diff options
| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-01-22 11:24:43 -0800 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-01-22 11:24:43 -0800 |
| commit | 159726604bd760816331e8796d93d6e49cf901c4 (patch) | |
| tree | e218b534d827bb13b70dbd6632fe88342968e211 | |
| parent | f490959fc0aa5a3e41e4dff9e85c8929a9061a50 (diff) | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 4 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/66763-0.txt | 28784 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/66763-0.zip | bin | 598622 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/66763-h.zip | bin | 682625 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/66763-h/66763-h.htm | 26047 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/66763-h/images/new-cover.jpg | bin | 46723 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/66763-h/images/titlepage.png | bin | 8186 -> 0 bytes |
9 files changed, 17 insertions, 54831 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c939b07 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #66763 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66763) diff --git a/old/66763-0.txt b/old/66763-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 93f7f81..0000000 --- a/old/66763-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,28784 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Wolfe of Badenoch, by Thomas Dick-Lauder - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Wolfe of Badenoch - A Historical Romance of the Fourteenth Century - -Author: Thomas Dick-Lauder - -Release Date: November 17, 2021 [eBook #66763] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed Proofreading - Team at https://www.pgdp.net/ for Project Gutenberg (This file - was produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH *** - - - - THE - WOLFE OF BADENOCH - - A Historical Romance of the - Fourteenth Century - - - BY - SIR THOMAS DICK-LAUDER, Bart. - Of Fountainhall - - Complete Unabridged Edition - - - LONDON: HAMILTON, ADAMS & CO. - GLASGOW: THOMAS D. MORISON - 1886 - - - - - - - - -PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION. - - -The “Wolfe of Badenoch” was advertised in June, 1825, at which time it -was ready for the press. Since then, certain circumstances, easily -guessed at, have subjected it, with many a more important work, to an -embargo, from which critics may possibly say it should never have been -liberated. The author himself had forgotten it, until now that it has -been unexpectedly called for; and this must be his apology for that -want of revision which he fears will be but too apparent. - -The author has been accused of being an imitator of the Great Unknown. -In his own defence, however, he must say, that he is far from being -wilfully so. In truth, his greatest anxiety has been to avoid intruding -profanely into the sacred haunts of that master enchanter. But let it -be remembered, that the mighty spirit of the magician has already so -filled the labyrinth of romance, that it is not easy to venture within -its precincts without feeling his influence; and to say that, in -exploring the intricacies of these wizard paths, one is to be denounced -for unwittingly treading upon these flowers which have been pressed by -his giant foot, amounts to a perfect prohibition of all entrance there. - -In the “Wolfe of Badenoch,” the author has adhered strictly to -historical fact, as far as history or historical character has been -interwoven with his story. He has felt, indeed, that this scrupulosity -has considerably fettered his invention; and, had circumstances -permitted the public so to judge of his former production, some of the -remarks thrown out upon it would have been spared. - - - -[Note to the present edition.—The author of course refers here to Sir -Walter Scott, at that time, one may almost say, inaugurating a new era -in historical romance. The “Wolfe of Badenoch” was first published in -1827 under circumstances of disadvantage, from having to stand the -contrast with the famous series of tales by the above distinguished -author. It, nevertheless, passed successfully through this trying -ordeal, and was most favourably reviewed in many critical publications, -some of which ranked it alongside the best productions of Sir Walter -Scott. A still more certain and gratifying estimate of its worth was -the favourable hold it took on public opinion, the work being -extensively read and successive editions speedily called for.] - - - - - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - CHAPTER I. PAGE - - The Scottish Knights—Journeying Homewards—The Hostelry - of Norham Towers, 17 - - CHAPTER II. - - The Host and the Hostess—Preparing the Evening Meal, 29 - - CHAPTER III. - - The Knights Invited to Norham Castle, 33 - - CHAPTER IV. - - The Evening Meal at the Castle—The Minstrel and the Tourney - of Noyon—Master Haggerstone Fenwick the Ancient, 39 - - CHAPTER V. - - Night at the Castle—The Friar’s Visit to the Ancient, 47 - - CHAPTER VI. - - Making Love on the Ramparts, 54 - - CHAPTER VII. - - The Midnight Meeting in the Ancient’s Chamber—Strange - Proposal—A Dreadful Alternative, 61 - - CHAPTER VIII. - - Arrival of Sir Rafe Piersie—The Challenge, 70 - - CHAPTER IX. - - The Combat—Departure of the Scots—Master Kyle Swears by - St. Cuthbert, 77 - - CHAPTER X. - - The Home of the Hepbornes—Remembrances of Childhood—The Old - Wolf-Hound, 84 - - CHAPTER XI. - - The Wolf Hunt—A Desperate Encounter, 90 - - CHAPTER XII. - - The Freaks of Love at Hailes Castle—The Tournament at - Tarnawa Announced, 97 - - CHAPTER XIII. - - Sir Patrick Hepborne’s Departure for the North—Consternation - at the Castle, 109 - - CHAPTER XIV. - - The Pursuit—Surprising the Camp, 115 - - CHAPTER XV. - - Norham Castle again—The Ancient’s Divination—Sir Walter - Bewitched—The Franciscan Friar to the Rescue, 121 - - CHAPTER XVI. - - Raising the Devil—Delivered to the Flames, 126 - - CHAPTER XVII. - - Sir John’s Pursuit in Quest of the Missing Lady—The - Forester’s Hunting Camp—Sir Miers de Willoughby’s - Border Keep, 134 - - CHAPTER XVIII. - - The Horrors of the Dungeon, 140 - - CHAPTER XIX. - - Dawn in the Dungeon—An Appalling Sight—Rough Visitors, 147 - - CHAPTER XX. - - A Dreadful Situation—Daniel Throckle the Old Jailor, 153 - - CHAPTER XXI. - - Crooked-hold-him-fast—Making a Lantern of Burnstower Castle, 160 - - CHAPTER XXII. - - Waiting for the Spearmen—The Lady Isabella’s Tale—The Fight, 166 - - CHAPTER XXIII. - - Sir Patrick Hepborne’s Journey North—Passes through - Edinburgh—King Robert II.—The Wilds of the Highlands—The - Celtic Host, 171 - - CHAPTER XXIV. - - Savage-looking Visitors—Night in the Highland Hostelry— - Wolf Dogs, 180 - - CHAPTER XXV. - - Wild Scottish Bisons—Fight with a Bull—Cold and Fatigue, 184 - - CHAPTER XXVI. - - The Evening Encampment—Treachery, 191 - - CHAPTER XXVII. - - Another Night attack—A Desperate Encounter, 198 - - CHAPTER XXVIII. - - Meeting the Wolfe of Badenoch—The Cavalcade, 205 - - CHAPTER XXIX. - - The Wolfe of Badenoch’s Hunting Encampment—Letter from King - Robert—Arrival at the Wolfe’s Stronghold, 210 - - CHAPTER XXX. - - The Castle of Lochyndorbe—An Evening Episode on the - Ramparts—The Wolfe’s Raid on the Bishop’s Lands, 224 - - CHAPTER XXXI. - - The Lady Mariota and the Page—The Fury of the Wolfe, 231 - - CHAPTER XXXII. - - Maurice’s Song—The Franciscan Friar—Excommunication, 238 - - CHAPTER XXXIII. - - The Water Pit Vault—Friar or Devil, which? 247 - - CHAPTER XXXIV. - - The Wolfe of Badenoch and the Earl of Moray, 251 - - CHAPTER XXXVI. - - The Castle of Tarnawa—Distinguished Guests, 260 - - CHAPTER XXXVII. - - The Banquet at the Castle—Alarm—Forres on Fire, 267 - - CHAPTER XXXVIII. - - The Burning of the Church and Town of Forres, 272 - - CHAPTER XXXIX. - - Sir Patrick and the Earl at Forres, 279 - - CHAPTER XL. - - In the Countess of Moray’s Apartments—Sir Patrick gets - Quizzed, 283 - - CHAPTER XLI. - - Rory Spears, the Earl’s Henchman, 288 - - CHAPTER XLII. - - The Lovely English Damosel, 292 - - CHAPTER XLIII. - - Mustering for the Tournament—The Proclamation—The Procession - at St. John’s Chapel, 293 - - CHAPTER XLIV. - - The Italian Armourer—The Knight of Cheviot, 304 - - CHAPTER XLV. - - The Tournament, 311 - - CHAPTER XLVI. - - The English Ambassador and the Gallant Lindsay, 321 - - CHAPTER XLVII. - - The Earl of Fife’s Council Meeting—The Challenge between - the Scottish and English Knights, 326 - - CHAPTER XLVIII. - - The Departure from the Castle of Tarnawa—The Alarm of War, 333 - - CHAPTER XLIX. - - The Lord of Dirleton’s Tale—The Bishop of Moray and his - Clergy, 342 - - CHAPTER L. - - The Mystery of the Lady Beatrice—Arrival of the Nobles and - Men-at-arms at Aberdeen, 351 - - CHAPTER LI. - - King Robert at Aberdeen—Duncan MacErchar again, 356 - - CHAPTER LII. - - The Wolfe of Badenoch at Aberdeen—Father and Son, 366 - - CHAPTER LIII. - - The English Lady’s Departure from Tarnawa Castle—The Crafty - Son of the Wolfe of Badenoch, 376 - - CHAPTER LIV. - - Sir Andrew’s Deep-laid Plot—An Unexpected Arrival, 384 - - CHAPTER LV. - - Travelling through the Wild Forest—A Dreadful Spectacle— - Arrival at the River Tweed, 394 - - CHAPTER LVI. - - Old Acquaintances at the Hostel of Norham Tower—Great - Gathering at Jedworth—The Council of War, 402 - - CHAPTER LVII. - - The Scots Besieging Newcastle—The Fight on the Walls, 415 - - CHAPTER LVIII. - - Combat between Douglas and Hotspur—The Fight for the Pennon, 426 - - CHAPTER LIX. - - The Battle at Otterbourne, 444 - - CHAPTER LX. - - The Bishop’s Army—Sorrow for the Fate of the Heroic Douglas, 459 - - CHAPTER LXI. - - The Field of Otterbourne after the Fight, 465 - - CHAPTER LXII. - - Withdrawal of the Scots Army—Obsequies of the Gallant Dead— - The Mystery Solved, 471 - - CHAPTER LXIII. - - The Scottish Knights at the English Court—The Wealthy London - Merchant—Combat on London Bridge, 485 - - CHAPTER LXIV. - - Lady de Vere and her lovely Guest—Innocence and Purity - Endangered—The King’s Confessor and the Franciscan Friar, 506 - - CHAPTER LXV. - - In the Dungeons of the Tower of London, 525 - - CHAPTER LXVI. - - A Ship of Olden Times—Tempest Tossed—Arrival at the Maison - Dieu in Elgin, 529 - - CHAPTER LXVII. - - The Wolfe of Badenoch again—The Burning of Elgin Cathedral, 536 - - CHAPTER LXVIII. - - The Bishop’s Palace at Spynie—The Wolfe gets a Surprise, 547 - - CHAPTER LXIX. - - Changes at the Castle of Lochyndorbe—The Wolfe tamed—Alarm - for the Lady Beatrice, 555 - - CHAPTER LXX. - - Bishop Barr at Lochyndorbe Castle—Reception by the Wolfe, 566 - - CHAPTER LXXI. - - The Scottish Knights in London—Father Rushak’s Tale, 576 - - CHAPTER LXXII. - - At the Scottish Court—The Penitential Procession—Sir Patrick - and the Friar, 582 - - CHAPTER LXXIII. - - Accusation made in presence of the King—The Challenge, 595 - - CHAPTER LXXIV. - - The Missing Lady Beatrice, 604 - - CHAPTER LXXV. - - The Ordeal of Battle, 608 - - CHAPTER LXXVI. - - The Friar’s Tale—The Two Combatants—Lady Eleanore’s - explanation—All is well that ends well, 615 - - - - - - - - -THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. - - -CHAPTER I. - - The Scottish Knights—Journeying Homewards—The Hostelry of Norham - Towers. - - -It was in the latter part of the fourteenth century that Sir Patrick -Hepborne and Sir John Assueton—two young Scottish knights, who had been -serving their novitiate of chivalry under the banners of Charles the -Sixth of France, and who had bled their maiden lances against the -Flemings at Rosebarque—were hastening towards the Border separating -England from their native country. A truce then subsisting betwixt the -kingdoms that divided Britain had enabled the two friends to land in -Kent, whence they were permitted to prosecute their journey through the -dominions of Richard II., attended by a circumscribed retinue of some -ten or a dozen horsemen. - -“These tedious leagues of English ground seem to lengthen under our -travel,” said Sir John Assueton, breaking a silence that was stealing -upon their march with the descending shades of evening. “Dost thou not -long for one cheering glance of the silver Tweed, ere its stream shall -have been forsaken by the last glimmer of twilight?” - -“In sooth, I should be well contented to behold it,” replied Hepborne. -“The night droops fast, and our jaded palfreys already lag their ears -from weariness. Even our unbacked war-steeds, albeit they have carried -no heavier burden than their trappings, have natheless lost some deal -of their morning’s metal, and, judging from their sobered paces, -methinks they would gladly exchange their gay chamfronts for the more -vulgar hempen-halters of some well-littered stable.” - -“Depardieux, but I have mine own sympathy with them,” said Assueton. -“Saidst thou not that we should lie at Norham to-night?” - -“Methought to cast the time and the distance so,” replied Hepborne; -“and by those lights that twinkle from yonder dark mass, rising against -that yellow streak in the sky, I should judge that I have not greatly -missed in meting our day’s journey to that of the sun. Look between -those groups of trees—nay, more to the right, over that swelling -bank—that, if I mistake not, is the keep of Norham Castle, and those -are doubtless the torches of the warders moving along the battlements. -The watch must be setting ere this. Let us put on.” - -“Thou dost not mean to crave hospitality from the captain of the -strength, dost thou?” demanded Assueton. - -“Such was my purpose,” replied Hepborne; “and the rather, that the good -old knight, Sir Walter de Selby, hath a fair fame for being no churlish -host.” - -“Nay, if thou lovest me, Hepborne, let us shun the Castle,” said -Assueton. “I have, ’tis true, heard of this same Sir Walter de Selby; -and the world lies if he be not, indeed, as thou sayst, a hospitable -old knight. But they say he hath damsels about him; and thou knowest I -love not to doff mine armour only to don the buckram of etiquette; and -to have mine invention put upon the rack to minister to woman’s vanity. -Let us then to the village hostel, I entreat thee.” - -“This strange unknightly disease of thine doth grow on thee, Assueton,” -said Hepborne, laughing. “I have, indeed, heard that the widowed Sir -Walter was left with one peerless daughter, who is doubtless the pride -of her father’s hall; nay, I confess to thee, my friend, that the -much-bruited tale of her beauty hath had its own share in begetting my -desire to lodge me in Norham; but since thou wilt have it so, I am -content to pleasure thee, trusting that this my ready penance of -self-denial may count against the heavy score of my sins. But -stay;—What may this be that lies fluttering here among the gorse?” - -“Meseems it a wounded hawk,” said Assueton, stooping from his horse to -look at it. - -“In truth, ’tis indeed a fair falcon,” said Hepborne’s esquire, -Mortimer Sang, as he dismounted to pick it up. “He gasps as if he were -dying. Ha! by’r Lady, but he hath nommed a plump partridge; see here, -it is dead in his talons.” - -“He hath perchance come by some hurt in the swooping,” said Hepborne; -“Canst thou discover any wound in him?” - -“Nay, I can see nothing amiss in him,” replied Sang. - -“I’ll warrant me, a well-reclaimed falcon,” said Hepborne, taking him -from his esquire; “ay, and the pet of some fair damsel too, if I may -guess from his silken jesses. But hold—he reviveth. I will put him here -in the bosom of my surcoat, and so foster the small spark of life that -may yet remain in him.” - -At this moment their attention was arrested by the sound of voices; -and, by the meagre light that now remained, they could descry two -ladies, mounted on palfreys, and followed by two or three male -attendants, who came slowly from behind a wooded knoll, a little to the -left of the path before them. Their eyes were thrown on the ground, and -they seemed to be earnestly engaged in looking for something they had -lost. - -“Alas, my poor bird!” said one of the ladies, “I fear I shall never see -thee more.” - -“Mary, ’tis vain to look for him by this lack of light,” said an -esquire. - -“Do thou thy duty and seek for him, Master Turnberry,” said the second -lady, in a haughty tone. - -“A murrain on’t!” said the esquire again; “this comes of casting a hawk -at a fowl at sundown.” - -“I tell thee he must be hereabouts,” said the second lady again; “it -was over these trees that I saw him stoop.” - -“Stoop! ay, I’ll be sworn I saw him stoop,” said the esquire. “But an I -saw him not dash his brains ’gainst one of those gnarled elms, my name -is not Thomas, and I have no eyes for falconry. He’s amortised, I -promise thee.” - -“Silence, Master Turnberry,” said the same lady again; “thou givest thy -tongue larger license than doth well beseem thee.” - -“By the Rood, but ’tis well to call silence,” replied the esquire, -sulkily, “and to me too who did verily steal these two hours’ sport of -hawking for thee at mine own proper peril.” - -“Ay, stolen indeed were they on thy part, Master Turnberry,” replied -the same lady; “but forget not that they were honestly bought of thee -on ours.” - -“Nay, then, bought or not,” said the esquire, “the last nail’s breadth -of thy merchandize hath been unrolled to thee. We must e’en clip short, -and haste us to Norham, else will Sir Walter’s grey beard become redder -than a comet’s tail with ire. Thou knowest this has been but a testy -day with him.” - -“Peace with thy impudence, sir knave,” said the same lady hotly. “Dost -thou dare thus to speak in presence of the Lady Eleanore de Selby? A -greybeard’s ire shall never——” - -“Nay, talk not so,” said the first lady, mildly interrupting her. “The -honest squire equeary hath reason. Though it grieveth me to lose my -poor falcon thus, we must e’en give him up, and haste us to the -Castle.” - -“Stay, stay, fair damsel,” cried Hepborne, urging his steed forward -from the hollow bushy path where he and his party had hitherto remained -concealed, from dread of alarming the ladies, a precaution which he now -entirely forgot in his eagerness to approach her, whose person and -manners had already bewitched him. “Stay, stay—fly not, lady—your -hawk—your falcon!” - -But the sudden appearance of armed men had so filled the ladies with -alarm, that they had fled at his first word; and he now saw himself -opposed by sturdy Squire Turnberry, who being too much taken by -surprise to catch the knight’s meaning, and taking it for granted that -his purpose was hostile, wheeled his horse round, and planting himself -firmly in the midst of the path, at the head of the grooms, couched his -hunting-spear, as if determined to prevent pursuit. - -“What, ho! sir stranger knight—what seek ye, in the fiend’s name?” -demanded the squire, sternly. - -“Credit me no evil,” said Sir Patrick. “It galleth me sore that mine -intemperate rudeness should have so frayed these beauteous damsels. -Mine intent was but to restore the fair lady’s lost falcon, the which -it was our chance to pick up in this hollow way. He had ta’en some -unseen hurt in swooping at this partridge, which he had nommed.” - -“Nay, by the mass, but I thought as much,” said the squire. - -“Tell the lovely mistress of this fair bird, that Sir Patrick Hepborne -willingly submits him to what penance she may enjoin for the alarm he -caused her,” said the knight; “and tell, too, that he gave life to her -expiring falcon, by cherishing it in his bosom.” - -“I give thee thanks in mine own name, and that of the lady who owneth -the hawk,” said the esquire. “Trust me, thy sin will be forgotten in -the signal service thou hast done her. The bird, methinks, rouseth him -as if there were no longer evil in him.” - -“Yea, he proyneth and manteleth him as if rejoicing that he shall again -embrace his lady’s wrist with his sengles,” said the knight. “Happy -bird! depardieux, but he is to be envied. Tell his fair mistress, that -if the small service it hath been my good fortune to render her, may -merit aught of boon at her hands, let my reward be mine enlistment in -that host of gallant knights who may have vowed devotion to her will.” - -“Sir Knight,” said the squire, “I will bear thy courteous message to -her who owneth the falcon; and if I tarry not longer to give the -greater store of thanks, ’tis that the Lady Eleanore de Selby hath -spurred away so fast, that I must have a fiend’s flight if I can catch -her.” And turning his horse with these words he tarried not for further -parlance. - -“’Tis a strange adventure, Assueton,” said Hepborne to his friend, as -they pursued their journey; “to meet thus with the peerless Eleanore de -Selby at the very moment she formed the subject of our discourse.” - -“’Tis whimsical enow,” said Assueton, drily; “yet it is nothing -marvellous.” - -“Albeit that the growing darkness left me but to guess at the -excellence of her features, from the elegance of her person,” continued -Hepborne, “yet do I confess myself more than half enamoured of her by -very intuition. Didst thou observe that her attendant who talked so -forwardly, though not devoid of grace, showed in her superior presence -but as a mere mortal beside a goddess?” - -“Nay,” replied Assueton, “though I do rarely measure or weigh the -points of women, and am more versant in those of a battle-steed, yet -methought that the attendant, as thou callest her, had the more noble -port of the two.” - -“Fie on thy judgment, Assueton,” cried Hepborne; “to prefer the saucy, -pert demeanour of an over-indulged hand-maid, to the dignified -deportment of gentle birth. The Lady Eleanore de Selby—she, I mean, in -the reddish-coloured mantle, she who wept for the hawk—was as far above -her companion in the elegance of her air, as heaven is above earth.” - -“May be so,” replied Assueton with perfect indifference. “’Tis a -question not worth the mooting.” - -“To thee, perhaps, it may be of little interest,” said Hepborne; “but I -could be well contented to be permitted to solve it in Norham Castle. -Why wert thou born with feelings so much at war with what beseemeth a -knight, as to make thee eschew all converse with those fair beings, the -sun of whose beauty shineth but to brace up the otherwise damp and -flaccid nerves of chivalrous adventure?” - -“Nay, thou mightest as well demand of me why my raven locks are not as -fair as thine,” said Assueton with a smile; “yea, or bid him who is -born blind to will to see.” - -“By Saint Baldrid, but I do pity thee as much as if thou wert blind,” -said Hepborne. “Nay, what is it but to be blind, yea, to want every -sense, to be thus unmoved with——” - -“Ha! see where the broad bosom of Tweed at last glads our eyes, -glistening yonder with the pale light that still lingers in the west,” -exclaimed Assueton, overjoyed to avail himself of so happy an -opportunity of interrupting his friend’s harangue. - -“Yonder farther shadowy bank is Scotland—our country,” cried Hepborne, -with deep feeling. - -“God’s blessing on her hardy soil!” said Assueton, with enthusiasm. - -“Amen!” said Hepborne. “To her shall we henceforth devote our arms, -long enow wielded in foreign broils, where, in truth, heart did hardly -go with hand.” - -“But where lieth the hamlet of Norham?” inquired Assueton. - -“Seest thou not where a few feeble rays are shed from its scattered -tenements on the hither meadow below?” replied Hepborne. “Nay, thou -mayest dimly descry the church yonder, sanctified by the shelter it did -of erst yield to the blessed remains of the holy St. Cuthbert, what -time the impious Danes drove them from Lindisferne.” - -“But what, methinks, is most to thy present purpose, Sir Knight,” -observed Mortimer Sang, “yonder brighter glede proceedeth, if I rightly -guess, from the blazing hearth of Master Sylvester Kyle, as thirsty a -tapster as ever broached a barrel, and one who, if he be yet alive, -hath hardly, I wot, his make on either side the Border, for knavery and -sharp wit.” - -“Pray heaven his sharp wit may not have soured his ale,” muttered Roger -Riddel, the laconic esquire of Sir John Assueton. - -They now hastened down the hollow way that led to the village and soon -found themselves in its simple street. - -“Ay,” exclaimed Sang, “by St. Andrew, but old Kyle’s gate is right -hospitably open. I promise ye, ’tis a good omen for Border quiet to -find it so. So please thee, Sir Knight, shall I advance and give note -of thine approach?” - -“Do so,” said Hepborne, to the esquire, who immediately cantered -forward. - -“Ho! house there!” cried Sang, halting in the gateway. “Come forth, -Monsieur, mine host of the hostel of Norham Tower. Where art thou, Mr. -Sylvester Kyle? Where be thine hostlers, drawers, and underskinkers? -Why do not all appear to do themselves honour by waiting on two most -puissant knights, for I talk not of their esquires, or the other -gentlemen soldiers of pregnant prowess, of the very least of whom it -were an honour to undo the spur?” - -By the time that Sang had ended his summons, the party were at the -gate, and had leisure to survey the premises. A rude wall of -considerable length faced the irregular street of the village, having -the gateway in the centre. The thatch-roofed buildings within formed -the other three sides of the quadrangular court. Those to the right -were occupied as stables, and in those to the left were the kitchen, -and various other domestic offices; whilst the middle part was entirely -taken up by one large room, from whence gleamed the light of a great -fire, that burned on a hearth in the midst, shedding around a common -comfort on the motley parties of noisy ale-drinkers seated at different -tables. - -“What, ho! Sylvester, I say—what a murrain keeps thee?” cried Sang, -although the portly form of the vintner already appeared within the -aperture of the doorway, like a goodly portrait in a frame, his -carbuncled face vying in lustre with the red flare of the torch he held -high in his hand. “Gramercy, Master Kyle, so thou hast come at last. By -the mass, but that paunch of thine is a right fair warrant for the -goodness of thine ale, yet it will be well that it do come quicker when -it be called for than thou hast.” - -“Heyday, what a racket thou dost make, gaffer horseman!” cried Kyle. -“But the emptiest vessel doth ever make the most din.” - -“Tut, man, thou hast hit it for once with thy fool’s head,” replied -Sang. “I am, as thou sayest, at this present, in very sober earnest, an -empty vessel; yea, and for that matter, so are we all. But never trust -me and we make not a din till we be filled. The sooner thou stoppest -our music, then, the better for thine ears, seeing that if we be forced -to pipe thus, and that thou dancest not more quickly to our call, thou -mayest perchance lose them.” - -“By the mass, but thy music is marvellously out of tune, good fellow,” -replied the publican. “Thy screeching is like that of a cracked rebeck, -the neck of which must be hard griped, and most cruelly pinched, ere -its tone be softened. But of what strength is thy company?” continued -he, whirling his torch around so as to obtain a general view of the -group of horsemen. “By St. Cuthbert, I wish there may be stabling for -ye all.” - -“Stabling for us all, sir knave?” cried Sang; “marry, thou dost speak -as if we were a herd of horses.” - -“Cry you mercy, noble esquire,” rejoined Kyle. “An thou beest an ass, -indeed, a halter and a hook at the gate-cheek may serve thy turn, and -so peraunter I may find room for the rest.” - -A smothered laugh among his comrades proclaimed Squire Sang’s defeat. -The triumphant host ran to hold Sir Patrick Hepborne’s stirrup. - -“By the Rood,” cried the squire, as he dismounted, with a good-natured -chuckle at his own discomfiture—“by the Rood, but the rogue hath -mastered me for this bout. But verily my wit is fasting, whilst his, I -warrant, hath the full spirit of his potent ale in’t. Never trust me -but I shall be even with him anon.” - -“Master Kyle,” said Assueton, to their host, as he ushered his guests -into the common room, “we should be glad to see some food. The rising -sun looked upon our last meal; so bestir thyself, I pr’ythee, goodman, -and let us know as soon as may be how we are to fare.” - -“Room there, sirs, for two valiant knights,” cried Kyle, getting rid of -the question by addressing himself to a party seated at a table near -the hearth; “room, I say, gentlemen. What, are ye stocks, my masters?” - -“Nay, treat not the good people so rudely,” said Hepborne, as some -eight or ten persons were hastily vacating their places; “there is room -enow for all. Go not thou, at least, old man,” continued he, addressing -a minstrel who was following the rest, his snowy locks and beard -hanging luxuriantly around a countenance which showed all the freshness -of a green old age; “sit thee down, I do beseech thee, and vouchsafe us -thy winning discourse. Where is the chevalier to whom a bard may not do -honour?” - -The minstrel’s heart was touched by Sir Patrick’s kind words; his full -hazel eye beamed on him with gratitude; he put his hand to his breast, -and modestly bowed his head. - -“My time is already spent, most gentle knight,” said he. “Ere this I am -looked for at the Castle; yet, ere I go hence, let me drink this cup of -thanks for thy courtesy. To thee I wish tender love of fairest lady; -and may thy lance, and the lance of thy brave companion, never be -couched but to conquer.” And so draining the draught to the bottom, he -again bowed, and immediately retired. - -“So, Master Kyle,” said Assueton to the host, who returned at this -moment, after having ascertained the country and quality of his new -guests, “what hast thou in thy buttery?” - -“Of a truth, Sir Knight, we are now but ill provided for sike guests,” -replied Kyle. “Had it been thy luck to have sojourned here yestere’en, -indeed, I wot ye mought ha’ been feasted. But arrives me my Lord Bishop -of Durham at the Castle this morning; down comes me the seneschal with -his buttery-men, and whips me off a whole beeve’s carcase; then in pour -me the people of my Lord Bishop—clerks, lacqueys, and grooms; bolt goes -me a leg of mutton here—crack goes me a venison pasty there—gobble goes -me a salmon in this corner, whilst a whole flock of pullets are riven -asunder in that; so that there has been nothing from sunrise till -sundown but wagging of jaws.” - -“Marry, these church-followers are wont to be stout knights of the -trencher,” said Assueton, with a smile. “But let us have a supper from -what may be left thee, and that without more ado.” - -“Anon, courteous Sir Knight,” said Master Kyle, with a grin. “But, as I -was a-saying, there hath been such stuffing; nay ye may know by the -clinking of their cans that the rogues drink not fasting. By the mass, -’tis easy to guess from the seas of ale they are swallowing, what -mountains of good provender they have to float in their stomachs. Why, -yonder lantern-jaws i’ the corner, with a mouth that opens as if he -would swallow another Jonas, and wangs like the famine-ground fangs of -a starving wolf—that same fellow devoured me a couple of fat capons -single-head; and that other churl——” - -“Have done with thine impertinence, villain, said Assueton, -interrupting him; “have done with thine impertinence, I say, and let us -straightway have such fare as thou canst give, or by St. Andrew——” - -“Nay, then, sweet sir,” replied the host, “there be yet reserved some -delicate pig’s liver for myself and Mrs. Kyle, but they shall be -forthwith cheerfully yielded to thy necessities.” - -“Pestilence take thee, knave,” cried Assueton, “couldst thou not have -set them down to us at once, without stirring up our appetites to -greater keenness by thine enumeration of the good things that are gone? -Come, come, despatch—our hunger is beyond nicety.” - -Sir John Assueton now sat down to put in practice that patience of -hunger, the exercise of which was one of the chief virtues of -knighthood. As for Sir Patrick Hepborne, his attention was so entirely -absorbed by a conversation that ensued at the adjoining table, to which -the Bishop’s people had retired, that he altogether forgot his wants. - -“And was it thy luck to see the Lady Eleanore de Selby, Master Barton?” -demanded one of the persons of the dialogue; “Fame speaketh largely of -her perfections.” - -“Yea, Foster, I did indeed behold her,” replied the other, who seemed -to be a person of more consequence than the rest. “When I entered the -Castle-hall this morning, to receive the commands of my Lord the -Bishop, she was seated between him and her father. They were alone, and -the old knight was urging something to her in round soldier-like terms; -but I gathered not the purport of his speech, for he broke off abruptly -as I appeared.” - -“And is she so rare a beauty as folks do call her?” demanded Foster. - -“Verily, so much loveliness did never bless these eyes before,” replied -Barton. “Yet was the sunshine of her face disturbed by clouds. -Tear-drops, too, had dimmed the lustre of her charms. But methought -they were more the offspring of a haughty spirit than of an afflicted -heart.” - -“Nay, of a truth, they do say that she lacketh not haughtiness,” -observed Foster. “’Tis whispered that she hath already scorned some -noble knights who would fain have wedded the heiress of the rich Sir -Walter de Selby.” - -“Nay, I warrant me she hath had suitors enow, and those no mean ones,” -replied Barton. “What thinkest thou of Sir Rafe Piersie, brother to the -gallant Hotspur? Marry, they say that he deigns to woo her with right -serious intent.” - -“Sayest thou so?” exclaimed Foster; “then must the old knight’s gold -have glittered in the young knight’s eyes, that a proud-blooded Piersie -should even him thus to the daughter of him who is but a soldier of -Fortune.” - -“Ay, and welcome, I ween, would the old knight’s hard-won wealth be to -the empty coffers of a younger brother who hath never spared expense,” -replied Barton. - -“Yea, and high, I wot, mought Sir Walter’s hoar head be held with such -a gallant for his son-in-law,” observed Foster again. - -“Trust me,” said Barton, “he would joyfully part with all the golden -fruits he hath gleaned from Scottish fields, to see this solitary scion -from his old stock grafted on the goodly and towering tree of -Northumberland. But they say that the Lady Eleanore is so hard to win, -that she even scorns this high alliance; and if I might guess at -matters the which to know are beyond my reach, I should say, hark ye, -that this visit of our Right Reverend Lord Bishop to Sir Walter de -Selby, hath something in it of the nature of an ambassage from the -Piersie touching this same affair.” - -“I do well know our Right Reverend Lord’s affection for that house,” -said Foster. - -“Nay, he doth stand related to the Piersie in no very distant degree,” -replied Barton. - -“Perchance this marriage treaty then had something to do with the -lady’s tears,” observed Foster. - -“Doubtless,” said Barton. “But I mistake if she carrieth not a high -brow that will be ill to bend. Her doting father hath been ever too -foolishly fond of her to thwart her will, till it hath waxed too strong -for his opposing. She will never yield, I promise thee.” - -“Then hath our Bishop lost his travel,” said Foster. “But when -returneth our Reverend Lord homeward?” - -“His present orders are for to-morrow,” replied Barton. - -“How sayst thou, Assueton?” said Hepborne, in a whisper to his friend, -after the conversation between the two strangers had dropped; “how -sayst thou now? Did I right, think ye, to yield to thine importunity, -to shun the hospitality of Norham Castle, that we might hostel it so -vilely here i’ the nale of the Norham Tower? Dost thou not grieve for -thy folly?” - -“Why, faith,” replied Assueton, “to thee it may be cause of some -regret; and I may grieve for thee, seeing that thou, an idolater of -woman’s beauty, hast missed worshipping before the footstool of this -haughty damsel. Thou mightest have caught a shred of ribbon from her -fair hand, perchance, to have been treasured and worn in thy helmet; -but, for mine own particular part, I despise such toys. Rough, -unribboned steel, and the joyous neighing of my war-steed, are to me -more pleasing than the gaudy paraments and puling parlance of love-sick -maidens.” - -“Nay, then, I do confess that my desire to behold this rare beauty hath -much grown by what I have heard,” replied Hepborne. “Would that thou -hadst been less indolently disposed, my friend. We might have been even -now in the Castle; and ere we should have left it, who knows but we -might have rescued this distressed damosel from an alliance she -detesteth. Even after all these protestations to the contrary, thine -icy heart mought have been thawed by the fire of her eyes, and the -adventure mought have been thine own.” - -“St. Andrew forbid!” replied Assueton. “I covet no such emprise. I -trust my heart is love-proof. Have I not stood before the -lightning-glances of the demoiselles of Paris, and may I not hold my -breastplate to be good armour against all else?” - -“Nay, boast not of this unknightly duresse of thine, Assueton,” replied -Hepborne. “Trust me, thou wilt fall when thine hour cometh. But, by St. -Baldrid, I would give this golden chain from my neck—nay, I would give -ten times its worth, to be blessed with but a sight of her.” - -“Ay,” said Assueton, “thou art like the moth, and wouldst hover round -the lamp-fire till thy wings were singed.” - -“Pshaw, Sir Adamant,” said Hepborne, “thou knowest I have skimmed -through many a festal hall, blazing with bright eyes, and yet are my -opinions as whole as thine. But I am not insensible to woman’s charms -as thou art; and to behold so bright a star, perdie, I should care -little to risk being scorched by coming within the range of its rays.” - -“Nay, then, I do almost repent me that I hindered thee from thy design -of quartering in the Castle,” said Assueton. “Thou mightest have levied -new war on our ancient and natural foemen, by snatching an affianced -bride from the big house of Northumberland.” - -“Depardieux, but it were indeed a triumph, and worthy of a Scottish -knight, to carry off the Lady Eleanore de Selby by her own consent from -the proud Piersie,” said Hepborne. “But ’tis well enow to jest of.” - -Whilst this dialogue was going on between the two friends, their -esquires entered the place. Mortimer Sang, after reconnoitring the -different tables, and perceiving that there were no convenient places -vacant, except at that occupied by the attendants of the Bishop, went -towards it, followed by his comrade Roger Riddel. - -“By your good leave, courteous gentlemen,” said Sang, with a bow, at -the same time filling up an empty space with his person; “I hope no -objection to our joining your good company? Here, tapster,” cried he, -at the same time throwing money on the table, “bring in a flagon of -Rhenish, that we may wash away the dryness of new acquaintance.” - -This cheering introduction of the two esquires was received with a -smiling welcome on the part of those to whom it was addressed. - -“Come ye from the south, Sir Squire?” demanded Barton, after the wine -had silently circulated, to the great inward satisfaction of the -partakers. - -“Ay, truly, from the south, indeed,” replied Sang, lifting the flagon -to his head. - -“Then was I right, Richard, after all,” said Barton, addressing one of -his fellows. “Did I not tell thee that these strangers had none of the -loutish Scot in their gait?” - -“Loutish Scot!” cried Sang, taking the flagon from his lips, and -starting up fiercely; “What mean ye by loutish Scot?” - -Barton eyed the tall figure, broad chest, and sinewy arms of the -Scottish esquire. - -“Nay, I meant thee not offence, Sir Squire,” replied he. - -“Ha!” said Sang, regaining his good-humour; “then I take no offence -where none is meant. Your Scot and your Southern are born foes to fight -in fair field; yet I see no just cause against their drinking together -in good fellowship when the times be fitting, albeit they may be called -upon anon to crack each other’s sconces in battle broil. Thine hand,” -said he, stretching his right across the table to the Bishop’s man, -whilst he poised the flagon with his left. “Peraunter thou be’st a -soldier, though of a truth that garb of thine would speak thee to be as -much of a clerk as an esquire; but, indeed, an thy trade be arms, I am -bold to say, that Scotland doth not hold a man who will do thee the -petites politesses of the skirmish more handsomely than I shall, should -chance ever throw us against each other. Meanwhile my hearty service to -thee.” - -“Spoke like a true man,” said Roger Riddel, taking the flagon from his -friend. “Here, tapster, we lack wine.” - -“Nay, Roger,” said Sang, “but we cannot drink thus fasting. What a -murrain keeps that knave with the——Ha! he comes. Why, holy St. Andrew, -what meanest thou, villain, by putting down this flinty skim-milk? -Caitiff, dost take us for ostriches, to digest iron? Saw I not hogs’ -livers a-frying for our supper?” - -“Nay, good master Squire,” said the flaxen-polled lad of a tapster, -“sure mistress says that the livers be meat for your masters.” - -“Meat for our masters, sirrah!” replied Sang; “and can the hostel of -Master Sylvester Kyle, famed from the Borders to the Calais Straits—can -this far-famed house, I say, afford nothing better for a brace of -Scottish knights, whose renown hath filled the world from Cattiness to -the land of Egypt, than a fried hog’s liver? Avoid, sinner, avoid; out -of my way, and let me go talk to this same hostess.” - -So saying, he strode over the bench, and, kicking the rushes before him -in his progress towards the door, made directly for the kitchen. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - The Host and the Hostess—Preparing the Evening Meal. - - -On entering the kitchen, Master Mortimer Sang found the hostess, a -buxom dame with rosy cheeks, raven hair, and jet-black eyes, busily -employed in cooking the food intended for the two knights. Having -already had a glimpse of her, he remarked her to be of an age much too -green for so wintry a husband as Sylvester Kyle; so checking his haste, -he approached her with his best Parisian obeisance. - -“Can it be,” said he, assuming an astonished air—“can it possibly be, -that the cruel Master Sylvester Kyle doth permit so much loveliness to -be melted over the vile fire of a kitchen, an ’twere a piece of butter, -and that to fry a paltry pig’s liver withal?” - -The dame turned round, looked pleased, smiled, flirted her head, and -then went on frying. Sighing as if he were expiring his soul, Sang -continued,— - -“Ah, had it been my happy fate to have owned thee, what would I not -have done to preserve the lustre of those charms unsullied?” - -Mrs. Sylvester Kyle again looked round, again she smiled, again she -flirted her head, and, leaving the frying-pan to fry in its own way, -she dropped a curtsey, and called Master Sang a right civil and -fair-spoken gentleman. - -“Would that thou hadst been mine,” continued Sang, throwing yet more -tenderness into his expression: “locked in these fond arms, thy beauty -should have been shielded from every chance of injury.” So saying he -suited the action to the word, and embracing Mrs. Kyle, he imprinted on -her cheeks kisses, which, though burning enough in themselves, were -cold compared to the red heat of the face that received them. Having -thus paved the way to his purpose— - -“What could possess thee, beauteous Mrs. Kyle,” said he, “to marry that -gorbellied glutton of thine, a fellow who, to fill his own rapacious -bowke, and fatten his own scoundrel carcase, starveth thee to death? I -see it in thy sweet face, my fair hostess; ’tis vain to conceal it; the -wretch is miserably poor; he feedeth thee not. The absolute famine that -reigneth in his beggarly buttery, nay, rather flintery (for buttery it -were ridiculous to call it), cannot suffice to afford one meal a-day to -that insatiable maw of his, far less can it supply those cates and -niceties befitting the stomach of an angel like thyself.” - -Mrs. Kyle was whirled up to the skies by this rhapsody; Master -Sylvester had never said anything half so fine. But her pride could not -stand the hits the squire had given against the poverty of her larder. - -“Nay thee now, but, kind sir,” said she, “we be’s not so bad off as all -that; Master, my goodman Kyle hath as fat a buttery, I warrant thee, as -e’er a publican in all the Borders.” - -“Nay, nay, ’tis impossible, beautiful Mrs. Kyle,” said Mortimer -again—“’tis impossible; else why these wretched pigs’ entrails for a -couple of knights, of condition so high that they may be emperors -before they die, if God give them good luck?” - -“La, now there,” exclaimed Mrs. Kyle; “and did not Sylvester say that -they were nought but two lousy Scots, and that any fare would do for -sike loons. Well, who could ha’ thought, after all, that they could be -emperors? An we had known that, indeed, we might ha’ gi’en them -emperor’s fare. Come thee this way, kind sir, and I’ll let thee see our -spense.” - -This was the very point which the wily Master Sang had been aiming at. -Seizing up a lamp, she led the way along a dark passage. As they -reached the end of it, their feet sounded hollow on a part of the -floor. Mrs. Kyle stopped, set down her lamp, slipped a small sliding -plank into a groove in the side wall made to receive it, and exposed a -ring and bolt attached to an iron lever. Applying her hand to this, she -lifted a trap door, and disclosed a flight of a dozen steps or more, -down which she immediately tripped, and Sang hesitated not a moment to -follow her. But what a sight met his eyes when he reached the bottom! -He found himself in a pretty large vault, hung round with juicy barons -and sirloins of beef, delicate carcases of mutton, venison, hams, -flitches, tongues, with all manner of fowls and game, dangling in most -inviting profusion from the roof. It was here that Master Kyle -preserved his stock-in-trade, in troublesome times, from the rapacity -of the Border-depredators. Mortimer Sang feasted his eyes for some -moments in silence, but they were allowed small time for their banquet. - -A distant foot was heard at the farther extremity of the passage, and -then the angry voice of Kyle calling his wife. Mortimer sprang to the -top of the steps, just as mine host had reached the trap-door. - -“Eh! what!” exclaimed Kyle with horror and surprise—“A man in the -spense with my wife! Thieves! Murder!” - -He had time to say no more, for Sang grappled him by the throat, as he -was in the very act of stooping to shut the trap-door on him, and down -he tugged the bulky host, like a huge sack; but, overpowered by the -descent of such a mountain upon his head, he rolled over the steps with -his burthen into the very middle of the vault. More afraid of her -husband’s wrath than anxious for his safety, Mrs. Kyle put her lamp on -the ground, jumped nimbly over the prostrate strugglers, and escaped. -The active and Herculean Sang, rising to his knees, with his left hand -pressed down the half-stunned publican, who lay on his back gasping for -breath; then seizing the lamp with his right, he rose suddenly to his -legs, and, regaining the trap-door in the twinkling of an eye, sat him -down quietly on the floor to recover his own breath; and, taking the -end of the lever in his hand, and half closing the aperture, he waited -patiently till his adversary had so far recovered himself as to be able -to come to a parley. - -“So, Master Sylvester Kyle,” said the esquire, “thou art there, art -thou—caught in thine own trap? So much for treating noble Scots, the -flower of chivalry, with stinking hog’s entrails. By’r Lady, ’tis well -for thee thou hast such good store of food there. Let me see; methinks -thou must hold out well some week or twain ere it may begin to putrify. -Thou hadst better fall to, then, whiles it be fresh; time enow to begin -starving when it groweth distasteful. So wishing thee some merry meals -ere thou diest, I shall now shut down the trap-door—bolt it fast—nail -up the sliding plank—and as no one knoweth on’t but thy wife, who, kind -soul, hath agreed to go off with me to Scotland to-night, thou mayest -reckon on quiet slumbers for the next century.” - -“Oh, good Sir Squire,” cried Kyle, wringing his hands like a maniac, -“let me out, I beseech thee; leave me not to so dreadful a death. Thou -and thy knights and all shall feast like princes; thou shalt float in -sack and canary; thou shalt drink Rhinwyn in barrelfuls, and Malvoisie -in hogsheads, to the very lowest lacquey of ye. No, merciful Sir -Squire, thou canst not be so cruel—Oh, oh!” - -“Hand me up,” said Sang, with a stern voice, “hand me up, I say, that -venison, and these pullets there, that neat’s tongue, and a brace of -the fattest of these ducks; I shall then consider whether thou art -worthy of my most royal clemency.” - -Mine host had no alternative but to obey. One by one the various -articles enumerated by Sang were handed up to him, and deposited beside -him on the floor of the passage. - -“Take these flagons there,” said he, “and draw from each of these buts, -that I may taste.—Ha! excellent, i’ faith, excellent.