The Collected Works of D. K. Broster. D. K. Broster

to-morrow.”

      Ewen looked at him with a compassion which was shot through by a strange spasm of envy. This man, who dreaded it so, would see Archie once more at close quarters, be able to address him, hear his voice, go with him to the very brink. . . .

      Then through the half-open door came the Deputy-Lieutenant with Mrs. Cameron again on his arm. She looked half-fainting, yet she walked quite steadily. Mr. Falconar being now nearest the door, General Rainsford put her into his charge, and called hastily for the warder to take up his post again within. In a kind of dream Ewen watched the clergyman and the all but widow go down the stairs. His heart ached for her, little and brave and forlorn, her dress slipping slowly from one worn stone step to the next.

      He had started to follow her, and had descended a step or two, when he was aware of a voice calling hurriedly but softly to him from above. He went back again, wondering.

      It was the Deputy-Lieutenant who had called after him, and now met him at the top of the stairway. “Doctor Cameron has remembered something which he had intended to give his wife; but it was you whom he wished called back, if possible.” He pulled out his watch. “Four minutes, no longer, Mr. Cameron!”

      So he was to have speech with Archie once more. And, the warder being still outside, and the Deputy-Lieutenant not seeming to purpose coming in again, for that brief fraction of time they would be alone. Had Archie made a pretext to that end?

      He was standing in the middle of the room with something in his hand. “I forgot to give these to Jean, as I intended, for my eldest son.” And he held out to Ewen two shabby shoe-buckles of steel. “Bid Jean tell him from me,” he said earnestly, “that I send him these, and not my silver ones; and that if I had gold ones I would not send him the gold, but these, which I wore when skulking. For steel being hard and of small value is an emblem of constancy and disinterestedness; and so I would have him always to be constant and disinterested in the service of his King and country, and never to be either bribed or frightened from his duty.—Will you tell her that, Ewen?”

      No, he had not been sent for under a pretext. Ewen took the buckles. “She shall have them; and I will faithfully repeat your message.” Then he was mute; it seemed as if Archie were gone already, as if the immeasurable gulf already severed them. Archibald Cameron saw the dumb misery on his face and put his hand on his arm.

      “Don’t look like that, my dearest Ewen! I thank God I am ready to be offered, and you need have no apprehension for me to-morrow. It is poor Falconar I shall be sorry for.”

      “Indeed,” said Ewen, finding his voice again, “he seems most painfully apprehensive; he was speaking to me just now. I fear, as he does, that his presence will be no support to you. I was about to ask him whether he could not procure another clergyman to take his place, but so few in London are nonjurors, and I suppose you would——”

      He never finished. The colour came surging over his drawn face, as a wild arrow of an idea sped winging into his brain. “Archie,” he said breathlessly in Gaelic, “if a layman might . . . if it could be contrived . . . could not . . . could not I take his place to-morrow?”

      In the Doctor’s face also the colour came and went for a moment. “My dear Ewen . . . if it is like to prove a trial to Falconar, how would you——”

      “I’d rather stand with you in the cart than see you stand there from a distance, and be unable to get at you,” said Ewen with great earnestness. “I should be near you—I could speak to you. Mr. Falconar says you have no need of his ministrations. And I would not break down, I swear to you! Archie, would you be willing?”

      “Willing!” exclaimed Archie in the same low voice. “I would give one of the few hours left me for your company! But it asks too much of you, Eoghain.”

      “Not so much as to stand in the crowd and watch you like a stranger,” reiterated Ewen. “And—my God, the four minutes must be nearly gone!—’tis as if Providence had planned it, for Mr. Falconar is little under my height, and lame of a leg as I am at times. If I wore his dark clothes—’tis a pity he goes in lay dress, but that cannot be helped—and perhaps his wig, who would look at my face? And the clergyman always drives by himself to Tyburn, does he not?”

      “I believe so,” said Doctor Cameron, considering, “and in a closed carriage. You would not be seen on the way, since you would not travel publicly and slowly, as I shall.”

      “I only wish I could, with you! But, Mr. Falconar apart, would you not rather have some clergyman?” And, as Archie shook his head, Ardroy asked hastily, knowing that his time must be almost up, “Is there anything which I must do . . . there?—To be sure I can ask Mr. Falconar that.”

      “I suppose it is usual to read a prayer. I should like the commendatory prayer from the Prayer Book . . . and I’d a thousand times rather you read that for me than poor Mr. Falconar.”

      “Mr. Cameron,” said Rainsford, impatiently appearing at the door, “you must come instantly, if you please, or I shall be obliged to detain you as a prisoner also—but not here with Doctor Cameron. You have but just time to join Mrs. Cameron in the coach.”

      “I have your leave, then, if I can contrive it?” whispered Ewen.

      Archibald Cameron bent his head. “Good-bye,” he said in English. “Remember my message.”

      And this time Ewen hurried from the room with but the briefest farewell glance, so afraid was he of being detained and prevented from carrying through his scheme.

      By running down the stairs he reached the carriage just before it started. Mr. Falconar, hat in hand, was at the door of it, Mrs. Cameron invisible within.

      “Give me your direction, sir,” said Ardroy hastily to the clergyman. “I must see you when I have escorted Mrs. Cameron home; ’tis of the utmost importance.” (‘Yes, he is much of a height with me,’ said something in his mind.)

      Mr. Falconar gave it. “I shall await you this evening,” he said, and Ewen scrambled into the already moving coach.

      But now, as they drove out under the archway of the Lion Tower, he must put aside his own plan, his own grief, and think of one who was losing even more than he. Jean Cameron was sitting upright in the corner, her hands clasped, looking straight in front of her, and alarming him not a little by her rigidity. Suddenly she said, without looking at him:

      “He is not afraid.”

      “No, madam,” answered Ewen, “no man was ever less afraid.”

      “The pure in heart shall see God,” she murmured to herself. And a moment afterwards, somewhat to Ardroy’s relief, she broke into wild weeping.

      CHAPTER XXIV

       ‘THE SALLY-PORT TO ETERNITY’

       Table of Contents

      Thursday, the seventh of June, 1753, dawned just as those would have wished who were intending to make its forenoon a holiday—sunny and clear-skied, yet not without the promise of a cloud or two later on, whose shadow might be grateful if one had been standing for some hours in the heat. For many of the spectators would begin their pilgrimage to Tyburn very early in the day, in order to secure good places, since, though the great triangular gallows could be seen from almost any distance, the scaffold beside it, for what came after the gallows, was disappointingly low. Moreover, it was a thousand pities not to hear a last speech or confession, if such were made, and that was impossible unless one were fairly near the cart in which the victim stood before being turned off. So hundreds set off between six and seven o’clock, and hundreds, even thousands, more came streaming without intermission along the Oxford road all morning; and the later they came the more they grumbled at the inferior positions which they were necessarily obliged to take up; yet they grumbled with a certain holiday good nature. For though disgraceful scenes did take place at Tyburn, some at least of those who in this eighteenth century came to see a