a slight shade of colour
returned gradually to the cheek; suspended animation became restored
by degrees, the child sighed deeply, opened his eyes, which to the
human countenance produces the effect of light upon the natural
landscape, stretched his arms towards the Lady, and muttered the word
"Mother," that epithet, of all others, which is dearest to the female

"God, madam," said the preacher, "has restored the child to your
wishes; it must be yours so to bring him up, that he may not one day
wish that he had perished in his innocence."

"It shall be my charge," said the Lady; and again throwing her arms
around the boy, she overwhelmed him with kisses and caresses, so much
was she agitated by the terror arising from the danger in which he had
been just placed, and by joy at his unexpected deliverance.

"But you are not my mother," said the boy, recovering his
recollection, and endeavouring, though faintly, to escape from the
caresses of the Lady of Avenel; "you are not my mother,--alas! I have
no mother--only I have dreamt that I had one."

"I will read the dream for you, my love," answered the Lady of Avenel;
"and I will be myself your mother. Surely God has heard my wishes,
and, in his own marvellous manner, hath sent me an object on which my
affections may expand themselves." She looked towards Warden as she
spoke. The preacher hesitated what he should reply to a burst of
passionate feeling, which, perhaps, seemed to him more enthusiastic
than the occasion demanded. In the meanwhile, the large stag-hound,
Wolf, which, dripping wet as he was, had followed his mistress into
the apartment, and had sat by the bedside, a patient and quiet
spectator of all the means used for resuscitation of the being whom he
had preserved, now became impatient of remaining any longer unnoticed,
and began to whine and fawn upon the Lady with his great rough paws.

"Yes," she said, "good Wolf, and you shall be remembered also for your
day's work; and I will think the more of you for having preserved the
life of a creature so beautiful."

But Wolf was not quite satisfied with the share of attention which he
thus attracted; he persisted in whining and pawing upon his mistress,
his caresses rendered still more troublesome by his long shaggy hair
being so much and thoroughly wetted, till she desired one of the
domestics, with whom he was familiar, to call the animal out of the
apartment. Wolf resisted every invitation to this purpose, until his
mistress positively commanded him to be gone, in an angry tone; when,
turning towards the bed on which the body still lay, half awake to
sensation, half drowned in the meanders of fluctuating delirium, he
uttered a deep and savage growl, curled up his nose and lips, showing
his full range of white and sharpened teeth, which might have matched
those of an actual wolf, and then, turning round, sullenly followed
the domestic out of the apartment.

"It is singular," said the Lady, addressing Warden; "the animal is not
only so good-natured to all, but so particularly fond of children.
What can ail him at the little fellow whose life he has saved?"

"Dogs," replied the preacher, "are but too like the human race in
their foibles, though their instinct be less erring than the reason of
poor mortal man when relying upon his own unassisted powers. Jealousy,
my good lady, is a passion not unknown to them, and they often evince
it, not only with respect to the preferences which they see given by
their masters to individuals of their own species, but even when their
rivals are children. You have caressed that child much and eagerly,
and the dog considers himself as a discarded favourite."

"It is a strange instinct," said the Lady; "and from the gravity with
which you mention it, my reverend friend, I would almost say that you
supposed this singular jealousy of my favourite Wolf, was not only
well founded, but justifiable. But perhaps you speak in jest?"

"I seldom jest," answered the preacher; "life was not lent to us to be
expended in that idle mirth which resembles the crackling of thorns
under the pot. I would only have you derive, if it so please you, this
lesson from what I have said, that the best of our feelings, when
indulged to excess, may give pain to others. There is but one in which
we may indulge to the utmost limit of vehemence of which our bosom is
capable, secure that excess cannot exist in the greatest intensity to
which it can be excited--I mean the love of our Maker."

"Surely," said the Lady of Avenel, "we are commanded by the same
authority to love our neighbour?"

"Ay, madam," said Warden, "but our love to God is to be unbounded--we
are to love him with our whole heart, our whole soul, and our whole
strength. The love which the precept commands us to bear to our
neighbour, has affixed to it a direct limit and qualification--we are
to love our neighbour as ourself; as it is elsewhere explained by the
great commandment, that we must do unto him as we would that he should
do unto us. Here there is a limit, and a bound, even to the most
praiseworthy of our affections, so far as they are turned upon
sublunary and terrestrial objects. We are to render to our neighbour,
whatever be his rank or degree, that corresponding portion of
affection with which we could rationally expect we should ourselves be
regarded by those standing in the same relation to us. Hence, neither
husband nor wife, neither son nor daughter, neither friend nor
relation, are lawfully to be made the objects of our idolatry. The
Lord our God is a jealous God, and will not endure that we bestow on
the creature that extremity of devotion which He who made us demands
as his own share. I say to you, Lady, that even in the fairest, and
purest, and most honourable feelings of our nature, there is that
original taint of sin which ought to make us pause and hesitate, ere
we indulge them to excess."

"I understand not this, reverend sir," said the Lady; "nor do I guess
what I can have now said or done, to draw down on me an admonition
which has something a taste of reproof."

"Lady," said Warden, "I crave your pardon, if I have urged aught
beyond the limits of my duty. But consider, whether in the sacred
promise to be not only a protectress, but a mother, to this poor
child, your purpose may meet the wishes of the noble knight your
husband. The fondness which you have lavished on the unfortunate, and,
I own, most lovely child, has met something like a reproof in the
bearing of your household dog.--Displease not your noble husband. Men,
as well as animals, are jealous of the affections of those they love."

"This is too much, reverend sir," said the Lady of Avenel, greatly
offended. "You have been long our guest, and have received from the
Knight of Avenel and myself that honour and regard which your
character and profession so justly demand. But I am yet to learn that
we have at any time authorized your interference in our family
arrangements, or placed you as a judge of our conduct towards each
other. I pray this may be forborne in future."

"Lady," replied the preacher, with the boldness peculiar to the clergy
of his persuasion at that time, "when you weary of my admonitions--
when I see that my services are no longer acceptable to you, and the
noble knight your husband, I shall know that my Master wills me no
longer to abide here; and, praying for a continuance of his best
blessings on your family I will then, were the season the depth of
winter, and the hour midnight, walk out on yonder waste, and travel
forth through these wild mountains, as lonely and unaided, though far
more helpless, than when I first met your husband in the valley of
Glendearg. But while I remain here, I will not see you err from the
true path, no, not a hair's-breadth, without making the old man's
voice and remonstrance heard."

"Nay, but," said the Lady, who both loved and respected the good man,
though sometimes a little offended at what she conceived to be an
exuberant degree of zeal, "we will not part this way, my good friend.
Women are quick and hasty in their feelings; but, believe me, my
wishes and my purposes towards this child are such as both my husband
and you will approve of." The clergyman bowed, and retreated to his
own apartment.

Sir Walter Scott