—Now, Sir knave, -those of thy kidney mount up a ladder to finish their career of -villainy, but thy fate lieth downwards; so down, descend, and mingle -with thy kindred dirt.” - -He slapped down the trap-door with tremendous force, bolted it firmly, -and replaced the sliding plank, so that the wretch’s shrieks of -horrible despair came deafened through the solid oak, and sounded but -as the moaning of some deep subterranean stream. - -Master Sang had some difficulty in piling up the provender he had -acquired, and carrying it with the flagons to the kitchen. There he -found Mrs. Kyle, who, in the apprehension of a terrible storm from her -lord, was sitting in a corner drowned in tears. - -“Cheer up, fair dame,” said Sang to the disconsolate Mrs. Kyle; “thou -needest be under no fear of him to-night. I have left him in prison, -and thou mayest relieve him thyself when thou mayest, and on thine own -terms of capitulation. Meanwhile, hash up some of that venison, and -dress these capons, and this neat’s tongue, for the knights, our -masters, and make out a supper for my comrade and me and the rest as -fast as may be. I’ll bear in the wine myself.” - -Mrs. Kyle felt a small smack of disappointment to find that the so -lately gallant esquire, after all he had said, should himself put such -an office upon her; but she dried her eyes, and quickly begirding -herself for her duty, set to work with alacrity. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - The Knights Invited to Norham Castle. - - -On the return of Mortimer Sang to the common room, he found that a new -event had taken place in his absence. An esquire had arrived from the -Castle, bearing a courteous message from Sir Walter de Selby, its -captain, setting forth that it pained him to learn that Sir Patrick -Hepborne and Sir John Assueton had not made experiment of his poor -hospitality; that their names were already too renowned not to be well -known to him; and that he trusted they would not refuse him the -gratification of doing his best to entertain them, but would condescend -to come and partake of such cheer and accommodation as Norham Castle -could yield. An invitation so kind it was impossible to resist. Indeed, -whatever Sir John Assueton might have felt, Sir Patrick Hepborne’s -curiosity to see the fair maid of the Castle was too great to be -withstood. The distance was but short, and Sir Walter’s messenger was -to be their guide. Leaving their esquires and the rest of their -retinue, therefore, to enjoy the feast so ingeniously provided for them -by Sang, their horses were ordered out, and they departed. - -The night was soft and tranquil. The moon was up, and her silvery light -poured itself on the broad walls of the keep, and the extensive -fortifications of Norham Castle, rising on the height before them, and -was partially reflected from the water of the farther side of the -Tweed, here sweeping wildly under the rocky eminence, and threw its -shadow half-way across it. They climbed up the hollow way leading to -the outer ditch, and were immediately challenged by the watch upon the -walls. The password was given by their guide, the massive gate was -unbarred, the portcullis lifted, and the clanging drawbridge lowered at -the signal, and they passed under a dark archway to the door of the -outer court of guard. There they were surrounded by pikemen and -billmen, and narrowly examined by the light of torches; but the officer -of the guard appeared, and the squire’s mission being known to him, -they were formally saluted, and permitted to pass on. Crossing a broad -area, they came to the inner gate, where they underwent a similar -scrutiny. - -They had now reached that part of the fortress where stood the -barracks, the stables, and various other buildings necessarily -belonging to so important a place; while in the centre arose the keep, -huge in bulk, and adamant in strength, defended by a broad ditch, where -not naturally rendered inaccessible by the precipitous steep, and -approachable from one point only by a narrow bridge. Lights appeared -from some of its windows, and sounds of life came faintly from within; -but all was still in the buildings around them, the measured step of -the sentinel on the wall above them forming the only interruption to -the silence that prevailed. - -The esquire proceeded to try the door of a stable, but it was locked. - -“A pestilence take the fellow,” said he; “how shall I get the horses -bestowed?—What, ho!—Turnberry—Tom Equerry, I say.” - -“Why, what art thou?” cried the gruff voice of the sentinel on the -wall; “what art thou, I say, to look for Tom Turnberry at this hour? -By’r lackins, his toes, I’ll warrant me, are warm by the embers of -Mother Rowlandson’s suttling fire. He’s at his ale, I promise thee.” - -“The plague ride him, then,” muttered the squire; “how the fiend shall -I find him? I crave pardon, Sirs Knights, but I must go look for this -same varlet, or some of his grooms, for horses may not pass to the -keep; and who knoweth but I may have to rummage half the Castle over -ere I find him?” So saying, he left the two knights to their -meditations. - -He was hardly gone when they heard the sound of a harp, which came from -a part of the walls a little way to the left of where they were then -standing. The performer struck the chords, as if in the act of tuning -the instrument, and the sound was interrupted from time to time. At -last, after a short prelude, a Scottish air was played with great -feeling. - -“By the Rood of St. Andrew,” exclaimed Assueton, after listening for -some time, “these notes grapple my heart, like the well-remembered -voice of some friend of boyhood. May we not go nearer?” - -“Let us tie our horses to these palisadoes, and approach silently, so -as not to disturb the musician,” said Hepborne. - -Having fastened the reins of their steeds, they moved silently in the -direction whence the music proceeded, and soon came in sight of the -performer. - -On a part of the rampart, at some twenty yards’ distance, where the -wall on the outside rose continuous with the rock overhanging the -stream of the Tweed, they beheld two figures; and, creeping silently -for two or three paces farther, they sheltered themselves from -observation under the shadow of a tower, where they took their stand in -the hope of the music being renewed. The moonlight was powerful, and -they easily recognized the garb of the harper whom they had so lately -seen at the hostel. He was seated on the horizontal ropes of one of -those destructive implements of war called an onager or balista, which -were still in use at that period, when guns were but rare in Europe. -His harp was between his knees, his large and expressive features were -turned upwards, and his long white locks swept backwards over his -shoulders, as he was in the act of speaking to a woman who stood by -him. The lady, for her very mien indicated that she was no common -person, stood by the old man in a listening posture. She was enveloped -in a mantle, that flowed easily over her youthful person, giving to it -roundness of outline, without obscuring its perfections. - -“By St. Dennis, Assueton,” whispered Hepborne to his friend, “’tis the -Lady Eleanore de Selby. The world lies not; she is beautiful.” - -“Nay, then, thine eyes must be like those of an owl, if thou canst tell -by this light,” replied Assueton. - -“I tell thee I caught one glance of her face but now, as the moonbeam -fell on it,” said Hepborne; “’twas beauteous as that of an angel. But -hold, they come this way.” - -The minstrel arose, and the lady and he came slowly along the wall in -the direction where the two knights were standing. - -“Tush, Adam of Gordon,” said the lady, in a playful manner, as if in -reply to something the harper had urged, “thou shalt never persuade me; -I have not yet seen the knight—nay, I doubt me whether the knight has -yet been born who can touch this heart. I would not lose its freedom -for a world.” - -“So, so,” whispered Assueton, “thou wert right, Master Barton; a -haughty spirit enow, I’ll warrant me.” - -“Hush,” said Hepborne, somewhat peevishly; “the minstrel prepares to -give us music.” - -The minstrel, who had again seated himself, ran his fingers in wild -prelude over his chords, and graduating into a soft and tender strain, -he broke suddenly forth in the following verses, adapted to its -measure:— - - - Oh think not, lady, to despise - The all-consuming fire of Love, - For she who most his power defies - Is sure his direst rage to prove. - Was never maid, who dared to scorn - The subtle god’s tyrannic sway, - Whose heart was not more rudely torn - By his relentless archery. - - Do what thou canst, that destined hour - Will come, when thou must feel Love’s dart; - Then war not thus against his power, - His fire will melt thine icy heart. - Oh, let his glowing influence then - Within thy bosom gently steal; - For sooth, sweet maid, I say again, - That all are doom’d Love’s power to feel. - - -“Why, Adam,” exclaimed the lady, as the minstrel concluded, “this is -like a prophecy. What, dost thou really say that I must one day feel -this fire thou talkest of? Trust me, old man, I am in love with thy -sweet music, and thy sweet song; but for other love, I have never -thought of any such, and thou art naughty, old man, to fill mine ears -with that I would fain keep from having entrance there.” - -“Nay, lady, say not so,” cried Adam of Gordon, earnestly; “thou knowest -that love and war are my themes, and I cannot ope my lips, or touch my -harp, but one or other must have way with me. How the subject came, I -know not; but the verses were the extemporaneous effusion of my -minstrel spirit.” - -“Come, Hepborne,” whispered Assueton, “let us away; we may hear more of -the lady’s secrets than consists with the honour of knights wilfully to -listen to.” - -“Nay, I could stay here for ever, Assueton,” replied Hepborne; “I am -spell-bound. That ethereal creature, that enchantress, hast chained me -to the spot; and wouldst thou not wish to have more of that old man’s -melody? Methought his verses might have gone home to thee as well as to -the lady.” - -“Pshaw,” said Assueton, turning away, “dost think that I may be -affected by the drivelling song of an old dotard? Trust me, I laugh at -these silly matters.” - -“Laugh while thou mayest, then,” replied Hepborne; “thou mayst weep -anon. Yet, as thou sayst, we do but ill to stand listening here. Let us -away then.” - -When they reached the spot where their horses were tied, they found -that the esquire who guided them to the Castle had but just returned -with Master Turnberry, the equerry, whose state sufficiently betrayed -the manner in which he had been spending his evening, and showed that -the sentinel had not guessed amiss regarding him. He came staggering -and grumbling along. - -“Is’t not hard, think ye, that an honest man cannot be left to enjoy -his evening’s ease undisturbed? I was but drinking a draught of ale, -Master Harbuttle.” - -“A draught of ale,” replied Harbuttle; “ay, something more than one -draught, I take it, Master Thomas. But what makest thou with a torch in -such a moonshiny night as this?” - -“Moonshiny,” cried Turnberry, hiccuping; “moonshiny, indeed, why, ’tis -as dark as a pit well. Fye, fye, Mr. Harbuttle, thou must have been -drinking—thou must have been drinking, I say, since thou hast so much -fire in thine eyes; for, to a sober, quiet, cool-headed man like -myself, Master Harbuttle, the moon is not yet up. Fye, fye, thou hast -been taking a cup of Master Sylvester Kyle’s tipple. ’Tis an abominable -vice that thou hast fallen into; drink will be the ruin of thee.” - -“Thou drunken sot, thou,” exclaimed Harbuttle, laughing, “dost not see -the moon there, over the top of the keep?” - -“That the moon!” cried Turnberry, holding up his torch as if to look -for it; “well, well, to see now what drink will do—what an ass it will -make of a sensible man; for, to give the devil his due, thou art no -gnoffe when thou art sober, Master Harbuttle. That the moon! Why, -that’s the lamp burning in Ancient Fenwick’s loophole window. Thou -knowest he is always at his books—always at the black art. St. Cuthbert -defend us from his incantations!” - -“Amen!” said the squire usher, fervently crossing himself. - -“But what a fiend’s this?” cried Turnberry; “here are two horses, one -black and t’other white. I see that well enow, though thou mayn’t, yet -thou would’st persuade me I don’t know the Wizard Ancient’s lamp from -the moon. Give me hold of the reins.” - -But as he stretched forth his hand to take them, he toppled over and -fell sprawling among the horses’ feet, whence he was opportunely -relieved by two of his own grooms, who arrived at that moment. - -“Where hast thou been idling, varlets?” demanded Turnberry, as he -endeavoured to steady himself, and assume the proper importance of -authority; “drinking, varlets, drinking, I’ll be sworn—John Barleycorn -will be the overthrow of Norham Castle. See, villains, that ye bestow -these steeds in good litters, and that oats are not awanting. I’ll e’en -return to my evening’s repose.” - -At this moment the lady, followed by Adam of Gordon, came suddenly upon -the group from a narrow gateway, at the bottom of a flight of steps -that led from the rampart, and were close upon Hepborne and his friend -before they perceived the two knights. The lady drew back at first from -surprise, and seemed to hesitate for an instant whether she would -advance or not. She pulled her hood so far over her face as to render -it only partially visible; but the flame of Master Turnberry’s torch -had flashed on it ere she did so, and Hepborne was ravished by the -momentary glance he had of her beauty. The lady, on the other hand, had -a full view of Sir Patrick’s features, for his vizor was up. The -minstrel immediately recognized him. - -“Lady,” said the old man, “these are the courteous stranger knights who -came hither as the guests of Sir Walter de Selby.” - -“In the name of Sir Walter de Selby, do I welcome them then,” said the -lady, with a modest air. “Welcome, brave knights, to the Castle. But,” -added she, hesitatingly, “in especial am I bound to greet with mine own -guerdon of good thanks him who is called Sir Patrick Hepborne, to whose -gentle care I am so much beholden for the safety of my favourite hawk.” - -“Proudly do I claim these precious thanks as mine own rich treasure, -most peerless lady,” exclaimed Sir Patrick, stepping forward with -ardour. “Blessed be my good stars, which have thus so felicitously -brought me, when least expecting such bliss, into the very presence of -a demoiselle whose perfections have already been so largely rung in -mine ears, short as hath yet been my time in Norham.” - -“Methinks, Sir Knight,” replied the lady, in some confusion, “methinks -that thy time, albeit short, might have been better spent in Norham -than in listening to idle tales of me. Will it please thee to take this -way? Sir Walter, ere this, doth look for thee in the banquet-hall.” - -“Lady, the tale of thy charms was music to me,” said Sir Patrick; “yet -hath it been but as some few notes of symphony to lure me to a richer -banquet. Would that the gentle zephyrs, which do now chase the fleecy -cloud from yonder moon, might unveil that face. Yet, alas! I have -already seen but too much of its charms for my future peace.” - -“Nay, Sir Knight,” replied the lady, “this fustian is but thrown away -on me. Thy friend, perhaps, may talk more soberly—Shall I be thy guide, -chevalier?” added she, addressing Assueton. - -“No, no, no,” interrupted Hepborne, springing to her side; “I’ll go -with thee, lady, though thou should’st condemn me to eternal silence.” - -“Here, then, lieth thy way,” said the lady, hurrying towards the bridge -communicating with the entrance to the keep; “and here come the -lacqueys with lights.” - -The squire, who had gone in before, now appeared at the door, with -attendants and torches. Hepborne anxiously hoped to be blessed with a -more satisfactory view of the lady’s face than accident had before -given him; but as she approached the lights, she shrouded up her head -more closely in her hood, yet not so entirely as to prevent her eyes -from enjoying some stolen glances at the noble figure of Sir Patrick. -She had no sooner got within the archway of the great door, however, -than she took a lamp from an attendant, and, making a graceful -obeisance to the two friends, disappeared in a moment, leaving Sir -Patrick petrified with vexation and disappointment. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - The Evening Meal at the Castle—The Minstrel and the Tourney of - Noyon—Master Haggerstone Fenwick the Ancient. - - -Sir Patrick Hepborne was roused from the astonishment the sudden -disappearance of the lady had thrown him into, by the voice of the -Squire Usher, who now came to receive them. - -“This way, Sirs Knights,” cried he, showing them forwards, and up a -staircase that led them at once into a large vaulted hall, lighted by -three brazen lamps, hanging by massive chains from the dark wainscot -roof, and heated by one great projecting chimney. A long oaken table, -covered with pewter and wooden trenchers, with innumerable flagons and -drinking vessels of the same materials, occupied the centre of the -floor. About a third of its length, at the upper end, was covered with -a piece of tapestry or carpet, and there the utensils were of silver. -The upper portion of the table had massive high-backed carved chairs -set around it, and these were furnished with cushions of red cloth, -whilst long benches were set against it in other parts. The rest of the -moveables in the hall consisted of various kinds of arms, such as -helmets, burgonets, and bacinets—breastplates and -back-pieces—pouldrons, vambraces, cuisses, and greaves—gauntlets, iron -shoes, and spurs—cross-bows and long-bows, hanging in irregular -profusion on the walls; whilst spears, pikes, battle-axes, truncheons, -and maces, rested everywhere in numbers against them. The floor was -strewed with clean rushes; and a dozen or twenty people, some of whom -were warlike, and some clerical in their garb, were divided into -conversational groups of two or three together. - -Sir Walter de Selby, an elderly man, with a rosy countenance, and a -person rather approaching to corpulency, clad in a vest and cloak of -scarlet cloth, sat in tête-à-tête with a sedate and dignified person, -whose dress at once declared him to be of the religious profession and -episcopal rank. - -“Welcome, brave knights,” said Sir Walter, rising to meet them as the -Squire Usher announced them; “welcome, brave knights. But by St. -George,” added he, with a jocular air, as he shook each of them -cordially by the hand, “I should have weened that ye looked not to be -welcomed here, seeing ye could prefer bestowing yourselves in the -paltry hostelry of the village, rather than demanding from old Sir -Walter de Selby that hospitality never refused by him to knights of -good fame, such as thine. But ye do see I can welcome, ay, and welcome -heartily too. My Lord Bishop of Durham, this is Sir Patrick Hepborne, -and this, Sir John Assueton, Scottish knights of no mean degree or -renown.” Sir Walter then made them acquainted with the chief personages -of the company, some of whom were knights, and some churchmen of high -rank. - -After the usual compliments had passed, the Scottish knights were shown -to apartments, where they unarmed, and were supplied with fitting robes -and vestments. Sir Patrick Hepborne was happy in the expectation of -being speedily introduced to the Lady Eleanore; but, on returning to -the hall, he found that she had not yet appeared, and he was mortified -to hear Sir Walter de Selby give immediate orders for the banquet. - -“These gallant knights,” said he, “would, if I mistake not, rather eat -than talk, after a long day’s fast. We shall have enow of converse -anon. Bring in—bring in, I say.” And, seating himself at the head of -the table, he placed the Lord Bishop on his right hand, and the two -stranger knights on his left, while the other personages took their -places of themselves, according to their acknowledged rank. Immediately -after them came a crowd of guests of lesser note, who filled up the -table to the farther extremity. - -The entertainment consisted of enormous joints of meat, and trenchers -full of game and poultry, borne in by numerous lacqueys, who panted -under the loads they carried; and the dishes were arranged by the -sewer, whose office it was to do so. - -When the solid part of the feast had been discussed, and the mutilated -fragments removed, Sir Walter called for a mazer of Malvoisie. The wine -was brought him in a silver cup of no despicable manufacture, and he -drank a health to the stranger knights; which was passed round -successively to the Bishop and others, who sat at the upper end, and -echoed from the lower part of the table by those who drank it in deep -draughts of ale. Numerous pledges succeeded, with hearty carouse. - -“Sir Walter,” said Hepborne, taking advantage of a pause in the -conversation, “the fame of thy peerless daughter, the Lady Eleanore de -Selby, hath reached our ears: Shall our eyes not be blessed with the -sight of so much beauty? May we not look to see thy board graced with -her presence ere the night passeth away?” - -“Nay, Sir Knight,” replied Sir Walter, his countenance undergoing a -remarkable change from gay to grave, “my daughter appeareth not -to-night. But why is not the minstrel here?” exclaimed he aloud, as if -wishing to get rid of Hepborne’s farther questioning; “why is not Adam -of Gordon introduced? Let him come in; I love the old man’s music too -well to leave him neglected. Yea, and of a truth, he doth to-night -merit a double share of our regard, seeing that it is to him we do owe -the honour of these distinguished Scottish guests. A chair for the -minstrel, I say.” - -A chair was accordingly set in a conspicuous place near the end of the -hall. Adam entered, with his harp hanging on his arm, and, making an -obeisance to the company, advanced towards the top of the table. - -“Ay, ay, come away, old man; no music without wine; generous wine will -breed new inspiration in thee: Here, drink,” said Sir Walter, -presenting him with the mantling cup. - -The minstrel bowed, and, drinking health to the good company, he -quaffed it off. His tardy blood seemed quickened by the draught; he -hastened to seat himself in the place appointed for him; and, striking -two or three chords to ascertain the state of his instrument, he -proceeded to play several airs of a martial character. - -“Come, come, good Adam, that is very well,” said Sir Walter, as the -harper paused to rest his fingers awhile—“so far thou hast done well; -but my good wine must not ooze out at the points of thy fingers with -unmeaning sounds. Come, we must have it mount to thy brain, and fill -thee with inspiration. Allons! Come, drink again, and let the contents -of this cup evaporate from thee in verse. Here, bear this brimming -goblet to him: And then, dost thou hear, some tale of hardy dints of -arms; ’tis that we look for. Nay, fear not for my Lord Bishop; I wot he -hath worn the cuirass ere now.” - -“Thou sayest truly, Sir Walter,” said the Bishop, rearing himself up to -his full height, as if gratified by the remark; “on these our Eastern -Marches there are few who have not tasted of war, however peaceful may -have been their profession; and I cannot say but I have done my part, -thanks be to Him who hath given me strength and courage.” - -Adam quaffed off the contents of the cup that had been given him, and, -seizing his harp again, he flourished a prelude, during which he kept -his eyes thrown upwards, as if wrapt in consideration of his subject, -and then dashed the chords from his fingers in a powerful accompaniment -to the following verses:— - - - THE TOURNEY OF NOYON. - - Proud was the bearing of fair Noyon’s chivalry, - Brave in the lists did her gallants appear; - Gay were their damosels, deck’d out in rivalry, - Breathing soft sighs from the balconies near. - Each to her knight, - His bright helm to dight, - Flung her love-knot, with vows for his prowess and might; - And warm were the words - Of their love-sick young lords, - Mingling sweet with the tender harp’s heart-thrilling chords. - - But long ere the trumpet’s shrill clamour alarming - Told each stark chevalier to horse for the strife; - Ere yet their hot steeds, in their panoply arming, - Were led forth, their nostrils wide breathing with life; - Ere the lists had been clear’d, - The brave Knollis appear’d - With his heroes, the standard of England who rear’d; - But nor billman nor bowman - Came there as a foeman, - For peace had made friends of these stout English yeomen. - - As afar o’er the meadows, with soldiers’ gear laden, - They merrily marched for their dear native land; - Their banners took sighs from full many a maiden, - And trembled, as love-lorn each waved her white hand. - But see from the troops - Where a warrior swoops, - From the speed of his courser his plume backward droops; - ’Tis a bold Scottish Knight, - Whose joy and delight - Is to joust it in sport—or at outrance to fight. - - His steed at the barrier’s limit he halted, - And toss’d to his Squire the rich gold-emboss’d rein; - Cased in steel as he was, o’er the high pales he vaulted, - And, bowing, cried, “Messieurs Chevaliers, prey deign - To lend me an ear— - Lo, I’m singly come here, - Since none of you dared against me to appear. - One and all I defy, - Nor fear I shall fly, - Win me then, if you can—for my knighthood I try.” - - Then a huge massive mace round his head quickly whirling, - He charged their bright phalanx with furious haste, - And some he laid prostrate, with heads sorely dirling, - And some round the barrier swiftly he chased. - Where’er he attacked, - The French knighthood backed, - Preux Chevalier le brave Jean de Roy he thwacked, - Till his helmet rang well, - Like the couvre-feu bell— - By the Rood, but ’twas nearly his last passing knell. - - Then Picardy’s pride, Le Chevalier de Lorris, - He soon stretch’d on the sand in most pitiful case, - And he rain’d on the rest, till they all danced a morris - To the music he played on their mails with his mace. - Till tired with his toil, - He breathed him a while, - And, bowing again, with a most courteous smile, - “Adieu, Messieurs!” said he, - “Je vous rend graces, Perdie! - For the noble diversion you’ve yielded to me.” - - Then some kind parting-blows round him willingly dealing, - That on breastplates, and corslets, and helmets clang’d loud, - Sending some ten or dozen to right and left reeling, - He soon clear’d his way through the terrified crowd. - O’er the pales then he bounded - As all stood confounded. - To the saddle he leap’d—and his horse’s heels sounded - As he spurrd out of sight, - Leaving proofs of his might, - That had marr’d the bold jousting of many a knight. - - -Loud applause followed the minstrel’s merry performance, and Sir Walter -de Selby called Adam towards him to reward him with another cup of -wine. - -“But thou hast not told us the name of thy mettlesome knight, old -bard,” said he. - -Adam looked over his shoulder, with a waggish smile, towards Sir John -Assueton. - -“’Twas a certain Scottish knight,” said he, “one whose heart was as -easily wounded as his frame was invulnerable—one who was as remarkable -for his devotion to the fair as for his prowess in the field. It was -whispered at Noyon that the feat was done to give jovisaunce to a pair -of bright eyes which looked that day from the balcony.” - -“By St. Andrew, but thou art out there, goodman harper,” cried -Assueton, caught in the trap so cunningly laid for him by the minstrel; -“trust me, thou wert never more out in thy life. My heart was then, as -it is now, as sound, entire, firm, and as hard as my cuirass. By’r -Lady, I am not the man to be moved by a pair of eyes. No pair of eyes -that ever lighted up a face could touch me; and as to that matter, -a—a—” But observing a smile playing over the countenances of the -guests, he recollected that he had betrayed himself, and stopped in -some confusion. The harper turned round to the host— - -“Sir Walter,” said he, “there never sat within this wall two more -doughty or puissant knights than these. Both did feats of valour abroad -that made Europe ring again. Sir John Assueton was indeed the true hero -of my verses. As to his love I did but jest, for I wot ’tis well known -he hath steeled himself against the passion, and hath never owned it. I -but feigned, to draw him into a confession of the truth of my tale, the -which his consummate modesty would never have permitted him to avow.” - -Sir Walter called for a goblet of wine— - -“To the health of the brave knight of Noyon!” cried he. “Well did we -all know to whom the merry minstrel alluded.” - -The health was received with loud applause, and compliments came so -thick upon Assueton, that he blushed to receive them. - -“Load me not thus, courteous knights, load me not thus, I beseech you, -with your applause for a silly frolic. Here sits one,” said he, wishing -to turn the tide from himself, and tapping Hepborne on the -shoulder—“Here sits one, I say, who hath done feats of arms compared to -which my boyish pranks are but an idle pastime. This is the Scottish -knight who, at the fight of Rosebarque, did twice recover the flag of -France from the Flemings, and of whom the whole army admitted that the -success of that day belonged to the prowess of his single arm.” - -This speech of Assueton’s had all the effect he desired. Sir Walter was -well aware of the renown acquired by Hepborne upon that occasion, and -there were even some at table who had witnessed his glorious feats of -arms on that day. His modesty was now put to a severe trial in its -turn, and goblets were quaffed in honour of him. He looked with a -reproachful eye at his friend for having thus saved himself at his -expense; and at last, to get rid of praises he felt to be oppressive, -he signified to his host a wish to retire for the night. Accordingly -the Squire Usher was called, and the two knights were shown to their -apartments; soon after which the banquet broke up, leaving the Lord -Bishop and Sir Walter in deep conference. - -As Hepborne and Assueton passed up the narrow stair that led to the -apartments appropriated to them, they were interrupted in their -progress by a pair of limbs of unusual length, that were slowly -descending. The confined and spiral nature of the stair kept the head -and body belonging to them entirely out of view; and the huge feet were -almost in Hepborne’s stomach before he was aware. He called out, and -the limbs, halting for an instant, seemed to receive tardy instructions -to retire, from the invisible head they were commanded by, which, -judging of the extent of the whole person by the parts they saw, must -have been, at that moment at least, in the second storey above them. -The way being at last cleared, the two friends climbed to the passage -leading to their apartments. Irresistible curiosity, however, induced -them to linger for a moment on the landing-place to watch the descent -of a figure so extraordinary. It came as if measured out by yards at a -time. In the right hand was a lamp, carried as high as the roof of the -stair would permit, to enable the bearer to steer his head under it -without injury, and the light being thus thrown strongly upon the face, -displayed a set of features hardly human. - -The complexion was deadly pale, the forehead unusually low and broad, -and the head was hung round with lank tangles of black hair. A pair of -small fiery eyes smouldered, each within the profound of a deep cavity -on either side of the nose, that, projecting a good inch or two nearly -in a right angle from the forehead, dropped a perpendicular over the -mouth, almost concealing the central part of that orifice, in which it -was assisted by the enormous length of chin thrust out in a curve from -below. The cheekbones were peculiarly enlarged, and the cheeks drawn -lankly in; but the corners of the mouth, stretching far backwards, were -preternaturally expanded, and, by a convulsive kind of twist, each was -alternately opened wide, so that, in turn, they partially exhibited the -tremendous grinders that filled the jaws. It is not to be supposed that -Hepborne and Assueton could exactly note these particulars so -circumstantially as we have done; but the uncouth figure moved with so -much difficulty downwards, with a serpentizing sort of course, that -they had leisure to remark quite enough to fill them with amazement. - -The apparition, clad in a close black jerkin and culottes, had no -sooner wormed itself down, than both knights eagerly demanded of the -Squire Usher who and what it was. - -“’Tis Master Haggerstone Fenwick, the Ancient,” replied he with a -mysterious air. - -“Nay,” said Assueton, “he surely is fitter for hoisting the broad -banner of the Castle upon, than for carrying the colours in the field.” - -“Why, as to that, Sir Knight,” said the Usher, “he might i’faith do -well enough for the banner; and he would be always at hand too when -wanted, seeing that he rarely or ever quitteth the top of the keep. He -liveth in the small cap-room, where he must lig from corner to corner -to be able to stretch himself; yet there he sitteth night and day, -reading books of the black art, and never leaveth it, except when he -cometh down as now, driven by hunger, the which he will sometimes defy -for a day or two, and then he descendeth upon the buttery, like a wolf -from the mountains, and at one meal will devour thee as much provender -as would victual the garrison for a day, and then mounteth he again to -his den. He is thought to possess terrible powers; and strange sights -and horrible spectres have been seen to dance about the battlements -near his dwelling.” - -“Holy Virgin! and is all this believed by Sir Walter de Selby?” -inquired Hepborne. - -“Ay, truly,” said the Usher gravely; “most seriously believed (as why -should it not?) by him, and all in the Castle. But I beseech thee, Sir -Knight, let us not talk so freely of him. Holy St. Mary defend us! I -wish he may not take offence at our stopping him in his way to his -meal. Let us not talk more of him. I bid thee good night.” - -“But tell me ere thou goest why we saw not that star of female beauty, -the Lady Eleanore de Selby, at the banquet this evening?” demanded -Hepborne. - -“’Tis a fancy of her father’s, Sir Knight,” replied the Squire Usher, -smiling; “and, if it may not offend thee, ’tis because he willeth not -that the lady may marry her with a Scottish chevalier, that he ever -doth forbid her entrance when any of thy nation are feasted in his -hall.” - -“It irketh me to think that we should have caused her banishment,” said -Hepborne. “What, is she always wont to keep her chamber on like -occasions?” - -“Yea,” replied the Squire Usher, “ever save when the evening air is so -bland as to suffer her to breathe it upon the rampart. She is often -wont to listen to the minstrel’s notes there. But there are your -chambers, Sirs Knights. The squires of your own bodies will be with you -in the morning. Sir Walter hath issued orders for the admission of your -retinue into the Castle. And he hopes you will sojourn with him as long -as your affairs may give you sufferance. Good night, and may St. Andrew -be with you.” - -The two friends separated, and quickly laid themselves down to repose. -The hardy and heart-whole Assueton slept soundly under the protection -of his national saint, to whom he failed not to recommend himself, as a -security against the incantations of the wizard. Nor did Sir Patrick -Hepborne neglect to do the same; for these were times when the -strongest minds were subject to such superstitions. But his thoughts -soon wandered to a more agreeable subject. He recalled the lovely face -he had seen, and he sighed to think that he had not been blessed with a -somewhat less transitory glance of features which he would have wished -to imprint for ever upon his mind. - -“Why should her father thus banish her from the eyes of all Scotchmen? -By the Rood, but it can and must be only from the paltry fear of his -wealth going to fatten our northern soil. But I can tell him that there -be Scots who would cheerfully take her for her individual merit alone, -and leave her dross to those sordid minds who covet it.” - -Such was Sir Patrick’s soliloquy, and, imperfect as his view of the -lady had been, it was sufficient to conjure up a vision that hovered -over his pillow, and disturbed his rest, in defiance of the good St. -Andrew. Having lain some time awake, he heard the laborious ascent of -the Ancient Fenwick to his dwelling in the clouds; but fatigue at -length vanquished his restlessness, and he had been, for some hours, in -a deep sleep, ere another and a much lighter footstep passed up in the -same direction. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - Night at the Castle—The Friar’s Visit to the Ancient. - - -The Ancient Fenwick was sitting drawn together into a farther corner of -his den. His everlasting lamp was raised on a pile of manuscript -volumes near him, that it might throw more light on a large parchment -roll that lay unfolded on the floor before him. His right elbow rested -on the ground, and the enormous fingers of his hand embraced and -supported his head; while his eyes, burning without meaning, like two -small red fragments of ignited charcoal, could have been supposed to be -occupied with the characters before them, only from the position of his -face, which was so much turned down that the tangled hair, usually -drooping from behind, was thrown forwards over his ears. He was so -absorbed that he heard not the soft barefooted tread of the step on the -stair, or as it approached his den along the vaulted roof of the keep. - -The person who came thus to have midnight converse with him, stooped -his head and body to enter the low and narrow doorway, and halted with -his head thrust forward within it to contemplate the object he was -about to address. - -“Ancient Fenwick,” said he, after a pause of some moments. - -Fenwick started at the sound of the voice, and looked towards the -little doorway. A pair of keen eyes glared upon him from beneath a dark -cowl; and, plunged as he had been in the mysteries of conjuration, it -is not wonderful that he should have believed that the Devil himself -had appeared to further his studies. - -“Avaunt thee, Sathanas!” exclaimed he, speaking with the alternate -sides of his mouth, and drawing himself yet more up into the corner—“I -say unto thee, Sathanas, avaunt?” - -“What?” said the figure, creeping into the place, and seating himself -on the floor opposite to him, “what! Master Ancient Fenwick, dost thou -wish to conjure up the Devil, and yet art afraid to look on him? I -weened that thou hadst been a man of more courage than to be afraid of -a friar coming to thee at midnight.” - -Fenwick made an exertion to compose himself, seeing his visitor bore -all the externals of a mortal about him. - -“And what dost thou see in me,” said he, in his usual harsh, -discordant, and sepulchral utterance, “that may lead thee to think -differently!” - -“Umph, why, nothing—nothing now,” said the monk, bending his brows, and -throwing a penetrating glance from under them into the Ancient’s face; -“nothing now, but methought, for a conjuror, thou wert rather taken -unawares.” - -“And who art thou, who thus darest to disturb my privacy?” demanded -Fenwick, somewhat sternly, and advancing his body at the same time, -from the more than ordinarily constrained attitude he had assumed. - -The monk drew up his lips so as to display a set of long, white teeth, -and raising his eyelids so as to show the white of his eye-balls, he -glared at the Ancient for some time, and then slowly pronounced in a -deep voice, “The Devil! what wouldst thou with me now?” - -In a paroxysm of terror, Fenwick again drew himself up in his corner, -with a force as if he would have pressed himself through the very wall; -his teeth chattered in his head, and he sputtered so vehemently with -the alternate corners of his mouth, that his words were unintelligible, -except that of “Sathanas,” frequently repeated. The monk relaxed his -features, and, with a scornful laugh, and a look of the most sovereign -contempt— - -“So,” said he, “thou must confess now that I proved thy courage to be -in my power. I banished it with a look and a word. But ’tis not with -thy courage I have to do at present; ’tis thy cunning I want.” - -“Art thou then verily no devil?” demanded the Ancient, doubtingly. - -“Tush, fool, I am a poor monk of the order of St. Francis; so calm thy -craven fears, and listen to me.” He paused for some moments, to give -Fenwick time to recollect himself, and when he saw that the latter had -in some degree regained his composure: “Now listen to me, I say. Thou -knowest doubtless that the Bishop of Durham came to Norham Castle this -morning?” He waited for a reply. - -“I did hear so,” answered the Ancient, “when I went down to take food.” - -“Knowest thou what he came about?” demanded the Franciscan. - -“I know not, I inquired not,” replied the Ancient. - -“Then I will tell thee,” proceeded the Franciscan—“Sir Rafe Piersie, -brother to the noble Hotspur, has stooped to fix his affection on the -Lady Eleanore de Selby; he has deigned to court her for his bride, and -has met with ready acceptance from her father. Not sufficiently -sensible of this his great condescension, the lady has treated his high -offer with neglect—with indifference. Her father, a weak man, though -eager for so splendid an alliance, hath allowed himself to be trifled -with by the silly girl, who hath done all she could to oppose it, -though to the sacrifice of her own happiness. But Sir Rafe Piersie, -being too much love-stricken, abandoneth not the demoiselle so easily. -He therefore availeth himself of his ally the Bishop of Durham, to -urge, through him, his suit with the lady, and to endeavour to stir up -Sir Walter to a more determined bearing with his daughter, should she -continue in her obstinacy. I shall not tell how I know, yet I do know, -that the lady treated the proposals of the Bishop, as well as the name -and person of the renowned Piersie, with contempt. His efforts to rouse -Sir Walter de Selby to the assertion of his rights as a father, have, -however, been more successful. The old man, who passionately desireth -great connexion, even became irritated against her obstinacy. But Sir -Rafe Piersie, wisely considering that a peaceful religious pastor was -not the fittest instrument for his purpose, judgeth it right to put -hotter and more efficient irons in the work. Unknown to the Bishop, and -unknown to every one, therefore, he hath deputed me to seek thee and to -urge thee to aid his plans. Now, Master Ancient Fenwick, thou hast the -whole intricacies of the affair; thou understandest me, dost thou not?” - -The Franciscan paused for a reply, and tried to read the face of him he -was addressing; but it was in vain he tried it, for, except when very -strongly excited by the passion of fear, or something equally forcible, -the features of the Ancient were at all times illegible. After twisting -and smacking the alternate corners of his mouth, which was always his -prelude to speaking, and which even his actual utterance did not always -go much beyond— - -“Well,” said he, “and what can I do in this matter? What can magic do -in it?” - -“Magic!” exclaimed the Franciscan; “pshaw, fool that thou art, thinkest -thou that thou canst impose upon me as thou dost on the common herd of -mankind?—on one who hath dived into the arcana of nature as I have -done? Thinkest thou that an active mind like mine hath not searched -through all the books of these divinals—hath not toiled by the midnight -lamp, and worked with their uncouth and horrible charms and -incantations? Thinkest thou——” - -“Hast thou so, brother?” exclaimed the Ancient, eagerly interrupting -him; “hast thou in truth studied so deeply?” Then throwing his body -earnestly forward, “Perhaps thou wilt clear up some small difficulties -that have arisen in my path towards perfection in the invaluable art.” - -The Franciscan paused. He saw at once that he had so far mistaken his -man. The Ancient, whilst engaged in deceiving others, had also -succeeded in deceiving himself, and was in truth a believer in the art -he professed. To undertake the barren task of convincing him of his -error was foreign to the Franciscan’s present purpose; and seeing that -Fenwick, in his eagerness for an accession to his knowledge of magic, -had mistaken the contemptuous expressions he had thrown out against it -for the approbation and eulogy of an adept, he deemed it best to permit -him to continue in his mistake, nay, rather to foster it. He therefore -commenced a long and very mystical disquisition on necromancy, -answering all his questions, and solving all his doubts, but in such a -manner, that although Fenwick, at the moment, firmly believed they were -solved, yet, when he afterwards came to look back into his mind, he -could find nothing there but a vast chaos of smoke and ashes, from -which he in vain tried to extract anything tangible or systematic. - -But this is not to our point. The Franciscan gained all he wanted, in -acquiring a certain ascendancy over his mind by pretended superiority -of knowledge—an ascendancy which he afterwards hoped to bring to bear -towards the object of his mission; and to this object he gradually led -the Ancient back from the wide waste of enchantment he had been -wandering over. - -“Thou art indeed much more learned in the sublime art than I did at -first suppose thee,” said the Franciscan at length, gravely; “thy study -hath been well directed; and now that I have poured the mere drop of -knowledge I possessed into the vast ocean flowing in thy capacious -head, thou art well fit to be my master. Some of those ingredients I -talked of are of high price; thou must buy them with gold.” - -“Ah!” exclaimed Fenwick; “but where shall I find gold to buy them -withal?” - -The Franciscan groped in the canvas pouch that hung at his girdle of -ropes, and, drawing forth a leathern bag, with a weight of broad gold -pieces in it, he threw it down on the floor between the Ancient’s -knees. - -“There!” said he; “Sir Rafe Piersie sends thee that; ’tis to secure -thee as his friend. Use thine art magic in his favour, to incline the -haughty damosel to his wishes. Thou mayest do much with her father. -’Tis well known that the old knight looketh with awe upon thy powers. -Thou art thyself aware that thou canst bend him as thou wilt; he doth -hold thee as his oracle. Work upon his fears, then; work upon him, I -say, to compel this marriage—a marriage the which is so well calculated -to gratify his desire of high family alliance. He is ignorant that thou -knowest of the negotiation; to find that thou dost, when he supposes -that it is only known to the chief parties, will increase his -veneration for thy skill. Exert thy power over him; he is weak, and -thou mayest easily make him thy slave. Stimulate him to firmness, to -severity, nay, if necessary, to harshness with his daughter. Thou -knowest ’tis for his happiness, as well as for the happiness of the -silly damosel, that she should be coarted. Then do thy best to screw -him up to the pitch of determination that may secure her yielding. I -leave it to thyself to find out what schemes and arguments thou must -employ. The world lies if thou canst not invent enow to make him do as -thou wouldst have him. Remember, the Piersie is thy friend, as thou -mayst do him proper service. There are more bags of broad pieces in the -same treasury that came from. And now I leave thee to the hatching of -thy plans. Let them be quickly concerted, and speedily put in -execution, for your Piersie never was famous for patience. Farewell, -and may powerful spirits aid thee!” - -The Franciscan gathered up his grey gown, drew his cowl over his face, -and, creeping on hands and knees to the door, disappeared in a moment. - -The Ancient remained for some minutes in stupid astonishment, with his -back against his corner, and his vast length of limbs stretched across -the floor. He almost doubted the reality of the vision that had -appeared to him. He drew up his knees to his mouth, and the leathern -bag appeared. He thought of the Devil as he seized it; and, as he -poured the glittering gold into his broad palm, he almost expected to -see the pieces change into dried leaves, cinders, slates, or some such -rubbish. Twice or thrice the thought recurred that it might have been -the Great Tempter himself who had visited him. The hour—the place—the -difficulty of anything mortal reaching him there, through all the -intricacies of a well-watched garrison—the great knowledge displayed by -the unknown—all contributed to support the idea that his visitor was -something more than man. Then, on the other hand, he remembered the -friar’s bare feet, that were certainly human. He again looked at the -broad pieces of gold; they were bright, and fresh, and heavy as he -poised them. His confidence that they were genuine became stronger, and -he slipped them into the bag, and the bag into an inner pocket of his -black jerkin, resolving that they should be the test of the reality of -the seeming friar. - -The Ancient had been for many years plunged in the study of necromancy. -His uncouth appearance, and awkward ungainly port, rendered him so -unfit for the gay parade of war, that Sir Walter de Selby had more than -once refused him that promotion to which he was entitled in the natural -course of things, and of which he had been very ambitious. This rankled -at his heart, and made him shun his fellows, slight the profession of -arms, and take to those studies that, in so superstitious a period, met -with the readiest belief and reverence, and from which he hoped to -discover the means of gratifying both his ambition and his avarice. His -necromantic fame, increased by tales hatched or embellished by the -fertile imaginations of weak and superstitious minds, rapidly grew -among all ranks; and Sir Walter de Selby was as firm a believer in his -powers as the meanest soldier under his command. He readily excused the -Ancient from all duty; so that, being thus left to the full and -undisturbed possession of that solitary cap-house he had himself -selected for his habitation, he became so immersed in his work that he -rarely left it, except when driven by hunger to seek food. Living so -entirely secluded as he did, it is not to be wondered at that he had -hardly seen a female face. As for Lady Eleanore, he had never beheld -her since her childhood, until a few days previous to the time we are -now speaking of, when, having been led by some extraordinary accident -beyond the walls of the keep, he had met her by chance in the -court-yard; and the young lady was alarmed by the appearance of the -strange monster, who blocked up her way to the bridge, and stood -surveying her with his horrible eyes, that she fled from him -precipitately. It must be admitted, then, that he was but little -calculated to produce any favourable change on her mind in behalf of -Sir Rafe Piersie, unless, indeed, it were by the art magic. With that -brave old soldier of fortune, Sir Walter de Selby, he was much more -likely to be successful, since the chief wish of his heart was that his -daughter and his wealth should be the means of allying him with some -family eminent for the grandeur of its name, as well as for its power -and influence. It was a grievous disappointment to him that he had had -no son; but as he had been denied this blessing, he now looked forward -to having a grandson, who might give him good cause to be proud, from -the high rank he should be entitled to hold in the splendid galaxy of -English chivalry. He was far from being without affection for his -daughter; yet his affection was in a great measure bottomed upon these -his most earnest wishes and hopes; and of all this the Ancient, Mr. -Haggerstone Fenwick, was very sufficiently aware. