CRAIG LUCE CASTLE.

BY MRS. BUSHBY.

PART I.

ON the dreary coast of Wigtonshire, in Scotland, just above the almost perpendicular and frightfully rugged rocks that form the inhospitable-looking Mull of Galloway, stands an old castle, partially in ruins, with its naked grey walls unsheltered by hill or wood, and exposed to all the blasts that sweep over that gloomy shore. There is nothing about it of picturesque beauty; remarkable only for the cheerlessness and loneliness of its situation, it conveys to the beholder no idea but that of complete desolation-of a "parched place in the wilderness," to borrow the expressive language of Scripture. It is seldom that the modern tourist is tempted to explore the uninteresting neighbourhood of this forbiddinglooking structure, yet if its old walls could speak they might disclose scenes of passion, of grief, and of guilt as stirring as any of the romantic legends of the castellated Rhine, and at the same time more recent in their occurrence.

The dismal-looking edifice to which we refer was the ancestral abode of a proud and ancient family, the Lockharts of Craig Luce. It had descended, in a long unbroken line, from father to son, and its possessors had borne their part in the various civil and other wars which form so prominent a feature in the annals of Scotland. Like the Highland lairds, they had never been wealthy, according to the English acceptation of that term, and as they had never added to their patrimony by marrying rich "up-starts," as they called them; and as the haughty younger sons had never condescended to enter into any lucrative professions, the family rent-roll had gradually diminished, until at length the strictest economy became necessary to enable them to maintain their position among the hereditary landholders of their country.

The occupiers of Craig Luce Castle at the time our story commences, were Lady Lilias Lockhart, a widow lady, her son Archibald, and his young wife, who was a cousin of his own. The mother of Lady Lilias had been a Lockhart of Craig Luce; she became the wife of a Scotch earl, and their beautiful daughter, Lilias, was engaged at an early age to her younger cousin, Hector Lockhart, a fine, spirited young man, who was determined not to remain a burden on his father and a drone at home.

But, shortly before the period fixed for the marriage to take place, Malcolm Lockhart-the elder brother, who had been making what was then called "the grand tour," without accomplishing which no young gentleman of standing in society, in these former days, was supposed to have satisfactorily completed his education-returned home. He was introduced at Edinburgh to the Lady Lilias, whom he had not seen since she was a child, and he fell violently in love with her. The rather sudden death of old Mr. Lockhart of Craig Luce caused the intended marriage of his niece and his younger son to be put off, and, much to the Feb.-VOL. CXV. NO. CCCCLVIII.

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distress of Hector, when the period of mourning had expired, Lady Lilias announced her intention of bestowing her fair hand upon his elder brother.

Expostulations and entreaties were alike in vain; the beautiful but calculating and cold-hearted Lilias preferred to be the lady of Criag Luce Castle to sharing a bungalow in the East Indies with her first love, and Hector Lockhart had to depart alone to win honours and rupees in a land where, at that time, fortunes were so easily made. Hector Lockhart rose rapidly in the army-he held situations of trust and emolument, he distinguished himself on several occasions, and Lady Lilias sometimes regretted in her secret soul that she had discarded him for his indolent, common-place elder brother, and condemned herself to the monotonous solitude of Craig Luce Castle, instead of reigning as a belle and a beauty in the highest circle of India, where ladies, at that period, were the objects of the utmost attention and adulation. When, in the course of some years, Major Lockhart married abroad, the jealousy and anger of Lady Lilias knew no bounds. How dared the man who had once been her lover forget her for another?

Meanwhile, the brother for whom she had jilted him was far from happy in his union with her. He was fond of society, but the state of their finances prevented them from receiving many guests, Lady Lilias's haughty manners displeased the few families in the neighbourhood with whom they might have been on sociable terms, and her imperious temper made his home miserable. They had two sons-the elder, a handsome, high-spirited, clever boy, the pride and darling of both father and mother; the younger, an ugly, stupid, heavy child, whom his mother declared to be a born fool." The latter, Archibald, was neglected in every way, left to the companionship of the servants and the cotters' children, and scarcely taught the most common rudiments of education; while the former, Hector, was carefully brought up, and received every advantage that could be obtained for him.

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Lady Lilias was wrapt up in this son; he was the only being in the world for whom she felt any real affection, for she was utterly indifferent to her husband, and entertained no sentiment but disgust towards her half-idiotic younger child. It was a dreadful blow to her, therefore, when at the age of sixteen, and full of talent and promise, her favourite Hector was suddenly snatched from her. Being a bold, self-willed boy, he had persisted, in spite of his father's remonstrances, in riding an extremely vicious horse, and one day, when not on his guard, he was thrown, dashed off among a heap of sharp stones, and killed upon the spot. This calamity rendered Lady Lilias more morose than ever, and, united to the gloomy tenor of his existence, drove the bereaved father into habits of intemperance, which ultimately carried him to his grave.

