In Freedom's Cause - G. A. Henty (dar e dil novel online reading TXT) 📗

village. He soon got into conversation with an old fisherman, and offered to exchange the deer for dried fish. The bargain was quickly struck, and then Archie said: “I have never been out on the lake, and would fain have a view of the convent from the water. Will you take me and my brother out for a row?”

The fisherman, who had made a good bargain, at once assented, and rowed Archie and Cluny far out into the lake.

As they passed along at some distance Archie saw that the shore was in several places smooth and shelving, and that there would be no difficulty in effecting a landing. He saw also that there were many clumps of trees and shrubs in the garden.

“And do the nuns and the ladies at the convent often walk there?”

he asked the fisherman.

“Oh yes,” he answered; “of an evening as I come back from fishing I can see numbers of them walking there. When the vesper bell rings they all go in. That is the chapel adjoining the convent on this side.”

“It is a strong building,” Archie said as when past the end of the promontory they obtained a full view of it. “It is more like a castle than a convent.”

“It had need be strong,” the old man said; “for some of the richest heiresses in Scotland are shut up there. On the land side I believe there are no windows on the lower storey, and the door is said to be of solid iron. The windows on that side are all strongly barred; and he would have hard work, indeed, who wanted by force or stratagem to steal one of the pretty birds out of that cage.”

Archie had no idea of using force; and although he had been to some extent concerned in the breach of sanctuary at Dumfries, he would have shrunk from the idea of violating the sanctuary of St. Kenneth.

But to his mind there was no breach whatever of that sanctuary in aiding one kept there against her will to make her escape. Having ascertained all that he wished to know, he bade the boatman return to shore.

“Keep a lookout for me,” he said, “for I may return in a few days with another buck, and may bring a comrade or two with me who would like an afternoon’s fishing on the lake. I suppose you could lend me your boat and nets?”

“Assuredly,” the fisherman replied. “You will not mind taking into consideration the hire of the boat in agreeing for the weight of fish to be given for the stag?”

Archie nodded, secretly amused at the old man’s covetousness, for he knew that the weight of fish he had given him for the stag which he had brought down was not one fourth the value of the meat.

He then returned with Cluny to the band. Some time before daybreak he came down to the place again, and, entering the water quietly, at a distance from the promontory, swam noiselessly out, and landed at the garden, and there concealed himself in a clump of bushes.

Daylight came. An hour later some of the nuns of the second order, who belonged to poor families and acted as servants in the convent, came out into the garden, and busied themselves with the cultivation of the flowers, vegetables, and herbs. Not till the afternoon did any of the other inmates appear; but at about four o’clock the great door of the convent opened, and a number of women and girls streamed out. The former were all in nuns’ attire, as were a few of the latter, but their garb was somewhat different from that of the elder sisters; these were the novices. The greater number, however, of the girls were dressed in ordinary attire, and were the pupils of the convent. While the nuns walked quietly up and down or sat on benches and read, the pupils scattered in groups laughing and talking merrily together. Among these Archie looked eagerly for Marjory. He felt sure that her imprisonment could be detention only, and not rigorous seclusion. Presently he espied her. She was walking with two of the nuns and three or four of the elder residents at the convent, for many of these were past the age of pupildom; and were there simply as a safe place of refuge during troublous times. The conversation appeared to be an animated one.

It was not for some time that the group passed within hearing of Archie’s place of concealment. Then Archie heard the voice of one of the nuns raised in anger:

“It is monstrous what you say, and it is presumptuous and wicked for a young girl of eighteen to form opinions for herself. What should we come to if every young woman were to venture to think and judge for herself? Discord and disorder would be wrought in every family. All your relations and friends are opposed to this sacrilegious murderer, Robert Bruce. The church has solemnly banned him, and yet you venture to uphold his cause.”

“But the Bishop of Glasgow,” Marjory said, “and many other good prelates of our church side with him, and surely they must be good judges whether his sins are unpardonable.”