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - Making Love on the Ramparts. - - -When Sir Patrick Hepborne and Sir John Assueton arose in the morning, -they found their own squires and lacqueys in attendance. The busy note -of preparation was in the Castle-yard, and they were told that the -Bishop of Durham was just taking his departure. - -The mitred ecclesiastic went off on an ambling jennet, accompanied by -the knights and churchmen who had come with him, and followed by a long -cavalcade of richly-attired attendants; and he was saluted by the -garrison drawn up in array, and by the guards as he passed outwards. He -was, moreover, attended by Sir Walter and his principal officers, who -rode half a day’s journey with him. The two friends were thus left to -entertain themselves until the evening. Assueton occupied himself in -studying the defences of the place, whilst Hepborne loitered about the -exterior of the keep, and the walls commanding a view of its various -sides, in the hope of being again blessed with a sight of the Lady -Eleanore. - -As he was surveying the huge mass of masonry, so intently that a -bystander might have supposed that he was taking an account of the -number of stones it was composed of, the lady appeared at one of the -high windows on the side facing the Tweed. The knight had his eyes -turned in a different direction at the moment, so that she had a full -and undisturbed view of him, as he stood nearly opposite to her on the -rampart, for some time ere he perceived her. He turned suddenly round, -and she instantly withdrew; but not before he had enjoyed another -transient glimpse of that face which had already created so strong a -sensation in his breast. - -“Provoking!” thought Hepborne; “yet doth the very modesty of this -angelic lady lead me the more to admire her. Unbending spirit, said -that knave at the hostel? She is as gentle as a dove. Would I could -behold her again.” - -Sir Patrick stepped back upon the rampart so as to have a better view -inwards, and he was gratified by observing that her figure was still -within the deep window, though her face was obscured by its shade. He -recognized the rose-coloured mantle she had formerly appeared in. He -kissed his hand and bowed. He saw her alabaster arm relieve itself from -the mantle, and beheld the falcon he had rescued seated on her glove. -She stepped forward in such a manner to return his salute, that he -enjoyed a sufficient view of her face to make him certain that he was -not mistaken in the person. The lady pointed with a smile to her -falcon, kissed it, waved an acknowledgment of his courtesy, and again -retreating, disappeared. - -As Sir Patrick was standing vainly hoping for her re-appearance, the -old minstrel, Adam of Gordon, chanced to come by. Hepborne saluted him -courteously. - -“Canst thou tell me whose be those apartments that do look so cheerily -over the Tweed into Scotland?” demanded he. - -“Ay,” said the old man, “’tis, as thou sayest, a cheering prospect; -’tis the country of my birth, and the country of my heart; I love it as -lover never loved mistress.” - -“But whose apartments be those?” demanded Hepborne, bringing him back -to the question. - -“Those are the apartments of the Lady Eleanore de Selby,” replied the -minstrel. - -“Is it thy custom to play thy minstrelsy under the moonlight on the -rampart, as thou didst yestere’en?” demanded Hepborne. - -“Yea, I have pleasure in it,” said Adam, with a shrewd look. - -“And art thou always so attended?” demanded Hepborne; “is thy music -always wont to call that angel to thy side whom I last night beheld -there?” - -“So thou dost think her an angel, Sir Knight?” cried Adam, with -pleasure glancing in his eyes. - -“I do,” said Sir Patrick. “Already hath my heart been wounded by the -mere momentary glances to which chance hath subjected me, and eagerly -do I look for a cure from those eyes whence my hurt doth come. She is -beautiful.” - -“Yea,” said old Adam, “and she is an angel in soul as well as in form. -But St. Andrew keep thee, Sir Knight, I must be gone;” and he hurried -away without giving Hepborne time to reply. - -Assueton now came up, and Sir Patrick detailed to him the occurrences -we have just narrated, after which he walked about, looking every now -and then impatiently towards the window. - -“Would I could have but one more sight of the Lady Eleanore,” cried he; -“her features have already become faint in my mind’s eye; would I might -refresh the picture by one other gaze.” But the lady appeared not; and -he became vexed, and even fretful, notwithstanding all his resolution -to the contrary. - -“Hepborne, my friend,” said Sir John Assueton, “why shouldst thou -afflict thyself, and peak and pine for a silly girl? A knight of thy -prowess in the field may have a thousand baubles as fair for the mere -picking up; let it not irk thee that this trifle is beyond thy reach. -Trust me, women are dangerous flowers to pluck, and have less of the -rose about them than of the thorn.” - -“Pshaw!” replied Hepborne, “thou knowest not what it is to love.” - -“No, thank my good stars,” answered Assueton, “I do not, and I hope I -shall never be so besotted; it makes a fool of a man. There, for -instance, thou art raving about a damosel, of whose face thou hast seen -so little that wert thou to meet her elsewhere thou couldst never tell -her from another.” - -“It is indeed true, Assueton,” replied Hepborne, “that I have seen but -too little of her face; but I have seen enough of it to know that it is -the face of an angel.” - -In such converse as this did they spend the day until the evening’s -banquet. Then Sir Walter exhibited the same hospitality towards his -guests that had characterised him the night before; but he seemed to be -less in spirits, nay, he was even sometimes peevish. Hepborne, too, -being restless and unhappy, mirth and hilarity were altogether less -prevalent at the upper end of the festal board than they had been the -previous evening. The minstrel, however, was not forgotten, and was -treated with the same personal attention as formerly; but he sang and -played without eliciting more than an ordinary meed of applause. At -last he struck some peculiarly powerful chords on the instrument, and -as Hepborne turned his head towards him, in common with others, at the -sound, old Adam caught his eye, and looking significantly, began to -pour forth the following irregular and unpremeditated verse:— - - - ’Twas thus that a minstrel address’d a young knight, - Who was love-lorn, despairing, and wan with despite, - What, Sir Knight, canst thou gain by these heart-rending sighs? - The hero ne’er pines, but his destiny tries, - And pushes his fate with his lance in the rest, - Whether love or renown be his glorious quest. - Let not those who droop for Love - Fly in grief to wild Despair, - She, wither’d witch, can ne’er remove - The cruel unkindness of the fair. - Then with the gladd’ning ray - Of Hope’s bright star to cheer thee, - Do thou still press thy way, - Nor let obstructions fear thee. - True love will even bear - A hasty moment’s slighting, - And boldly will it dare, - Nor ever fear benighting. - ’Twill often and again - Return, though ill entreated; - ’Twill blaze beneath the rain; - Though frozen, ’twill be heated. - When least thy thoughts are turn’d on joy, - The smiling bliss is nigh; - No happiness without alloy - Beneath the radiant sky. - But haste to-night, to meet thy love - Upon the Castle-wall; - Thou know’st not what thy heart may prove, - What joy may thee befal. - - -These seemingly unmeaning verses passed unnoticed by all at table -except by Hepborne, on whom they made a strong impression. He was -particularly struck by the concluding stanza, containing an invitation -which he could not help believing was meant to apply to himself. He -resolved to visit the ramparts as soon as he could escape from the -banquet. This he found it no very difficult matter to accomplish, for -Sir Walter was abstracted, and evidently depressed with something that -weighed on his spirits; so, taking advantage of this circumstance, -Hepborne rose to retire at an early hour. His friend followed him, and, -when left to the secresy of their own apartments— - -“Assueton,” said Sir Patrick, “didst thou remark the glance, full of -meaning, which the minstrel threw on me to-night? or didst thou note -the purport of his ditty?” - -“As for his glances,” replied Sir John, “I noticed nothing particular -in them; your bards are in use to throw such around them, to collect -their barren harvest of paltry praise; and as for his verses, or rather -his rhymes, I thought them silly enow in conscience. But thou knowest I -do rarely listen when love or its follies are the theme.” - -“But I saw, and I listened,” replied Hepborne. “By St. Denis, they -carried hints to me that I shall not neglect. I go to take the air on -the ramparts, and hope to meet the angelic Eleanore de Selby there.” - -“Art thou mad?” said Assueton. “What can old Adam have looked or said -that can induce thee to go on such a fool’s errand? Thou hast but -fancied; thy blind passion hath deceived thee.” - -“I shall at least put his fancied hints to the proof,” said Hepborne, -“though I should watch all night.” - -“Then I wish thee a pleasant moonlight promenade,” said Assueton. “I’ll -to my couch. To-morrow, I presume, we shall cross the Tweed, and yede -us into Scotland. By St. Andrew, I would gladly meet again with those -well-known faces whose smiles once reflected the happiness of my -boyhood!” - -“Go to-morrow!” exclaimed Hepborne, as if their so speedy departure was -far from being agreeable in the contemplation; “surely thou wilt stay, -Assueton, if thou seest that thy so doing may further my happiness?” - -“Nay,” replied Assueton, “thou needst hardly fear that I will scruple -to sacrifice my own wishes to thy happiness, Hepborne; but I confess I -would that my happiness depended on some more stirring cause, and one -in which we both could join.” - -Here the friends parted. Hepborne, wrapped up in a cloak, stole gently -down stairs, and slipping unperceived from the keep, bent his steps -towards that part of the ramparts where he had formerly seen the lady. -To his inexpressible joy, he saw the minstrel already on the spot. -There were two ladies in company with the old man. As Sir Patrick -passed near the base of the tower under which he and his friend had -concealed themselves the night before, a huge figure began to rear -itself from under it, throwing a shadow half-way across the court-yard. -It looked as if the tower itself were in motion. He stood undaunted to -observe it, as it gradually arose storey over storey. It was the -Ancient Fenwick. His enormous face looked downwards upon Hepborne, and -his red cinder-like eyes glared upon him as he sputtered out some -unintelligible sounds from the corners of his mouth, and then moved -away like a walking monument. - -Whilst Hepborne’s attention was occupied in observing the retreat of -the monster, who seemed to have secreted himself there for no good -purpose, the minstrel, and the two ladies who were with him, had -already walked down the rampart until they were lost within the shade -of a projecting building. He began to fear that they were gone, but he -soon saw one of them, whom he believed to be the attendant, emerge from -the shadow and retire by a short way to the keep, whilst the other -returned along the wall with the minstrel. As they stopped to converse, -the lady leaned on one of the engines of war. A breeze from the Tweed -threw back the hood of her mantle, and Hepborne could no longer doubt -it was the Lady Eleanore de Selby he saw. Her long and beautiful hair -streamed down, but she hastily arranged it with her fingers, and then -came onwards with Adam of Gordon. Sir Patrick flew to the rampart and -sprang on the wall. The lady was alarmed at first by his sudden -appearance, but perceiving immediately that it was Sir Patrick -Hepborne, she received him graciously yet modestly. - -“The soft and perfumed air of this beauteous night,” said Hepborne, -“and yonder lovely moon, lady, tempted me forth awhile; but what bliss -is mine that I should thus meet with her who, in softness, sweetness, -and beauty, doth excel the Queen of Night herself!” - -“Sir Patrick Hepborne, thou art at thy fustian again,” replied the lady -seriously. “This high-flown phrase of thine, well suited though it may -have been to the pampered ears of Parisian damsels, sorteth but ill -with plainness such as mine. Meseems,” continued she somewhat more -playfully, “meseems as if the moon were thy favourite theme. Pray -Heaven that head may be right furnished, the which hath the unstable -planet so often at work within it.” - -“And if I am mad, as thy words would imply,” said Hepborne, smiling, -“’tis thou, lady, who must answer for my frenzy; for since I first saw -thee last night, I have thought and dreamt of thee alone.” - -“Nay, Sir Knight,” said the lady, blushing, “methinks it savours of a -more constitutional madness to be so affected by so short a meeting. We -were but some few minutes together, if I err not.” - -“Ay, lady,” said Adam of Gordon, significantly; “but love will work -miracles like this.” - -“’Tis indeed true,” said the lady, with a sigh; and then, as if -recollecting herself, she added, “I have indeed heard of such sudden -affections.” - -“Ay,” said Sir Patrick, “and that fair falcon of thine! Depardieux, I -begin to believe that he was Cupid himself in disguise, for ever sith I -gave the traitor lodgment in my bosom, it hath been affected with the -sweet torment the urchin Love is wont to inflict. My heart’s disease -began with thy hawk’s ensayning.” - -“Nay, then, much as I love him,” said the lady, “yet should I hardly -have purchased his health, I wot, at the price of that of the gallant -knight who did so feelingly redeem it.” - -“Heaven’s blessings on thee for thy charity, lady,” exclaimed Hepborne; -“yet should I rejoice in my disease were it to awaken thy sympathy, so -that thou mightest yield me the healing leechcraft that beameth from -those eyes.” - -“Verily, my youth doth lack experience in all such healing skill,” said -the lady. - -“Nay, ’tis a mystery most easily learned by the young,” replied -Hepborne. “Thou dost possess the power to assuage, if not to heal, my -wound,” added he tenderly. “Let me but be enlisted among the humblest -of the captives whom thine eyes hath made subject to thy will; and -albeit thy heart may be already given to another, spurn not the -adoration of one whose sole wish is to live within the sphere of thy -cheering influence, and to die in thy defence.” - -“In truth, Sir Knight, these eyes have been guiltless of any such -tyranny as thou wouldst charge them withal,” replied the lady, -artlessly; “at least they have never wilfully so tyrannized. As for my -heart, it hath never known warmer feeling than that which doth bind me -to him to whom I owe the duty of a daughter.” - -“Then is thy heart unenthralled,” cried Hepborne in an ecstacy, in the -transport of which he threw himself on one knee before her who had -produced it. “Refuse not, then, to accept my services as thy true and -faithful knight. All I ask is, but to be allowed to devote my lance to -thy service. Reject not these my vows. Cheer me with but one ray of -hope, to nerve this arm to the doing of deeds worthy of the knight who -calleth himself thy slave. I swear——” - -“Swear not too rashly, Sir Knight,” said the lady, with a deep sigh, -and with more of seriousness than she had yet displayed, “to one such -as me, to one so obscure——” - -“Obscure, lady!” cried Hepborne, interrupting her; “Hath not high -Heaven stamped thee with that celestial face and form to place thee far -above all reckonings of paltry pedigree? What, then, is that obscurity -which may have dimmed the birth of so fair a star? What——” - -“Nay,” said the lady, interrupting him with an air of uncommon dignity -and animation, “obscure though mine origin may be, Sir Patrick, yet do -I feel within me that which doth tell me that I might match with -princes.” - -“Lady, I well know thy high and justly-grounded pretensions,” said -Hepborne, in a subdued tone; “yet scorn not mine humble devotion.” - -“I scorn thee not, Sir Knight,” said the lady, with combined modesty -and feeling, and again sighing deeply; “it would indeed ill become me -to scorn any one, far less such as thee; nor is my heart insensible to -the courtesy thou hast been pleased to show to one who——” - -“Thanks, thanks, most peerless of thy sex,” cried Hepborne, gazing with -ecstacy in her face, that burned with blushes even under the cold light -of the moon. - -“But in truth it beseemeth me not to stand talking idly with thee thus, -Sir Knight,” said the lady, suddenly breaking off; “I must hie me to my -chamber.” - -“Oh, stay, sweet lady, stay—one moment stay!” cried Hepborne; “rob me -not of thy presence until thou hast left me the cheering prospect of -meeting thee to-morrow.” - -“I hope Sir Walter hath induced thee and thy friend to tarry some -longer space in Norham; if so, it will pleasure me to meet thee again,” -said the lady, with a trembling voice. - -“Then trust me I go not from Norham, betide me what may,” cried Sir -Patrick, energetically. “But tell me, lady, I entreat thee, when these -eyes may be again blest with thy presence; give me hope, the which is -now the food I feed on.” - -“Nay, in sooth, I can enter into no arrangements,” said the lady, with -yet greater agitation; “but,” said she, starting away, “I have tarried -here too long; in truth, Sir Patrick Hepborne, I must be gone; may the -Holy Virgin be with thee, Sir Knight!” - -“And may thou be guarded by kindred spirits like thyself!” cried Sir -Patrick, earnestly clasping his hands, and following her with his eyes -as she hastily retreated with old Adam. - -Sir Patrick took several turns on the walls, giving way to the rapture -which this meeting had occasioned him, and then hastened to regain his -apartment, where he laid himself down not to repose, but to muse on the -events of the evening. - -“The minstrel was right,” thought he; “the good Adam’s prophecy did not -deceive me. She admitted that her heart was free, and she confessed, as -far as maiden modesty might permit her, that she is not altogether -without an interest in me. She was pleased with the idea of our farther -stay at Norham; and in her confusion she betrayed, that to meet me -again would give her pleasure. And she shall meet me again—ay, and -again; mine excellent Assueton’s patience must e’en bear some days’ -longer trial, for go, at least, I shall not. Days, did I say? ha! but -let events determine.” With such happy reflections, and yielding to a -train of the most pleasing anticipation, he amused himself till he fell -asleep. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - The Midnight Meeting in the Ancient’s Chamber—Strange Proposal—A - Dreadful Alternative. - - -It was past the hour of midnight, when all in the Castle had been for -some time still, save when the sentinels on the ramparts repeated their -prolonged call, that a footstep was again heard upon the stair leading -to the top of the keep. It was the heavy, slow step of Sir Walter de -Selby. He carried a lamp in his hand, and often stopped to breathe; but -at last he made his way to the roof, and sought the aerial den of the -monstrous Ancient. He went thither, deluded man, imagining that he went -of his own free will; but the crafty Ancient had taken secret measures -to insure his coming. - -When the good old knight had sought the little private oratory within -his chamber, immediately after his attendants had retired, he was -fearfully dismayed by observing a blue lambent light flitting over the -surface of an ancient shield that hung above a small altar within a -dark Gothic recess. In that age of ignorance, a circumstance so -unaccountable might have shaken the firmest nerves; but it had been the -shield of his father, a bold moss-trooper, and from him he had learned -that this was the ill-omened warning sign that was always said to -appear to foretell some dire calamity affecting him or his issue. With -extreme agitation of mind he at once recurred to recent events for an -explanation of it. During his ride with the Bishop of Durham, that -prelate had repeated the arguments he had employed the day before, -particularly in the long conference they had held after the banquet, to -fortify him in the resolution of pressing the Lady Eleanore into a -marriage with Sir Rafe Piersie; and, indeed, Sir Walter’s heart was so -eagerly set on the accomplishment of a union in every respect equal to -his most sanguine wishes, that little eloquence was necessary to -convince him of the propriety of urging his daughter to it by every -means in his power. Nay, although she was his only child, and that he -so doted on her as to have got into a habit of yielding to every wish -she expressed, yet this was a point on which he was very easily brought -to adopt a determined line of conduct with her. She had somewhat -provoked him, too, by the license she had given her tongue in presence -of the Bishop, when she indulged herself in ridiculing the very august -person he was proposing to her as a husband; and the knight’s passion -at the moment had so far got the better of his affection, that he spoke -to her with a degree of harshness he had never used before. His after -conversations with the Bishop had now brought him to the determination -of compelling the Lady Eleanore to a marriage so much to her advantage, -and so flattering to his own hopes of high alliance. So firmly was he -fixed in this resolution, that, in a meeting he had with his daughter -after his return from accompanying the Bishop, he withstood all her -entreaties, and steeled himself against all her grief, and all her -spirited remonstrances. After such an interview, it is not surprising -that Sir Walter should have immediately supposed that the menacing -prodigy, which now appeared before his eyes, had some reference to the -purposed marriage of the Lady Eleanore. On all similar occasions of -threatened misfortune, he had been for some years accustomed to apply -for counsel to the cunning Ancient Fenwick, whom he believed to possess -supernatural powers of foretelling and averting the greatest -calamities; nay, he had more than once been convinced of the happy -effects of his interference in his behalf. His impatience to seek him -at present, therefore, was such that he could hardly restrain himself -until he had reason to think that all eyes in the Castle were closed -but his own. He paced his chamber in a state bordering on distraction, -stopping from time to time at the door of the oratory to regard the -terrific warning, and wringing his hands as he beheld it still flitting -and playing over the surface of the shield. - -He was no sooner certain, however, that he might move from his -apartment without risk of observation, than he seized his lamp, and, as -we have seen, sought the lonely cap-house of the Ancient. The small -door of the place was closed. So strongly were men’s minds bound by the -thraldom of superstition in those days, that the gallant Sir Walter de -Selby, who had so often faced the foe like a lion in the field, and who -would even now have defended the Castle of Norham to the uttermost -extremity, yea, so long as one stone of its walls remained upon -another—this brave old warrior, I say, absolutely trembled as he tapped -at the door of the wretched Ancient Haggerstone Fenwick, who once -formed his most common subject of jest. He tapped, but no answer was -returned; he listened, but not a sound was heard. He tapped again—and -again he tapped louder. He called the Ancient by his name; but still -all was profound silence. He hesitated for some moments, in doubt what -to do. At last he brought himself to the determination of pushing the -door up. He bent down on his knees to force it, and it yielded before -his exertions; but the sight which met his eyes so appalled him, that -he was unable at first to advance. - -The Ancient Fenwick, to all appearance dead, lay stretched, with his -arms and legs extended on the floor. His face had the leaden hue of -death on it; and a small orb, composed of a number of points of bluish -lambent flame, like that so ominously illuminating the shield, flitted -on his forehead—a book of necromancy lay open on the floor—his lamp -burned on the usual pile of volumes—and, on a temporary altar, composed -of several folios, raised one above the other against the wall, were -placed a human skull, and thigh bones, and an hour-glass. Immediately -over these a number of cabalistical figures were described with -charcoal on the plaster; and a white rod seemed, from the position it -lay in, to have been pointed towards them, and to have fallen from his -hand, as if he had been suddenly struck down in the very act of -conjuration. - -Sir Walter was so overpowered with horror and superstitious fear, that -some moments elapsed ere he could summon up resolution to creep into -the place and examine the body more narrowly. He looked down on the -hidous ghastly face, over which the magical flame still flitted. The -small fiery eye-balls glared—but they were still; not a feature moved, -nor was there the slightest sound or appearance of respiration. -Scarcely bearing to behold such a spectacle, the old knight looked -timorously around him, afraid that the demon, who had done this fearful -work upon his disciple, might appear to annihilate him also. In truth -his terrors so far overcame him, that he was just about to retreat -hastily, when he observed a certain spasmodic twitch about the mouth, -which soon afterwards became powerfully convulsed, writhing from side -to side, and throwing the whole features of the countenance into the -most fearful contortions. By degrees, the convulsion seemed to extend -itself along the muscles of the body, arms, and limbs, until the whole -frame was thrown into violent agitation; unintelligible sputtering -sounds came from the alternate corners of the mouth; and Sir Walter -quaked to hear the name of “Sathanas” often repeated energetically. At -last, by a convulsion stronger than the rest, the head and body were -erected, and, after a little time, the Ancient seemed to recover the -use of his senses, and the command over his muscles, as well as of his -powers of utterance. - -“What, Master Ancient Fenwick, hath befallen thee?” exclaimed Sir -Walter, in a voice almost indistinct from trepidation; “tell me, I -beseech thee, what hath happened.” - -“My brain burneth,” cried the Ancient, with a hideous yell, and -striking his forehead with the palms of both hands, after which the -flame no longer appeared. Then, after a pause, “Where am I?” said he, -staring wildly around, “Where am I? Ha! I see I am again in the world -of men. What?” exclaimed he, with surprise, on beholding Sir Walter, -“art thou here? How camest thou to this place?” - -“My friend,” replied the old knight, “my excellent friend, I came to -consult thee; I came to take counsel from thy superhuman knowledge—thy -knowledge gathered from converse with the spirits of another world.” - -“Another world!” exclaimed the Ancient, in a sepulchral voice—“in -another world, didst thou say? Ay, I have indeed long had converse -here, face to face, with some of its blackest inmates: but never till -this night,” added he, shuddering, “did I visit its fiery realms.” - -“Where hast thou been, then?” asked the knight, in a tone of alarm. - -“In hell!” cried the Ancient, with a horrible voice that chilled the -very blood in Sir Walter’s brains. “Yes,” continued he, “I have visited -those dreadful abodes; but I may not tell their awful secrets. Some, it -is true, I am permitted to disclose, if I can bring myself to speak of -them—of things on which depend the fate of thyself and thy daughter, -and deeply affecting thy country’s weal.” - -“What, good Ancient, hast thou learned, that may affect me or my -daughter? I do beseech thee, let me straightway be informed. The blue -fire burns on my father’s shield to-night; some dreadful calamity -impends.” - -“Ha! saidst thou so?” cried the Ancient, with a sudden start. “The blue -fire, saidst thou? Signs meet then; prodigies combine to overwhelm -thee.” - -“They do, indeed, most terribly,” said the knight, shuddering with -alarm. - -“Their portent is direful,” said the Ancient, groaning deeply. - -“In mercy tell me by what means they may be averted,” anxiously -inquired Sir Walter. - -“Nay,” said the Ancient, with a desponding air, “’tis thyself who art -bringing them on thine own head.” Then, after a long pause—“Thou art -about to marry thy daughter to the brother of the Piersie?” - -“By what miracle knowest thou this?” demanded Sir Walter, in amazement. - -“Ask me not by what miracle I know this,” replied the Ancient, “after -what thou hast thyself witnessed. Have I not been in the world below? -Do I not know all things? Do I not know that Sir Rafe Piersie hath -sought the hand of the Lady Eleanore?—that he hath been scorned by -her?—that even the Lord Bishop of Durham’s influence hath been employed -by him to incline thee to the match; and that, overcome by his -counsels, thou art about to compel thy daughter to accept of his hand? -Yea, all this do I know, to the veriest item of the conversation held -between thee; and now, canst thou doubt whence I have had this -knowledge?” - -Sir Walter replied not, but groaned deeply. - -“Sit down by me,” said the Ancient, “and listen to me. ’Tis registered -in the dread Book of Fate,” continued he solemnly, “that if this -marriage be concluded, consequences the most direful will result from -it. First, thy daughter shall produce a son, of countenance so inhuman, -that it shall be liker that of a wild boar than a man; and the -monstrous birth will produce the death of the mother. Then the child -shall grow up, and wax exceeding strong, so that his might shall -overmatch that of the most powerful men. But though his mind shall not -ripen in proportion, yet shall his passions terribly expand themselves; -and, after murdering thee, from whom he shall have sprung, he shall -gather unto himself a host of demons of his own stamp, and lay waste -the fair face of England, cruelly slaying and oppressing its innocent -people for the space of ten years, when he shall be at last overthrown -by a Scottish army, which being brought against him, shall subdue and -enslave our nation.” - -The white hairs of the aged Sir Walter bristled on his head as he -listened to this dreadful prophecy. The scourge with which his country -was menaced was worse, in his eyes, than even his own unhappy fate. - -“Tell me, oh tell me, most excellent Ancient,” said he, in the agony of -despair, “tell me, I entreat thee, how this awful mass of approaching -misery may be averted.” - -“There is only one way to shield yourself and mankind from the -threatened curse,” replied the Ancient tardily, and rather as if he -felt difficulty in bringing it out; “there is only one course to -pursue, but it is such that, slave as thou art to the prejudices of the -world, it is vain to hope that even the dread of these impending -calamities will induce thee to adopt it.” - -“Talk not so, good Ancient, talk not so,” cried the old knight -impatiently, “There is nothing I would not do—Holy Virgin, forgive -me!—there is nothing I would not do honestly to prevent this threatened -curse from arising, to the destruction of my family and my country.” - -“Sayest thou so?” said the Ancient, calmly shaking his head, as if in -doubt; “I will put thee to the proof then. It is written, as I have -already declared, in the Book of the Fates of men, that this marriage -shall take place, and that from it shall proceed this two-edged sword, -to smite both thee and England, unless thou shalt bestow thy daughter -on one whom—but thou wilt never condescend——” - -“Nay,” impatiently interrupted the knight, “better she should marry any -honest man of good family than that she should be suffered to match so -proudly only to be the mother of destruction to herself, to me, and to -her country.” - -“Thou sayest well,” calmly replied the Ancient; “but the Fates have not -left the choice of her mate to thee or to her. Yet hear me patiently, -and thou shalt know all. Thou art not ignorant that I have long abjured -the pitiful affairs of men. ’Tis now more than fifteen years since, -quitting their society, I have devoted myself to those studies by which -thou hast more than once benefited. I have sacrificed all earthly -prospects and enjoyments for the sake of that sublime knowledge which -doth enable me to foresee and control coming events; and it is to me a -reward in itself so great, as to make every other appear despicable in -comparison with it. But though I have forsworn the world, yet cannot I -rid myself of attachment to thee; my early feelings must tie me to thee -and thine for ever. Thou hast had proofs of this devotion too often, to -require me to repeat that it doth exist; but I am now prepared to give -thee a demonstration of it yet stronger than any thou hast hitherto -received from me.” - -“Kind, excellent Ancient,” exclaimed the grateful Sir Walter, “I well -know the care with which thou hast watched over the welfare of my -house; I feel the magnitude of the debt I owe thee, and ’tis with -gratitude I acknowledge it. What is it, I beseech thee, thou canst do?” - -“Yes,” exclaimed the Ancient, with a show of much feeling, “yes; I will -sacrifice myself. I will come forth again into the haunts of deceitful -and cold-blooded men. I will give up all I prize—my quiet, my -solitude—to save thee and thine from the destruction that impendeth. On -my part there shall be no failure, however at war with my habits and -inclinations the sacrifice may be. ’Tis upon thyself, therefore—upon -thine own decision—that thine own fate, and the fate of thy daughter, -and of thy country, must depend.” - -“Name, name, I entreat thee, the terms!” cried the anxious old knight; -“name the conditions that I must fulfil; tell me what I must do, and no -time shall be lost in carrying it into effect.” - -The Ancient paused for some moments, during which he looked into the -face of the knight with his fiery inexpressive eyes, and then, with -slow and solemn, though harsh utterance—“I must espouse thy daughter, -the Lady Eleanore!” said he. “The Fates have willed it so; no other -remedy doth now remain against the overwhelming destruction thou art -doomed to behold.” - -This fatal declaration—this dreadful contrast to all those hopes of -splendid alliance which had filled Sir Walter’s thoughts, came upon him -like a thunderbolt, and was perfectly annihilating. He could not stand -the bitter alternative that was thus presented to him. Overcome by his -feelings, he threw himself back among the straw composing the lair of -the monster he had been listening to, and, covering his eyes with the -palms of his hands, he, hardy soldier as he was, burst into a flood of -tears. - -A grim meteor smile of inward satisfaction shot over the pallid face of -the impostor. - -“Ay,” said he, “no one can expect thee to match thy daughter with such -as me. Better that she should give birth to ten thousand such demons as -her fated marriage with the brother of the Piersie is infallibly -destined to produce—better that she should die, and thou be cruelly -murdered by the parricidal hand of thine inhuman grandchild, than that -thou shouldst call such a wretch as me son. Thy determination hath been -well taken; ’tis like a good soldier, as thou art, to brave the Fates. -I thank thee, too, for mine emancipation from the vow I had resolved to -subject myself to for thy sake. My time, and my quiet, and my solitude, -shall be again mine own, and my darling studies shall receive no -interruption.” - -“Is there no other alternative?” cried the distracted father, rising -with energy from the position he had thrown himself into. - -“None!” replied the Ancient. “But that thou mayest be ignorant of no -tittle of what it so deeply concerns thee to know,” continued he after -a pause, “it is destined that if ever I do so espouse me, my son shall -be the most perfect model of bravery and of virtue that ever England -saw; and that, taking the proud name of de Selby, he shall wax -exceeding mighty, and, leading a small band of gallant youths, march -into Scotland as a conqueror, until at last, dethroning the monarch of -the North, he shall himself be proclaimed king of that country, and, -uniting himself by marriage with the King of England, he and his -posterity shall reign for twelve centuries. To look farther into -futurity is denied; but enow hath been told thee to point out the way -that doth lie before thee. The space of three days and three hours is -given thee to choose thy daughter’s destiny. And now,” continued the -Ancient, putting out his hand to the hour-glass, and solemnly inverting -it; “and now the stream of thy time beginneth to run; see how the sand -floweth down—a portion of it hath already glided away; so will the -rest, till the period assigned thee be irrecoverably gone. ’Twere -better that thou shouldst retire to thy chamber, to weigh well the -fates of thy daughter, for the balance of her destinies is in thine -hand.” - -The impostor paused. The agitated mind of Sir Walter de Selby had -eagerly grasped at the flattering picture which the Ancient had so -cunningly reserved to the last, and which was so perfectly in harmony -with every wish of the old man’s heart. In his contemplation of it, he -had almost forgotten the uncouth son-in-law destined to make him the -grandfather of a hero, who was to raise the glory of his country’s arms -so high, and who was at last to become a King of Scotland. His pride -was peculiarly flattered by the notion of the name of de Selby being -retained to become eventually royal; and he began to reason with -himself as he sat, that it was but stooping to present humiliation in -order to rise to the summit of human ambition. The crafty Ancient saw -the working of his mind, from its operation on his honest countenance, -as well as if he had been thinking audibly. - -“Such proud prospects of an issue so glorious tempt not me,” said he. -“These dark volumes, and the retirement of this unseemly chamber, -whence the stars can be most easily conversed with, are to me worth a -world of such. But for thee, if thou demandest it of me, the sacrifice -shall be made; and shouldst thou make me the humble instrument of the -salvation and exaltation of thyself and issue, it would,” said he, with -an affectation of extreme humility, “be no more, after all, than -burying good seed in the soil of a dunghill, to see it buxion with the -more vigour, shoot the more aloft, and rear its proud head far above -the meagre plants on higher but more sterile spots. But it is matter -worthy of grave thought. Yet judge me not as I seem—the poor, the -wretched inmate of this owlet’s nest. Why am I so? Even because I -despise all those gewgaws men esteem most valuable, and covet only that -most precious of all jewels—the perfection of knowledge. Thinkest thou -that it would not help me to all the rest, were it my pleasure to -command them? Thinkest thou that I could not command worldly wealth and -honours, were I to fancy such baubles? Wouldst thou have me conjure up -gold? Lo!—there!” said he, plucking the leathern bag from his jerkin, -and emptying the shining contents of it on the ground, to the -astonishment of Sir Walter; “a little midnight labour would raise me up -a hoard that might purchase the earth itself. But what is the vile -dross to me? Nay, I would not inundate the wretched world with that -which hath already caused sufficient human misery. To pour out more -would be to breed a more accursed scourge than e’en thy grandson -Piersie will prove.” - -“Talk not of him,” exclaimed the knight in terror; “the very thought of -his existence is racking to me. I want not time for consideration on a -point so plain. I do now resolve me on the alliance with thee. Sir Rafe -Piersie comes to-morrow morning; I shall break with him abruptly—and -then, my resolution being taken, my daughter must yield to the -irresistible decrees of Fate.” - -With these words Sir Walter rose to his knees, and snatching up his -lamp, scrambled hastily to the door, and stole softly down to his -apartment. He looked with fear and trembling into the oratory, when, to -his extreme relief, he saw that the ominous flame had left the fatal -shield, and he retired to his couch in a state of comparative -composure. - -“So,” said the Ancient, in grim soliloquy, after Sir Walter’s footsteps -had died away on the stairs—“so the hook is in thy nose, and thou shalt -feel the power, as well as the vengeance, of him thou didst despise and -make thy mock of. Thou didst thwart mine ambition; but my helm ere long -shall tower amid the proudest crests of chivalry, and wealth and -honours, yea, and the haughty smile of beauty too, shall be at my will. -This is indeed to rise by mine abasement, even beyond the highest -soaring of those early hopes which this man did so cruelly level with -the earth. The thought is ecstasy.