Archibald was about two years younger than his brother, consequently about fourteen at the time of his death. An awkward, lubberly-looking boy he was, who spent most of his time in wading, without shoes or stockings, in the sea, at the foot of the massive walls of rocks, picking up shell-fish and seaweed, or, stretched on the stunted grass on the low hills above, watching the sheep in company with the shepherd lads. Hector's demise had suddenly raised him into importance; he was now the heir, the only representative, in a direct line, of the proud Lockharts

of Craig Luce, and if he died childless, the property would pass away to some distant connexions, who were abhorred by Lady Lilias. She therefore directed all the energies of her powerful mind to "make something of him." He was furnished with good clothes; a tutor was engaged for him; rewards and punishments were bestowed with a liberal hand; but "book learning," as he called it, was hateful to him, and he preferred playing "chucky stanes" with the lowest churl on the estate to any more refined amusement that could be devised for him.

"What lady on earth will ever marry that fool?" was Lady Lilias's frequent despairing question to herself, as she looked with dismay on his great unmeaning eyes, which resembled green gooseberries, his carroty locks, his freckled skin, and his capacious mouth, always as wide open as if a doctor were about to examine his throat in a case of inflammation.

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But, as years wore on, the stern Lady Lilias contrived to mould her surviving son somewhat to her will; he was dreadfully afraid of her, and, to borrow his own phraseology, was obliged to mind his p's and q's" in her presence. Fate also favoured her more than she could possibly have anticipated. When Archy, as he was generally called, was about twenty-three-but still under the surveillance of a tutor-a young lady came to reside at the castle. She was the only child of Colonel Lockhart, who had bequeathed a large fortune to her, and left her to the care of her aunt, Lady Lilias, the idol of his youthful days. Time had softened his displeasure at her treachery to himself; he only remembered the graceful, beautiful girl, who had once seemed so much attached to him, and he flattered himself that she would transfer to his orphan daughter the regard he fancied she had in former days bestowed upon himself.

Jessy Lockhart's mother had died when she was a child; and when her father could bring himself to part with her, she was sent to England under the care of some acquaintances, who thought they had done their duty when they placed her at a fashionable school in London. The socalled accomplishments were diligently taught at that establishment, but moral and religious instruction was but little attended to. The forms of religion were not indeed neglected; prayers were said morning and evening, the young ladies went regularly to church, and there was a Bible and catechism class for the younger ones on Sunday. Everything was conducted in the most decorous way; but whether the girls grew up heathens or Christians, strict or lax in principles, with high moral sentiments or prepared to be giddy and imprudent, did not seem to be any concern of the faultlessly elegant lady who, with her staff of good musicians, good linguists, &c., presided over the young spirits that were training for this world and for eternity.

Jessy had attained her seventeenth year, and was expecting her father home, when he had promised to take her from school and introduce her into society. Balls, operas, beaux, floated in dim yet delightful confusion before the young girl's eyes, when-sad tidings-the ship that was to have brought her father to England, conveyed only the intelligence of his death in India, and the consequent destruction of all her bright prospects. Was she, then, to remain at school? No; that evil at least was spared her. She was to go to Scotland, the land of romance,

and to reside in a fine old castle, and, of course, have Highland chieftains by the dozen at her feet. Her companions envied her; and, busy building castles in the air, she accompanied an old Scotch countess, one of the few friends Lady Lilias had retained, from London to Edinburgh, and thence to her future abode. Poor Jessy's heart sank as she entered its gloomy walls; the grim old portraits frightened her, the roaring of the sea and the whistling of the wind saddened her, and the haughty, cold manners of her aunt seemed to freeze her life's blood. She was horrified at the strict seclusion in which the family at the castle lived. On her arrival, the very tutor had been dismissed, for Lady Lilias did not choose that the contrast between her half-witted son and a young man who was at least a rational being, should be presented to her niece. No one ever visited at the castle except the Presbyterian clergyman of the neighbourhood-a grave, solemn person, who looked like a resuscitated mummy, and the grey-headed old doctor, who resided in an adjacent village. Still Jessy had hoped that when the mourning for her father was laid aside, Lady Lilias would open her doors to the beau monde, and the old castle be filled with guests.