“Do not argue with me,” the sister said angrily. “I tell you this obstinacy will be permitted no longer. Had it not been that Alexander of Lorne begged that we would not be harsh with you, steps would long since have been taken to bring you to reason; but we can no longer permit this advocacy of rebellion, and the last unmaidenly step which you took of setting at defiance your friends and relatives, and even of sending messages hence, must be punished. The abbess bade me reason with you and try and turn your obstinate will. Your cousins of Badenoch here have appealed to you in vain. This can no longer be tolerated. The lady abbess bids me tell you that she gives you three days to renounce the rebel opinions you have so frowardly held, and to accept the husband whom your uncle and guardian has chosen for you, your cousin John of Lorne, his son. During that time none will speak to you. If at the end of three days you are still contumacious you will be confined to your cell on bread and water until better thoughts come to you.”

While the conversation had been going on, the little group had halted near the bushes, and they now turned away, leaving Marjory standing by herself. The girl sat down on a bench close to where she had been standing, exclaiming to herself as she did so, “They may shut me up as a prisoner for life, but I will never consent to take sides against the cause of Scotland or to marry John of Lorne.

Oh! who is there?” she exclaimed, starting suddenly to her feet as a man’s voice behind her said:

“Quite right, Mistress Marjory, well and bravely resolved; but pray sit down again, and assume an attitude of indifference.”

“Who is it that speaks?” the girl asked in a tremulous voice, resuming her seat.

“It is your true knight, lady, Archibald Forbes, who has come to rescue you from this captivity.”

“But how can you rescue me?” the girl asked after a long pause. “Do you know the consequences if you are found here within the bounds of the convent?”

“I care nothing for the consequences,” Archie said. “I have in the woods twenty stout followers. I propose tomorrow to be with three of them on the lake afishing. If you, when the bell rings for your return in the evening, will enter that little copse by the side of the lake, and will show yourself at the water’s edge, we will row straight in and take you off long ere the guards can come hither to hinder us. The lake is narrow, and we can reach the other side before any boat can overtake us. There my followers will be awaiting us, and we can escort you to a place of safety. It is fortunate that you are ordered to be apart from the rest; none therefore will mark you as you linger behind when the bell rings for vespers.”

Marjory was silent for some time.

“But, Sir Knight,” she said, “whither am I to go? for of all my friends not one, save the good priest, but is leagued against me.”

“I can take you either to the Bishop of Glasgow, who is a friend of the Bruce and whom I know well — he will, I am sure, take charge of you — or, if you will, lady, I can place you with my mother, who will receive you as a daughter.”

“But what,” the girl said hesitatingly, “will people say at my running away from a convent with a young knight?”

“Let them say what they will,” Archie said. “All good Scots, when they know that you have been in prison here solely from the love of your country, will applaud the deed; and should you prefer it, the king will, I know, place you in charge of the wife of one of the nobles who adheres to him, and will give you his protection and countenance. Think, lady, if you do not take this opportunity of gaining your freedom, it may never occur again, for if you are once shut up in your cell, as I heard threatened, nothing save an attack by force of arms, which would be sheer sacrilege, can rescue you from it. Surely,” he urged, as the girl still remained silent, “you can trust yourself with me. Do I not owe my life to you? and I swear that so long as you remain in my charge I will treat you as my sister in all honour and respect.”

For some minutes the girl made no answer. At length she said, standing up, and half turning toward the bushes: “I will trust you, Sir Archie. I know you to be a brave and honourable knight, and I will trust you. I know `tis a strange step to take, and the world will blame me; but what can I do? If I refuse your offer I shall be kept a prisoner here until I consent to marry John of Lorne, whom I hate, for he is as rough and cruel as his father, without the kindness of heart, which, save in his angry moments, the latter has ever had toward me. All my relations are against me, and struggle against my fate as I may, I must in the end bend to their will if I remain here. `Tis a hard choice to make; but what can I do? Yes, I will trust to your honour; and may God and all the saints punish you if you are false to the trust! Tomorrow evening, as the vespers are chiming, I will be at the water’s edge, behind yonder clump of bushes.”

Then, with head bent down and slow steps, Marjory returned to the convent, none addressing her as she passed through the groups of her companions, the order that she was to be shut out from the rest having been already issued. Archie remained in his place of concealment until the gardens were deserted and night had fallen.

Then he left his hiding place, and, entering the lake, swam quietly away, and landed far beyond the village. An hour’s walk brought him to the encampment of his comrades.

At daybreak next morning the band, under the command of William Orr, started for their long march round the head of the lake to the position which they were to take up on the opposite side facing the convent, Archie choosing three of the number most accustomed to the handling of oars to remain with him. With these he set out