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - Arrival of Sir Rafe Piersie—The Challenge. - - -Sir John Assueton was early astir next morning, for his head was so -filled with the remembrance of those friends and scenes of his youth, -he now hoped to revisit after a long absence, that he was impatient to -depart from Norham Castle. He had already given orders to the squires -to hold themselves in readiness, and he had visited the stable, where -Blanche-etoile neighed a recognition to his master, and was spoken to -with the kindness of a friend. The knight then ascended the ramparts to -enjoy a short promenade; and there he was soon afterwards joined by -Hepborne, who came springing towards him, urged by an unusual flow of -spirits. - -“Good morrow, Hepborne,” said Assueton; “I am glad to see thee so alert -this morning. I have looked at our steeds; they are as courageous as -lions, and as gamesome as kids. They will carry us into Scotland with -as much spirit as we shall ride them thither. After breaking our fast, -and bestowing our meed of thanks on the good old knight for his -hospitality, we may yet make our way o’er many a good mile of Scottish -ground ere yonder new-born sun shall sink in the west.” - -“Nay, my dear Assueton,” said Hepborne, “what need hast thou for such -haste? Hadst thou some fair damsel in Scotland—some lady bright, who, -with her swan-like neck stretched towards the mid-day sun, looketh day -after day from her lofty towernet, with anxious eyes, in the hope of -descrying thee, her true and constant Knight—hadst thou such a fair one -as this, I say, impatience might indeed become thee; but what reason -hast thou, despiser of the lovely sex as thou art, to long for a change -of position? By the Rood of St. Andrew, I begin to believe that thou -art no such woman-hater as thou wouldst pretend, and that all this -seeming coldness of thine is nothing but thy laudable constancy to some -Scottish maid, who hath thine early-pledged vows of love in keeping.” - -“Thou art welcome to rally me as it may please thee, Hepborne,” replied -Assueton, with a smile: “but, on the faith and honour of my knighthood, -I have not seen the maiden for whom I would go three ells from my -intended path, except for common knightly courtesy, or to redress some -grievous wrong. Nay, nay, thou knowest my natural duresse—that my heart -is adamant to all such weak impressions. Perdie, I cannot understand -how any such affect the good, hardy, soldier-like bosom, though I do -observe the melancholy truth exampled forth, in daily occurrence, with -those around me. But I perceive thy drift, my politic friend. To assail -is the best tactique against being assailed. Thou camest forth -conscience-stricken, and being well aware that thy foolish fondness of -this masquing damosel of the Castle here would come under my gentle -lash, to divert the attack against thyself, thou dost begin to skirmish -against me. But I see well enow ’tis the Lady Eleanore’s attraction -that would keep thee here.” - -“It is e’en so, I candidly confess it,” replied Hepborne. “I candidly -confess it, dost mark me? so, throwing myself at thy feet, I cry for -quarter.” - -“Nay, an thou dost disarm me thus,” replied Assueton, “I can say no -more.” - -“Oh, Assueton, Assueton, my bel ami,” said Hepborne, enthusiastically, -“I was the happiest of human beings last night. I did indeed meet her -on the ramparts. Old Adam of Gordon was a good seer; nay, perchance, -though as to that I know not, he may have been Cupid’s messenger. Yet, -hold! Depardieux, I do her most foul wrong in so supposing; for she -hath too much maiden modesty to have been guilty of so much boldness. -But, be that as it may, her words—her looks—were kind and most -encouraging. She did blushingly confess that her heart had known no -other affection than that which she bears towards her venerable father. -She half admitted that I was not altogether indifferent to her; she did -utter a hope that we should remain her father’s guests for some longer -space; yea, and she even admitted that to see me again would give her -pleasure. Then her accents were so sweet, and her demeanour so -gentle—Oh, Assueton, she is in very truth an angel! But what is all -this to thee, thou Knight of Adamant? I forgot that I might as well -speak to the stones of these walls of amorets and love passages, as to -Sir John Assueton.” - -“Thou art right, i’ faith, Hepborne,” replied Assueton; “they say walls -have ears, whilst I, in good earnest, may with truth enow be said to -have none for such matters, since they do irk whenever the theme of -love is handled in their hearing. Yet my friendship for thee bids me -listen to thy ravings, and compassion for thy disease makes me watch -the progress of its symptoms, as I should do those of any other fever. -From all thou hast said, then, I would gather that thou wouldst fain -loiter off another day or two, to catch fresh smiles and deeper wounds -from the Lady Eleanore. Is’t not so, Hepborne?” - -“In truth, Assueton,” replied Sir Patrick, “her whole deportment -towards me last night hath buoyed me up with hope, yea, and hath even -led me to flatter myself that I am not indifferent to her, Scot though -I be. At so critical a period, then, I cannot go, my dear Assueton; and -I am sure thy good nature will never allow thee to abandon thy friend -in the crisis of his distemper.” - -“No, Hepborne,” said Assueton, laughing, “I shall certainly not be so -little of a Christian knight as to abandon thee when thine estate is so -dangerous. Well, then, I must wait thy time, I suppose. But parfoy I -must have some rounds of the tiltyard, were it but to joust at the -quintaine, or Blanche-etoile and I too will lose our occupation. Wilt -thou not take a turn with me for exercise? But soft—I need not talk to -thee of any such thing, for yonder comes the cause of thy malady.” - -“By St. Dennis, it is she indeed!” exclaimed Hepborne: “that is the -very mantle she wore. But who is that cavalier on whose arm she hangs -so freely?” added he with a jealous tone and air. - -“St. Genevieve! but he is a tall, proper, handsome knight,” said -Assueton. - -“Pshaw?” said Hepborne pettishly, “I see nothing handsome about him; -meseems he hath the air of a sturdy swineherd.” - -“Is not that the Lady Eleanore de Selby?” inquired Assueton of a -sentinel who walked on the ramparts at some little distance from where -the knights then stood. - -“Ay, in truth, it is she,” replied the man, stopping to look at her. - -“And who may yonder knight be with whom she holds converse?” demanded -Hepborne eagerly. - -“By the mass, I know not, Sir Knight,” replied the man as he turned to -tread back his measured pace; “I never saw him before, that I knows -on.” - -But notwithstanding the unfavourable remark which jealousy had made -Hepborne cast on the stranger’s appearance, he could not help secretly -confessing that the knight with whom the Lady Eleanore had come forth -from the keep, and on whose arm she was now leaning with so little -reserve, was indeed very handsome, even noble-looking. An esquire -waited for him at the end of the bridge, with two -magnificently-caparisoned black horses. The lady seemed to be a drag on -his steps, and to keep him back, as it were, with a thousand last -words, as if with a desire of prolonging the few remaining minutes of -their converse. On his part he displayed signs of the tenderest -affection for her; and after they had crossed the bridge tardily -together, she threw herself upon his mailed neck, and he enfolded her -in his arms, both remaining locked together for some moments in a last -embrace. The warrior then tore himself from her, and vaulting on his -steed, struck the pointed steel into his sides, and galloped off at a -desperate pace. The lady, leaning on the balustrades of the bridge, -rested there a little space, and then turning slowly towards the door -of the keep, disappeared. - -The two knights commanded a full though distant view of this scene of -dumb show, from the part of the rampart where they then stood. Assueton -turned his eyes with compassion upon his friend to observe its effect -upon him. He was standing like a marble statue, still gazing on the -spot where it had been acted—his eyes fixed in his head as with -apathetical stupor. At length, after remaining in the same attitude for -several minutes, he struck his forehead violently with the palms of his -hands, and addressing his friend in hurried accents—“Assueton, -Assueton,” said he, “didst thou see? didst thou mark! Oh, woman, woman, -woman! But it mattereth not. Assueton, let our horses be ordered; I -will forth with thee for Scotland even now; ay, even now. Thou wert -indeed right, my friend; there is more of thorns than of roses about -them all. Thou wert wise, Assueton; but I am cured now—nay, I am as -sane as thyself. Our horses, Assueton—our squires and cortege. Let us -not lose a moment; we may despatch good store of Scottish miles ere we -sleep.” - -“Nay, let us not be guilty of doing violence to the courtesy of -knighthood,” replied Assueton; “Sir Walter de Selby hath used much fair -hospitality towards us. It beseems us not to leave Norham Castle -without giving thanks to the good old governor in person, and bidding -him adieu. Besides, ’twere as well, methinks, to go with less -suspicious haste, lest we may be misjudged; and, indeed, Sir Walter can -have hardly left his couch as yet.” - -“Ay, ay, true—thou sayest true, my friend,” said Hepborne, interrupting -him keenly. “I had forgotten. Her father not yet astir, and she taking -leave of her lover so tenderly at such an hour. Oh, damnable! He came, -doubtless, last night, and has been i’ the keep without the old man’s -knowledge. So, all her deep and long drawn suspires were but the -offspring of her fears lest her leman should break faith.” - -“Come, come, Hepborne, my bel ami, compose thyself,” said Sir John; -“thou must not let this appear within; ’tis but a short hour sacrificed -to common civility, and then let us boune us for Scotland.” - -“Thou sayest well, Assueton,” said Hepborne, recollecting himself after -a short pause, during which he sighed deeply; “I must endeavour to -command myself; my passion too much enchafeth me. The good old man hath -indeed been to us kindness itself. How cruel that he should be so -deceived in his daughter! I pity him from the bottom of my soul. My -wounds will soon be healed—war-toil must be their confecture; but his, -alas! are yet to be opened, for now they do fester all unwist to him, -and when they do burst forth, I fear me they may well out his life’s -blood. But come,” added he, rousing himself, “let’s in.” - -They turned their steps towards the keep, but before they had descended -from the ramparts their ears were struck with the sound of a bugle, and -as they looked over the walls they descried a long cavalcade of -knights, esquires, grooms, lacqueys, and spearmen, advancing with -lances and pennons up the hollow way leading towards the outer gate of -the Castle. The party soon came thundering over the drawbridge, and -were saluted by the guards as they passed. At the head of the troop -rode the proud Sir Rafe Piersie. The array of the very meanest of his -people was magnificent; but his armour and his horse-gear shone like -the sun, and glittered with the splendour of their embossments. They -passed into the inner courtyard; loud rang the bugle of announcement, -and the ear was assailed by the neighing of hot steeds, the clattering -and pawing of impatient hoofs, the champing of foam-covered bits, the -jingling of chains, and the clinking of spurs; whilst a rout of -soldiers and grooms, with Master Thomas Turnberry at their head, ran -clustering around them. The squires of the Castle, with the hoary -seneschal and a host of lacqueys, came forth from the keep, and ushered -in Sir Rafe Piersie and his suite. - -Hepborne and Assueton soon afterwards followed, and, on reaching the -banquet-hall, they found Sir Walter de Selby in the act of receiving -and welcoming his newly-arrived guest, whose supercilious air, when -addressing the plain, honest old soldier by no means prepossessed the -two Scottish knights in his favour. Sir Walter introduced them to -Piersie, and he received them with the same offensive hauteur. There is -something in such a deportment that provokes even the humble man to put -on haughtiness. Hepborne, from late events, was not prepared to be in -the most condescending humour, so that he failed not to carry his head -fully three inches higher than he had done since he became an inmate of -the Castle of Norham. Nor was Assueton at all behind him in -stateliness. - -The table was covered with the morning’s meal, and but little -conversation passed during the time it was going on. Sir Walter de -Selby seemed to be more reserved, and even less disposed to risk his -words than he had been the previous night. - -“I marvel much, Sir Governor,” said Sir Rafe Piersie with a haughty -sneer—“Methinks ’tis marvellously strange, I say, that thou hast as yet -said nothing touching the object of the visit I have thus paid thee. Am -I, or am I not, to have this girl of thine? Depardieux, there hath been -more ambassage about this affair than might have brought home and -wedded a queen of England. The damsel, I am informed, knew not her own -mind, and thou were weak enough to suffer thyself to be blown about by -her wayward whimsies; but my kinsman, the Bishop of Durham, tells me -that, having at last brought thine own determination up to the proper -point, thou art finally resolved she shall be mine. Marry, a matter of -great exertion, truly, to accept of Sir Rafe Piersie as a husband for -Eleanore de Selby!” - -“My mind has indeed been made up, Sir Rafe Piersie,” said the old -knight, “and would to Heaven, beausir, that it could have been made up -differently; for, certes, it doleth me sorely to be driven to answer -thee as I must of needscost do. I should not have broached this matter -till privacy had put the seal on our converse: but, since thou hast -opened it, I am forced to tell thee that, since I saw the Bishop of -Durham, obstacles have appeared which render it impossible for me to -give thee my daughter, the Lady Eleanore, to wife. She is affianced to -another.” - -“So,” thought Hepborne, the ideas passing rapidly through his mind, -“her father knows of the attachment between her and the knight who left -her this morning. Then, perhaps, she has been less to blame than I -thought; yet why were her words and manner such, last night, towards -me, as to mislead me into the idea that I had reason to hope? Oh, -deceitful woman, never satisfied with the success of thy springes as -long as there is a foolish bird to catch. So! thou must have me limed -to? But, grammercy, I have escaped thy toils.” - -Such were Hepborne’s thoughts; but what Sir Rafe Piersie’s were during -the pause of astonishment he was thrown into, may be best gathered from -the utterance he gave them. - -“What is this I hear? has a limb of the noble Piersie been brought here -to be insulted? Thou art a false old papelarde; and were it not for -those hoary hairs of thine, by the beard of St. Barnabas, I would brain -thee with this gauntlet;” and saying so, he dashed it down on the -board, making it ring again. - -Hepborne and Assueton both started up, and stretched out their hands -eagerly to seize it. - -“Ah, thou art always lucky, Hepborne,” said Assueton, much disappointed -to see that his friend had snatched it before him. - -“Sir Rafe Piersie,” said Hepborne, “in behalf of this good old knight, -whom thou hast so grossly insulted at his own board, I defy thee to -instant and mortal debate; and in thy teeth I return the opprobrious -epithets thou didst dare to throw in his face; and here, I say, thou -liest!” and with these words he threw down his gauntlet. - -“And who art thou?” said his antagonist, taking it up; “who art thou, -young cockerel, who crowest so loud? By St. George, but thou showest -small share of wisdom to pit thyself thus against Sir Rafe Piersie. But -fear not, thou shalt have thy will. Was thy darreigne for instant -fight, saidst thou? In God’s name, let us to horse then without farther -parley. Let Sir Richard de Lacy here, and thine eager friend there, be -the judges of the field; and as for the place, the Norham meadow below -will do as well for thine overthrow as any other; thou wilt have easy -galloping ere thou dost meet it. What, defy Sir Rafe Piersie to combat -of outrance, and give him the lie, too! Thou art doomed, young man, -thou art doomed; thine insolence hath put thee beyond the pale of my -mercy. By the holy Rood, thou must be the young cock-sparrow the old -dotard hath chosen as a mate for his pretty popelot, else thou never -couldst have been so bold.” - -“I am not so fortunate,” replied Hepborne, with calm and courteous -manner. - -“And what may thy name and title be, then?” demanded Piersie, with yet -greater hauteur. - -“My name,” replied he, with a dignified bow, “is Sir Patrick Hepborne.” - -“Ha! then, by my faith, thou hast some good Northern blood in thee,” -replied Piersie; “thou art less unworthy of my lance than I did ween -thou wert. Thy father is a right doughty Scot; and, if I mistake not, I -have heard of some deeds of thine done in France, which have made thine -honours and renomie to bud and buxion rathely. But ’tis a warm climate -they have sprouted in, and such early and unnatural shoots are wont to -be air-drawn and unhealthy; and albeit they may vegetate under the more -southern sun, they are often withered by the blasts of the North as -soon as they appear amongst us. But come, come, my horse, Delaval—my -horse and gear, I say;” and, leaving the hall hastily, he sought a -chamber where he might prepare himself for single combat. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - The Combat—Departure of the Scots—Master Kyle Swears by St. - Cuthbert. - - -Hepborne was not slow on his part, and in a very short time the -Castle-yard was again in commotion, and grooms and esquires were seen -running in all directions, bringing out horses and buckling on -trappings. Hepborne’s gallant steed Beaufront was led proudly forth -from his stall by Mortimer Sang, and was no sooner backed by his master -than he pranced, neighed, and spurned the ground, as if he had guessed -of the nature of the work he had to do. Attended by Assueton and their -small party of followers, Sir Patrick rode slowly down to the mead of -Norham, extending from under the elevated ground on which the Castle -stood, for a considerable way to the westward, between the village and -the bank of the Tweed. Here he halted, and patiently awaited the -arrival of his opponent. Piersie came in all his pomp, mounted on a -dapple-grey horse, of remarkable strength, figure, and action. Both -horse and rider were splendidly arrayed, and his friends and people -came crowding after him, boasting loudly of the probable issue of the -combat. Sir Walter de Selby came last, attended by some few officers, -esquires, and meaner people, and joined Hepborne’s party, stationed -towards one end of the field, Sir Rafe Piersie’s having filed off and -taken post towards the other extremity of it. Little time was lost in -preparation. The two judges placed themselves opposite to the middle of -the space, and there the combatants met and measured lances. - -The bugle-mot gave them warning, so turning their steeds round, they -each rode back about a furlong towards their respective parties, and, -suddenly wheeling at the second sound of the bugle, they ran their -furious course against each other with lance in rest. The shock was -tremendous. The clash of their armour echoed from the very walls of the -neighbouring Castle; nor had the oldest and most experienced -men-at-arms who were there present ever seen anything like it. Sir -Patrick Hepborne received his adversary’s lance, with great adroitness, -on his shield, at such an angle that it glanced off broken in shivers; -yet the force was so great that it had almost turned him in his saddle. -But he, on his part, had borne his point so stoutly, so steadily, and -so truly, that, taking his adversary in the centre of the body, he -tossed him entirely over the croupe of his horse. Piersie lay stunned -by the fall; and Sir Patrick, checking Beaufront in his career, made a -circuit around his prostrate adversary, and speedily dismounting, went -up to him, and kneeling on the ground beside him, lifted up his head, -and opened his vizor and beaver to give him freer air. Sir Richard de -Lacy and Assueton came up. - -“Sir Richard,” said Hepborne, “thou seest his life is in mine hands; -and after the bragging and insolent threats he used towards me, perhaps -I might be deemed well entitled to use the privileges of my victory, -and take it. But I engaged in this affair only to wipe off the disgrace -thrown on this good old knight, Sir Walter de Selby, in whose -hospitality I and my brother-in-arms have so liberally shared; and the -blot having been thus removed, by God’s blessing on mine arm, I leave -Piersie his life, that he may use it against me when next we meet in -fair fight in bloody field, should the jarring rights of our two -countries summon us against each other. But through thee, his friend, I -do most solemnly enjoin him that, on the honour of a knight, he shall -hold Sir Walter de Selby as acquitted of all intention of doing him any -injury or insult in the matter of the marriage he contemplated with the -Lady Eleanore, and that he think not of doing Sir Walter violence on -that account.” - -For all this Sir Richard de Lacy immediately pledged himself in name of -Sir Rafe Piersie; and the discomfited knight, who was still insensible, -having been lifted up by his esquires, was straightway borne towards -the Castle. As they were carrying him away, Mortimer Sang, who had by -chance caught the dapple-grey steed, as he scoured past him on the -field after his rider’s overthrow, trotted up to the group leading him -by the bridle. The worthy esquire had heard and treasured up the taunts -and boasting of Piersie’s people, as they were approaching the field. - -“Hath any of ye lost perchance a pomely grise-coloured horse, my -masters?” exclaimed he; “here is a proper powerful destrier, if he had -been but well backed. Hast thou no varlet of a pricksoure squire who -can ride him? Here, take him, some of ye; and, hark ye, let his saddle -be better filled the next time ye do come afield.” - -Piersie’s men were too much crestfallen to return his jibes, so he rode -back to the group that surrounded the conqueror, chuckling over his -triumph. The good old Sir Walter de Selby, his eyes running over with -gratitude, approached Sir Patrick Hepborne, and embraced him cordially. - -“The time hath been,” said he, “the time hath been, Sir Patrick, when -it pleased Heaven to permit me to reap the same guerdon of inward -satisfaction thou art now feeling, and could the weight of a few years -have been lifted from off this hoar head, by God’s blessing, thou -shouldst not have had this noble chance of gathering fame at the cost -of Sir Rafe Piersie. As it is, I thank thee heartily for thy gallant -defence of an old man, as well as for the generous use thou hast made -of thy victory. Come, let us to the Castle, that by my treatment of -thee, and Sir Rafe Piersie, I may forthwith prove my gratitude to the -one and my forgiveness of the other. - -“Thanks, most hospitable knight,” said Sir Patrick, “I beseech thee in -mine own name, and that of my friend, to receive our poor thanks for -thy kind reception of us at Norham. But now our affairs demand our -return to our own country; nay, had it not been for this unlooked-for -deed of arms, we had been ere now some miles beyond that broad stream. -We boune us now for Scotland. Farewell, and may the holy St. Cuthbert -keep thee in health and safety. We may yet haply meet again.” - -Sir Walter de Selby was grieved to find that all his efforts to detain -the two knights were ineffectual. - -“Since it is thy will, then, to pleasure me no longer with thy good -company and presence, Sirs Knights, may the blessed Virgin and the holy -St. Andrew guide you in safety to your friends; and may you find those -you love in the good plight you would wish them to be.” And saying so, -he again cordially embraced both the knights, and slowly returned -towards the Castle with his attendants. - -The bustle and commotion occasioned by the appearance of the knights -and their followers on the mead of Norham, the sound of the bugle, and -the clash of the shock, had brought out many of the inhabitants of the -village to see what was a-doing. Amongst these was the black-eyed Mrs. -Kyle, who came up to Master Mortimer Sang, and laying hold of his -bridle-rein— - -“When goest thou for Scotland?” said she anxiously. - -“Even now, fair dame,” said he calmly. - -“Then go I with thee, Sir Squire,” returned she. “Let me have a seat on -that batt-horse; I can ride right merrily there.” - -“Nay, my most beautiful Mrs. Kyle,” replied Sang, “that may in no wise -be, seeing I am an honest virtuous esquire, not one of those false -faitors who basely run away with other men’s wives. Thou canst not with -me, I promise thee.” - -“Yea, but thou didst promise to take me,” cried Mrs. Kyle, a flood of -tears bursting from her eyes, as she began to reproach Sang, with a -voice half-chocked by the violence of her sobbing. “So false foiterer -that thou art, I—I—I—I must be foredone by thee, must I, after all thy -losengery and flattery? Here have I kept goodman Kyle all this time i’ -the vault, ygraven, as a body may say, that I mought the more sickerly -follow thee when thou wentest. Oh, what will become of me? I am but as -one dead.” - -“Why, thou cruel giglet, thou,” cried Sang, “didst thou in very truth -mean to go off to Scotland with me, and leave thy poor husband ygraven -i’ the vault to die the most horrible of deaths? Did not I tell thee to -let him out at thy leisure and on thine own good terms? By the mass, a -pretty leisure hast thou taken, and pretty terms hast thou resolved to -yield him.” - -“Nay, judge not so hastily, good Sir Squire,” replied Mrs. Kyle. “That -I would boune me to Scotland is sure enow; but, as to leaving Sylvester -Kyle to die a cruel death, Thomas Tapster here knows that I taught him -the use of the sliding plank and the clicket of the trap door, and that -Master Sylvester was to receive his franchise as soon as Tweed should -be atween us. But what shall I do? I can never go back to the Norham -Tower again; goodman Sylvester will surely amortise me attenes when he -doth get freedom.” - -“Squire,” said Hepborne, “thou must e’en get thee back to the village, -and make her peace with the bear her husband: we shall wait for thee at -the ferry-boat.” - -“Nay, as for that matter,” said Sang, “I must go back at any rate, for -I have yet to pay the rascal for the excellent supper we had of him, -and for the herborow of our party for the night we spent there. Come -along then, Dame Kyle, I see thou art not quite so savage as I took -thee to be.” - -They soon reached the hostel, and Master Mortimer Sang, dismounting -from his horse in the yard, entered, and strode along the passage to -the place where he knew the trap-door to be, and, sliding aside the -plank that covered its fastenings, he hoisted up the lever. - -“Sylvester Kyle, miserable lossel wight,” cried he, “art thou yet -alive? Sinner that thou art, I have compassion on thee, and albeit thou -hast been there but some short space—small guerdon for thy wicked -coulpe, seeing thou art in the midst of so great a mountance of good -provender and drink, with which to fill thine enormous bowke—I -condescend to let thee come forth. Come up, come up, I say, and show -thy face, that we may hold parley as to the terms of thine -enlargement.” - -A groaning was heard from the farther end of the place, and by and by -Sylvester’s head appeared above the steps, his countenance wearing the -most miserable expression. Horrible fear of the agonizing death he had -thought himself doomed to die had prevented him from touching food; but -the anxious workings of his mind had done even more mortification upon -him than a starvation of a fortnight could have accomplished. The red -in his face was converted into a deadly pale copper hue, for even death -itself could never have altogether extinguished the flame in his nose; -his teeth projected beyond his lips, and chattered against each other -from the cold he had undergone: and his eyes stared in their sockets, -from the united effects of want and terror. - -“Should it please me to give thee the franchise, thou agroted lorrel, -thou,” said the Squire, “wilt thou give me thy promise to comport -thyself more honestly in time to come, to have done with all knavery -and chinchery, and to give thy very best to all Scots who may, in time -to come, chance to honour thy hostelry with their presence?” - -“Oh, good Sir Squire,” replied the host, “anything—I will promise -anything that thou mayest please.” - -“Nay, nay, Sir Knave,” cried Sang, “horrow tallowcatch that thou art—no -generals—swear me in particulars—item by item, dost thou hear, as thou -framest thy reckonings? If thou dost not down goeth the trap-door -again, and I leave thee here to meditate and ypend my proposal, until -my return from the Holy Wars, whether I am boune. By that time thou -wilt be more humble, and more coming to my terms. Swear.” - -“I swear, by the holy St. Cuthbert,” replied the host, “that all Scots -shall henceforth be entertained with the best meats and drinks the nale -of the Norham Tower can afford, yea, alswa the best herborow it can -yield them.” - -“’Tis well,” said Sang; “swear me next, then, and let the oath be -strong, that thou wilt never again score double.” - -“Nay, Master Squire, that is a hard oath for a tapster to take; ’tis -warring against the very nicest mystery of my vocation,” said Kyle. - -“No matter, Sir Knave,” said Sang, “I shall not have my terms agrutched -by thee. An thou swearest not this, down thou goest, and I leave thee -to settle scores with a friend of thine below, with whom thou wilt find -the single reckoning of thy sins a hard enough matter for thee to pay.” - -“Oh, for mercy’s sake, touch not the trap-door, Sir Squire, and I will -swear anything,” cried Kyle, much alarmed at seeing Sang’s brawny arm -preparing to turn it over upon his head. - -“Well, thou horrow lossel,” cried Sang, “dost thou swear thou wilt -never more cheat, or score double?” - -“I do, I do,” said the host; “by the holy Rood, I swear that I will -never cheat or score double again. God help me,” cried he, after a -pause, “how shall I eschew it, and what shall I do without it?” - -“Now, thou prince of knaves,” cried Sang, “thou hast yet one more -serment to swallow. Swear by the blessed Virgin, that thou wilt receive -thy wife back into thy bosom, and abandoning thy former harshness -towards her, that thou wilt kindly cherish her, and do thy possible to -comfort and pleasure her, forgetting all that may have hitherto -happened amiss between ye. I restore her to thee pure. She was not to -blame for my being in the vault with her. The coulpe was all thine own. -Thou madest me ravenous with hunger by thy villainous chinchery. My -nose, through very want, became as sharp in scent as that of a -sleuth-hound. I winded the steam that came from the trap-door, yea, -from the very common room where I sat. I ran it up hot foot, and -descending the stair, I had but just begun to feast mine eyes with that -thou hadst denied to my stomach, when thy pestiferous voice was heard. -Thy wife is as virtuous and innocent as the child unborn. So swear, I -say.” - -Master Sylvester Kyle shook his head wofully, and looked very far from -satisfied; but he had no alternative; he swore as the squire wished him -to do, and then was permitted to issue from his subterranean prison. - -“And now, Sir Knave,” said Sang, “do but note my extreme clemency. Thou -wouldst have starved me, the knights, and our good company, because we -were Scots, for the which grievous sin I did put thee in a prison full -of goodly provender and rich drinks; whence I now let thee forth, with -thy greedy carcase crammed to bursting, and thy whole person plump and -fair as a capon. Do but behold him, I beseech ye, how round he looks. -Now get thee to thine augrim-stones, and cast up thine account withal. -Thou knowest pretty well what we have had, for thou didst give me the -victuals and wine with thine own hand.” - -“Nay, good Sir Squire,” said Kyle, glad to escape, “take it all, in -God’s name, as a free gift, and let us part good friends.” - -“Nay, nay,” said Master Sang, “we take no such beggarly treats, we -Scottish knights and squires. Come, come—thy reckoning, thy reckoning, -dost hear? No more words; my master doth wait, and I must haste to join -him.” - -Kyle, with his wife’s assistance, and that of the pebbles or -augrim-stones, by which accounts were usually made out in those days, -scored up the first fair reckoning he had ever made in his life, and -Sang paid it without a word. - -“And now,” said he, “let us, as thou saidst, Master Kyle, let us e’en -part good friends. Bring me a stirrup-cup of thy best.” - -The host hastened to fetch a cup of excellent Rhenish. They drank to -each other, and shook hands with perfect cordiality; and the squire, -smacking the pouting lips of Mrs. Kyle, mounted his horse, and rode -away to join his party. - -As the knights and their small retinue were crossing the Tweed in the -ferry-boat, Hepborne cast his eyes up to the keep of the Castle, -towering high above them, and frowning defiance upon Scotland. A white -hand appeared from a narrow window, and waved a handkerchief; and, by a -sort of natural impulse, he was about to have waved and kissed his -fervently in return. - -“Pshaw!” said he, pettishly checking himself, for being so ready to -yield to the impulse of his heart. The white hand and handkerchief -waved again—and again it waved ere he reached the Scottish shore; but -he manfully resisted all temptation, and gave no sign of recognition. - -As he mounted, however, he looked once more. The hand was still there, -streaming the little speck of white. His resolution gave way—he waved -his hand, and his eyes filling with tears, he dashed the rowels of his -spurs against the sides of his steed, sprang off at full gallop, and -was immediately lost amongst the oak copse through which lay their -destined way. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - The Home of the Hepbornes—Remembrances of Childhood—The Old - Wolf-Hound. - - -After tarrying for a little while at the small town of Dunse, the two -knights pursued their journey over the high ridge of Lammermoor, and -early on the second day they reached Hailes Castle, the seat of the -Hepbornes, a strong fortress, standing on the southern banks of the -river Tyne, in the heart of the fertile county of East Lothian. At the -period we are now speaking of, the varied surface of the district -surrounding the place was richly though irregularly wooded; and even -the singular isolated hill of Dunpender, rising to the southward of it, -had gigantic oaks growing about its base, and towering upon its sides, -amidst thick hazel and other brushwood, wherever they could find soil -enough to nourish them. - -Sir Patrick Hepborne had been particularly silent during their march. -The events which took place at Norham, and the conviction he felt that -the Lady Eleanore de Selby had indirectly endeavoured to draw him into -an attachment for her, when her heart either was or ought to have been -engaged to another, made him unhappy. It was needless to inquire why it -should have done so, since he was ever and anon congratulating himself -on having escaped uninjured from the toils of one so unworthy of him. -But the truth was he had not escaped uninjured; he had “tane a hurt” -from her, of a nature too serious to be of very easy cure. Assueton, -who had never felt the tender passion, and who had consequently very -little sympathy for it, had more than once complained of the unwonted -dulness of his companion, who used to be so full of life and -cheerfulness, and had made several vain attempts to rouse him, until at -last, despairing of success, he amused himself in jesting with Master -Mortimer Sang, who possessed a never-failing spring of good humour. - -As they drew near the domains of Sir Patrick Hepborne the elder, -however, a thousand spots, and things, and circumstances, began to -present themselves in succession, and to force themselves on the -attention of the love-sick knight, awakening warm associations with the -events of his youthful days, and overpowering, for a time, his -melancholy. To these he began to give utterance in a language his -friend could not only comprehend, but participate in the feelings they -naturally gave rise to. - -“Assueton,” said he, “it was here, in this very wood, that I took my -first lessons in the merry art of woodcraft; in yonder hollow were the -rethes and pankers spread to toyle the deer; and, see there, under -yonder ancient tree, was I first planted with my little cross-bow, as a -lymer, to have my vantage of the game. It was Old Gabriel Lindsay, then -a jolly forester, who put me there, and taught me how to behave me. He -is now my father’s seneschal, if, as I hope, he be yet alive. He was a -hale man then, and though twenty years older than my father, he had a -boy somewhat younger than myself, who took up his father’s trade of -forester, just before I went to France. Alas, the old tree has had a -fearful skathe of firelevin since last I saw it. See what a large limb -hath been rent from its side. Dost see the river glancing yonder below, -through the green-wood? Ay, now we see it better. In yonder shallow -used I to wade when a child, with my little hauselines tucked up above -my knees. I do remember well, I was so engaged one hot summer’s day, -when, swelled by some sudden water-spout or upland flood, I saw the -liquid wall come sweeping onwards, ready to overwhelm me. I ran in -childish fear, but ere I reached the strand it came, and overtaking my -tottering steps, hurried me with it into yonder pool. I sank, and rose, -and sank again. I remember e’en now how quickly the ideas passed -through my infant mind, as I was whirling furiously round and round by -the force of the eddy, vainly struggling and gasping for life, now -below and now on the surface of the water. I thought of the dreadful -death I was dying; I thought of the misery about to befall my father -and mother—nay, strange as it may seem, I saw them in my mind’s eye -weeping in distraction over my pale and dripping corpse, and all this -was intermixed with flitting hopes of rescue, that were but the flash -amidst the darkness of the storm. The recollections of the five or six -years I could remember of my past childhood were all condensed into the -short period of as many minutes; for that was all the time my lucky -stars permitted me to remain in jeopardy, till Gabriel Lindsay came, -and, plunging into the foaming current, dragged me half dead to the -shore. Full many a time have I sithence chosen that very pool as a -pleasure bayne wherein to exercise my limbs in swimming, when hardier -boyhood bid me defy the flood.” - -“My dear friend,” said Assueton, “trust me, I do envy thee thine -indulgence in those remembrances excited by the scenes of thy -childhood; they make me more eager than ever to revel in those that -await me around my paternal boure. I shall be thy father’s guest -to-night; but I can no longer delay returning to my paternal -possessions, and in especial to my widowed mother, who doubtless longs -to embrace me. I must leave thee to-morrow.” - -“Nay, Assueton, thou didst promise to bestow upon me three or four days -at least,” said Hepborne: “let me not then have thy promise amenused. -To rob me of so large a portion of thy behote were, methinks, but -unkind.” - -“I did promise, indeed,” said Assueton, “but I wist not of the time we -should waste at Norham. I must e’en go to-morrow, Hepborne; but, trust -me, I shall willingly boune me back again some short space hence.” - -Hepborne was not lacking in argument to overcome his friend’s -intentions, but he could gain no more than a promise, reluctantly -granted, that his departure should be postponed until the morning after -the following day. - -“But see, Assueton,” said Hepborne, “there are the outer towers and -gateway of the Castle, and behold how its proud barbicans rise beyond -them. As I live, there is Flo, my faithful old wolf-dog, lying sunning -himself against the wall. He is the fleetest allounde in all these -parts for taking down the deer at a view. What ho, boy, Flo, Flo! What -means the brute, he minds me not?” continued Hepborne, riding up to -him: “I wot he was never wont to be so litherly; he used to fly at my -voice with all the swiftness of the arrow, which he is named after. Ah! -now I see, he is half-blind; and peraunter he is deaf too, for he seems -as if he heard me not. But, fool that I am, I forget that some years -have passed away sith I saw him last, and that old age must ere this -have come upon him. ’Twas but a week before I left home, Assueton, that -he killed a wolf. But let us hasten in, I am impatient to embrace my -father, and my dear mother, and my sister Isabelle.” - -Loud rang the bugle-blast in the court-yard of the Castle. Throwing his -reins to his esquire, Hepborne sprang from his horse, and running -towards the doorway, whence issued a crowd of domestics, alarmed by the -summons, he grasped the hand of an old white-headed man, who presented -the feeble remains of having been once tall and powerful, but who was -now bent and tottering with age. - -“My worthy Gabriel,” said he in an affectionate tone and manner, and -with a tear trembling in his eye, “dost thou not know me? How fares my -father, my mother, and my sister, the Lady Isabelle?” - -The old man looked at him for some moments, with his hand held up as a -pent-house to his dim eyes. - -“Holy St. Giles!” exclaimed he at last, “art thou indeed my young -master? Art thou then alive and sound? Well, who would hae thought, -they that saw me last winter, when I was so ill, that I would hae lived -to hae seen this blessed day!” - -“But tell me, Gabriel,” cried Hepborne, interrupting him, “tell me -where are they all; I suppose I shall find them in the banquet hall -above?” - -“Stop thee, stop thee, Sir Patrick,” said the old seneschal, “thy -father and the Lady Isabelle rode to the green-wood this morning. There -was a great cry about a route of wolves that have been wrecking doleful -damage on the shepens; they do say, that some of the flocks hae been -sorely herried by them; so my master and the Lady Isabelle rode forth -with the sleuth-hounds, and the alloundes, and the foresters; and this -morning, ere the sun saw the welkin, my boy rode away to lay out the -rethes and the pankers. I wot, thou remembers thee of my son Robert? He -is head forester now. Thy noble father, Heaven’s blessing and the -Virgin’s be about him, did that for him; may long life and eternal joy -be his guerdon for all his good deeds to me and mine! And Ralpho -Proudfoot was but ill content to see my Rob get the place aboon him; so -Ralpho yode his ways, and hath oft sithes threatened some malure to -Rob; but as to that——” - -“Nay, my good Gabriel,” said Hepborne, impatiently interrupting him, -“but where, I entreat thee, is my mother?” - -A cloud instantly overcast the face of the venerable domestic; he -hesitated and stammered— - -“Nay, then, my dear young master, thou hast not heard of the doleful -tidings?” - -“What doleful tidings? Quick, speak, old man. My mother! is she ill? -Good God, thou art pale. Oh, thy face doth speak too intelligibly—my -mother, my beloved mother, is no more!” - -The old man burst into tears. He could not command a single word; but -the grief and agitation he could not hide was enough for Sir Patrick -Hepborne. In a choked and hollow voice— - -“Assueton,” said he, “walk up this way, so please thee; there is the -banquet-hall; I must retire into this apartment for some moments. If -thou hadst known my mother—my excellent, my tenderly affectionate -mother—my mother, by whose benignant and joy-beaming eyes I looked to -be now greeted withal—thou wouldst pardon me for being thus unmanned. -But I shall be more composed anon.” - -And with these words, and with an agitation he could not hide, he burst -away into an adjacent chamber, where he shut himself in, that he might -give way to his emotions without interruption. - -It was his mother’s private room. In the little oratory opening from -the farther end of it, was her prie-dieu and crucifix, and on the floor -opposite to it was the very velvet cushion on which he found her -kneeling, and offering up her fervent orisons to Heaven on his behalf, -as he entered her apartment to embrace her for the last time, the -morning he left Hailes for France. He remembered that his heart was -then bounding with delight at the prospect of breaking into the world, -and figuring among knights and warriors, amidst all the gay splendour -of the French Court. Alas! he little thought then he was embracing her -for the last time. He now looked round the chamber, and her -missal-books, with a thousand trifles he had seen her use, called up -her graceful figure and gentle expression fresh before his eyes. He -wept bitterly, and, seating himself in the chair she used, wasted -nearly an hour in giving way to past recollections, and indulging in -the grief they occasioned. At last his sorrow began to exhaust itself, -and he became more composed. The cushion and the little altar again -caught his eye, and, rising from the chair, he prostrated himself -before the emblem of the Saviour’s sufferings and the Christian’s faith -and hope, pouring out his soul in devotional exercise. As his head was -buried in the velvet drapery of the prie-dieu, and his eyes covered, -his imagination pictured the figure of his mother floating over him in -seraphic glory. He started up, almost expecting to see his waking -vision realized; but it was no more than the offspring of his fancy, -and he again seated himself on his mother’s chair, to dry his eyes and -to compose his agitated bosom. - -Though still deeply afflicted, he now felt himself able to command his -feelings, and he left his mother’s apartment to rejoin Assueton. At the -door he met old Gabriel Lindsay, and he being now able to ask, and the -hoary seneschal to tell, the date and circumstances of his mother’s -death, he learned that she had been carried off by a sudden illness -about three months previous to his arrival. The firmness of the warrior -now returned upon him, and, with a staid but steady countenance, he -rejoined his friend. - -“Assueton,” said he, “if thou art disposed to ramble with me, it would -give me ease to go forth a little. Let us doff our mail, and put on -less cumbrous hunting-garbs and gippons, and go out into the woods. We -may chance to hear their hunting-horns, and so fall in with them; else -we may loiter idling it here till nightfall ere they return.” - -Assueton readily agreed; and both having trimmed themselves for active -exercise, and armed themselves with hunting-spears, and with the -anelace, a kind of wood-knife or falchion, usually worn, together with -the pouch, hanging from the girdlestead of the body, they left the -Castle, with the intent of taking the direction they were informed the -hunting-party had gone in. As they passed from the outer gateway, the -great rough old wolf-hound again attracted his master’s attention. - -“Alas! poor old Flo,” said Hepborne, going up to him, and stooping to -caress him, “thou canst no more follow me as thou wert wont to do. Thou -art now but as a withered and decayed log of oak—thou who used, -whenever I appeared, to dart hither and thither around me like a -firelevin.” - -The old dog began to lick his master’s hand, and to whine a dull -recognition. - -“I believe he doth hardly remember me,” said Hepborne, moving away; “he -seems now to be little better than a clod of earth.” - -The old dog, however, though he had scarcely stirred for many months -before, began to whimper, and rearing up his huge body with great pain, -as if in stretching each limb he required to break the bonds that age -had rivetted every joint withal, and getting at last on his legs, he -began to follow Sir Patrick, whining and wagging his tail. Hepborne, -seeing his feeble state, did what he could to drive him back; but the -dog persisted in following him. - -“Poor old affectionate fellow,” said Hepborne, “go with me, then, thou -shalt, though I should have to carry thee back. Assueton,” continued -he, “let us climb the lofty height of Dunpender, whence we shall have -such a view around us as may enable us to descry the hunting-party, if -they be anywhere within the range of our ken.