But when the dreary winter had at length passed away-when spring, with its bright sunshine and opening buds, awoke the scarcely dormant longing for life's gayer scenes-poor Jessy found how delusive had been her hopes, how gloomy were her prospects for the future. She had no sympathy, no companionship; in the presence of Lady Lilias she always felt under the greatest constraint, and her very waiting-maid seemed to be a dragon set to be a spy upon her, for she was a stiff, cross-looking, elderly woman, who never spoke but in monosyllables, or in the shortest sentences. It was dreadful! and poor Jessy was glad of the slight variation in her wearisome life which was afforded her by taking an occasional long ramble on foot with her stupid cousin Archy, or a ride on horseback with him along the lonely roads. Unaccompanied by him, Lady Lilias had forbidden her ever to venture beyond the precincts of the castle domains. The wily Lady Lilias had thus gained one point-her victim owed to Archy her almost only recreation. Almost, for it was not quite her only one. For want of other amusements she had taken to gardening, and here again Archy's influence had obtained for her a small plot of ground, which she was permitted to call her own. But was the garden or the gardener the attraction?

Donald Munro, the gardener at Craig Luce Castle, had succeeded his father and his grandfather in that situation. He was much attached to the family name, but disliked Lady Lilias, as all her tenantry did, and, of course, regretted the imbecility of the present master. Donald also pitied sincerely the lovely girl, who was as much imprisoned as ever damsel had been by necromantic art. Donald was well read in legendary and fairy lore; indeed, he was well informed on many subjects, and had an intellectual turn of mind. He had been educated at an excellent grammar-school, and was a good Latin scholar. He had a fine figure, a handsome face, and very good manners for one in his station. There was a degree of refinement, too, in his language, which doubtless arose from Nature's having made him somewhat of a poet. Happily, in addition to all these qualities, Donald was a sensible, well-principled, and "God-fearing" young man, as they say in Scotland. It was for Miss Lockhart's

own good that he sought to create some occupation for her, and to interest her in her little garden. He was always very respectful to her, and never encouraged her to forget, as she was often inclined to do, the distance between their ranks in life.

It was not long, however, before the vigilant Lady Lilias found out that Jessy held longer conversations with Donald Munro than was necessary for obtaining information respecting the culture of her flowers; and though she did not suppose that a Lockhart could condescend to entertain any penchant for a person in Donald's humble position, she felt that Archy must appear to great disadvantage compared even to a good-looking and intelligent gardener. She accordingly determined to lose no more time in bringing about the marriage on which she had set her heart. That she was dooming her unfortunate charge to misery did not cost her one pang. She wanted Jessy's money to improve the property, and Jessy herself to be the wife of the awkward booby, whose deficiencies, she well knew, would prevent his ever being accepted by a member of any respectable family.

Her first care was to obtain Archy's consent. She found him very unwilling to agree to her proposal. Not that he disliked his cousin-he admitted that she was 66 a bonny bit lassie"-but he had a great objection to marrying; for, doubtless remembering how his mother had domineered over his father, he declared his belief that all husbands were ben-pecked, and all wives viragoes. If he married, he was quite convinced he would not be able "to call his head his own." Lady Lilias smiled at the value he put upon that brainless commodity, but endeavoured to reassure him as to his rights. Jessy, she said, would and should be entirely at his orders; he should have more pocket-money if he consented to marry, and she would buy the new pony for him he had so long been wishing. The pony and the pocket-money carried the day, and Archy agreed to enter into the bonds of matrimony.

Lady Lilias found her niece more refractory. Jessy, albeit her fear of that dignified lady, plucked up spirit enough to refuse to marry her cousin. It was impossible, she declared. "She would not, could not consent to such a sacrifice; she would rather go back to the boardingschool in London." But Lady Lilias returned to the charge again and again. Poor Jessy was of a soft and yielding disposition, and when her aunt told her that, as a young unmarried woman, she could not enter into society without a chaperone, and there being no one to undertake that office, she might linger on for years and years at Craig Luce until she became an old maid, whereas, if she married Archy, she would be able to mix with the world and partake of all its amusements, her opposition became fainter and fainter, until at length, by false promises, Lady Lilias carried her point. The deluded girl was united to her half-witted cousin, and his wicked mother triumphed in her success.

She allowed the young couple to make a wedding tour, and to spend a few weeks in the Scottish capital: she then thought it was time to clip their wings, and recal them to the castle, for it was no part of her plan to let them escape from under her jurisdiction. Jessy, indeed, wished to rebel, but Archy had been too long accustomed to obey implicitly his mother's commands to venture on disputing them; and, moreover, the strong influence of habit made him wish to return to his home. Jessy