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - The Wolf Hunt—A Desperate Encounter. - - -They accordingly made their way through the intervening woods, lawns, -and alleys, and ascended the steep side of the hill. From the summit, -the beautiful vale of the Tyne was fully commanded, and the extent and -variety of the prospect was such as to occupy them for some time in -admiration of it. Hepborne discovered a thousand spots and points in it -connected with old stories of his youth. He touched on all these in -succession to Assueton, his heart overflowing with his feelings, and -his eyes with the remembrance of his beloved mother, whose image was -continually recurring to him. He made his friend observe the distant -eminences in parts of Scotland afar off; and Assueton, amongst others, -was overjoyed to descry the blue top of that hill at the base of which -he had been born, and whither his heart bounded to return. - -“Hark,” said Hepborne, suddenly interrupting the enthusiastic greeting -his friend was wafting towards his distant home—“hark! methinks I hear -the sound of bugles echoing faintly through the woods below; dost thou -not hear?” - -“I do,” said Assueton, “and methinks I also hear the yelling note of -the sleuth-hounds.” - -“That bugle-mot was my father’s,” said Hepborne; “I know it full well; -I could swear to it anywhere. Nay, yonder they ride. Dost not see them -afar off yonder, sweeping across the green alures and avenues, where -the wood-shaws are thinnest? Now they cross the wide lawnde yonder—and -now they are lost amid the shade of these oakshaws. They come this way; -let us hasten downward; we shall have ill luck an we meet them not at -the bottom of the hill.” - -Hepborne was so eager to embrace his father, that, forgetting his -friend was a stranger to the perplexities of the way, he darted off, -and descended through the brushwood, leaving Assueton to follow him as -he best might. Assueton, in his turn, eager to overtake Hepborne, put -down the point of his hunting-spear to aid him in vaulting over an -opposing bush. There was a knot in the ashen shaft, and it snapt -asunder with his weight. He threw it away, and, guided by the distant -sounds of the bugle-blasts and the yells of the hounds, he pressed -precipitately down the steep, but in his ignorance he took a direction -different from that pursued by Hepborne. - -As he was within a few yards of the bottom of the hill, he saw an -enormous wolf making towards him, the oblique and sinister eyes of the -animal flashing fire, his jaws extended, and tongue lolling out. -Assueton regretted the loss of his hunting-spear, but judging him to be -much spent, he resolved to attack him. He squatted behind a bush -directly in the animal’s path, and springing at him as he passed, he -grappled him by the throat with both hands, and held him with the grasp -of fate. The furious wolf struggled with all his tremendous strength, -and before Assueton could venture to let go one hand to draw out his -anelace, he was overbalanced by the weight of the creature, and they -rolled over and over each other down the remainder of the grassy -declivity, the knight still keeping his hold, conscious that the moment -he should lose it he must inevitably be torn in pieces. There they lay -tumbling and writhing on the ground, the exertions of the wolf being so -violent, as frequently to lift Assueton and drag him on his back along -the green sward. Now he gained his knees, and, pressing down his savage -foe, he at last ventured to lose his right hand to grope for his -anelace; but it was gone—it had dropped from the sheath; and, casting a -glance around him, he saw it glittering on the grass, at some yards’ -distance. There was no other mode of recovering it but by dragging the -furious beast towards it, and this he now put forth all his strength to -endeavour to effect. He tugged and toiled, and even succeeded so far as -to gain a yard or two; but his grim foe was only rendered more -ferocious in his resistance, by the additional force he employed. The -wolf made repeated efforts to twist his neck round to bite, and more -than once succeeded in wounding Assueton severely in the left arm, the -sleeve of which was entirely torn off. As the beast lay on his back -too, pinned firmly down towards his head, he threw up his body, and -thrust his hind feet against Assueton’s face, so as completely to blind -his eyes, and by a struggle more violent than any he had made before, -he threw him down backwards. - -The situation of the bold and hardy knight was now most perilous, for, -though he still kept his grasp, he lay stretched on the ground; and -whilst the wolf, standing over him, was now able to bring all his -sinews to bear against him, from having his feet planted firmly on the -ground, Assueton, from his position, was unable to use his muscles with -much effect. The panting and frothy jaws, and the long sharp tusks of -the infuriated beast, were almost at his throat, and the only salvation -that remained for him, was to prevent his fastening on by it, by -keeping the head of the brute at a distance by the strength of his -arms. The muscles of the neck of a wolf are well known to be so -powerful, that they enable the animal to carry off a sheep with ease; -so that, with all his vigour of nerve, Assueton had but a hopeless -chance for it. Still he held, and still they struggled, when the tramp -of a horse was heard, and a lady came galloping by under the trees. She -no sooner observed the dreadful strife between the savage wolf and the -knight, than, alighting nimbly from her palfrey, she couched the light -hunting-spear she carried, and ran it through the heart of the -half-choked animal. The blood spurted over the prostrate cavalier, and -the huge carcase fell on him, with the eyes glaring in the head, and -the teeth grinding together in the agony of death. - -The bold Assueton, sore toil-spent with the length of the contest, -threw the now irresisting body of the creature away from him, and -instantly recovered his legs. All bloody and covered with foam as he -was, he bowed gracefully to his preserver, and gazed at her for some -time ere he could find breath to give his gratitude utterance. She was -lovely as the morning. Her fair hair, broken loose from the thraldom of -its braiding bodkins by the agitation of riding, streamed from beneath -a hunting hat she wore, and fell in flowing ringlets over the black -mantle that hung from her shoulder. Her mild and angelic soul spoke in -expressive language through her blue eyes, though they were more than -half veiled by her modest eyelids. Her full fresh lips were half open, -and her bosom heaved with her high breathing from the exercise she had -been undergoing, and the unwonted exertion she had so lately made, and -her cheek was gently flushed by the consciousness of the glorious deed -she had achieved. - -“Sir Knight,” inquired she, timidly though anxiously, “I hope thou hast -tane no hurt from the caitiff salvage? Thou dost bleed, meseems?” - -“Nay, lady,” said Assueton, at last able to speak, “I bleed not; ’tis -the blood of the brute yonder. Perdie, thy bold and timely aid did rid -me of a strife that mought have ended sorely to my mischaunce. Verily, -thou camest like an angel to my rescue, and my poor thanks are but -meagre guerdon for the heroic deed thou didst adventure to effect it. -Do I not speak to the sister of my friend, Sir Patrick Hepborne? Do I -not address the fair Lady Isabelle?” - -“Patrick Hepborne?” inquired she eagerly; “art thou, indeed, the friend -of my brother? Welcome, Sir Knight; thou art welcome to me, as thou -wilt be to my father. What tidings hast thou of my gallant brother?” - -“Even those, I ween, beauteous lady, which shall give thee belchier,” -said Assueton; “my friend is well as thou wouldst wish him; nay, more, -he is here with me. We parted but now above yonder at the crop of the -hill. I lost him in the thickets on its side, just before I encountered -with gaffer wolf yonder.” - -“Pray Heaven,” said Isabelle, with alarm in her countenance, “that he -may not meet with some of the wolves we drove hither before us. Thou -seemest to be altogether without weapon, Sir Knight; perhaps he is -equally defenceless.” - -“Nay, lady,” replied Assueton, “I broke a faithless rotten shafted -hunting-spear ere I came down, and I lost my anelace from my -girdlestead as I was struggling with the wolf. Sir Patrick has both, I -warrant thee, and will make a better use of them than I did. Shall we -seek him, so please ye?” - -“Oh, yes,” cried the Lady Isabelle joyfully; “how I long to clasp my -dear brother in these arms. But hold, Sir Knight,” said she, her face -again assuming an air of anxiety, “thou dost bleed, maugre all thou -didst say. Truly thy left arm is most grievously torn by the miscreant -wolf; let me bind it up with this rag here.” And notwithstanding all -Assueton’s protestations to the contrary, she took off a silken scarf, -and bound up his wounds very tenderly, even exposing her own lovely -neck to the sun, that she might effect her charitable purpose. - -“And now,” said she, “let’s on in the direction my father took; he and -my brother may have probably met ere this. Hey, Robert,” cried she to a -forester who appeared at the moment, “whither went my father?” - -“This way, lady,” said he, pointing in a particular direction; “I heard -his bugle-mot but now.” - -“Charge thyself with the spoils of this wolf, Robert,” said the Lady -Isabelle; “I do mean to have his felt hung up in the hall, in -remembrance of the bold and desperate conflict, waged without aid of -steel against him, by dint of thewes and sinews alone, by this valiant -knight; ’tis a monster for size, the make of which is, I trow, rarely -seen.” - -“Nay, lady,” cried Assueton, “rather hang up his spoils in -commemoration of thine own brave deed; for it was thou who killed him. -And had it not been for thee, gaffer wolf might, ere now, have made a -dinner of me.” - -“In truth, Sir Knight,” replied Isabelle, “hadst thou not held him by -the throat so starkly, I trow I should have had little courage to have -faced him.” - -The lady vaulted on her palfrey, and Assueton, his left arm decorated -with her scarf, and holding her bridle with his right, walked by the -side of the palfrey, like a true lady’s knight, unwittingly engaged, -for the first time in his life, in pleasing dialogue with a beautiful -woman. - -Sir Patrick Hepborne, who thought only of seeing his father, had rushed -down the steep of Dunpender in the hope of meeting him somewhere near -the base of the hill, for the sound of the chase evidently came that -way. His old dog Flo had difficulty in following him; and stumbling -over the stumps of trees, and the stones that lay in his way, he was at -last completely left behind. As Sir Patrick had nearly reached the -bottom of the steep, he too observed a large wolf making up the hill. -The animal came at a lagging pace, and was evidently much blown. -Hepborne hurled his hunting-spear at him without a moment’s delay, -wounding him desperately in the neck; and, eager to make sure of him -with his anelace, rushed forward, without perceiving a sudden -declivity, where there was a little precipitous face of rock, over -which he fell headlong, and rolling downwards his head came in contact -with the trunk of an oak, at the foot of which he lay stunned and -senseless. The wolf, writhing for sometime with the agony of the wound -he had received, succeeded at last in extricating himself from the -spearhead, and then observing the man from whose hand he had received -it, lying at his mercy on the ground near him, he was about to take -instant vengeance on him, when he was suddenly called on to defend -himself against a new assailant. - -This was no other than poor Flo, who, having followed his master’s -track as fast as his old legs could carry him, came up at the very -moment the gaunt animal was about to fasten his jaws on him. His -ancient spirit grew young within him as he beheld his master’s danger. -He sprang on the wolf with an energy and fury which no one who had seen -him that morning could have believed him capable of, and, seizing his -ferocious adversary by the throat, a bloody combat ensued between them. - -Hepborne having gradually recovered from his swoon, and hearing the -noise of the fight, roused himself, and, getting upon his legs, beheld -with astonishment the miraculous exertions his faithful dog was making -in his defence, and the deadly strife that was waging between him and -the wolf. The fierce and powerful animal was much an overmatch for the -good allounde, who had already received some dreadful bites, but still -fought with unabated resolution. Hepborne ran to his rescue, and -burying his anelace in the wolf’s body, killed him outright. But his -help came too late for poor old Flo, who licked the kind hand that was -stretched out to succour and caress him, and, turning upon his side, -raised his dim eyes towards his master’s face, and slowly closed them -in death. - -Hepborne lifted him up, all streaming with blood, and, carrying him to -a fountain a few paces off, bathed his head and his gaping wounds, with -the vain hope that the water might revive him; but life was extinct. -Sir Patrick laid him on the ground, and wept over him as if he had been -a friend. - -The sound of the horns now came nearer, the yell of the dogs -approached, and by and by some of the hounds appeared, and ran in upon -their already inanimate prey. Immediately behind them came Sir Patrick -Hepborne the elder, a powerful, noble-looking man, in full vigour of -life, mounted on a gallant grey, and with a crowd of foresters at his -back. He took off his hunting hat to wipe his brow as he halted, and -though he displayed a bald forehead, the hinder part of his head was -covered with luxuriant black hair, on which age’s winter had not yet -shed a single particle of snow. His beard and moustaches were of the -same raven hue; and his eyes, though mild, were lofty and penetrating -in their expression. - -“How now, young man,” said he to his son, as he reined up his steed, -“what, hast thou killed the wolf?” - -“My father!” cried the younger Sir Patrick, starting up and running to -his stirrup. - -“My son!” exclaimed the delighted and astonished Sir Patrick the elder; -and, vaulting from his horse, they were immediately locked in each -other’s arms. - -It was some minutes before either father or son could articulate -anything but broken sentences. The minds of both reverted to the -overwhelming loss they had sustained since they last saw each other, -and they both wept bitterly. - -“My dear boy, forgive me,” said the father; “but these tears are—we -have lost—but yet I see thou hast already gathered the sad -intelligence. ’Tis now three months—Oh, bitter affliction!—but she is a -saint above, my dear Patrick.” - -Again they enclasped each other, and, giving way to their feelings, the -two warriors wept on each other’s bosoms, till the rude group of -foresters around them were melted into tears at the spectacle. Sir -Patrick the elder was the first to regain command of himself, and the -first use he made of the power of speech was to put a thousand -questions to his son. The younger knight satisfied him as to -everything, and concluded by giving him the history of his accident, -and the glorious but afflicting death of his faithful old allounde. - -“Poor fellow,” said the elder Sir Patrick, going up to the spot where -he lay, and dropping a tear of gratitude over him—“poor fellow, he has -died as a hero ought to do—nobly, in stark stoure in the field. Let him -be forthwith yirded, dost hear me, on the spot where he fell; I shall -have a stone erected over him, in grateful memorial of his having died -for his master.” - -Some of the foresters, who had implements for digging out the vermin of -the chase, instantly executed this command, and the two knights tarried -until they had themselves laid his body in the grave dug for him. - -“And now let us go look for Isabelle and thy friend Sir John Assueton,” -said the elder Sir Patrick. “Sound thy bugles, my merry men, and let us -down to the broad-lawnde, where we shall have the best chance of -meeting.” - -They had no sooner entered the beautiful glade among the woods alluded -to by the elder knight, than the younger Sir Patrick descried his -sister, the Lady Isabelle, coming riding on her palfrey, and his friend -Assueton leading her bridle-rein. He ran forward to embrace her, and -she, instantly recognizing him, sprang from the saddle into his arms. -The meeting between the brother and sister was rendered as affecting by -the remembrance of the loss of their mother, as that of the father and -son had been. But the elder Sir Patrick having mastered his feelings, -soon contributed to soothe theirs. The younger Sir Patrick introduced -his friend Assueton to his father, and after their compliments of -courtesy were made, the adventures of both parties detailed, and mutual -congratulations had taken place between them— - -“Come,” said the elder Sir Patrick, “come Isabelle, get thee to horse -again, and let us straightway to the Castle. The welkin reddens i’ the -west, and the sun is about to hide his head among yonder amber clouds; -let us to the Castle, I say. I trow we shall have enow of food for talk -for the rest of the evening. We shall have the spoils of these wolves -hung up in the hall, in memorial of the strange events of this day—of -the gallantry of the Lady Isabelle, who so nobly rescued Sir John -Assueton, and of the courage and fidelity of the attached old allounde -Flo, who so nobly died in defence of his master.” - -The bugles sounded a mot, and the elder Sir Patrick, with his son -walking by his side, moved forward at the head of the troop. The Lady -Isabelle sprang into her saddle, and Sir John Assueton, never choosing -to resign the reign he had grasped, led her palfrey as before, and -again glided into the same train of conversation with her which he had -formerly found so fascinating. The foresters, grooms, and churls who -formed the hunting suite, some on foot and others on horseback, armed -with every variety of hunting-gear, followed in the rear of march, and -in this order they returned to the Castle. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - The Freaks of Love at Hailes Castle—The Tournament at Tarnawa - announced. - - -The affliction which had so lately visited the elder Sir Patrick -Hepborne had made him avoid company, and Hailes Castle had consequently -been entirely without guests ever since his lady’s death. But it must -not be imagined that the evening of the hunting day passed dully -because the board was not filled. The sweet and soothing sorrow -awakened by tender and melancholy reflections soon gave way before the -joy arising from the return of Sir Patrick the younger. In those days -letters could not pass as they do now, with the velocity of the winds, -by posts and couriers, from one part of Europe to another; and, during -Hepborne’s absence, his father had had no tidings of his son, except -occasionally through the medium of those warriors or pilgrims who, -having fought in foreign fields, or visited foreign shrines, had -chanced during their travels to see or hear of him, and who came to -Hailes Castle to receive the liberal guerdon of his hospitality for the -good news they brought. The elder Sir Patrick, therefore, had much to -ask, and the son much to answer; so that the ball of conversation was -unremittingly kept up between them. - -The Lady Isabelle was seated between her brother and his friend Sir -John Assueton, in the most provoking position; for she was thus placed, -as it were, between two magnets, so as to be equally attracted by both. -Her affection for Sir Patrick made her anxious to catch all he said, -and to gather all his adventures; whilst, on the other hand, Sir John -Assueton’s conversation, made up, as it in a great measure was, of the -praises of his friend, intermixed with many interesting notes on the -accounts of battles and passages of arms her brother was narrating to -her father, proved so seducing that she found it difficult to turn away -her ear from him. Nor were Assueton’s illustrations the less gratifying -that they often brought out the whole truth, where her brother’s -modesty induced him to sink such parts of the tale as were the most -glorious to himself. As for Assueton himself, he seemed to have become -a new man in her company. He was naturally shrewd, excessively -good-humoured, and often witty in his conversation, but he never in his -life before bestowed more of it on a lady than barely what the courtesy -of chivalry required. This night, however, he was animated and -eloquent; and the result was, that the Lady Isabelle retired to her -couch at an unusually late hour, and declared to her handmaiden, Mary -Hay, as she was undressing her, that Sir John Assueton was certainly -the most gallant, witty, and agreeable knight she had ever had the good -fortune to meet with. - -“But thou dost not think him so handsome as thy brother Sir Patrick, -Lady?” said the sly Miss Mary Hay. - -“Nay, as to that, Mary,” replied the Lady Isabelle, “they are both -handsome, yet both very diverse in their beauty. Thou knowest that one -is fair, and the other dark. My brother, Sir Patrick, and I, do take -our fair tint from our poor mother. Is it not common for fair to affect -dark, and dark fair? My father, thou seest, is dark, yet was my dear -departed mother fair as the light of day. Is it unnatural, then, that I -should esteem Sir John Assueton’s olive tint of countenance, his -speaking black eyes, his nobly-arched jet eyebrows, and the raven curls -of his finely-formed head, more than the pure red and white complexion, -the blue eyes and the fair hair of my dear brother? Nay, nay, my -brother is very handsome; but algate he be my brother, and though I -love him, as sure never sister loved brother before, yet must I tell -the truth, thou knowest, Mary; and, in good fay, I do think Sir John -Assueton by much the properer man.” - -Hepborne had been by no means blind to that of which neither his sister -nor Sir John Assueton were, as yet, themselves aware. He saw the change -on Assueton with extreme delight. He enjoyed the idea of this -woman-hater being at last himself enslaved, and, above all, he rejoiced -that the enslaver should be his sister, the Lady Isabelle. He longed to -attack him on the subject; but, lest he might scare him away from the -toils before he was fairly and irrecoverably meshed, he resolved to -appear to shut his eyes to his friend’s incipient disease. As he went -with Sir John, therefore, to see him comfortably accommodated for the -night, he only indulged himself in a remark, natural enough in itself, -upon his wounded arm. - -“Assueton,” said he, “wilt thou not have thine arm dressed by some -cunning leech ere thou goest to rest? Our chaplain is no mean -proficient in leechcraft; better take that rag of a kerchief away, and -have it properly bound up.” - -“Nay, nay,” cried Assueton, hastily, “I thank thee, my good friend; but -’tis very well as it is. Thy sister, the Lady Isabelle, bound it up -with exceeding care; and in these cases I have remarked that there is -no salve equal in virtue to the bloody goutes of the wound itself. Good -night, and St. Andrew be with thee.” - -“And may St. Baldrid, our tutelary saint, be with you,” replied -Hepborne, as he shut the door. “Poor Assueton,” said he then to -himself, with a smile, “my sister has cured one wound for him, only to -inflict another, which he will find it more difficult to salve.” - -The next day being devoted to the gay amusement of hawking, was yet -more decisive of the fate of poor Sir John Assueton. He rode by the -side of the Lady Isabelle; and as the nature of the sport precluded the -possibility of her using that attention necessary to make her palfrey -avoid the obstacles lying in its way, or to keep it up when it -stumbled, Sir John found a ready excuse for again acting the part of -her knight; and, one-armed as he had been rendered by the bites of the -wolf, he ran all manner of risks of his own neck to save hers. Hepborne -was more occupied in regarding them than in the sport they were -following. He rode after the pair, enjoying all he saw; for in the -malicious pleasure he took in perceiving Assueton getting deeper and -deeper entangled in the snares of love, and its fever mounting higher -and higher into his brain, he almost forgot the toils he had himself -been caught in, and found a palliative for his own heart’s disease, -producing a temporary relaxation of its intensity. Thus then they rode. -When the game was on wing, the fair Isabelle galloped fearlessly on, -with her eyes sometimes following the flight of the falcon after its -quarry, but much oftener with her head turned towards Sir John -Assueton, whilst Sir John’s looks were fixed now with anxiety on the -ground, to ensure safe riding to the lady, and now thrown with -love-sick gaze of tenderness into the heaven of her eyes, for his had -no wish to soar higher. - -In the evening, the Lady Isabelle and her knight were again left to -themselves by the father and son. Her brother’s tales were less -interesting to her than they had been the previous night, and though -Assueton talked less of his friend, yet she by no means found his -conversation duller on that account; nay, she even listened much more -intensely to it than before. The younger Sir Patrick, towards the close -of the night, begged of his sister to sit down to her harp, and when -she did so, Assueton hung over her with a rapture sufficiently marking -the strength of his new-born passion, and the little art he had in -concealing it. - -Having been asked by her brother to sing, she accompanied her voice in -the following canzonette:— - - - Why was celestial Music given, - But of enchanting love to sing! - Ethereal flame, that first from heaven - Angels to this earth did bring. - - What state was man’s till he received - The genial blessing from the sky? - What though in Paradise he lived? - Yet still he pined, and knew not why. - - But when his beauteous partner came, - The scene, that dreary was and wild, - Grew lovely as he felt the flame, - And the luxuriant garden smiled. - - Oh, Love!—of man thou second soul, - What but a clod of earth is he - Who never yet thy flame did thole, - Who never felt thy witchery! - - -Assueton’s applauses were more energetic, and his approbation more -eloquently expressed at the conclusion of this song, than Hepborne had -ever heard them on any former occasion. Though the theme was wont to be -so very unpalatable to him, yet he besought the Lady Isabelle again and -again to repeat it, and it seemed to give him new and increased -pleasure every time he heard it. At last the hour for retiring came, -and Hepborne inwardly rejoiced to observe a certain trembling in the -voices of both Assueton and his sister, as they touched each other’s -hands to say good night. - -Sir Patrick Hepborne the younger had no sooner accompanied his friend -to his apartment than Assueton seated himself near the hearth, and put -up his feet against the wall, where he fell into a kind of listless -dream. Hepborne took a seat on the opposite side of the fire-place, -and, after he had sat silently watching him for some time, in secret -enjoyment of the state he beheld him reduced to, the following -conversation took place between them:— - -“Well, Assueton,” said Hepborne, first breaking silence, and assuming -as melancholy a tone as the humour he was in would permit him to use, -“Well, mon bel ami, so we must part to-morrow? The thought is most -distressing. My heart would have urged me to press thee to a farther -sojourn with us at Hailes; but thou wert too determined, and urged too -many and too strong reasons for thy return home, when we last talked of -the matter, to leave room for hope that I might succeed in shaking thy -purpose. I see that of very needscost thou must go; nay, in good sooth, -thy motives for departure are of a nature that, feeling as I have -myself felt, I should inwardly blame thee were thy good nature to lead -thee to yield to my importunate entreaty. Yea, albeit thou shouldst -consent to stay with me, I should verily tine half the jovisaunce that -mought otherwise spring from thy good company; since, from the -all-perfect being I now hold thee to be, thou wouldst dwindle in my -esteem, and be agrutched of half the attraction thou dost possess in -mine eyes, by appearing to lose some deal of those strong feelings of -attachment for thy home, and for the scenes and friends of thy boyhood, -which thou hast hitherto so eminently displayed, and in which, I am led -to think, we do so much resemble each other. Having now had mine -somewhat satisfied, perdie, I could almost wish to boune me with thee, -were it only to participate in thine—were it only to see thee approach -the wide domains and the ancient castle of thine ancestors—to see thee -meet thy beloved mother, now so long widowed, and panting to press her -only child, her long absent son, to her bosom—to watch how thou mayst -encounter with old friends—to behold the hearty shakes of loving -souvenaunce, given by thy hand to those with whom thou hast wrestled, -or held mimic tourney when thou wert yet but a stripling. Oh, ’twould -be as a prolonging of mine own feelings of like sort to witness those -that might arise to thee. But the journey is too long for me to take as -yet; and besides, I cannot yet so soon leave my father and Isabelle. -Moreover, thou knowest that my heart yet acheth severely from the -wounds which it took at Norham. Heigh ho! But, gramercy, forgive me, I -entreat thee, for touching unwittingly on the (by thee) hated subject -of love, the which, I well know, is ever wont to erke thee.” - -During this long address, Assueton remained with his heels up against -the wall, his toes all the time beating that species of march that in -more modern times has been called the devil’s tattoo, and with his eyes -firmly fixed on the embers consuming on the hearth. - -“I hope, however, my dearest friend,” continued Hepborne, “that thou -mayest yet be able to return to me at Hailes. Thine affairs (though, -perdie, thou must have much to settle after such a succession, and so -long an absence), thine affairs, I say, cannot at the worst detain thee -at home longer than a matter of twelve months or so; after which (that -is, when thou shalt have visited thy friends in divers other parts) I -may hope perchance to see thee again return hither.” - -Assueton shifted his position two or three times during this second -speech of Hepborne’s, always again commencing his devil’s tattoo on the -wall; but when his friend ceased, he made no other reply than— - -“Umph! Ay, ay, my dear Hepborne, thou shalt see me.” - -“My dear Assueton,” continued Hepborne, “that is but a loose and vague -reply, I ween. But, by St. Genevieve, I guess how it is. Thou hast -thoughts (though as yet thou wouldst fain not effunde them to me) of -returning to France in short space; and thou wouldst keep them sicker -in thy breast for a time, lest peradventure I should grieve too deeply -at thy so speedy abandonment of thy country.” - -“Nay, nay,” said Assueton, hastily, “trust me I have no such emprize in -head.” - -“What then can make thee so little satisfactory in thy reply?” said -Hepborne; “surely ’tis but a small matter to grant me; ’tis but a small -boon to ask of thee to return to Hailes Castle some twelve months or -year and half hence? I doubt me sore that thou hast been but half -pleased with thy visit here; and truly, when I think on’t, it has been -but a dull one.” - -“Nay,” replied Assueton, eagerly interrupting him, “I do assure thee, -Hepborne, thou art grievously mistaken in so supposing. On the -contrary, my hours never passed so happily as they have done here; -nor,” added he, with a deep sigh, “so swiftly, so very swiftly.” - -“’Tis all well in thee, Assueton,” said Hepborne, “’tis all well in -thee to use thy courtesy to say so; yet, I wot well, ’tis but to please -thy friend. Thou knowest that my father hath been so voracious in his -inquiries into the history of my life during my stay in France, that he -hath never suffered me to leave him, so that thou hadst neither his -good company nor my poor converse to cheer thee, but, much to my -distress, thou hast been left to be erked by the silly prattle and -trifling speech of that foolish pusel my sister Isabelle, worn out by -the which, ’tis no marvel thou shouldst now be thus moody, as I see -thou art; and to rid thyself of this dreriment of thine, it is natural -enow that thou shouldst be right glad to escape hence, yea, and sore -afraid ever to return here. But fear thee not, my friend; she shall not -stand long in thy way. She hath had many offers of espousal, on the -which my father and I are to sit in counsel anon, that is, when other -weightier matters are despatched; and as soon as we shall have time to -choose a fitting match for the maid, she shall forthwith be tochered -off. She cannot, then, remain much longer at Hailes than some three or -four weeks at farthest, to frighten from its hall my best and dearest -friend. So that if she be the hindrance to thy return thither, make no -account of her, and promise me at once that thou wilt come. By St. -Baldrid, we shall have a houseful of jolly stalwart knights to meet -thee there; and our talk shall be of deeds of arms, and tourneys, till -thy heart be fully contented.” - -This speech of Hepborne’s very much moved Assueton. He shifted his legs -down from the wall and up again at least a dozen times, and his tattoo -now became so rapid, that it would have troubled the legions for whom -the march may have been originally composed to have kept their feet -trotting in time to its measure. - -“Nay, verily, Hepborne,” said he seriously, “thou dost thy sister but -scrimp justice, methinks. The Lady Isabelle was anything but tiresome -to me; nay, if I may adventure to say so much, she hath sense and -judgment greatly beyond what might be looked for from her age and sex; -there is something most truly pleasing in her converse—something, I -would say, much superior to anything I have heretofore chanced to -encounter in woman. But, methinks thou art rather hasty in thy disposal -of her. The damosel is young enow, meseems, to be thrust forth of her -father’s boure, perhaps to take upon her the weight of formal state -that appertaineth to the Madame of some stiff and stern vavesoure. -Perdie, I cannot think with patience of her being so bestowed already; -’twould be cruel, methinks—nay, ’twould, in good verity, be most unlike -thee, Hepborne, to throw thy peerless sister away on some harsh lord, -or silly gnoffe, merely to rid thy father’s castle of her for thine own -convenience. Fie on thee; I weened not thou couldst have even thought -of anything so selfish.” - -“Nay, be not angry, Assueton,” said Hepborne, “thou knowest that they -have all a wish to wed them. But ’tis somewhat strange, methinks, to -hear thee talk so; the poppet seems to have made more impression on -thee than ever before was made by woman. What means this warmth? or why -shouldst thou step forth to be her knight?” - -“’Tis the part of a good knight,” replied Assueton hastily, “to aid and -succour all damosels in distress.” - -“Nay, but not against a distress of the knight’s own fancying, yea, and -contrary to the wishes of the damosel herself,” replied Hepborne. -“What! wouldst thou throw down the gauntlet of defiance against thy -friend, only for being willing to give his sister the man of her own -heart?” - -“And hath she then such?” exclaimed Assueton, his face suddenly -becoming the very emblem of woe-begone anxiety. - -“Yea, in good truth hath she, Assueton,” replied Sir Patrick. “I did -but suspect the truth last night, but this day I have been confirmed in -it.” - -“Then am I the most wretched of knights,” cried Assueton, at once -forgetting all his guards; and rising hastily from his seat, he struck -his breast, and paced the room in a frenzy of despair. - -Hepborne could carry on the farce no longer. He burst into a fit of -laughter that seemed to threaten his immediate dissolution; then threw -himself on the couch, that he might give full way to it without fear of -falling on the floor, and there he tossed to and fro with the -reiterated convulsions it occasioned him. Assueton stood in mute -astonishment for some moments, but at last he began to perceive that -his friend had discovered his weakness, and that he had been all this -time playing on him. He resumed his seat and position at the hearth, -and returned again to his tattoo. - -“So,” said Hepborne—“so—ha, ha, ha!—so!—ha, ha!—so!—Oh, I shall never -find breath to speak—ha, ha, ha! So, Sir John Assueton, the -woman-hater, the knight of Adamant, he who was wont to be known in -France by the surnoms of the Knight sans Amour, and the Chevalier cœur -caillou—who, rather than submit to talk to a woman, would hie him to -the stable, to hold grave converse with his horse—who railed roundly at -every unfortunate man that, following the ensample of his great -ancestor Adam, did but submit himself to the yoke of love—who could not -bear to hear the very name of love—who sickened when it was -mentioned—who had an absolute antipathy to it, as some, they knew not -why, have to cats or cheese—who, though he liked music to admiration, -would avoid the place if love but chanced to be the minstrel’s -theme;—he, Sir John Assueton, is at last enslaved, has his wounds bound -up by a woman, and wears her scarf—plays the lady’s knight, and leads -her palfrey rein—rownes soft things in her ear, hangs o’er her harp, -and drinks in the sweet love-verses she sings to him!” - -“Nay, nay, Hepborne, my dearest friend,” said Assueton, starting up, -and clasping his hands together in an imploring attitude, “I confess, I -confess; but sith I do confess, have mercy on me, I entreat thee; ’tis -cruel to sport with my sufferings, since thou knowest, alas, too surely -that I must love in vain.” - -“But, pr’ythee, ‘why shouldst thou afflict thyself, and peak and pine -for a silly girl?’” said Hepborne ironically, bringing up against him -some of the very expressions he had used to himself at Norham. “‘A -knight of thy prowess in the field may have a thousand baubles as fair -for the mere picking up; let it not erke thee that this trifle is -beyond thy reach.’” And then rising, and striding gravely up to -Assueton, and shaking his head solemnly—“‘Trust me, women are dangerous -flowers to pluck, and have less of the rose about them than the thorn.’ -Ha, ha, ha! Oh, ’tis exquisite—by St. Dennis, ’tis the richest treat I -ever enjoyed.” - -“Nay, but bethink thee, my dear friend,” said Assueton, with an -imploring look; “bethink thee, I beseech thee, what misery I am -enduring, and reflect how much thou art augmenting it by thy raillery. -Depardieux, I believe thou never didst suffer such pain from love as I -do now.” - -“‘No, thank my good stars,’” said Hepborne, returning to the charge, -and again assuming a burlesque solemnity of air and tone, “‘and I hope, -moreover, I never shall be so besotted: it makes a very fool of a -man.’” - -“Well, well,” said Assueton, sighing deeply, “I see thou art determined -to make my fatal disease thy sport; yet, by St. Andrew, it is but cruel -and ungenerous of thee.” - -“Grammercy, Assueton, I thought my innocent raillery could do thee no -harm,” said Hepborne; “methought that ‘thou mightst be said to have no -ears for such matters.’ But if thou in good truth hast really caught -the fever, verily I shall not desert thee, ‘my friendship for thee -shall make me listen to thy ravings;’ yea, and ‘compassion for thy -disease shall make me watch the progress of its symptoms. Never fear -that I shall be so little of a Christian knight as to abandon thee when -thy estate is so dangerous.’ But what, I pr’ythee, my friend, hath -induced this so dangerous malady?” - -“Hepborne,” replied Sir John, “thy angelic sister’s magnanimity, her -matchless beauty, her enchanting converse, and her sweet syren voice.” - -“Ay, ay,” said Hepborne roguishly; “so ’twas her voice, her warbles, -and her virelays that gave thee the coup-de-grace? Nay, it must be -soothly confessed, thou didst hang over her chair to-night in a most -proper love-like fashion, as she harped it; yet her verses ‘were silly -enough in conscience, methought’—and then, thou knowest, thou dost -‘rarely listen to music when love or follies are the theme.’” - -“Hepborne,” said Assueton gravely, and with an air of entreaty, “it was -not after this fashion that I did use thee in thine affliction at -Norham. Think, I beseech thee, that my case is not less hopeless than -thine. But who, I entreat thee, is the happy knight who is blessed by -the favouring smile of thy divine sister, of the Lady Isabelle -Hepborne, whom I now no longer blush to declare to be the most peerless -damosel presently in existence?” - -“He is a knight,” replied Hepborne, “whose peer thou shalt as rarely -meet with, I trow, as thou canst encounter the make of my sister, the -Lady Isabelle. He is a proper, tall, athletic, handsome man, of dark -hair and olive complexion, with trim moustaches and comely beard—nay, -the very man, in short, to take a woman’s eye. Though as yet but young -in age, he is old in arms, and hath already done such doughty deeds as -have made him renowned even in the very songs of the minstrels. -Moreover, he is a beloved friend of mine, and one much approved of my -father, and he shall gladly have our consent for the espousal of my -sister.” - -“Nay, then,” said Assueton, in the accents of utter hopelessness, “I am -indeed but a lost knight, and must hie me to some barren wilderness to -sigh my soul away. But lest my disease should drive me to madness, tell -me, I entreat thee, the name of this most fortunate of men, that I may -keep me from his path, lest, in my blind fury, I might destroy him in -some ill-starred contecke, and through him wrack the happiness of the -Lady Isabelle, now dearer to me than life.” - -“Thou knowest him as well as thou dost thyself, my dear Assueton,” said -Hepborne. “Trust me, he is one to whom thou dost wish much too well to -do him harm. His name is—Sir John Assueton.” - -“Nay, mock me not, Hepborne, drive me not mad with false hopes,” said -Assueton; “certes, thy raillery doth now exceed the bounds that even -friendship should permit.” - -“Grammercy,” said Hepborne, “thou dost seem to me to be mad enough -already. What! wouldst thou quarrel with me for giving thee assurance -of that thou hast most panted for? By the honour of a knight, I swear -that Isabelle loves thee. ’Tis true, I heard it not from her lips; but -I read it in her eyes, the which, let me tell thee, inexperienced in -the science, and all unlearned in the leden of love as thou art, do -ever furnish by far the best and soothest evidence on this point that -the riddle woman can yield. Never doubt me but she loves thee, -Assueton. She drank up the words thou didst rowne in her ear with a -thirst that showed the growing fever of her soul. And now,” continued -he, as he observed the happy effects of the intelligence upon the -countenance of his friend—“and now, Assueton, tell me, I pr’ythee, at -what hour in the morning shall I order thine esquire and cortege to be -ready for thy departure?” - -“Hepborne,” said Assueton, running to embrace him, “thou hast made me -the happiest of mortals. Go! nay, perdie, I shall stay at Hailes till -thou dost turn me out.” - -“But, my dearest Assueton,” cried Hepborne, smiling, “consider thy -mother, and the friends and the scenes of thy boyhood—consider what -thou——” - -“Pshaw, my dear Hepborne,” cried Sir John, interrupting him, “no more -on’t, I entreat thee. Leave me, I beseech thee, to dreams of delight. -Good night, and may the blessed Virgin and St. Andrew be thy warison, -for this ecstacy of jovinaunce thou hast poured into my soul.” - -“Good night,” said Hepborne, with a more serious air—“good night, my -dear and long-tried brother-in-arms; and good night, my yet dearer -brother by alliance, as I hope soon to call thee.” - -The meeting of the lovers on the next day was productive of more -interesting conversation than any they had yet enjoyed; and although -Assueton was, as his friend had said, a novice in the science and -language of love, yet he caught up the knowledge of both with most -marvellous expedition, and was listened to with blushing pleasure by -the lovely Isabelle. - -As the party was seated at breakfast, the sound of trumpets was heard -followed by that of the trampling of horses in the court-yard, and -immediately afterwards a herald, proudly arrayed, and followed by his -pursuivants, was ushered into the hall. - -“Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said he, “and you, Sirs Knights, I come to -announce to you and to the world, that on the tenth day of the next -month, the noble John Dunbar, Earl of Moray, will hold a splendid -meeting of arms on the mead of St. John’s; and all princes, lords, -barons, knights, and esquires, who intend to tilt at the tournament, -are hereby ordained to lodge themselves within his Castle of Tarnawa, -or in pavilions on the field, four days before the said tournament, to -make due display of their armouries, on pain of not being received at -the said tournament. And their arms shall be thus disposed: The crest -shall be placed on a plate of copper large enough to contain the whole -summit of the helmet, and the said plate shall be covered with a -mantle, whereon shall be blazoned the arms of him who bears it; and on -the said mantle at the top thereof shall the crest be placed, and -around it shall be a wreath of colours, whatsoever it shall please him. -God save King Robert!” - -The herald having in this manner formally pronounced the proclamation -entrusted to him, was kindly and honourably greeted by Sir Patrick -Hepborne, and forthwith seated at the board and hospitably entertained, -after which he arose and addressed the knight. - -“Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said he, “myself and my people, being now -refreshed, I may not waste my time here, having yet a large district to -travel over. I drink this cup of wine to thee and to thy roof-tree, -with a herald’s thanks for thy noble treatment. Say, shall the Lord of -Moray look for thy presence at the tourney? I know it would be his wish -to do thee and thine particular honour.” - -“Of that I may judge by his sending thee to Hailes,” said Sir Patrick -courteously. “But in truth I cannot go. I must leave it to thee to tell -the noble Earl how sorely grieved I am to say so; but my heart ha’ been -ill at ease of late.” - -“Thine absence will sorely grieve the noble Earl, Sir Knight,” replied -the herald, “but, natheless, I shall hope to see thy gallant son, and -the renowned Sir John Assueton, chiefest flowers in the gay garland of -Scottish knights, who shall that day assemble at St. John’s. Till then -adieu, Sirs Knights, and may God and St. Andrew be with ye all.” - -The trumpets again sounded, and the herald, being waited on by the -knights to the court-yard, mounted his richly caparisoned steed, and -rode forth from the castle, again attended by all the pomp of heraldry. - -“Assueton,” said Hepborne, with a roguish air of seriousness, as they -returned up stairs, “goest thou to this tourney?” - -“Nay, of a truth,” replied Assueton, with his eyes on the ground. “I -cannot just at present yede me so far. Besides, these wounds in my -bridle-arm do still pain me grievously, rendering me all unfit for -jousting.” - -“Then, as I am resolved to go,” said Hepborne, “I do beseech thee make -Hailes Castle thy home till my return, and play the part of son to my -dear father in mine absence.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - - Sir Patrick Hepborne’s Departure for the North—Consternation at the - Castle. - - -As the way was long, and the day of the tournament not very distant, -Sir Patrick Hepborne the younger resolved to leave Hailes Castle next -morning for the North, that he might save himself the necessity of -forced marches. He accordingly made instant preparations for his -journey; his father gave immediate orders for securing him a cortege as -should not disgrace the name he bore; and his horses, arms, and -appointments of every description were perfectly befitting his family -and rank. When the morning of his departure arrived, he took an -affectionate leave of his father and Assueton, who left the Castle with -their attendants at an early hour, for the purpose of hunting together. -The Lady Isabelle would gladly have made one of the party with her -father and her lover, but, attached as she was to Sir John Assueton, -her affection for her brother was too strong to permit her to leave the -Castle till he should be gone. That he might enjoy her society in -private till the last moment, Hepborne despatched his faithful esquire, -Mr. Mortimer Sang, at the head of his people, to wait for him at a -particular spot, which he indicated, at the distance of about a mile -from the Castle; and he also sent forward the palfrey he meant to ride, -for his noble destrier Beaufront was to be led by a groom during the -whole march. - -His fond Isabelle resolved to walk with him to the place where he was -to meet his attendants, and accordingly the brother and sister set out -together arm in arm. - -Sir Patrick resolving to probe his sister’s heart, adroitly turned the -conversation on Sir John Assueton, and, with extreme ingenuity, touched -on those agrémens and virtues which his friend evidently possessed, as -well as on a number of weak and faulty points, both in person and -manner, which he chose, for certain purposes, to feign in him, or -greatly to exaggerate. In praising the former, the Lady Isabelle very -much surpassed her brother; for, however highly he might laud his -friend, she always found something yet more powerful and eloquent to -say in his favour; but whenever Sir Patrick ventured to hint at any -thing like a fault or a blemish, the lady was instantly up in arms, and -made as brave a defence for him against her brother as she had done for -him some days before against the wolf. This light skirmishing went on -between them until they reached a knoll covered with tall oaks, whence -they beheld the party, about to take shelter in the appointed grove of -trees, on the meadow by the river’s side, at a considerable distance -below them. - -“Isabelle,” said Hepborne, taking her hand tenderly, “thou hast walked -far enough, my love; let us rest here for an instant, and then part. -Our converse hath not been vain. My just praise of Assueton, as well as -the faults I pretended to find in him, were neither of them without an -object. I wished ere I left thee to satisfy myself of the true state of -thy little heart; for I should have never forgiven myself had I -discovered that I had been mistaken, and that I had told what was not -true, when I assured Assueton, as I did last night, that thou lovest -him.” - -“Told Sir John Assueton that I love him?” exclaimed the Lady Isabelle, -blushing with mingled surprise and confusion; “how couldst thou tell -him so? and what dost thou know of my sentiments regarding him? -Heavens! what will he think of me?” - -“Why, well, passing well, my fair sister,” said Hepborne; “make thyself -easy on that score. He loves thee, believe me, as much as thou lovest -him; so I leave thee to measure the length, breadth, height, and depth -of his attachment by the dimensions of thine own. But as to knowing the -state of thy heart—tut! I could make out much more difficult cases than -it presents; for well I wot its state is apparent enough, even from the -little talk I have had with thee now, if I had never heard or seen -more. But, my dear Isabelle, after my father, thou and he are the two -beings on earth whom I do most love. Ye are both perfect in mine eyes. -I could talk to thee of Assueton’s qualities and perfections for days -together, and of virtues which as yet thou canst not have dreamt of; -but I must leave thee to the delightful task of discovering them for -thyself. All I can now say is, may heaven make ye both happy in each -other—for I must be gone. And so, my love, farewell, and may the -blessed Virgin protect thee.” - -He then threw his arms about his sister’s neck, pressed her to his -bosom, and, having kissed her repeatedly with the most tender -affection, tore himself from her, ran down the hill, and, as she -cleared her eyes from the tear-drops that swelled in them, she saw him -disappear in the shade of the clump of trees where his party was -stationed. A good deal of time seemed to be lost ere the whole were -mounted and in motion; but at last she saw them emerging from the -wood-shaw, and winding slowly, in single files, up the river-side. She -sat on the bank straining her eyes after them until they were lost in -the distant intricacies of the surface, and then turned her steps -slowly homewards, ruminating agreeably on her brother’s last words, as -well as on the events of the preceding days, which had given her a new -and more powerful interest in life than she had ever before -experienced. - -“Oh, my dear brother,” said she to herself, “thou didst indeed say -truly that I do love him; and if thou sayest as soothly that he doth -love me, then am I blessed indeed.” - -It was courtesy alone that induced Sir John Assueton to agree to Sir -Patrick Hepborne’s proposal of going that morning to the woodlands to -hunt the deer. He went with no very good will; nay, when his host -talked of it, he felt more than once inclined, as he had done with his -friend about the tournament, to plead his wounded arm as an excuse for -remaining at home with the Lady Isabelle; and, perhaps, if it had not -been for absolute shame, he might have yielded to the temptation. Hence -he had but little pleasure in the sport that day, although it was -unusually fine; and he was by no means gratified to find himself led on -by the chase to a very unusual distance. But to leave Sir Patrick was -impossible. He was therefore compelled, very much against his -inclination, to ride all day like a lifeless trunk, whilst his spirit -was hovering over the far-off towers of Hailes Castle. The deer was -killed so far from home, that it was later than ordinary before the -party returned. - -“I am surprised Isabelle is not already here to receive us,” said Sir -Patrick, as they entered the banquet hall; “I trowed she might have -been impatient for our return ere this. Gabriel,” said he to the old -seneschal, “go, I pr’ythee, to Mary Hay, and let her tell her lady that -we are come home, and that we have brought good appetites with us.” - -Gabriel went, and soon returned with Mary Hay herself, who appeared in -great agitation. - -“Where is thy lady?” demanded Sir Patrick, with an expression of -considerable anxiety. - -“My lady! my good lord,” said the terrified girl; “holy St. Baldrid! is -she not with thee then?” - -“No,” said Sir Patrick, with increasing amazement and alarm, “she went -not with us. We left her here with my son, when he rode forth in the -morning.” - -“Nay, I knew that,” said the terrified Mary Hay, “but—good angels be -about us—I weened that her pages and palfrey might have gone with thee, -and that she might ha’ been to join thee in the woods, after having -given her brother the convoy.” - -“Merciful powers! did she leave the Castle with her brother?” “Good -Heavens! hath she never been seen since morning?” exclaimed Sir Patrick -and Assueton, both in the same breath, and looking eagerly in the faces -of the people around them for something satisfactory; but no one had -seen her since morning. Some of the domestics ran out to question those -who had kept guard; but though she had been seen as she went out with -her brother, neither warder or sentinel had observed her return. -Meantime the whole Castle was searched over from garret to cellar by -Assueton, Sir Patrick, and the servants, all without success. - -The consternation and misery of the father and the lover were greater -than language can describe. Broken sentences burst from them at short -intervals, but altogether void of connection. A thousand conjectures -were hazarded, and again abandoned as impossible. Plans of search -without number were proposed, and then given up as hopeless; while all -they said, thought, or did, was without concert, and only calculated to -show their utter distraction. But matters did not long continue thus. - -“My horse, my horse!” cried the agonized and frenzied father; and “My -horse, my horse!” responded Assueton, in a state no less wild and -despairing. - -Both rushed down to the stable, and the horses which yet remained -saddled from the chase being hurriedly brought out, they struck the -spurs into their sweltering sides, and, almost without exchanging a -word, galloped furiously from the gateway, each, as if by a species of -instinct, taking a different way, and each followed by a handful of his -people, who mounted in reeking haste to attend his master. They scoured -the woodlands, lawns, and alleys, from side to side, and all around; -they beat through the shaws and copses, and hollowed and shouted to the -very cracking of their voices. By and by, to those who listened from -the walls, their circles appeared to become wider, and their shouts -were no longer heard. Forth rushed, one by one, as they could horse -them in haste, or gird themselves for running, grooms, lacqueys, -spearmen, billmen, bowmen, and foresters, until none were left within -the place but the men on guard, the old, the feeble, and some of the -women. Even Mary Hay ran out into the woods, beating her breast, -tearing her hair, screaming like a maniac, and searching wildly among -the bushes, even less rationally than those who had gone before her. - -Sir Patrick, as he rode, began, in the midst of his affliction, to -collect his scattered ideas, and, calling to mind what they had told -him of Lady Isabelle having gone to convoy her brother, he immediately -halted from the unprofitable search he was pursuing, and turned his -horse’s head towards that direction which they must have necessarily -taken. He rode on as far as the knoll where the brother and sister had -bid adieu to each other, and there being a cluster of cottages at the -bottom of the hill, he made towards one of them himself, and sent his -attendants to all the others in search of information. From several of -the churls, and from their wives, he learned that his son had been seen -taking an affectionate leave of a lady whom they now supposed to have -been the Lady Isabelle, among the oaks on the knoll, and that he had -afterwards joined his party, waiting for him under the trees by the -river’s side, whilst the lady seemed to turn back, as if to take the -way to the Castle. With this new scent, Sir Patrick made his panting -horse breast the hill, and, assisted by his men, beat the ground in -close traverse, backwards and forwards, from one side to another, with -so great care and minuteness that the smallest object could not have -escaped their observation. They tried all the by-routes that might have -been taken, but all without success; though they spent so much time in -the search that darkness had already begun to descend over the earth -ere they were compelled to desist from it as hopeless. - -They returned towards the Castle, still catching at the frail chance, -as they hurried thither, that though they had been unsuccessful, some -one else might have been more fortunate, and that probably the Lady -Isabelle had been already brought back in safety. But unhappily the -guards, who crowded round them at the gate, and to whom both master and -men all at once opened in accents of loud inquiry, had no such -heart-healing tidings to give them. They obtained such intelligence, -however, as had awakened a spark of hope. Sir John Assueton had -returned a short time before Sir Patrick, with the horse he had ridden -so exhausted that the wretched animal had dropped to the ground, and -died instantly after his rider had quitted the saddle. He had called -loudly for fresh horses and a party of spearmen, and had then rushed -into the Castle to arm himself in haste; and a number of those who had -gone to search independently having fortunately by this time come in -one by one, some fifteen or twenty bowmen, spearmen, and billmen had -been hastily got together, and provided with brisk and still unbreathed -horses. Without taking time, however, to give the particulars of what -he had gathered, or to say whither he was bound, Sir John had merely -called out to the guard, as he was mounting, to tell Sir Patrick, if he -should return before him, that he had heard some tidings of the Lady -Isabelle, and that he would bring her safely back, or perish in the -attempt; and after having said so, he had given the word to his men and -scoured off at the head of them in a southern direction. - -The miserable father was more than ever perplexed by this information. -From the preparations Sir John had so effectually though hastily made, -it was evident that the scene of the enterprise he went on was distant; -and that it was not without doubt or danger, appeared from the few -words he had let fall. Could Sir Patrick have had any guess whither to -go, he would have instantly armed himself, and such men as he could -have got together, to follow and aid Sir John Assueton; but such a -chase was evidently more wild and hopeless than the fruitless search he -had just returned from; and the pitchy darkness which by this time -prevailed was in itself an insurmountable obstacle to his discovering -the route that Sir John had taken. He was compelled, therefore, most -unwillingly and most sorrowfully, to give up all idea of further -exertion for the present; but he resolved to start in the morning long -ere the first lark had arisen from its nest, and, if he should hear -nothing before then that might change his determination, to ride -towards England. He accordingly gave orders to his esquires to have a -body of armed horsemen ready equipped to accompany him, an hour before -the first streak of red should tinge the eastern welkin. - -Old Gabriel Lindsay, his dim eyes filled with tears, and altogether -unable to take comfort to himself, came to make the vain attempt to -administer it to his master, and to try to persuade him to take some -rest. But all the efforts of the venerable seneschal were ineffectual, -and the heartbroken father continued to pace the hall with agitated -steps among his people, despatching them off by turns, and often -running down to the gate, or to the ramparts, whenever his ear caught, -or fancied it caught, a sound that might have indicated Assueton’s -return. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - - The Pursuit—Surprising the Camp. - - -But it is now time to state the circumstances of Assueton’s search, as -well as the cause of his abrupt departure. If Sir Patrick, on first -starting from the Castle, had been so little master of himself as to -lose time by galloping over ground where it was next to impossible his -daughter could be found, it was not at all likely that Sir John and his -people, strangers as they were to the neighbourhood, could make a -better selection. But it not unfrequently happens that chance, or -(which is a much better word for it) Providence, does more than human -prudence in such cases. After making two or three wild and rapid -circles through the woods in the immediate vicinity of the Castle, like -a stone whirled round in a sling, he flew off at a tangent southwards, -and accidentally hit upon a solitary cottage about a couple or more -miles from the Castle, where he learned that a small body of English -spearmen had halted that morning, and that the leader had made a number -of inquiries about the late and future motions of his friend the -younger Sir Patrick Hepborne, and himself. These were well enough -known, for the arrival of their young lord had excited universal joy -among the population of his father’s estate; the coming of the herald, -with Hepborne’s departure, were also matters too interesting to escape -circulation; and the churl of the cottage had told, without -reservation, all the circumstances to the strangers. He also learned -that the party had gone on to reconnoitre the Castle; and that -afterwards, as the rustic was making faggots at some distance from his -dwelling, he had seen them sweeping by towards England. Assueton could -not elicit from the peasant whether it had appeared to him that the -Lady Isabelle was with them, because the man had had but an indistinct -view of them as they rode through the woodlands; but he and his people -were agreed that these must have been the perpetrators of the outrage. -His judgment, now that it had a defined object, began to come into full -play. He saw that his own horse and the horses of his attendants were -too much spent to enable him to pursue on the spur of the moment, and, -had it not been so, that it would be vain to go on such an expedition -so slenderly accoutred and accompanied. He therefore galloped back to -the Castle as hard as the exhausted animal could carry him, followed at -a distance by his straggling men; and there he made those rapid -preparations and that hasty outset which we have already noticed. - -The night became extremely dark before Assueton had gone many miles; -but, luckily for him, Robert Lindsay, the head forester, happened to be -one of his company, for without him, or some other guide equally well -acquainted with the country he had to travel over, his expedition must -have been rendered abortive. Even as it was, he found difficulty enough -in threading the mazes of the Lammermoors; and although Lindsay knew -every knoll, stone, bog, flow, and rivulet that diversified their -surface, they made divers deviations from the proper line, and were -much longer in crossing the ridge than they should have been if -favoured by the light of the moon. Towards morning they judged it -prudent to halt on the brow of the hills, ere they began to descend -into the lower and more level country, that they might make -observations by the first light, and determine both as to where they -were and as to their future movements. - -As objects below them began to grow somewhat distinct, they found that -they had posted themselves immediately over the hollow mouth of a glen, -opening on the flat country, where a rivulet wound through some green -meadows; and they soon began to descry several tents, pitched together -in a cluster, with a number of horses picquetted around them. - -“By’r Lady,” said Assueton, “yonder lie the ravishers. Let’s down upon -them, my brave men, ere they have time to be alarmed and fly.” - -He gave his horse the spur, and galloped down the slope at a fearful -pace, followed by his party, and having gained the level, they charged -towards the little encampment with the swiftness of the wind. The -morning’s mist that hung on the side of the hill, and the imperfect -grey light, had prevented the sentinels who were on the watch from -seeing the horsemen approaching until they had descended; but they no -sooner observed them coming on at the pas de charge, than the alarm was -given and a general commotion took place among them. Out they came -pouring from the tents to the number of forty or fifty; and there was -such a hasty putting on of morrions and skull-caps, and seizing of -weapons, and loosing of halters, and mounting of the few that had time -to get on horseback, and such a clamouring and shouting, and so much -confusion, as assured Assueton an easy victory, though their numbers -were so much greater than his. He came on them at the head of his small -body like a whirlwind, and before half of them had time to turn out, he -was already within a hundred yards of their position. A few of them, -armed with spears, had formed in line before the tents, apparently with -the resolution of standing his charge, and at the head of these was an -old man, hastily armed in a cuirass. He stood boldly planted with a -lance in his hand, though his head was bare, and his white hairs hung -loosely about his determined countenance. Sir John Assueton was on the -very eve of bearing him and his little phalanx down before the -irresistible fury of his onset, when he suddenly pulled up his reins, -and halted his men. - -“Sir Walter de Selby!” exclaimed he with astonishment, and raising his -visor, that he might the better behold him. - -“Sir John Assueton!” cried Sir Walter, “I crave truce and parley.” - -“Thou hast it, Sir Walter,” said Assueton, “but only on one condition, -that I see not any one attempt to escape hence, or stir from the -position he is now in, until all matters be explained betwixt us. -Pledge me thine honour that this shall be so, and I shall parley with -thee in friendship, till I shall see just cause for other acting. But, -by the Rood of St. Andrew, if a single knave shall seek to steal him -away, or to quit the spot of earth that now bears him, I will put every -man to death, saving thee only, whose white hairs and recent -hospitality are pledges for thy security. Advance, Sir Walter; I swear -by my knighthood that thy person shall take no hurt from my hands, or -from the hands of any of my people.” - -“Thou comest, doubtless,” said Sir Walter, “to seek after the Lady -Isabelle Hepborne, the fair sister of thy friend Sir Patrick Hepborne.” - -“I do,” said Sir John Assueton, eagerly; “and, by the blessed Virgin, -an she be not immediately delivered up scathless into my custody, I -will put every man but thyself to instant death. Shame, foul shame on -thee, Sir Walter, to be the leader in a foray so disgraceful as this. -Is this thy requital to Sir Patrick Hepborne for——? But, hold—I will -not in my friend’s name cast in thy teeth what he himself would scorn -to throw at thee.” - -“Nay, Sir John Assueton, judge not so hastily, I entreat thee. What -didst thou see in my behaviour at Norham that should lead thee to -suspect me of the foul deed thou art now so ready to charge me withal? -Were I capable of any such, perdie, thou mightest well pour out all -this wrath and wrekery on this old head of mine. Listen to me, I -beseech thee, with temper, and thou shalt soon know that I have had no -hand in this unknightly outrage, the which nobody can more deplore than -I do. It was Sir Miers de Willoughby who carried off the lady—God pity -me for being related to one who could so disgrace me! But on him be the -sin and the shame of the act.” - -“Nay, Sir Knight,” cried Assueton, hastily, “seeing that he did it in -thy company, thou canst not, methinks, shake thyself free of a share of -both. But where is the recreant, that I may forthwith chastise him? And -where is the lady? By all the saints in the kalendar, if she is not -instantly produced, I will make every man in thy troop breakfast upon -cold steel.” - -“As God is my judge, Sir Knight,” said Sir Walter, “as God is my judge, -mine own afflictions weigh not more heavily on my old heart at this -moment than does the thought that I have been in some sort, though -innocently, the occasion of this outrage having been done against the -sister of the very knight for whom, of all others, gratitude would make -me think it matter of joy to sacrifice this hoary head to do him -service. There are some honourable gentlemen here present who can vouch -for me that, forgetful of mine own bereavement, and the direful -consequences that may follow it, I had resolved to abandon my own -quest, and to go forward this morning to Hailes Castle to inform Sir -Patrick Hepborne in person of all I know of this ill-starred and wicked -transaction; and if thou wilt but listen to me, I shall tell it thee in -as few words as may be.” - -“But the lady, Sir Knight, the lady?” cried Assueton, in a frenzy; -“produce the lady instantly, else the parley holds not longer.” - -“By mine honour as a knight,” cried the old man, “she is not here.” - -“Not here!” exclaimed Sir John Assueton, “not here! What, hast thou -sent her forward to Norham? By the blessed bones of my ancestors,” said -he, digging his spurs through mere rage into his horse’s sides, and -checking him again, till he sprang into the air with the pain, “I shall -not leave a stone of it together. Its blaze shall serve to light up the -Border to-night in such fashion that every crone on Tweedside shall see -to go to bed by it.” - -“She is not at Norham, Sir Knight,” said Sir Walter, calmly; “she is -not in my keeping, I most solemnly protest unto thee.” - -“Where is she then, in the name of St. Giles?” cried Assueton. “Tell me -instantly, that I may fly to her rescue. Trifle no more with me, old -man; thou dost wear out the precious minutes. Depardieux, my patience -is none of the strongest e’en now; it won’t hold out much longer, I -tell thee, for I am mad, stark mad; so tell me at once where she is, or -my rage may overcome my better feelings.” - -“Nay, Sir John Assueton,” said Sir Walter de Selby, with a forbearance -and temper that, old as he was, he could never have exercised had it -not been for the feeling of what he owed to Sir Patrick Hepborne and -the consciousness that present appearances warranted the suspicion of -his having been accessory to the outrage committed against the Lady -Isabelle; “I beseech thee, Sir John Assueton, command thyself so far as -to listen to me for but a very few minutes; hadst thou done so earlier, -thou hadst ere this known everything. Interrupt me not, then, I implore -thee, and thou shalt be the sooner satisfied. This is now the third -morning since—unfortunate father that I am—I discovered the sad malure -which hath befallen me, and that I was bereft of my daughter, the Lady -Eleanore, who had been mysteriously carried off during the night. -Certain circumstances———” - -“Nay, but, Sir Knight,” said Assueton, interrupting him, “what is thy -daughter to me? What is she to the Lady Isabelle Hepborne? Ay, indeed, -wretch that I am, what is she in any way to the point?” - -Sir Walter de Selby went on without noticing this fresh interruption. - -“Certain circumstances led some of the people about me to believe that -thy friend, Sir Patrick, had had some hand in the rapt, and that he, or -some of his people, had returned at night, and, by some unexampled -tapinage, found means unaccountable to withdraw my daughter from the -Castle. In the frenzy I was thrown into by mine affliction, I was -easily induced to believe anything that was suggested to me; and, -getting together my people in a haste, I———” - -“So,” cried Assueton, “I see how it is; a vile thrust of vengeance led -thee to make captive of the Lady Isabelle. Oh, base and unworthy -knight!” - -“Nay, indeed, not so,” said Sir Walter, eager to exculpate himself; “I -have already vowed I had no hand in anything so base. ’Tis true, I set -out with the mad intent of besieging Hailes Castle, and demanding the -restoration of my daughter. To this I was much encouraged by Sir Miers -de Willoughby, who happened to be at Norham at the time, and who -offered to accompany me. I got no farther than this place that night; -and having had time to reflect by the way on the nature of the -enterprise I was boune on, as well as on the great improbability of so -foul suspicion being verified against a knight of thy friend Sir -Patrick’s breeding and courtesy, I resolved to proceed with the utmost -caution, lest I should even give cause of offence where no offence had -been rendered. As the most prudent measure I could adopt, and as that -least likely to excite alarm, I resolved to pitch my little camp in -this retired spot, and to send forward Sir Miers de Willoughby, who -readily volunteered the duty, towards Hailes Castle, to make such -inquiry of the peasants as might satisfy me of the truth or falsehood -of my suspicions; and this, thou must grant me, Sir John Assueton, was -as much delicacy as could be observed by me, in the anguished and -bleeding state of my heart for the loss of my only child, and the -impatience which I did naturally feel to gain tidings of her.” Here the -old man’s voice was for some moments choked by his tears; and Sir John -Assueton was so much moved by them that he spake not a word. Sir Walter -proceeded— - -“De Willoughby returned here last night about sunset. He came to my -tent alone, and he did tell me that, from all he could learn, he -believed that my daughter had not been carried thither, either by Sir -Patrick or any other person. ‘But,’ added he, ‘be Sir Patrick Hepborne -guilty or innocent of this outrage against thee, I have made a capture -that will be either paying off an old score, or scoring the first item -of a new account against these Scots, for I have carried off the Lady -Isabelle Hepborne.’ Struck with horror, and burning with rage to hear -him tell this, I insisted on her being instantly brought to my tent, -that I might forthwith calm her mind, and take immediate steps to -return her in safety, with honourable escort, to her father. ‘Give -thyself no trouble about her,’ said the libertine, treating all I said -with contempt, ‘for ere this she bounes her over the Border, on a -palfrey led by my people.’ I was thunderstruck,” continued the old man; -“and ere I had time to recover myself so far as to be able to speak or -act, de Willoughby sprang to the door of the tent, and I heard the -clatter of his horse’s heels as he galloped off. I was infuriated; I -felt that he had basely made me the scape-goat to his own caitiff -plans, which I now began to suspect were not of recent hatching. I -despatched parties in every direction after him, but all of them -returned, one by one, without having gained even the least intelligence -of him. And all this is true, on the word of an old knight. God wot how -well I do know to feel for the father of the damosel, sith I do suffer -the same affliction myself.” - -The old knight was overpowered by his emotions; and Assueton, who had -been at length prevailed on to hear his tale to an end, gave way at the -conclusion of it to a paroxysm of rage and grief, which might have well -warranted the bystanders in believing he was really bereft of reason. -He threw himself from his horse to the ground, in despair. Roger -Riddel, his esquire, a quiet, temperate, and, generally, a very silent -man, did all he could to soothe his master; and even old Sir Walter de -Selby, sorrowful as he himself was, seemed to forget his wretchedness -in endeavouring to assuage that which so unmanned the Scottish knight. - -After giving way for some time to ineffectual ravings, the offspring of -intense feeling, and having then vented his rage in threats against Sir -Miers de Willoughby, Assueton began by degrees to become more calm, and -seeing the necessity of exerting his cool judgment, that he might -determine how to act, he was at length persuaded by Sir Walter de Selby -to go into his tent for a short time, till the horses and men could be -refreshed. Sir Walter had no disposition to screen his unworthy -relative from the wrath with which Assueton threatened him; or, if he -had, he conceived himself bound to make it give way to a sense of -justice. He therefore readily answered the Scottish knight’s hasty -questions, and told him that it was more than likely that the lady had -been carried to a certain castle belonging to de Willoughby, situated -about the Cheviot hills. - -Assueton’s impatience brooked no longer delay. Accordingly, with a soul -agonized by the passions of love, grief, rage, and revenge, he summoned -his party to horse, and set off at a furious pace on his anxious and -uncertain quest. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - - Norham Castle again—The Ancient’s Divination—Sir Walter - Bewitched—The Franciscan Friar to the Rescue. - - -Sir Walter de Selby, who was enduring all the bitterness of grief that -a father could suffer, whose only child, a daughter too, on whose -disposal hung a whole legion of superstitious hopes and fears, had been -rent from him in a manner so mysterious, broke up his little camp with -as much impatience as Assueton had exhibited. But age did not admit of -his motions being so rapid as those of the younger knight. He moved, -however, with all the celerity he could exert, for he remembered the -warning flame which had appeared on the fatal shield; and the very -thought of his daughter’s disappearance, with the frightful -consequences which might result from her being thus beyond his control, -filled his heart with horror and dismay. He was also exceedingly -perplexed how the wizard, Master Ancient Haggerstone Fenwick, could -have so erred in his divination as to occasion him the fruitless and -mortifying expedition into Scotland; for Sir Walter, in the first fever -of distraction he was thrown into by the discovery of his daughter’s -disappearance, had immediately made his way to the aerial den of the -Ancient. The cunning diviner instantly recollected that he had seen Sir -Patrick Hepborne going towards the rampart, where he had reason to know -the Lady Eleanore de Selby had been walking, from which he was led to -suspect an appointment between them. He was too artful to make Sir -Walter aware of this circumstance, but, proceeding upon it, he enacted -some hasty farce of conjuration, and then with all due solemnity boldly -and confidently pronounced that Sir Patrick Hepborne had secretly -returned, and, obtaining possession of the person of the Lady Eleanore, -had carried her over the Border. - -Some time after Sir Walter de Selby had gone into Scotland, however, a -discovery was accidentally made that seemed to throw light on the -disappearance of his daughter. The mantle she usually wore had been -found by a patrole, at several miles’ distance to the south of Norham, -lying by the way-side leading towards Alnwick—a circumstance which left -no doubt remaining that she had been carried off in that direction. But -ere this could be communicated to Sir Walter on his return, his -impatience for an interview with his oracle was so great that, putting -aside all obstructions, he hastened to climb to the den of the monster -on the top of the keep. - -“What sayest thou, Master Ancient Fenwick?” said the old man, as he -entered the cap-house door, his breath gone with the steepness of the -ascent and the anxiety of his mind; “for once thy skill seemeth to have -failed thee.” - -The Ancient was seated in his usual corner, immersed in his favourite -study: a large circle was delineated on the floor, and in the centre of -it lay the Lady Eleanore’s mantle. - -“Blame, then, thine own impatience and haste,” said the Ancient. “The -signs were drawn awry, and no wonder that the calculations were -erroneous; but thou wert not gone half-a-day until I discovered the -error; and now thou shalt thyself behold it remedied. Dost see there -thy daughter’s mantle?” - -The old man instantly recognized it; and, looking at it in silence for -some moments, the feelings of a sorrowing and bereft parent came upon -him with all the strength of nature; his heart and his eyes filled, and -burst into a flood of tears. He stepped forward to lift it up and -imprint kisses upon it; but the stern and unfeeling Ancient called out, -in a harsh voice,— - -“Touch it not, on thy life, else all my mystic labours have been in -vain. Stand aloof there, and, if thou wilt, be a witness of the power I -possess in diving into secrets that are hid from other men.” - -Sir Walter obeyed. The Ancient arose and struck a light; and having -darkened the loophole window, he lighted his lamp and put it into a -corner. He then approached the circle, and squatting down, he with much -labour and difficulty drew his unwieldy limbs within its compass, and, -kneeling over the mantle, he proceeded to mutter to himself, from a -book of necromancy which he held in his hand, turning the pages over -with great rapidity, and making from time to time divers signs with his -forefinger on his face and on the floor. After this he laid his head -down on the pavement, covered it with the mantle, and continued to -mutter uncouthly, and to writhe his body until he seemed to fall into a -swoon. He lay motionless for a considerable time; but at length he -appeared to recover gradually, the writhing and the muttering -recommenced, and raising up his body with the mantle hanging over his -head and shoulders, he exposed his horrid features to view. To the -inexpressible terror of Sir Walter, the forehead blazed with the same -appalling flame which he had seen it bear on the night of his long -interview with the wizard. - -“Seek thy daughter in the South,” said the Ancient, in a hollow voice; -“seek her from Sir Rafe Piersie. Remember thy destinies. The balance -now wavers—now it turns against thee and thy destinies. If but an atom -of time be lost, they are sealed, irrecoverably sealed.” - -Quick as the lightning of heaven did the ideas shoot through the old -man’s mind, as the Ancient was solemnly pronouncing this terrific -response. He remembered that Sir Rafe Piersie had left Norham, in a -litter, the very day preceding the night his daughter had disappeared; -and it flashed upon him that some of the grooms had remained behind -their master, under pretence of one of his favourite horses having been -taken ill, and had afterwards followed him during the night. That they -must have found means to carry the Lady Eleanore off with them, was, he -thought, but too manifest. The very name of Piersie, when uttered by -the Ancient, had made Sir Walter’s blood run cold, from his -superstitious belief of the impending fate that was connected with it; -and the weight of his feelings operating on a body oppressed with -fatigue and want of sleep, and on a mind worn out with the agitation -and affliction it had undergone, became too much for nature to bear. He -grew deadly pale. He made an effort to speak, but his tongue became dry -and cleaved to the roof of his mouth, and his lips refused their -office; an indistinct, mumbling, moaning sound was all that they could -utter—his cheeks became rapidly convulsed—one corner of his mouth was -drawn up to his ear, and he fell backwards on the floor in a state of -perfect insensibility. - -Fenwick became alarmed. He started up with the ghastly look of a -newly-convicted felon, and the fear of being accused of the murder of -Sir Walter came upon him. He crept towards the knight, and raising him -up, made use of what means he could to endeavour to restore him to -life; but all his efforts were unsuccessful. Trembling from the panic -he was in, he then lifted the old knight in his arms, and with great -difficulty conveyed him down the narrow stair to his own apartment. -Horror was depicted in the faces of the domestics when they beheld the -hated but dreaded monster bearing the bulky and apparently lifeless -body of their beloved master. A wild cry of grief and apprehension -burst from them. The Ancient laid Sir Walter on the bed, and, as the -attendants stood aloof and aghast, he took up a small knife that lay -near and pierced the veins of both temples with the point of it. The -blood spouted forth, and the knight began to show faint symptoms of -life. Never negligent of any circumstance that might raise his -reputation for supernatural power, the Ancient now began to employ a -number of strange necromantic signs, and to utter a jargon of -unintelligible words in a low muttering tone, laying his hand at one -time on the face, and at another on the breast, of the semi-animate -body, that he might impress the bystanders with the idea of his magic -having restored Sir Walter to life; for, seeing the blood flow so -freely, he anticipated the immediate and perfect recovery of the -patient. But he was mistaken in the extent of his hopes. Sir Walter -opened his eyes, stared wildly about him, and moved his lips as if -endeavouring to speak; but he continued to lie on his back, altogether -motionless, and quite incapable of uttering a word. - -The dismayed Ancient shuffled out of the apartment, and hastily retired -to his lofty citadel. A murmur of disapprobation broke out among the -domestics the moment he was supposed to be beyond hearing. They crowded -about their master’s bedside, every one eager to do something. All -manner of restoratives were tried with him, but in vain. He seemed to -be perfectly unconscious of what they did, and he lay sunk in a -lethargy, from which nothing could rouse him. - -Sir Walter was the idol of his people and garrison. By degrees the -melancholy news spread through the keep of the Castle, and thence into -its courts, barracks, stables, guardhouses, and along its very -ramparts, until every soldier and sentinel in the place became aware of -the miserable condition of their beloved Governor, as well as of the -immediate share which Master Ancient Haggerstone Fenwick, the sorcerer, -had had in producing it. General lamentations arose. - -“Our good Governor is bewitched!”—“The monster Ancient hath bewitched -him!”—“The villain Fenwick drew his very blood from him to help his -sorcery!”—“What can be done?”—“What shall we do?”—“Let us send -forthwith for some holy man.”—“Let us send for the pious clerk of -Tilmouth Chapel; he hath good lore in sike cases.” - -The suggestion was approved by all, and accordingly a horseman was -instantly despatched to bring the clerk with all possible haste. The -messenger speedily returned, unaccompanied, however, by the pious -priest of Tilmouth, who chanced to be sick in bed, but who had sent -them a wayfaring Franciscan monk, of whose potent power against magic -he had largely spoken. The holy man was immediately ushered into the -Governor’s apartment. Having previously taken care to inform himself of -all the particulars of the case, from the horseman behind whom he had -been brought, he approached the bed with a solemn air and surveyed Sir -Walter for some time, as if in deep consideration of his state and -appearance, with intent to discover his malady. He looked into his -eyes, felt him carefully all over, and moved his helpless legs and arms -to and fro. Meanwhile the officers of the garrison, the attendants, and -even some of the soldiers, were awaiting anxiously in the room, about -the door, on the stairs, and on the bridge below, all eager to learn -the issue of his examination. - -“Sir Walter de Selby is bewitched,” said the Franciscan at length, “and -no human power can now restore him, so long as the wretch, whoever he -may be, who hath done this foul work on him shall be permitted to live. -If he be known, therefore, let him be forthwith seized and dragged to -the flames.” - -An indignant murmur of approbation followed this announcement, and soon -spread to those on the stairs, and from them to the soldiers in the -court-yard below. Fortified by the spiritual aid of a holy friar, the -most superstitious of them lost half of their dread of the Ancient’s -supernatural powers. - -“Burn the Ancient!” cried one.—“Burn Haggerstone Fenwick!” cried -another.—“Burn the Wizard Fenwick!” cried a third.—“Faggots -there—faggots in the court-yard!”—“Raise a pile as high as the -keep!”—“Faggots!”—“Fire!”—“Burn the Ancient!”—“Burn the Wizard!” flew -from mouth to mouth. All was instant ferment. Some ran this way, and -others that, to bring billets of wood, and to prepare the pile of -expiation; so that, in a short time, it was built up to a height -sufficient to have burnt the Ancient if his altitude had been double -what it really was. - -This being completed, the next cry was—“Seize the Ancient—seize him, -and bring him down!” But this was altogether a different matter; for -although every one most readily joined in the cry, no one seemed -disposed to lead the way in carrying the general wish into effect. The -friar assumed an air of command— - -“Let no one move,” said he, “until I shall have communed with the -wretch. I shall myself ascend to his den, and endeavour to bend his -wicked heart to undo the evil he hath wrought on the good Sir Walter. -But let some chosen and determined men be within call, for should I -find him hardened and obdurate, he must forthwith be led out to suffer -for his foul sorcery. Meanwhile let all be quiet, let no sound be -uttered, until I shall be heard to pronounce, in a loud voice, this -terrible malison, ‘Body and soul, to the flames I doom thee!’ Then let -them up without delay on him, and he shall be straightway overcome.” - -The Franciscan was listened to with the most profound deference, his -commands were implicitly obeyed, and every sound, both within and -without the Castle, was from that moment hushed. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - Raising the Devil—Delivered to the Flames. - - -The Ancient Haggerstone Fenwick had been by no means comfortable in his -thoughts after he had retreated to the solitude of his cap-house, and -had in fact anticipated in some degree the effect which would result -from the state of insensibility that Sir Walter had been thrown into. -He was aware that the very mummery he had enacted over him, when he -expected his immediate resuscitation, instead of operating, as in that -event it would have done, to raise his fame as a healing magician, -would now be the means of fixing on him the supposed crime of having -produced his malady, and strengthened it by wicked sorcery. But he by -no means expected that the irritation against him would be so speedy or -so violent in its operation as it really proved, and he perhaps trusted -for his safety from any sudden attack to the dread with which he well -knew his very name inspired every one in the garrison. - -He had crept into the farther corner of his den, where, in the present -distracted state of his mind, it did not even occur to him to -extinguish the lamp he had left burning, or to let in the daylight he -had excluded. There he sat, brooding over the unfortunate issue of his -divination, in very uneasy contemplation of the danger that threatened -him in consequence, distant though he then thought it. A coward in his -heart, he began to curse himself for having tried schemes which now -seemed likely to end so fatally for himself. He turned over a variety -of plans for securing his safety, but, after all his cogitation, flight -alone seemed to be the only one that was likely to be really available. -But then Sir Walter might recover; in which case he might still obtain -the credit of his recovery, and his ambitious schemes be yet crowned -with success. Thus the devil again tempted him; and he finally resolved -to wait patiently until night, which was by this time at hand, and then -steal quietly down to ascertain Sir Walter’s state, and act -accordingly. Should he find him worse, or even no better than when he -left him, he resolved to go secretly to the ramparts, there to undo -some of the ropes of the warlike engines that defended the walls, and -to let himself down by means of them at a part where he knew the height -would be least formidable, and so effect his escape. - -Occupied as the Ancient was with these thoughts, although he had heard -the clamours and shouts rising from below, yet, buried in the farthest -corner of his den, they came to his ear like the murmurs of a -far-distant storm; and, accustomed to the every-day noise of a crowded -garrison, they did not even strike him as at all extraordinary. - -To divert these apprehensions which he could by no means allay, he -opened one of his favourite books, and endeavoured to occupy himself in -his usual study; but his mind wandered in spite of all his exertions to -keep it fixed, and he turned the leaves, and traced the lines with his -eyes without being in the least conscious of the meaning they conveyed. -He roused himself, and began reading aloud, as if he could have talked -himself into quiet by the very sound of his own voice. He went on -without at first perceiving the particular nature of the passage he had -stumbled on; but his attention being now called to it, he was somewhat -horrified to observe that it contained the form of exorcism employed -for raising the devil in person. By some unaccountable fatality, he -went on with it, wishing all the while that he had never begun it, but -yet more strangely afraid to stop; until at length, approaching the -conclusion, he ended with these terrible words—“Sathanas, Sathanas, -Sathanas, Sathanas, Prince of Darkness, appear!” - -He stopped, and looked fearfully around him, as soon as they had passed -his lips. The door of the place slowly opened, and the head of the very -Franciscan monk who had formerly visited him, the face deeply shaded by -the projecting cowl, was thrust within the doorway. - -“I am here—what wouldst thou with me?” said he, in a deep and hollow -voice. - -The Ancient threw himself upon his knees, and drew back his body into -the corner. His teeth chattered in his head, and he was deprived of -speech. He covered his eyes with his hands, as if afraid to look upon -the object of his dread. He now verily believed that he had been -formerly visited by the Devil, and that the Arch-Fiend had again -returned to carry him away. The Franciscan crouched, and glided forward -into the middle of the place. - -“What becomes of him, lossel,” said he, in a tremendous voice, “what -becomes of him who takes the Devil’s wages, and doeth not his work? -What becomes of him who vainly tries to deceive the Devil his master? -Fool! didst thou not believe that I was the Prince of Darkness?” - -The terrified Ancient had now no doubt that he was indeed the Devil; -still he kept his hands over his eyes, and drew himself yet more up, in -dread that every succeeding moment he should feel himself clutched by -his fiery fangs. - -“Hast thou not tried to cheat me, wretch—me, who cannot but know all -things?” continued the Franciscan. - -“Oh, spare me, spare me! I confess, I confess. Avaunt thee, -Sathanas!—Spare!—Avaunt!—Spare me, Sathanas!” muttered the miserable -wretch, altogether unconscious of what he uttered. - -“Spare thee, thou vile slave!” cried the Franciscan with bitterness, “I -never spared mortal that once roused my vengeance, and thou hast roused -mine to red-hot fury. Answer me, and remember it is vain to attempt -concealment with me. Didst thou not fail of thy promise to rouse Sir -Walter de Selby to my purpose, as it affected Sir Rafe Piersie?” - -“Oh, I did, I did—Oh, spare me, spare me, Sathanas!” cried the Ancient. - -“Didst thou not rather stir him up to reject and spurn the noble -knight?” demanded the Franciscan. - -“Oh, yes, I did—Oh yes—Spare me, spare me!—Avaunt thee, Sathanas!—Spare -me—Oh, spare me!” - -“Spare thee!” cried the Franciscan, with a horrid laugh of contempt; -“spare thee! What mercy canst thou hope from me? No, thou art given to -my power, not to be spared, but to be punished. Thine acts of sorcery, -which have murdered Sir Walter de Selby, have put thee beyond the pale -of mercy, nor canst thou now look elsewhere for aid. Thou art fitting -food for hell,” continued he, with a fiend-like grin of satisfaction; -and retreating slowly out of the doorway, and raising his voice into a -shriek, that re-echoed from every projection and turret of the -building, he pronounced the last fatal words, “Body and soul, to the -flames I doom thee!” - -An instantaneous shout arose from the court-yard below, and a clamour -of many voices came rapidly up the stairs in the interior of the keep. - -It quickly swelled upon the ear, and the clattering noise of many feet -was heard approaching. Out they came on the platform of the keep, one -by one, as they could scramble forth; and as the stoutest spirits -naturally mounted first, the Franciscan was instantly surrounded by a -body of the most determined hearts in the garrison. - -“In on the servant of Sathanas,” cried he; “in on the cruel sorcerer, -who hath bewitched thine unhappy Governor, and who refuseth to sayne -again; in on the monster, tear him from his den, and drag him to the -flames. Fear him not; his supernatural powers are quenched. Behold!” -and pulling a wooden crosslet from his bosom, he held it up to their -view—“In on him, I say, and seize him.” - -The door was instantly forced open, and one or two of the boldest -entered first; then two or three more followed, to the number of half a -dozen in all, for the place could hardly contain more. The Ancient had -now become frantic from terror, and his reason so far forsook him that -he saw not or knew not the faces of those who came in on him to attack -him, though many of them were familiar to him; he was fully possessed -with the idea that a legion of devils were about to assail him, to drag -him down to eternal punishment. They sprang upon him at once by general -concert. The Ancient was an arrant coward; but a coward so -circumstanced will fight to the last, even against an infernal host; -and so he did, with the desperation of a maniac. In the interior of the -place, the scuffle was tremendous; the very walls and roof of it seemed -to heave and labour with its tumultuous contents. The keep itself shook -to its foundation, and the shrieks, groans, and curses that came from -within appalled the bystanders. - -“Pick-axes, crows, and hatchets!” cried the friar; and the implements -were brought with the utmost expedition at his command. - -“Unroof his den,” cried he again; and two or three of the stoutest -mounted forthwith on the flags of the roof, and by means of the crows -and pick-axes began to tear them up with so much expedition, that they -very soon laid the wood bare, and following up their work of -devastation with the same energy, speedily and entirely demolished the -roof, letting in the little light that yet remained of day upon the -combatants. - -The ancient Fenwick was now discovered lying on his back, his jaws wide -open, his huge tusks displayed, and his mouth covered with foam, while -his opponents were clustered over him like ants employed in -overpowering a huge beetle. All their efforts to drag him out at the -door had been quite unavailing. Though there were no weapons of edge or -point among the combatants, many severe wounds and blows had been given -and received, and blood flowed on the pavement in abundance. The -Ancient’s teeth seemed to have done him good service after his arms had -been mastered and rendered ineffectual to him, for many of his -assailants bore deep and lasting impressions of his jaws on their hands -and faces. - -“In on the savage wizard now, overwhelm and bind him,” cried the -Franciscan, with a devilish laugh of triumph. - -At his word they scaled the roofless walls, and jumped down on the -miserable wretch in such numbers that the place was literally packed. -But the more that came on him the more furiously the Ancient defended -himself, kicking, and heaving, and tossing some of them, till one of -their number, laying his hand on a huge folio, made use of his code of -necromancy against himself, and gave him a knock on the head that -stunned him, and rendered him for some time insensible. Taking -advantage of this circumstance, cords were hastily employed to bind his -arms behind him; and a set of ropes being passed under him, he was with -great difficulty hoisted from his den, and laid out at length upon the -platform of the keep. There he lay, breathing, to be sure, but in a -temporary state of perfect insensibility. - -Availing themselves of the swoon into which he had fallen, the -assailants began to hold counsel how they were to get his unwieldy and -unmanageable carcase down to the court-yard. To have attempted to carry -it by the stairs would have been hopeless; a week would have hardly -sufficed to have manœuvred it through their narrow intricacies. The -only possible mode, therefore, was to let him down by means of ropes, -over the outside walls of the keep. Accordingly strong loops were -passed around his legs and under his arm-pits; and by the united -exertions of some dozen of men, he was lifted up and projected over the -battlements. - -As they were lowering him down slowly and with great care, the wretched -Ancient, recovering from his swoon, found himself dreadfully suspended -between sky and earth; and looking upwards, and beholding the grim -faces of the men who managed the ropes scowling over the battlements, -strongly illuminated by the light of the torches they held, he was more -than ever convinced that they were demons, nor did he doubt that he was -already in the very commencement of those torments of the nether world -which he had been condemned to undergo for his iniquity. He shrieked -and kicked, and made such exertions, that the very ropes cracked, so -that he ran imminent risk of breaking them, and of tumbling headlong to -the bottom. Afraid of this, the people above began to lower him away -more quickly, and the darkness below not permitting them to see the -ground, so as to know when he had nearly reached it, his head came so -rudely in contact with it that he was again thrown into a state of -insensibility. - -The whole men of the garrison, both within and without the keep, having -now assembled around him, a white sheet was brought out by order of the -Franciscan, and he was clothed in it as with a loose robe. A black -cross was then painted on the breast, and another on the back of it, -from the charitable motive of saving his soul from the hands of the -Devil, after it should be purified from its sins by the fire his body -was destined to undergo. A parchment cap of considerable altitude, and -also ornamented with crosses, was next tied upon his head; and two long -flambeaux were bound firmly, one on each side, above his ears. He was -then carried to the pile of wood, and extended at length upon the top -of it. The torches attached to his head were lighted, and the -Franciscan, approaching the pile with a variety of ceremonies, set fire -to it with much solemnity—a grim smile of inward satisfaction lighting -up his dark and stern features as he did so. - -“Thus,” said he, “let all wizards and sorcerers perish, and thus let -their cruel enchantments end with them.” - -The anticipation of the horrific scene which was to ensue operated so -powerfully on the vulgar crowd around, that a dead silence prevailed; -and even those who, a few minutes before had shouted loudest and fought -most furiously against the Ancient, now that they beheld the wretched -victim laid upon the pile, and the fire slowly gaining strength, and -rising more and more towards him—already hearing in fancy the piercing -agony of his screams, and beholding in idea the horrible spectacle of -his half-consumed limbs writhing with the torture of the flames—stood -aloof, and, folding their sinewy arms and knitting their brows, half -averted their eyes from the painful spectacle. - -Up rose the curling smoke, until the whole summit of the broad and -lofty keep was enveloped in its murky folds; while the flames, shooting -in all directions through the crackling wood, began already to produce -an intolerable heat under the wretched and devoted man, though they had -not yet mounted so high as to catch the sheet he was wrapt in. Life -began again to return to him. He stretched himself, and turned his head -round first to the right, and then to the left; and, beholding the -dense group of soldiers on all sides of him, their eyes glaring red on -him, from the reflection of the flame that was bursting from beneath -him, and being now sensible of the intolerable heat, and half -suffocated with the gusts of smoke that blew about him, his belief that -he was in the hands of demons, and that his eternal fiery punishment -was begun, was more than ever confirmed. He bellowed, writhed, and -struggled; and his bodily strength, which was at all times enormous, -being now increased tenfold by the horrors that beset him, he made one -furious exertion, and, snapping the cords which bound his arms behind, -and which, fortunately for him, had been weaker than they otherwise -would have been, had those who tied them not believed that he was -already nearly exanimate, he sprang to his feet and rent open the front -of the white robe they had put round him. Down came the immense and -loosely-constructed pile of faggots, by the sheer force of his weight -alone, and onward he rushed, with the force and fury of an enraged -elephant, overturning all who ventured to oppose him, or who could not -get out of his way, the flambeaux blazing at his head, and his long -white robe streaming behind him, and exposing the close black frieze -dress he usually wore. The guards and sentinels at the first gate, -aware of what was going on, and conceiving it impossible for human -power to escape, after the precautions which had been taken, when they -saw the terrible figure advancing towards them, with what appeared to -them to be a couple of fiery horns on his head, abandoned their posts -and fled in terror. Those at the outer gate were no less frightened, -and retreated with equal expedition. But the drawbridge was up. Luckily -for the Ancient, however, he, like many other fortunate men, was on the -right side for his own interest on this occasion. Without hesitation he -put the enormous sole of one foot against it—down it rattled in an -instant, chains and all, and he thundered along it. - -By this time the panic-stricken soldiers of the garrison had recovered -from their alarm, and started with shouts after the fugitive, being now -again as eager to take him, and much more ready to sacrifice him when -taken, than they had even been before. On they hurried after him, -yelling like a pack of hounds, and cheered to the chase by the -revengeful and bloodthirsty Franciscan, their pursuit being directed by -the flaming torches at his head; and forward he strode down the hollow -way to the mead of Norham, and, dreading capture worse than death -itself, be darted across the flat ground, flaming like a meteor, and, -dashing at once into the foaming stream of the Tweed, began wading -across through a depth of water enough to have drowned any ordinary -man; until at length, partly by swashing and partly by swimming, during -which last operation the lights he bore on his head were extinguished, -he made his way fairly into Scotland. - -His pursuers halted in amazement. The whole time occupied in his escape -seemed to have been but as a few minutes. Fear once more fell upon -them, and they talked to one another in broken sentences and -half-smothered voices. - -“Surely,” said one, “the Devil, whose servant he was, must have aided -him.” - -“Ay, ay, that’s clear enow,” said another. - -“He was stone-dead, and came miraculously alive again,” said a third. - -“Nay,” said a fourth, “he came not alive again; ’twas but the Devil -that took possession of his dead body.” - -“In good troth thou hast hit it, Gregory,” said a fifth, with an -expression of horror; “for no one but the Devil himself could have -broken the cords that tied his hands, or kicked down the drawbridge -after such a fashion.” - -“Didst see how he walked on the water?” cried a sixth. - -“Ay,” said a seventh, “and how he vanished in the middle o’ Tweed in a -flash o’ fire that made the very water brenn again?” - -Having thus wrought themselves into a belief that the spectre they had -been following was no other than the Devil flying off with the already -exanimate body of Ancient Fenwick, they trembled at the very idea of -having pursued him; and they crept silently back to the garrison, the -blood in their veins freezing with terror, and crossing themselves from -time to time as they went. - -As for the Franciscan, he disappeared, no one knew how. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - - Sir John’s Pursuit in Quest of the Missing Lady—The Forester’s - Hunting Camp—Sir Miers de Willoughby’s Border Keep. - - -Sir John Assueton’s fury and distraction carried him on with great -rapidity, until he reached the banks of the Tweed, and his own horse, -as well as the horses of his small troop of spearmen, were right glad -to lave their smoking sides in its cool current, as he boldly swam them -to the English shore. He tarried but short time by the way, to refresh -either them or his men; and towards nightfall, found himself winding -into a green glen, thickly wooded in some parts, opening in smooth -pasture in others, and watered by one of those brisk streams that -descend into Northumberland from the Cheviot hills. - -The sight of those lofty elevations, now so near him, brought the -object of his hasty march more freshly to his mind, too much agitated -hitherto by the violence of the various passions that possessed it, to -permit him to act or think coolly. But he began now to reflect that, -although he had learned that the Castle of Burnstower, to which Sir -Miers de Willoughby was supposed to have carried off the Lady Isabelle, -lay somewhere among the intricacies of these hills, his rage and -impatience had never allowed him to inquire farther, or to advert to -the very obvious circumstance that the extent of the hilly range was so -great that he might search for many days before he could discover the -spot where it was situated. It was therefore absolutely necessary that -he should avail himself of the very first opportunity which might occur -of procuring information, both as to the Castle he was in search of, -and the owner of it, of whom he had in reality as yet learned nothing. -He rode slowly up the glen, therefore, in expectation of seeing some -cottage, where he might halt for a short time to gain intelligence, or -of meeting some peasant, from whom he might adroitly gather the -information he wanted, without exciting suspicion as to the nature of -his errand. - -Fortune seemed to be so far favourable to him, that he had not ridden -any great distance ere he descried a forester, standing under a -wide-spreading oak, by the side of a glade, where the glen was -narrowest. He had a cross-bow in his hand, and appeared to be on the -watch for deer. - -“Ho, forester,” cried Assueton to him, “methinks thou hast chosen a -likely pass here for the game; hast thou sped to-day?” - -“Not so far amiss as to that,” said the forester, carelessly leaving -his stand, and lounging towards the party, as if to reconnoitre them. - -“Dost thou hunt alone, my good fellow,” said the knight. - -“N—nay,” said the forester, with hesitation; “there be more of us in -company a short way off.” - -“Hast thou any cottage or place of shelter hereabouts, where hungry -travellers might have a mouthful of food, with provender, and an hour’s -rest for our weary beasts?” demanded Assueton. “Here’s money for thee.” - -“As to a cottage like,” replied the forester, “I trow there be not many -of them in these wilds; but an thou wilt yede thee wi’ me, thou shalt -share the supper my comrades must be cooking ere this time; and as for -thy beasts, they canna be muckle to dole for, where the grass grows -aneath their feet. Thy money we care not for.” - -“Thine offer is fair and kind, good forester,” said Assueton; “we shall -on with thee right gladly, and give thee good thanks for thy sylvan -hospitality, such as it may be. Lead on then.” - -The forester, without more words, walked cleverly on before Sir John -Assueton, who followed him at the head of his party. As they advanced a -little way, the wooding of the glen became much more dense, and rocks -projecting themselves from the base of the hills on either side, -rendered the passage in the bottom between them and the stream -excessively narrow, so that the men of the party could only move on -singly, and were more than once obliged to dismount and lead their -horses. The way seemed to be very long, and night came on to increase -its difficulties. Assueton’s impatience more than once tempted him to -complain of it; but he restrained himself, lest his eagerness might -excite suspicion that he had some secret and important hostile object -in view, and that he might thus lose all chance of gaining the -information he so much wanted. He kept as close as he possibly could to -his guide, however, for he began to have strange doubts that he might -be leading him into some ambush; and he had resolved within his own -mind to seize and sacrifice him the instant he had reason to be -convinced he had betrayed them. - -After forcing their way through a very wild pass, where the rocks on -both sides towered up their bold and lofty fronts, the glen widened, -and the party entered a little gently-sloping glade or holme, bounded -by the high and thickly-wooded banks, which here retired from the side -of the stream, and swept irregularly around it. A blazing fire appeared -among the trees. - -“Ay,” said the forester, “these are my comrades: I reckon we come in -good time, for yonder be the supper a-cooking.” - -The party now crossed through the luxuriant pasture, that, moistened -with the evening dew, was giving out a thousand mingled perfumes from -the wild flowers that grew in it, and speedily came within view of -about a dozen men, clad in the same woodland garb worn by their guide. -Some of them were sitting about the fire, engaged in roasting and -broiling fragments of venison; while others were loitering among the -trees, or sitting under their shade. A number of cross-bows and -long-bows hung from the branches, several spears rested against their -stems; and these, with swords, daggers, and anelaces, seemed to compose -the arms of this party of hunters. They appeared to have had good -success, for six or eight fat bucks were hanging by the horns from the -boughs overhead. - -“Here is a gallant knight and his party,” said their guide to a man who -seemed to be a leader among them, “who would be glad of a share of our -supper.” - -The person he addressed, and who came forward to receive Assueton, was -a tall and uncommonly handsome man; and although his dress differed in -no respect from that of the others, except that he wore a more gaudy -plume in his hat, and that his baldrick, the sword suspended from it, -his belt and dagger, and the bugle that hung from his shoulder, were -all of more costly materials and rarer workmanship. But there was -something in his appearance and mien that might have graced knighthood -itself. He bowed courteously to Assueton. - -“Sir Knight,” said he, “wilt thou deign to dismount from thy steed, and -partake with us in our woodland cheer? Here,” said he, turning to the -people around him, “let more carcases be cut up; there is no lack of -provisions. Will it please thee to rest, Sir Knight?” - -“I thank thee, good forester, for thy willing hospitality,” said -Assueton, alighting, and giving his horse to his squire; “I will rest -me on that green bank under the holly busket there, and talk with thee -to wile away time and beguile my hunger. This is a merry occupation of -thine,” added he, after they had sat down together. - -“Ay,” replied the forester, “right merry in good sooth, were we left at -freedom to enjoy it. But, by the mass, that is not our case here, for -there wons in this vicinage a certain discourteous knight, who letteth -no one kill a deer on his ground that he may know of; so we be forced -to steal hither, at times when we may ween that he is absent, or least -on the watch. The red and roe deer do much abound in these glens; and, -by the Rood, ’tis hard, methinks, that the four-footed game should be -given by nature for man’s food, and that he should be reft of his right -to take it.” - -“And who may this discourteous knight be?” said Assueton, wishing to -feel his way with the stranger. - -“His name,” said the forester, “is Sir Miers de Willoughby, of a truth -a most cruel and lawless malfaitor, and as bold a Borderer as ever rode -through a moss. He rules everything here, and gives honest folks the -bit to champ, I promise thee. Would that some such gallant knight as -your worship might meet with him and humble him, for verily he is a -scourge to the country.” - -Sir John Assueton inwardly congratulated himself upon his good luck in -having thus so fortunately stumbled on a man, who, having himself -suffered from de Willoughby’s oppression, was manifestly so inimical to -him: he felt much inclined to speak out at once, but he checked -himself, and thought it wiser to proceed with caution. - -“Is he so very wicked, then, this Sir Miers de Willoughby of whom thou -speakest?” said he to the forester. - -“By the mass is he, Sir Knight,” replied the forester. “He will soar ye -from his Border-keep like a falcon, and pounce on any prey that may -come within his ken; and als he be so stark as to others using his -lands for their honest and harmless occupation of hunting, by’r Lady, -he minds not on what earth he stoops, if so be that there be anything -to cluth from off its surface. ’Twas but some three days ago that he -yode hence on some wicked emprise, for ’twas his absence that led us -hither; and this morning, as we lay concealed in these wood shaws, we -saw him and his men ride by this very spot, bearing home with him some -worthy man’s gentle cosset he had stowne away.” - -Assueton perfectly understood the forester to have used the word -cosset—a pet lamb—in a metaphorical sense; but, to draw him on, he -pretended to have taken him up literally. - -“A cosset!” cried he, with feigned surprise. “A poor pet lamb was but a -wretched prey indeed for so rapacious a lorrel as thou wouldst make -this same Sir Miers to be, good forester.” - -“Nay, nay, Sir Knight,” replied the forester, “I meant not in very -simplicity a pet lamb, but a fair damosel, who looked, meseemed, as if -she had been the gentle cosset of some fond father. ’Twas a damosel, -Sir Knight, a right fair and beauteous damosel; and she shrieked from -time to time in such piteous fashion, that, by the Rood, it was clear -she went not with him willingly.” - -Assueton’s blood boiled, so that it was with difficulty he could longer -restrain his fury. He, however, kept it within such bounds as it might -well enough pass for the indignation natural to a virtuous knight upon -hearing of such foul outrage done to any damsel. - -“Unworthy limb of knighthood,” said he, “thus to play the caitiff part -of a vile lossel? Show me the way to his boure, and by the blessed -bones of the holy St. Cuthbert, he shall dearly rue his traiterie.” - -“Marry, ’tis no wonder to see a virtuous knight so enchafed at such -actings,” said the forester; “yet can the damosel be little to thee; -and ’twere scarce, methinks, worth thy while to step so far from thy -path. Had she been thine own lady, indeed———” - -“Nay,” said Assueton, hastily, but endeavouring to conceal his emotion, -“thou knowest, good forester, that ’tis but my duty as a true knight to -redress this foul wrong; and whosoever this lady may be, and -wheresoever I may be bound, I must not scruple to step a little out of -my way to punish so wicked a coulpe.” - -“Right glad am I, Sir Knight,” said the forester, “to see thee so ready -to do battle against this caitiff, Sir Miers, and full willing should I -be to conduct thee to the sacking of his tower; but, in good verity, -’twere vain to go accoutred and attended as thou art. He keeps special -good watch and ward, I promise thee, and he is too much wont to have -his quarters beat up, not to be for ever on the alert. He hath scouts -stationed all around him, in such a manner that no one may approach his -stronghold of Burnstower by day or by night withouten ken, and he is -straightway put on the alert long ere he can be reached. If those who -come against him be strong and well armed, more than his force than -overcome, then he hies him away to the fastnesses of his mosses and -hills, where no one but the eagle may follow him, and leaves only his -barren walls to the fury of the besiegers. But if the party be small, -and such as his wiles may master, he is sure to lead them into some -ambush, and to put every man of them to the sword. Trust me, were thou -to go clad in steel, and with such a party of spearmen at thy back, he -would take the alarm, and thou wouldst either have thy journey and thy -trouble for thy guerdon, or thou and thy people might fall by cruel -traiterie.” - -“Then what, after all, may be the best means of coming at him?” said -Assueton; “for thou hast but the more inflamed my desire to essay the -adventure.” - -The forester seemed to consider for a time—“In truth,” said he at -length, “I see no other way than one, the which thou wouldst spurn, Sir -Knight.” - -“Name it,” said Assueton; “depend on’t, I shall not be over nice in -this affair.” - -“Wert thou,” said the forester, “and, it might be, no more than two of -thy people, to venture thither in disguise, with one or two of us to -guide thee, thou mightest peradventure pass thither without begetting -alarm, and be received into the Castle as lated and miswent travellers, -lacking covert for the night. But then all that would be but of small -avail, for what couldst thou do with thy single arm, and so small a -force to aid it?” - -“Nay, good forester,” said Assueton, “be it mine to see to that, and be -it thine to bring me thither. Knights are but born to conquer -difficulties, and, perdie, I have never yet seen that which did not, -with me, give greater zest to the adventure I went upon. By the blessed -Rood, I shall go with thee. Let us forthwith have our disguises, then, -and these two men of my company,” pointing to Riddel and Lindsay, -“shall share the glory of mine emprise. So let us, I pr’ythee, snatch a -hasty meal, and set forward without delay.” - -“By the mass, but thou art a brave knight,” said the forester; “yet it -doth grieve me to see thee go on so hopeless an errand. Nathless, I -shall not baulk thee nor back of thy word; verily I shall wend with -thee, to show thee the way thither. But I would fain persuade thee even -yet to leave this undertaking untried.” - -“Nay,” said Assueton, “I have said it, and by God’s aid I will do it, -let the peril be what it may; so let us use despatch if it so please -thee.” - -Seeing that the bold and dauntless knight was resolved, the forester -ordered some of the venison, that was by this time cooked, to be set -before Assueton, and some also to be served to those who were to -accompany him; and after all had satisfied their hunger, Assueton -doffed his armour, clad himself in a suit of plain Lincoln green, such -as the foresters wore, and, unperceived by any one, slipped his dagger -into his bosom. He then openly girt his trusty sword by his side, and -leaving orders with his party to remain with the friendly foresters -until they should see him, or hear from him, he and his two people, who -were also disguised, mounted their horses, and set off under the -guidance of the leader of the hunting party and two of his men, whom he -took with them, as he said, to bear him company on his return. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - - The Horrors of the Dungeon. - - -Their route lay up the glen, and the darkness of the night, with the -roughness of the way, very much impeded their progress. At one time -they were led along the very margin of the stream, and, at another, -they climbed diagonally up the steep sides of the hills that bounded -it, and wound over far above, to avoid some impediment which blocked -all passage below. Now they penetrated extensive thickets of brushwood, -and again wound up among the tall stems of luxuriant oaks, or passed, -with greater ease to themselves and their weary horses, over small open -glades among the woods. At length they began to rise over the sides of -the hills, to a height so much beyond any that they had hitherto -mounted, that Assueton thought the deviation strange and unaccountable, -and was tempted to put some question to his guide. - -“Whither dost thou lead us now, good forester?” said he; “thou seemest -to have abandoned the glen altogether, and methinks thou art now -resolved to soar to the very clouds. I much question whether garron of -mosstrooper ever climbed such a house-wall as this.” - -“Sir Knight,” replied the forester, “I but intend to lead thee over the -ridge of a hill here, by a curter cast. The glen maketh a wicked wide -courbe below, and goeth miles about. This gate will save us leagues -twayne, at the very shortest reckoning. Trust me I am well up to all -the hills and glens of these parts, by night as well as by day.” - -“Nay, good forester,” said Assueton, “I doubt thee not; but, by our -Lady, this seemeth to me to be a marvellous uncouth path.” - -“T’other, indeed, is better, Sir Knight,” said the forester; “but bad -as this may be, ’twill haine us a good hour’s time of travel.” - -Assueton was satisfied with this explanation, and the ground getting -more level as they advanced, he soon discovered that they were crossing -a wild ridge of moorland, and hoped that the impediments to a speedier -progress would be fewer. But the way seemed, if possible, to be even -more puzzling and difficult than ever. They wound round in one -direction, and then went zig-zag to the opposite point of the compass; -then they wormed their way through bogs and mosses—then stretched away -Heaven knew whither, and then, making a little detour, they (as it -seemed to Assueton) returned again in a line nearly parallel to that -which they had just pursued. Hours appeared to glide away in this -wearisome and endless maze, and Assueton’s impatience became excessive. - -“Good forester,” said he, “methinks we are never to get out of this -enchanted labyrinth.” - -“Nay, Sir Knight,” replied the forester, “’tis an enchanted labyrinth -in good soberness; for, verily, full many a goodly steed hath been -ygraven in the flows that surround us. There be quaking bogs here that -would swallow a good-sized tower. Nay, halt thee, Sir Knight, thou must -of needscost turn thee this gate again.” - -“By St. Cuthbert,” said Assueton, “meseems it a miracle that thou -shouldst have memory to help thee to thread the intricacies of so -puzzling a path, maugre the darkness that yet prevails.” - -“’Tis indeed mirk as a coal mine,” said the forester, “but I look for -the moon anon.” - -After better than half-an-hour more of such travelling as we have -described, they at length wound down a very precipitous hill, where -their necks were in considerable peril, and found themselves again in -the glen, and by the side of its stream. As well as Assueton could -guess, they had now travelled fully three or four hours, the greater -part of which time they had spent on the high ground. The state of -their horses, too, bore out his calculation, for they showed symptoms -of great exhaustion, from this so large addition to the previous severe -journey. They pushed them on, however, as fast as the nature of the -ground would admit, the glen presenting the same variety of woods, -glades, and thickets, as it had formerly done. - -At length they came to a place where the hills approached on each side, -and the glen narrowed to a wild gorge, where all passage was denied -below, except for the stream, and they were consequently again -compelled to ascend the abrupt banks by a diagonal path. But they had -no sooner gained the summit than the moon arose, and threw its silver -light full over the scene into which they were about to advance. Above -the gorge, the valley was split into two distinct glens, or rather deep -ravines, each pouring out its stream, and these, uniting together, -formed that which they had so long traced upwards. Above the point of -their union arose a green-headed eminence, swelling from among the rich -woods that everywhere clothed it, and all the other lower parts of the -space within their view. The round top of the eminence was crowned with -a rude Border Tower; and the whole was backed, a good way behind, by a -semi-circular range of hilly ridges. The moonlight shone powerfully on -the building, the keep of which seemed to be of no great size, but very -strong in itself; and the outworks, consisting of massive walls -defended here and there by round towers, showed that it was a -stronghold where determined men might make a powerful resistance. - -“Yonder is the peel of Burnstower,” said the forester, pointing to it; -“thou must ford the stream there below, under the hill whereon it -stands, and so make thy way up through the woods by a narrow path, that -will lead thee to the yett. I shall yet go with thee as far as the -ford, to show thee the right gate through the water; but I must then -bid thee farewell, nor canst thou lack mine aid any longer.” - -“Good forester,” said Assueton, “certes thou hast merited the guerdon -of my best thanks for thine obliging and toilsome convoy. When I join -thee again, trust me they shall be cheerfully paid thee, together with -what more solid warison thou mayest see fit to accept, in token of my -gratitude. Meanwhile, I beseech thee to take good charge of my brave -men.” - -“Nay, fear me not in that, Sir Knight,” said the forester; “they shall -be well looked after, I promise thee. My men have doubtless already -taken good care of them, and of their steeds too.” - -Having descended the hill, they pushed their way through the opposing -brushwood, and reached the bank of one of the streams, immediately -above the spot where it united itself to the other. The forester -indicated the ford to Assueton, and then took an abrupt leave, diving -into the thicket with his two followers. - -Assueton stood for a moment on the brink of the stream before he -entered, and took that opportunity of telling his two attendants to be -particularly on their guard, to watch his eye, attend to his signals, -and be ready to act as these might appear to suggest to them. They were -also to bear in mind that for the present they were to pass as equals. -He then cautiously entered the ford, and, followed by Riddel and -Lindsay, soon reached the farther bank. - -They now found themselves on a low grassy tongue of land, which shot -out between the two streams from the woods at the base of the eminence -the Castle stood on, and which, though of considerable length, was -nowhere more than a few yards wide. Along this they pushed their -horses, as fast as the weary animals could advance. A few trees -struggled down over it at the farther extremity, where it united itself -to the base of the hill; and just as they had entered among these, all -their horses were at one and the same moment tumbled headlong on the -ground. An instant shout arose from the thickets on either side, and -about a dozen men sprang from them on the prostrate riders; and, after -a short and ineffectual struggle on their part, Assueton and his two -attendants were bound hand and foot, and blindfolded. All this time not -a word was spoken; and excepting the shouts that were the signal of the -onset, not a sound was heard. But the prey was no sooner fairly -mastered, than a loud bugle blast was blown from the thickets near -them, and it was immediately answered by another, that rang through the -woods at some distance. The horses were then extricated from the toils -of ropes which had been so treacherously though ingeniously employed to -ensure their prostration, and on regaining their legs, their late -riders were lifted up and laid across them like sacks, and they were -led by the villains who had captured them up the steep and devious -ascent, through the thick wood to the Castle. The party then entered -the gateway, as Assueton judged from the noise made in raising the -portcullis, and the prisoners being lifted from their horses, were -carried each by two men into the main tower. - -Whither they took his two attendants, Assueton had no means of -guessing; but he was borne up a long and winding stair, as he supposed -to the top of the building, and then through several passages. There he -heard the withdrawing of rusty bolts, and the heavy creaking of hinges; -and, being set down on the floor of his prison, his arms and legs were -unbound, his eyes uncovered, and he was left in utter darkness and -amazement. - -After sitting for some moments to recover from the surprise occasioned -by this sudden and unlooked for annihilation of all his plans and of -all the hopes he had cherished from them, he arose, and, before -yielding to despair, groped his way to the walls, and felt them -anxiously all round. Not a crevice or aperture could he discover but -the doorway, and that was blocked by an impregnable door, crossed and -recrossed by powerful bars of iron, so that he saw no hope of its being -moved by any strength of human arm, unassisted by levers or other such -instruments. The walls and floor were of the most solid masonry in -every part; yet he felt the balmy air of a soft night blow upon his -face, and, on looking upwards, he could just descry a faint glimmer of -light, that broke with difficulty through the enormous thickness of the -building, by a narrow window immediately over where he then stood. This -opening, however, was quite beyond his reach, being at least a dozen -feet above him. - -As he moved backwards to get from under the wall where the window was, -that he might obtain a better view of it, his head came in contact with -something hanging behind him. He turned round, but his eyes were not -yet sufficiently accustomed to the obscurity, to enable him to discover -anything more than that there was some dark object suspended from -above. He put up his hands to ascertain what it was, and, to his -inexpressible horror, felt the stiffened legs of a corpse, which swung -backwards and forwards at his touch. Bold and firm as he was, Assueton -started involuntarily back, and his heart revolted at the thought that -he was to be so mated for the night. He retired to a corner, where he -had discovered a heap of straw with a coarse blanket, and he sat him -down on it; but it immediately occurred to him that this had probably -been the bed of the unfortunate man who now dangled lifeless from the -centre of the vault, and he could sit on it no longer. That the poor -wretch had been put to death in the very chamber which had been his -prison, seemed to argue a degree of hardened cruelty and summary -vengeance in those in whose power he had now himself the misfortune to -be, that left him little room to hope for much mercy at their hands. - -Having moved to an opposite corner, nearly under the little window, he -seated himself on the floor, and gave up his mind to the full -bitterness of its thoughts. The first recollection that presented -itself was that of the Lady Isabelle, torn from her home, her father, -and himself, by an unprincipled and abandoned villain. His reflections -on this painful theme banished every thought of his own captivity, as -well as every speculation as to what its result might be, excepting, -indeed, in so far as it might affect the fate of her who was now the -idol of his heart. He ran over his past conduct, and seeing that he -could now have no hope of being the instrument of her rescue, he blamed -himself in a thousand ways. He accused himself bitterly for not having -sent back a messenger from the place where he had met Sir Walter de -Selby, to inform Sir Patrick Hepborne the elder of the intelligence he -had obtained from the Captain of Norham; then unavailing regrets and -self-accusations arose within him for having neglected to obtain more -full information from Sir Walter, when he had it in his power to do so; -but, above all, he cursed his folly for having abandoned his -stout-hearted spearmen, who would have backed him against any foes to -the last drop of their blood. He turned over the circumstances of his -rencontre with the foresters, and, recalling the whole conduct of their -leader, he now began to be more than half suspicious that they had -played him false. This last reflection made him tremble for the fate of -his people whom he had left with them; and remembering his guide’s -parting assurance, “that they should be well looked after,” he felt -disposed to interpret it in a very opposite sense to that he had put -upon it the moment it was uttered. - -He then again recurred to the Lady Isabelle. Why had he gone a-hunting -on the day she was carried off, when he had been repeatedly warned, by -something within his own breast, that he ought to stay at home with -her? Alas! where was she now? The question was agony to him. Could she -be within these walls? To know that she, indeed, really was so, would -have been cheering to him even in his present state of desponding -uncertainty, as it might have given him some frail hope of yet being of -use to her. He listened for distant sounds. Faint female shrieks came -from some part of the building far below. Again he heard them yet more -distinctly; and, full of the maddening idea that they came from the -Lady Isabelle, he started up, unconscious of what he was doing, flew -like a madman to the door, and began beating it with his fists, -screaming out, “Villains! murderers!” But his voice, and the noise of -his furious knocking, returned on his ear with a deadened sound, and -speedily convinced him that nothing could be heard from the lofty, -solitary, and massive-walled prison in which he was immured. - -With a heart torn and distracted, and almost bereft of reason, he paced -the floor violently backwards and forwards. His ear then caught, from -time to time, the distant and subdued shouts of merriment and laughter. -These again stung him to fury. - -“What!” cried he aloud, “do they make sport of her purity and her -misery? Villains! demons! hell-hounds!” And he again raved about his -prison with yet greater fury than before, a thousand horrible ideas -arising to his heated and prolific imagination. - -At length he flung himself on the floor, utterly exhausted both in body -and mind by the intensity of his sufferings, and lay for some moments -in a state of quiet, from absolute inability to give further way to the -extravagance of action excited by his feelings. He had not been long in -this state, however, when the distant and faint chanting of a female -voice fell upon his ear. He started, and raising himself upon his -elbow, listened anxiously that he might drink in the minutest portion -of the sound which reached him. Though evidently coming from some -far-off chamber below, he distinctly caught the notes, which he -recognized to be those of a hymn to the Virgin, from the vesper -service. The melody was sweet and soothing to his lacerated soul. Again -it stole on him. - -“The voice,” said he to himself, “that can so employ itself must come -from one who may be unhappy, but who cannot suppose herself to be in -any very immediate peril; nor, if her mind had been so lately suffering -urgent alarm, could she have by this time composed it so far as to be -able to lift it to Heaven in strains so gentle and placid.” - -Though immediately afterwards convinced of the folly of such an idea, -he, for a moment, almost persuaded himself that he recognized the voice -of the Lady Isabelle Hepborne in that of the pious chantress. He threw -himself upon his knees, and offered up his fervent orisons for help in -his affliction. The voice came again upon him—and again he fancied he -knew it to be that of her he loved; but although he found himself, in -sound reason, obliged to discard all idea of the possibility of such a -recognition, yet it clung to his broken spirit, and was as a healing -balm to it, in despite of reason. - -It produced one happy effect, however, by causing his agonizing -thoughts to give way, at last, to the immense bodily and mental fatigue -he had undergone. He dropped asleep on the bare pavement, -notwithstanding the horrors that hung over him, the uncertain fate that -awaited him, and the complication of misery by which he was oppressed. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - - Dawn in the Dungeon—An Appalling Sight—Rough Visitors. - - -Sir John Assueton’s sleep was deep and uninterrupted until the first -dawn of morning, when he awoke and rubbed his eyelids, having, for a -moment, forgotten where he was, and all that had befallen him. The -first object that presented itself when he looked upwards was the -figure and countenance of the dead man, hanging almost immediately over -the spot where he lay. The features were horribly distorted and -discoloured, by the last agonies of the violent death he had died; the -tongue was thrust out, and the projected eyeballs were staring -fearfully from their sockets. The sight was appalling and -heart-sickening. - -He could now observe that the dress of the unfortunate man was that of -a forester. The arms were rudely tied behind the back, and the body was -suspended from a huge iron ring, that hung loose in an enormous bolt of -the same metal, strongly built in vertically between the keystones of -the vault, the height of which was very considerable. It seemed as if -the wretched man had been dragged from his couch of straw to instant -punishment, or rather perhaps murder; for portions of the straw yet -littered the floor as if dragged along with him in his ineffectual -struggles, and some fragments of it still adhered between his ankles, -to the rough woollen hose he wore, as if retained there by the last -dying convulsion that had pressed and twisted the limbs unnaturally -together. Then the fatal rope was not like one intended for such a use. -It was thicker than seemed necessary, and looked as if it had been -hastily taken, as the readiest instrument for the murderous deed. After -passing through the ring, where it was fastened by two or three turns, -it stretched down diagonally to one corner of the place, where it lost -itself in an immense coil. It had manifestly been hastily brought -there, to effect the destruction of the unfortunate wretch, and -afterwards left on the floor uncut, that it might not be rendered unfit -for the purpose to which it had been originally dedicated. - -It may seem strange that Assueton should have derived anything like -pleasure from a spectacle so truly appalling; but it is nevertheless -true, that a faint gleam of hope broke upon the miserable despair that -had possessed him. He saw that the coil of rope was of sufficient -extent to give him good reason to believe that, when untwisted, it -might reach to the base of the tower, at the top of which he was now -confined, if he could only detach it from what went upwards, and -conceal it until night. But how was he to sever it? He remembered that -he had concealed his dagger in his bosom at the time he put on his -disguise. Those who seized and bound him had immediately deprived him -of his sword, but they had not suspected his being possessed of any -other weapon, and his dagger, therefore, had escaped their notice. He -drew it joyfully forth; but just as he was about to divide the rope, he -paused, and observing that there were at least fourteen or sixteen feet -stretching diagonally between the coil and the ring, he hesitated to -cut it. To throw away so considerable a portion of it, when perhaps -that very piece might be essential to the preservation of his life, -would have been the height of imprudence; yet, to get at that portion, -there was but one way, and this was so disgusting, and so repugnant to -his feelings, that the very idea of it made him shudder. - -But liberty, and perhaps life depended on it; and what will not the -desire of liberty and life compel human nature to attempt? To him both -were now more precious than ever, since they might yet be the means of -saving her without whom he could value neither. He hesitated not a -moment longer, but screwing up his resolution to the revolting -alternative, he laid hold of the legs of the dead man, swung himself up -from the ground, and, catching at his clothes, at last got the rope -within his gripe, and thus continued to climb, hand over hand, until he -reached the fatal ring. Holding by one sinewy arm, he drew forth his -dagger, and was again on the eve of cutting the rope close to the ring -when prudence once more stopped him. He had been from the first aware -that it was absolutely necessary to leave the dead body hanging, lest, -when his jailors should visit him, they might have their suspicions -awakened by its removal. What made him hesitate then, whilst hanging by -one arm to the ring and bolt to the arch in the vault, was the idea, -that by loosening the turns that were made in it, he might be enabled -to hoist up the body a few feet higher, then to fasten the turns of the -rope again, and thus gain so many more feet of rope. All this, with -immense fatigue of arm, he effected, and then dividing the rope with -his dagger, and descending to the floor, he lifted up the large coil, -and removing the straw of the bed, he hid it underneath, covering it up -with the greatest care. He was fully aware of the possibility of its -being missed from its place, sought for, and removed from the -concealment he had put it into; but it was also possible that the -wretches who had done the deed might not be among those who should come -to visit him, in which case its absence could never attract their -observation. - -He now sat down to consider and arrange his plans. He at once saw that -it would be useless to attempt his descent while daylight remained, or, -indeed, while the people in the Castle might be supposed to be still -stirring, as, if he did try it then, he must do so with hardly a chance -of escaping detection. To lessen the risk of being observed and seized, -therefore, it was absolutely essential that he should postpone his -enterprise until night. But then the risk of his rope being discovered -before night crossed his mind: his judgment wavered, and he was filled -with the most cruel and perplexing doubts. He remembered that the state -of the moon, which left the earlier part of the night excessively dark, -made that by far the most favourable time to risk his fate; and he at -length determined that, a descent in day-light being perfectly -hopeless, he must be content to take his chance of the other -alternative. But what was he to do if the rope should be missed, sought -for, and detected? After some consideration, he resolved that in that -event he would draw his dagger, spring unawares on those who might -visit him, and so make a desperate endeavour to effect his escape, by -striking down all that might oppose him. - -But another and a different thought now occurred to him. What if the -very first visit that might be paid him should be for the purpose of -taking down the murdered body from the ring, only to hang him up in its -place? Brave as he was he shuddered at the contemplation of such a -fate. He had already often faced death in bloody field, led on by glory -and the laudable thirst of fame; but to be hung up like a dog by the -hands of murderous ruffians in this lone chamber, far from every human -ear or eye but those of his clownish and unfeeling executioners, who -would take so small account of him, after witnessing his passing -agonies, as perhaps to leave him, as they had done the wretch who had -gone before him, till his place was wanted for a successor, and then -throw his half consumed body into some unholy spot, over which his -perturbed ghost might hover, seeking in vain for repose, this was to -strip death of the fascinating drapery which men have contrived to -throw over him, and to unveil all his terrors, But he steeled himself -for the worst, and, resolving to wait firmly, and to act as -circumstances might suggest, he determined that, happen what might, he -would sell his life dearly, should he be reduced to the unhappy -alternative of doing so. - -With his mind thus wound up, he sat him down on the couch of straw, -that he might appear unconcerned to any one who might enter; and there -he remained, waiting patiently for the issue. He had been seated in -this way about a couple of hours, when he heard the heavy tread of feet -approaching along the passages. The key was inserted in the lock of the -door, and considerable force exerted before it could be turned. - -“Be quick with you, old churl,” cried an impatient voice; “thou wilt be -all day working at it.” - -The door half opened, and two or three heads were thrust in at once. -Seeing their prisoner calmly seated on the straw at the farther wall, -four men entered. One of these, a thick, squat, large-headed old man, -with a rough, cloddish, unfeeling countenance, and long, thick, -grizzled hair hanging about it, was clad in a close woollen jerkin and -hauselines, appeared to be the jailor, for several enormous keys hung -from divers straps attached to his leathern belt. He stationed himself -with his back at the door. The other three men were younger, but the -expression of their features betrayed such depraved and lawless -spirits, as might make them ready instruments to perpetrate any cruelty -or crime at the mere nod of a master. Their dress was similar to that -in which the murdered body was clothed. Two of them, armed with short -swords in their hands, placed themselves at the door, in front of the -old jailor, while the third, with a pewter-covered dish under his left -arm, an earthen jug of ale in his left hand, and his naked sword in his -right, advanced a little way, and deposited the provisions on the -pavement. Turning his eyes round, he beheld the dead body hanging. - -“Heyday, Daniel Throckle,” said he, with a careless laugh, to the -jailor, “how camest thou to leave our comrade Tim Ord here, to keep -watch over this young man all night? By the mass, methinks he was but a -triste companion for him.” - -“’Twas none o’ my doing, Master Ralpho Proudfoot; ’twas Wat Withe that -did the deed himsell. He got the key from me, and thou knowest he doth -not ever care overmuch, so he gets his job done, whether the workshop -be cleaned out or no. He thinks that be none o’ his business.” - -“Nay, but, fine fellow as he thinks himself, he may come and take down -his own rubbish for me,” said Ralpho Proudfoot; “I clean out after no -sike cattle, I promise thee. An thou likest to do his dirty work thou -mayest, seeing thou art custodier of the place.” Then, turning to -Assueton, who had sat quite still all this time, “Here, sir,” said he, -“is thy morning’s meal—better eat it whiles it be hot—thou mayest not -have a many deal of sike like;” and as he said so, he threw his eye -sideways up towards the dead man. “Thou seest we be sometimes rather -more curt than courteous; thou canst not tell when it may be thy turn.” - -“Young man,” said Assueton, composedly, and still without rising from -his sitting posture, “canst thou tell me why I have been so -traitorously seized and conveyed hither, and why I am thus immured, and -treated like a foul felon?” - -“Nay, as to being treated like a felon, young man,” replied Ralpho -Proudfoot, evading his question, and laying particular emphasis on the -words in italics, “meseems ’tis but ungrateful of thee to say so, -seeing I have brought thee a dish of hot steaks, cut from the rump of a -good Scottish ront; and then for ale, never was better brewed about the -roots of the Cheviots, as well thou knowest, honest Daniel Throckle.” - -The jailor replied by a significant chuckle, indicating his perfect -acknowledgment of Proudfoot’s assertion. - -“Well,” continued Proudfoot, “we may e’en leave thee, young man, to the -full enjoyment of this pleasing sunshiny day, such as thou mayest have -on’t through yonder window on high, for thou mayest see even less on’t -to-morrow.” And, wheeling round, he was on the eve of departure, when -he suddenly stopped—“But hold,” said he, “had we not better ripe him, -to see that he hath nothing of weapon sort about him? Come forward, -young man; and do thou, old Daniel, approach, and feel his hide all -over, as thou wouldst do a fat sheep fed for the slaughter. And who -knows how soon it may be his lot? Approach, I say: we shall stand by -here, and see that he doeth thee no harm.” - -Assueton perceived that resistance would be vain, and he also knew that -it was unnecessary. Before they entered, he had taken the precaution to -remove his dagger from his bosom, and conceal it among the straw near -where he sat, yet in such a manner as he could have easily seized it -had he seen any necessity for using it. He arose indignantly, and then, -with assumed carelessness, submitted to be searched; not, however, -without considerable inward alarm that they might not be contented with -the mere examination of his person, but proceed to rummage the straw -also. Should they do so, all his hopes were gone; but his heart kept -firm, and he stood with so easy and indifferent an air, that the -villains were soon satisfied. - -“No, no,” cried Proudfoot, “I see all is sicker. So a jolly morning to -thee, young man. Come, lads, let us be trooping. We have work before -us, as ye well know.” - -“Had I not better shake up his straw for him?” said one of the others; -“he may not be used to make his own bed.” - -“Nay, nay,” said Proudfoot, “he may learn to make it, then; he can -never learn younger, I ween. Besides, hath he not Tim Ord there to help -him?—ha! ha! ha! By St. Roque, but they will have pleasant chat -together.” - -“Nay, Daniel Throckle,” said the other man, “but thee shouldst come -back ere long, and remove this grim mate from his dorture.” - -“Umph,” said Throckle, as if in doubt; “it’s a plaguey long stair to -climb, and I may not get hands to help me. But, nathless, I’ll see what -may be done. Wat Withe may peraunter——” - -“Come, come,” cried Proudfoot, impatiently, “we are wanted ere this. -Off, I say—off;” and with these words they all four left the prison; -the door was bolted and barred with the utmost precaution, and their -heavy lumbering steps were heard retreating along the passages. - -It was strange perhaps, but it was most true, that the shutting of the -rusty bolts sounded almost as sweetly in Assueton’s ear as if they had -been opened to give him liberty. The relief he felt at the retreat of -the four men was so great, that, like a pious knight, he knelt down and -offered up his heartfelt gratitude, in fervent thanksgivings to Heaven, -that his plans were as yet unfrustrated. He took up the food that had -been left with him, and made a hearty and cheerful meal. He then began -turning in his mind the circumstances that were likely to occur to him -before night, and again some cruel anticipations obtruded themselves. -Were Throckle to return to remove the body, perhaps it might be of -little consequence; but if, as he seemed to hint at when he was -interrupted—if he should call in the aid of Wat Withe, as they had -nicknamed the executioner, then all his schemes for escape must be -ruined. Nay, what if the coil of rope, the villain had so hastily -taken, should happen to be wanted before night for the purpose it had -been originally intended for? The thought was most alarming. Assueton -immediately removed the straw from it, that he might examine it -narrowly, and his mind was very much relieved when he discovered that -it was everywhere quite rough and new, as if it had never been used. -But still nothing presented itself to him, to rid him of the -apprehension of the return of Wat Withe, who could not fail to mark the -disappearance of the coil. A thousand times during the day he fancied -he heard steps approaching, and more than once he grasped his dagger to -prepare for bloody work. But it was all fancy. The only sound he heard -was that of the trampling of horses, the jingling of bridles, and the -clattering of weapons, mingled with the voices of men, as if some party -was riding forth. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - - A Dreadful Situation—Daniel Throckle the old Jailor. - - -The time passed slowly and heavily until within about an hour of -nightfall, when steps were again distinctly heard approaching -Assueton’s prison. Much to his relief, however, they seemed to be those -of a single person; something was put down on the pavement on the -outside; the bolts were tardily withdrawn, and the great head of Daniel -Throckle alone appeared through the partially opened door, as if to -ascertain in what part of the chamber his prisoner was, ere he should -venture farther. Seeing Assueton seated as formerly, on the straw, he -hastily pushed within the door-way vessels containing food and drink, -as before, and instantly retreating, turned the bolts behind him, and -departed without uttering a word. - -Now Assueton’s hopes beat high, and again on his knees he returned his -fervent thanks to Heaven. He then determined to avail himself of the -small portion of day-light which yet remained, to make everything ready -for his escape. - -Disgusting and revolting as it had been to him, on the first discovery -of the murdered body, that it should have been left as his nightly and -daily companion, he had now good reason to be glad that it had been so; -for even if its removal had not occasioned the discovery of his -appropriation of the coil of rope, without it he could have had no -means of reaching the ring in the centre of the vault, the only thing -within it to which he could have attached the end of his rope, and it -would have been there only to have mocked his hopes. - -After he had succeeded in making it fast, he had still an appalling -difficulty before him; for the window was so high above the floor of -the vault that it was quite beyond all reach. There was, to be sure, a -small fragment of rusty iron, that projected an inch or two from the -centre of the sole of it, like the decayed remains of a stanchion, that -had once divided the space vertically within; but it was little better -than a knob. It yet remained to be proved, therefore, whether he should -succeed in throwing a part of his rope over this frail pin of iron, so -as to furnish him with the means of pulling himself up to the window; -and he lost no time in making the experiment. But this, so absolutely -essential part of his operations, he found most difficult to effect. He -threw, cast, and jerked the rope, trying every possible way he could -think of; but the piece of iron was so short that, although he often -succeeded in throwing the rope over it, he could never manage to make -it hold. The day-light ebbed away fast, and still he laboured, but -without success. At length he grew desperate, and threw the rope up -time after time with mad and senseless rapidity. It became darker and -darker till pitchy night closed in, yet still he persevered in throwing -furiously and at random; but it was the perseverance of despair, all -attempt at skill being utterly abandoned. At length, when he had almost -become frantic, it caught as he pulled back after an accidental throw; -he felt it hold against him, and keeping it down to the floor tight -with one foot, to prevent it from slipping, he laid the whole weight of -the coil upon it, and then, dropping on his knees, returned thanks to -Heaven for his success. It was but a small matter throwing a coil of -rope over a projecting fragment of iron; yet on that trifle depended -all his hopes, for by means of that small piece of iron alone could he -escape. - -He now sat him down on the coil to wait patiently for the hour when he -might think it safe to make his bold attempt. - -Judging at length that the night was sufficiently far advanced for his -purpose, he offered up a prayer for divine aid and protection, and -tying the blanket of the bed around him in case of need, laid hold of -the rope and hoisted himself up by his arms, until he had reached the -window. Having lodged himself fairly in its aperture, he discovered -that the wall was at least six or eight feet thick. He now laid himself -on his side, with his feet hanging inwards, and by slow degrees pulled -up the rope, until he got the whole coil deposited safely within the -small area of the window. The space was barely sufficient to admit of -his creeping easily through. Altering his position, therefore, and -advancing his feet, he wormed himself forward, when, just as he -expected to thrust them into the open air, he felt them suddenly -arrested by a vertical bar of iron. His heart was chilled by its touch. -He tried the width of the vacancies on either side of it, but neither -afforded space enough to admit of the passage of his body. - -Much disheartened by this unexpected obstruction, he withdrew himself, -and with great difficulty again changed his position, and advanced head -foremost until he brought his hands near enough the bar to feel it all -over. It was much decayed by rust, but yet by far too strong to be -broken by the mere force of his arm. After a little consideration, he -drew his dagger, and making use of its point, worked away the lead and -the stone where the lower end of the stanchion was inserted; and after -labouring unceasingly for a considerable time, he found he had weakened -the stone and removed the lead so much that he had some hopes of -assailing it successfully with his feet. He was now, therefore, obliged -to retreat again and change his position, so that he again projected -his feet till they came in contact with the bar. Having fixed himself -firmly in the place by means of his arms, that he might bring all his -force to bear against it, he was about to strike violently at it with -the soles of his feet when he remembered that the sound might be heard -below. His situation made him fertile in expedients. He slipped forward -a part of the blanket, and, adjusting two or three folds of it over the -bar, he began to drive his feet furiously against it. It gradually gave -way before them, and then it suddenly yielded entirely. He ceased -working for an instant, and, to his no small alarm, heard a piece of -the stone he had driven off fall in the court-yard below. He listened -anxiously for a time, but no alarm seemed to have been excited. He -again felt at the bar with his feet, and recommencing his attack upon -it, after a succession of hard blows, he bent it so far outwards as to -leave no doubt that he could pass himself through the aperture. - -Commending himself to God, then, he slipped himself forward, and, -committing his weight gently to the rope, he began his descent by -shifting his hands alternately and slowly one below the other, always -pulling out more and more of the coil of rope as he wanted it, until, -the end of it being unwound, it fell perpendicularly below him. Still -he went on descending till, to his no small dismay, he found that he -had reached the last foot of his length. For an instant he hung in -awful doubt. He cast his eyes below, but the night was so dark that the -ground beneath was invisible, and he could not possibly calculate the -height that yet remained. He thought for a few moments; and finally, -resigning himself to the care of Providence, he loosened his grasp of -the rope and fell. His fall was dreadful, and his death would have been -certain had not his descent been interrupted by a fortunate -circumstance. The blanket he had wrapped round him caught in the -branches of a yew tree growing close to the wall, and although it did -not keep its hold, yet the force of the fall was so much broken that he -escaped comparatively uninjured. - -He lay stunned for some moments under the tree; and then, recovering -himself, he was about to rise, when, reflecting that he must proceed -with caution, he crept silently forth from his covert, and listened to -hear if there was any one stirring. All was quiet. He then moved -forward, and dark as the night was, he could yet perceive the outer -walls and towers of the building rising against the pale glimmer of the -sky. His first step was to steal around the base of the keep, that he -might reconnoitre it in all directions; and, as he did so, he passed by -its entrance, which he found open. Wishing to examine farther, he went -on listening, but all was silent around. At length, as he moved onwards -to another side of the building, he descried a light breaking from a -loop-hole window near the foundation of the keep, and heard the sound -of human voices, with now and then a peal of boisterous laughter. He -approached with extreme caution and silence, until he was near enough -to see and hear all that passed within. - -The place he looked down into appeared to be a sort of cellar, being -surrounded with huge barrels placed against the walls, near one of -which, on an inverted tub, sat the old jailor, Daniel Throckle, with a -great wooden stoup of ale on his knee, and with no small quantity of -the fumes of the same fluid in his brain, as was evident from the -manner in which his eyes ogled in his head. Almost close by him stood a -good-looking wench in conversation with him; and the group was lighted -by a clumsy iron lamp placed on the top of one of the largest of the -tuns. - -“Coum, coum, Daeniel Throckle,” said the girl, “thee hast had enow o’ -that strong stuff; that stoup but accloyeth thee. Blessed Mary! but -thine eyes do look most fearsome askaunce already.” - -“Nay, nay, my bellebone,” replied Throckle, “I mun ha’ a wee drop more -yet. Coum, now, do sit thee down, and be buxom a bit—a—a—. Thee -knawest—a—that I loves thee dearly—he! he! he! Sit thee down, I -say—a—a; sit thee down, my soft, my soote virginal!—By St. Cuthbert, -there be not a he that yalt the gate through sun and -weet—a—a—that—a—a—he! he! he!—that loveth thee more than I do.—Sit thee -down, I say—a—a—and troll a roundel with me. Here ye, now, do -but—a—a—do but join thy sweet voice with mine.—Nay then, an thou wont, -I mun e’en—a—a—sing by mysell—a—a— - - - O I am the man - That can empty a can, - And fill it again and again, ah! - A—a—And empty and fill, - And the barley-juice swill, - Till a tun of the liquor I drain, ah! - - A—a—Then it lightens mine eye, - And my liard jokes fly, - And warms my old blood into pleasure, - A—a—Then out comes my song, - Trolling glibly a—along, - And merrily clinks in the measure. - - Oh—a—a—a—And then should I see - A sweet pusell like thee, - She catches mine eye, as I cock it; - And then at her, gadzooks! - I throw such winning looks, - As soon turn both of hers in the socket. - - -A murrain on’t! how should I forget the rest on’t! - - - So then I—a—a—then—a - - -The red fiend catch, it, for I can’t!—So, my bonnie mistress, Betty -Burrel, do thee—a—do thee sit thee down here, whiles I but drink this -single can of double ale; and, sin’ we canna sing the rest o’ the -stave—a—a—sit thee down, and let me kiss thee.” - -“Na, na, Daeniel Throckle,” said the girl; “thee knawest thou’rt ower -auld for me—thou’rt ower auld to be mate o’ mine”——— - -“Ower auld!—a—a—thou scoffing—thou scoffing giglet thou!” cried -Throckle; “thou’ll find me—a—kinder—a—thou’lt find me kinder at least -than that cross-grained, haughty knave, Ralpho Proudfoot. A pestilent -rascal!—Thou knawest—a—a—a—thou knawest, I say, how ill he used -thee—a—but last night—no farther gone. Did he not beat -thee—a—yestreen—a—till he made thee rout out like any Laverdale cow, -when—a—she hath been driven—a—across the Border—a—and hath left her -calf behind her?” - -“In troth, Daeniel Throckle,” said the wench, “he did use me hard enow, -that’s certain, now when a’s done. But rise thee up, Daeniel. Bethink -thee, thou’rt a’ that be left to guard the Castle, and it be na mysel, -and auld Harry Haddon standing sentry at the yett. Ise warrant he’s -asleep or this time:—And what ’ud coum o’ us an the prisoners were to -break out?” - -“Phoo!” said Daniel, sticking one arm akimbo, and assuming the most -ridiculous air of importance—“Phoo! I would not care that—a—a—snap of -my finger, look you now, for—a—a—for the whole bunch of ’em. A stout, -able-bodied—a—courageous—a—warlikesome—a—Southron like me—well -fortified and charged with potent double ale—against three lousy -Scottish louns! Phoo! I’d put ’em all down with my thumb. But—a—a—but -look ye here, my bonnie Betty Burrel; here they are—a—a—all safe at my -girdle. This mockel knave here,” continued he, laying hold of the keys -that hung from his belt, “this mockel knave—a—I call Goliath; he—a—a—he -locks me up and maketh me sicker—a—the tall dark wight—a—that hath been -put in durance in the hanging vault at the top o’ the keep: he’s—a—he’s -fast enow, I warrant thee, and, ha! ha! ha! hath got jolly company with -him, I wot. Poor Tim Ord, thou knawest—a—was strung up for traiterie; -and ha! ha! ha!—sure I canna help loffen to but think on’t; ha! ha! ha! -ha! he hangs yonder aside the poor Scottish Knight they took yestreen—a -bonnie jolly comrade for him to spend the night wi’, I trow.” - -“Poor Tim Ord!” said the girl, “thou gar’st mine heart creep to think -hoo hasty they waur wi’ ’im.” - -“Hasty,” cried Throckle, “ay, I trow, he lay not among his straw an -hour—a—till Wat Withe and his mates broke his dreams, to send him to a -sounder sleep, ha! ha! ha! But—a—a—’tis the gate, wench—a—’tis the gate -that a’ sike traitorous faitours should yede them.” - -“But what key is that other wi’ the queer courbed handle?” inquired the -curious Betty Burrel. - -“Wilt thou—a—a—wilt thou gie me a buss, then, and I’ll tell thee?” said -Throckle. - -Betty Burrel advanced her head within his reach. Old Throckle kissed -her, and endeavoured to detain her, but, after some little romping, she -escaped. - -“Tell me now,” said she, “sin I gied thee the kiss.” - -“That courbe—hafted key,” said Throckle, lifting it up; “that—a—a—I -call—a—a—a—I call Crooked-hold-him-fast: he locks the donjon vault at -the end of the passage—a—the passage aneath the stair. There—a—there -lies the tway rogues wha were cotched i’ the same trap wi’ the wight in -the hanging vault. This third key—a—this here is called -Nicholas-nimble-touch: he—a—he openeth the range of vaults on the north -side. They are tenantless; but an the Knight and his bandon have good -luck, they may be filled ere the morn’s night. This—a—this other -key—a—I call Will-whirl-i’-the-wards—a: he opens—a—opens the dark vault -i’ the middle, in which—a—in which is the mouth o’ the donjon pit.” - -“An’ what be that sma’ tiny key?” said Betty Burrel. - -“That,” said Trockle, “that—a—a—that is merry Mrs. -Margery-of-the-mousetrap, though—a—a—that is but an ill-bestowed name, -seeing that—a—a—it be’s more of a bird-cage, I wot. But—a—a—Mrs. -Margery keeps—she—a—she keeps the door—a—the door of the ladies’ -room—the ladies’ room off the passage—a—the passage leading to the -hall, them knawest—a—thou knawest there be’s a linnet bird there -encaged. The Knight—a—the Knight can’t at no rate make her -warble—a—warble as he would ha’ her. But she’s but new caught—a—and she -may sing another measure—a—ay, ay, and dance too, when he comes back -again. Nay, but now I ha’ told thee all—a—sweet Mistress Betty -Burrel—a—sweet Betty, sit thee down—a—a—a—and sing—a—a—sing one -roundel. Coum! here’s to thy health, my—a—a—my bonny blossom.” - -He put the wooden stoup to his head, and drained it to the bottom. - -“A—a—” said he then, attempting to rise and lay hold of Betty; -“a—a—coum—a—a—sit thee—a—a—a—sit thee down—sit thee down—a—one -roundel—one kiss—a—a—.” - -“Nay, nay,” cried Betty Burrel, moving off; “I maun to my bed i’ the -kitchen, Master Throckle; I be wearisome tired and sleepy.” - -“Now, see,” cried Throckle, standing up, “now see—a—see what it -is—a—see what it is to be between liquor and love—a. Wise as thou art, -Master Daniel Throckle, thou be’st but as the ass i’ the fable between -the tway haycocks—a.—Shalt thou after the Rownsyvall jade now?—or shalt -thou—a—shalt thou have one stoup more—ay—one stoup more?—Daniel, one -stoup more will make thee—a—will make thee—a—one stoup the stouter. -Coum, then—a.” - -He opened the spigot, and, holding the stoup with both hands, tried to -catch the ale as it spouted forth, gallons of it spilling on the floor -for the drops that entered the mouth of the vessel. - -“A murrain—a—a—a murrain on it, I say—a. May I die—a—die of thirst—a—if -the barrel be not dronkelew—a. It canna—a—a—it canna stand -fast—a—a—stand fast only till I—a—a—till I fill mine stoup—a—a. But -hold!—a—a—hold, I say—it runs over now—a—a—over now like a fountain. -Oh! I am the man—a—a—to empty a can—a—a—and fill it—a—a—(hiccup)—fill -it again and again—ah!—a—a—so here goes.” - -And, leaving the spigot to run as it might, he put the stoup to his -head, and drinking it out, staggered forward a step or two towards the -door, and, losing his feet and his balance at the same moment, fell -backwards with a tremendous crash on the pavement, where he lay -senseless in a sea of ale that deluged the floor. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - - Crooked-hold-him-fast—Making a Lantern of Burnstower Castle. - - -Assueton had no sooner witnessed the prostration of Master Daniel -Throckle than he hastened round to the door of the keep; and, having -noted the part of the building where the cellar lay, he slipped down a -stair, and, groping along a passage, was soon led to it by the light of -the lamp. He entered hastily, and, unbinding the belt from the drunken -beast’s body, made himself master of the keys. He then seized the lamp, -stole silently out by the door, and, taking the directions Throckle had -so gratuitously given him, explored a passage at the end of which he -found a stair leading upwards. Beneath it was the strongly-barred door -of a vault. Having singled out the key called Crooked-hold-him-fast, he -applied it to the door, and found it answer perfectly to the lock. He -turned the bolt, and, to his no small delight his lamp showed him his -esquire Roger Riddel and Robert Lindsay, both sound asleep on separate -heaps of straw. He gently waked first one, and then the other; and, -laying his finger on his lips, he cautioned them to be perfectly -silent. The poor fellows were so confounded by their unexpected -deliverance, that they rubbed their eyes, and could hardly believe that -they were really awake. - -“Bestir thee, but not a word,” said the knight to them; “the Castle is -all our own. There are but two men within the walls. One I have left in -a cellar, senseless as a hog, rucking and wallowing in his ale; from -him we have nothing to fear, but the other yet standeth sentinel at the -outward gate. So we must approach him cautiously; and, when I whistle, -pounce on him like falcons. But there is yet a woman in the place, whom -we must first secure, to prevent all chance of alarm.” - -“Yea,” said Roger Riddel gravely, “woman’s tongue be’s a wicked -weapon.” - -The knight and his followers hastened to find out the kitchen, and, -having peeped in, they descried Betty Burrel either asleep or -pretending to be so; and, remarking that the windows were strongly -barred, so that she could not escape that way, they gently shut the -door, and turned the key in the lock. - -They now ascended the stair, and having set down the lamp, Assueton, to -guard against all possibility of accident, took the large key from the -door of the keep, as they passed out. They then stole towards the -gateway, where, after prying about for some time, they discovered the -watchful warder of the garrison, lying within a doorway, sound asleep, -on the steps of the stair leading up to a barbican that overlooked the -gate. Assueton immediately sprang on him, and threw the blanket over -his head; and, having taken the keys of the gate from him, they muffled -him so completely up as to stop his utterance, and, crossing his arms -behind his back, bound all tightly together with Master Throckle’s -leathern belt. They then hoisted the knave on the broad back of Roger -Riddel, who marched merrily away with his burden, and deposited him in -the vault, on the very straw from which he had himself so lately risen. -Proceeding next to the cellar, they lifted up the drunken jailor, who, -being perfectly senseless, had run no small risk of being drowned -externally, as well as internally, by a flood of ale; and, having -carried him also to the vault, and put him among the straw that had -been Robert Lindsay’s bed, they turned Crooked-hold-him fast upon both -of them. - -Lighting another lamp, which they had found extinguished, the two -squires then went to the stables to look for horses. Meanwhile Assueton -ascended the stairs alone, to discover the ladies’ chamber of which -Throckle had spoken, and by attending to the description the jailor had -given, soon discovered it. He tapped gently at the door;—a deep sigh -came from within;—he tapped again. - -“Who knocks there at this hour?” said a female voice. - -The voice made Assueton’s heart bound with joy, for it was the voice of -the Lady Isabelle Hepborne. - -“Who knocks there?—who comes thus to break the hour of rest, the only -one I have been blest with since I entered these wicked and impure -walls? If it be thou, false and traitorous knight, know thou mayest -kill, but thou canst never subdue me.” - -“Lady Isabelle,” cried Assueton, in transport, “it is no traitor; it is -I, who will dare to call myself thy true and humble slave, thine own -humble slave, thine own faithful knight, who, by God’s blessing, has -come to undo the bars of thy prison and to set thee free. - -“Sir John Assueton,” cried the fair Isabelle, overpowered by amazement -and joy—“Sir John Assueton!—Blessed Virgin!—and how camest thou -here?—But thou art in dreadful danger. For mercy’s sake—for my sake—I -entreat thee not to speak so loud,” continued she, tripping lightly -towards the door, and whispering softly through the keyhole; “speak not -so loud, lest thou shouldst be overheard and surprised by some of the -caitiff knight’s cruel followers. I will brave all danger to fly with -thee.” - -“Nay, fairest lady,” said Assueton, “thou hast now but little cause of -dread. The Castle, and everything in it, is in my power; but I am -rather meagrely attended, and ’twere better we should lose as little -time as may be. I shall unlock thy door, and keep watch for thee in the -hall hard by, until thou art ready to wend with me.” - -The knight accordingly passed into the hall, where he found a long -board, covered with the wrecks of feast and wassail, everything in the -apartment betokening the riotous and reckless life that was led by the -libertine owner of the place. The walls were hung round with arms of -various kinds, and, to his great surprise, he perceived the very armour -he had worn, and which he had left with his people when he changed his -dress, together with his shield, lance, and trusty sword, all forming a -grand trophy, at one end. He soon removed them from their place, and -speedily equipped himself like a knight as he was; and he had hardly -done so, when his eye caught the very baldrick and bugle worn by the -leader of the foresters who had acted as his guide. He took them also -down, and hung them from his own neck, in memorial of the treachery he -had suffered. He then stood anxiously listening, nor did he wait long -until he heard the light step of the Lady Isabelle dancing merrily -along the passage. He flew to meet her, and the joy of both was too -great to be controlled. Yet they trifled not long to give way to their -feelings. Assueton gave his arm to the fair prisoner, and they -descended the stair together. On reaching the courtyard, he found -Riddel and Lindsay busy in the stable. His squire was employed in -putting the furniture and harness on the very steed the knight had -ridden from Hailes; but what gave rise to most unpleasant speculation -in the mind of Assueton, was the discovery that the horses and -equipments of his whole party were there. As he looked at the steeds -and trappings of his brave spearmen, his heart sank within him at the -thought of the cruel death that treachery had probably wrought on the -gallant fellows who had used them. A palfrey was soon selected and -prepared for the Lady Isabelle; and the other three horses being ready, -Assueton ordered them to be led out. Before they mounted, however, -Roger Riddel, who never gave himself the trouble of speaking except -when he had something of importance that compelled him to use his -tongue, addressed his master. - -“Methinks, your worship,” said he, “we should be the better of a -lantern to light us on our way till the moon rises.” - -“Go seek one then,” said Assueton; “but do not lose time, for it is but -a chance thou shalt find one.” - -“Fasten the horses to that hook, then, Bob,” said Riddel to Lindsay; “I -shall want thee to help me to light it.” - -The two men went into the keep-tower together, where they remained some -time, and at length they came out, each bearing a burden on his back. - -“What, in the name of St. Andrew, bearest thou there?” demanded -Assueton. - -“’Tis but the dronkelew jailor and the watchful warden,” said Riddel; -“methinks they will lie better in the stable.” - -“Tut!” said Assueton peevishly, “why waste our time with them?” - -But Roger and his comrade deposited their burdens quietly in the -stable, and then returned again into the keep-tower, where they -remained so very long that Assueton lost all patience. By and by female -shrieks were heard from within. They became louder, and seemed to -approach the door of the keep, when out stalked Roger Riddel with much -composure, carrying Betty Burrel like any infant in his arms. The -damsel, who was in her night attire, was wrapped in a blanket, and was -screaming, kicking, and tearing the squire’s face with her nails, like -any wild cat. But the sedate Roger minded her not, nor did her -scratching in the least derange the gravity of his walk. - -“This is too much, Riddel,” said Assueton, losing temper: “What absurd -whim is this? Is the Lady Isabelle Hepborne to be kept standing here -all night, till thou shalt find a new bed for Betty Burrel?” - -Roger turned gravely about, with the kicking and scratching Betty -Burrel still in his arms——— - -“Surely,” said he, “Sir Knight, thou hast too much Christian charity in -thee to see the poor pusell burnt alive?” - -“Burnt!” cried Assueton with astonishment; “what mean ye?” - -But now came the explanation of all Roger had said and done; for -volumes of smoke began to burst from the different open loop-holes of -the keep, and to roll out at the door, sufficiently explaining what -Roger Riddel had meant by a lantern. The squire hastily deposited the -kicking and screaming Betty Burrel in the stable, to which there was no -risk of the fire communicating, and locking the door, put the key -quietly into his pocket. The Lady Isabelle and Assueton mounted, while -the squire and Lindsay went before them, to raise the portcullis and -open the gates; and the whole party sallied forth from the walls, right -glad to bid adieu to Burnstower. Their two attendants went before them, -leading their own horses down the hill, and along the narrow tongue of -land, towards the ford, lest there might have been any such trap in -their way as they formerly fell into. But all was clear, and they got -through the ford with perfect safety. - -From the summit of the rising ground above the ford, that is, from the -same spot where the moon had given Assueton the first and only view of -Burnstower, on the night of his approach, they now looked back, and -beheld the keep involved in flames, that broke forth from every opening -in its sides, and forced their way through various parts of its roof. -The reader is already aware of the grandeur of the surrounding scene, -closely shut in all around by high backing hills, and the two deep -glens with their streams uniting under the green-headed eminence, that -arose from the luxuriant forest, which everywhere covered the lower -grounds: let him conceive all this, then, lighted up as it was by Roger -Riddel’s glorious lantern, which, as they continued to look, began to -shoot up jets of flame from its summit, so high into the air that it -seemed as if the welkin itself was in some danger from its contact, and -he will have in his imagination one of the most sublime spectacles that -human eye could well behold. - -The party, however, stopped not long to look at it, but urged onwards -through the thickets and sideling paths of the glen, now losing all -sight of the burning tower, and now recovering a view of it, as they -occasionally climbed upwards to avoid some impassable obstruction -below. At length a turn of the glen shut it altogether from their -sight, and the place where it lay was only indicated by the fiery-red -field of sky immediately over it. - -Assueton resolved to follow the course of the glen, and in doing so he -found that the forester had completely deceived him in regard to the -path, that below having occupied about one-tenth part of the time which -was consumed the former night in unravelling the mazes of the hill -road. The moon now arose to light them cheerily on their way; objects -became more distinct; and, as they were crossing a little glade, they -observed a man running, as if to take shelter under the trees. - -“After him, Riddel,” cried Assueton; “we must know who and what he is.” - -The squire and Lindsay charged furiously after the fugitive, and ere he -could gain the thicket, one rode up on each side of him, and caught -him. The knight and Lady Isabelle immediately came up, when, to their -no small delight, they discovered that it was a trooper of Assueton’s -party, and, on interrogating him, they learnt that all the others were -lodged safely among the brushwood at no great distance. The man was -instantly despatched for them, and, when they appeared, the whole -villainy of the pretended foresters was explained. The knight and his -two attendants had no sooner left them than they were largely feasted -with broiled venison, after which liberal libations of potent ale had -been administered to them; and they now firmly believed that the liquor -had been drugged with an opiate; for, though the excessive fatigue they -had undergone might have accounted for their being immediately overcome -with drowsiness, yet it could have furnished no adequate explanation of -their sleeping for the greater part of next day, as they had all done -to a man, without once awakening. When at length they did arise from -their mossy pillows, their horses and accoutrements, as well as the -knight’s armour, had vanished with the foresters, and nothing remained -but part of the carcase of a deer, left, as it appeared, to prevent -them from starving. In this helpless state the men were quite at a loss -what to do. To advance with the hope of meeting their leader, even if -he were not already the victim of a worse treachery than they had -experienced, would have been vain; yet, unarmed as they were, the brave -fellows could not entirely abandon him, and after much hesitation, they -had at last resolved, towards evening, to wander up the glen to see -what discoveries they could make. They had got thus far, when the -darkness of the night compelled them to halt until the moon rose; and -the man whom Assueton first descried had been sent out by the rest as a -scout, to ascertain whether they were yet safe in proceeding. - -Assueton’s mind being now relieved as to the safety of the party, he -resolved to send back Lindsay to guide the spearmen to Burnstower, that -they might horse and arm themselves in the stables. Meanwhile, he -proposed that he, the Lady Isabelle, and the squire, should halt in the -thickets, near the spot where they then were, and wait patiently for -their return. - -“Stay,” said Roger Riddel to one of the men, as soon as he had heard -his master’s arrangement, “stay, here is the key, and be sure thou -shuttest the stable door after thee. Thou canst not mistake the way, -even hadst thou no guide, for there is a lantern burning in the Castle -of Burnstower that enlighteneth the whole valley.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - - Waiting for the Spearmen—The Lady Isabelle’s Tale—The Fight. - - -The party led by Robert Lindsay marched off, and Roger Riddel proceeded -to seek out a retired spot where the Lady Isabelle might enjoy a little -rest. A mossy bank within the shelter of the wood was soon discovered, -and the knight and his fair companion seated themselves, whilst the -squire secured their horses at no great distance. Assueton was -extremely desirous to learn the history of the lady’s capture, and she -proceeded to satisfy him. - -As she was passing through the woodlands, on her return towards Hailes -Castle, after parting from her brother, she was suddenly surrounded by -Sir Miers de Willoughby’s party, seized, put on horseback, and carried -rapidly off. She was compelled to travel all that day and next night, -halting only once or twice for a very short time, to obtain necessary -refreshment for the horses and the people; and early next morning they -arrived with her at the Castle of Burnstower, where, although every -comfort was provided for her, she was subjected to confinement as a -prisoner. Sir Miers de Willoughby had taken every opportunity that so -rapid a journey afforded, to tease her with offers of love and -adoration; and after they reached Burnstower he had spent several hours -in making his offensive addresses to her. The lady had repulsed him -with a spirit and dignity worthy the daughter of Sir Patrick Hepborne, -called upon him boldly to release her at his peril, and made a solemn -appeal to Heaven against his treachery and baseness. At length she was -relieved of his presence by his being called on some expedition, from -which, fortunately for her peace, he did not return till a very late -hour, and she saw no more of him that night. But next morning he came -again to her apartment, where he compelled her to listen for some hours -to addresses which she treated with scorn and indignation. He became -enraged, and, in his fury, talked of humbling her pride by other means -than fair speeches if he did not find her more compliant on his return -from an expedition he was about to proceed upon. She trembled to hear -him; but fortunately his immediate absence saved her from further -vexation, until she was finally rescued from the villain’s hands by Sir -John Assueton. - -Having completed her narrative, the Lady Isabelle anxiously demanded a -similar satisfaction from Assueton, who gave her all the particulars of -his adventures, the recital being characterized by the modesty which -was natural to him. The lady shuddered and trembled alternately at the -perils to which he had been exposed on her account, and her eyes gave -forth a plenteous shower of gladness and of gratitude when he had -finished. He seized the happy moment for making a full declaration of -his passion, and he was repaid for all his miseries, fatigues, dangers, -and anxieties, by the soft confession he received from her. - -After their mutual transports had in some degree subsided, Assueton -called Roger Riddel from the spot where, with proper attention to -decorum, he had seated himself beyond earshot of their conversation, -and interrogated him as to what had occurred to him and Lindsay. Their -story was short, and Roger, who was always chary of his words, did not -add to its length by circumlocution. - -“Why, Sir Knight,” said he, “they carried us like bundles of straw to a -drearisome vault, and locked us up in the dark. Next day came one -Ralpho Proudfoot, with divers rogues—caitiff lossel had some old pique -at good Rob Lindsay—swore he would now be ywreken on him—threatened him -with hanging—and would have done it with his own hands then, but they -would not let him till he got his master’s warrant—swore that he would -get the warrant and do execution on Rob to-morrow. So we got beef and -ale to breakfast and supper, and slept till your honour wakened us to -wend with thee.” - -Sir John now prevailed upon the Lady Isabelle to take a short repose, -whilst he and Riddel watched over her safety. In a little time -afterwards, Robert Lindsay returned at the head of his remounted -cavalry. Assueton was now himself again, and, with spirits light as -air, he and the lady got into their saddles, and proceeded slowly down -the glen. To prevent all chance of surprise, Robert Lindsay preceded -them with half the party as an advance guard, whilst Roger Riddel -brought up the rear with the remainder. - -The night was so far spent that day dawned ere they had threaded the -pass that formed the entrance into the territory of Sir Miers de -Willoughby. The sun rose high in all its glory, and threw a flood of -golden light over the romantic scenery they were passing through. All -nature rejoiced under the benignant influence of his cheering rays; a -thousand birds raised their happy wings and melodious voices to heaven; -nay, all vegetable as well as animal life seemed to unite in one -general choir to pour out their grateful orisons. Nor did the souls of -the lovers refuse to join the universal feeling. They each experienced -inwardly a joy and a gratitude that surpassed all the power of -expression, but which was, perhaps, best uttered in that silent, but -not less fervent language used by the devout spirit, when, impressed -with a deep sense of the blessings it has received, it rises in secret -thanksgivings to its Creator. Each being thus separately occupied in -thought, they rode gently on until they had cleared the defiles, and -were entering the wider pastures, where the space in the bottom was -more extended, and the trees that clothed the sides of the hills, or -dropped down occasionally on the more level ground, grew thinner and -more scattered. - -As they were entering one of those little plains through which the -stream they had followed meandered, they were surprised by the -appearance of a party of armed horsemen approaching from the other -extremity of it. Assueton immediately called forward his esquire. - -“Riddel,” said he, “we know not as yet whether those who come towards -us may prove friends or foes; but be they whom they list, to thy -faithful charge do I consign the care and protection of the Lady -Isabelle; leave not her bridle-rein, whatever may betide. Take three of -the spearmen, and let her be always kept in the midst. Should that -bandon yonder, that cometh so fast, prove to be hostile, remember thou -art in no wise to act offensively unless the lady be attacked; but be -it thy duty, and that of those I leave with thee, to think only of -defending her to the last extremity. I shall myself ride forward with -the rest, to see who these may be.” - -The Lady Isabelle grew pale with alarm, partly because her lover was -probably about to incur danger, but even yet more, if possible, -because, in the knight who was approaching at the head of the troop, -she already recognized the figure and arms of him from whose power she -had so lately escaped. - -“Blessed Virgin protect us,” cried she, “’tis the caitiff knight de -Willoughby who advanceth!” - -“Is it so?” cried Assueton, his blood boiling at the intelligence; -“then, by the Rood of St. Andrew, he shall not hence until I shall have -questioned him for his villainy.” - -He stayed not to say more, but, galloping forward, he reined up his -steed in the middle of the way, and instantly addressed the opposite -leader. - -“Halt!” cried he, in a voice of thunder; “halt, Sir Knight, if yet thou -mayest deserve a title so honourable; for, of a truth, thou dost not, -if thou art he whom I take thee to be. Say, art thou, or art thou not, -that malfaitour Sir Miers de Willoughby?” - -“Though I see no cause why I should respond to a rude question rudely -put, yet will I never deny my name,” replied the other, “I am so hight. -And now, what hast thou to say to Sir Miers de Willoughby?” - -“That he no longer deserves to be called a knight, but rather a caitiff -robber,” replied Assueton. - -“Robber!” retorted the other; “dost thou call me robber, that dost wear -my baldrick and bugle hanging from thy shoulder?” - -“Thine!” replied Assueton; “if they be thine, ’tis well thou hast noted -them so; I wear them as the gage of my revenge; and I have sworn to -wear them until thou payest dearly for the wrong thou hast done to the -virtuous Lady Isabelle Hepborne, for I speak not of the base treachery -thou didst use towards myself.” - -“Nay, then,” replied de Willoughby, “it seems thou art determined that -we shall do instant battle. Come on, then.” - -And so saying, he put his lance in the rest and ran his course at -Assueton. The Scottish Knight couched his, and, exclaiming aloud, “May -God and St. Andrew defend the right,” he put spurs to his horse and -rushed at his opponent. They met nearly midway. Sir Miers de -Willoughby’s lance glanced aside from Assueton’s cuirass, without doing -the firmly-seated knight the smallest injury; but Assueton’s point -entering on one side, between the joinings of Sir Miers’ helmet and -neck-piece, bore him headlong from his saddle, and stretched him, -grievously wounded, on the plain. Meanwhile, before Assueton had time -to recollect himself, on came the party of de Willoughby, and, with the -natural impression that he would dismount to put their leader to death, -charged him en masse. His own spearmen rushed to his rescue, but, -before they came, he had so well bestirred himself that he had -prostrated three or four of the enemy. The battle now became general; -but though the numbers were on the other side, yet the victory was very -soon achieved by the prowess of Assueton and his people, who left not a -man before them; all, save one only, being either thrown to the ground -or forced to seek safety in flight. - -That one, however, was Ralpho Proudfoot, who at the first onset had -singled out Robert Lindsay, with a bloody thirst of long-cherished -hatred. Their spears having been splintered in the shock, he had -grappled Lindsay by the neck, and the latter seizing his antagonist in -his turn, they were both at once dragged from their horses. Rising -eagerly at the same moment, however, they drew their swords and -attacked each other. Some of Lindsay’s comrades having now no -antagonist of their own to oppose, were about to assist him. - -“Keep off,” cried he immediately, “keep off, my friends, if ye love me; -one man is enow, in all conscience, upon one man; so let him kill me if -he can, but interfere not between us.” - -They rained down their blows upon each other with tremendous force, and -the combat hung doubtful for a considerable time. Proudfoot’s -expression of countenance was savage and devilish. He tried various -manœuvres to break through Lindsay’s cool determined guards, but -without effect; and, being more desirous of wounding his adversary than -of saving himself, he received some severe thrusts. At length, as he -attempted to throw his point in on Lindsay’s body, he received a cut -from him that laid his arm open from the shoulder to the wrist, and at -once rendered it useless. The sword dropped from his hand, and, -fainting from the loss of blood that poured from his other wounds, he -staggered back a few paces, and fell senseless on the ground. The -generous Lindsay, forgetting the brutal threats Proudfoot had uttered -against him, ran up to his assistance. - -“He was my companion when we were boys,” cried he; “oh, let me save him -if I can.” - -And so saying, he ran to the stream, filled his morion with water, and -poured it on Proudfoot’s face. He then bathed his wounds, and bound up -his arm, and tried to staunch the bleeding from the thrusts he had -given him. Nor were his pious and merciful exertions unattended with -success. Proudfoot opened his eyes, and, his senses returning to him, -he gazed with silent wonder in the face of the man who had, a moment -before, fought so manfully against him, and who was now so humanely -employed in endeavouring to save his life, and assuage the acuteness of -his pains. His own villainous and cruel determinations against Lindsay, -which he had been contemplating, the having it in his power to carry -into execution that very night, now rushed upon his mind. His -conscience, long hardened by guilt and atrocity, was at once melted by -that single, but bright ray of goodness, which darted on it from the -anxious eye of Lindsay; and days long since past recurring to his -memory, he remembered what he had been, and burst into an agony of -tears. - -Assueton had no sooner rid himself of his enemies than he went to -assist the wounded and discomfited Sir Miers de Willoughby; and on -unlacing his helmet, discovered, to his no small surprise, the features -of the very forester who guided him to Burnstower. - -The evidence of Sir Miers de Willoughby’s villainy was now complete; -yet was not the gallant Assueton’s compassion for his hapless state one -atom diminished by the discovery. The wound in his neck, though not -mortal, bled most profusely, and he lay in a swoon from the quantity of -blood he had already lost. The Lady Isabelle and the esquire now coming -up, every means were used to stop the effusion, and, happily, with -success, but he still remained insensible. Assueton therefore ordered -his people to catch some of the horses of those who had fallen; and -having placed de Willoughby, Proudfoot, and one or two others of whose -recovery there seemed to be good hope, across their saddles, they -proceeded charily onwards, and after some hours’ slow travel, brought -them safely to Carham, and lodged them under the care of the Black -Canons of its Abbey. - -Having rested and refreshed themselves and their horses there, they -crossed the Tweed, and being impatient to return to Hailes, that they -might relieve the anxious mind of the elder Sir Patrick Hepborne, they -arrived there by a forced march. - -The joy of Sir Patrick at the unexpected return of his daughter may be -conceived. He had, as he resolved, gone in pursuit of Assueton, and had -used every means in his power to discover the direction in which the -Lady Isabelle had been carried; but all his efforts had been fruitless, -and they found him in the deepest despair. It is easy to guess what -happiness smiled upon that night’s banquet. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - - Sir Patrick Hepborne’s Journey North—Passes through Edinburgh—King - Robert II.—The Wilds of the Highlands—The Celtic Host. - - -Our history now returns to the younger Sir Patrick Hepborne, whom we -left about to commence his journey towards the North. He had no sooner -parted from his sister, the Lady Isabelle, and joined his esquire and -cortege, under the trees by the side of the Tyne, than he espied a -handsome youth, clad in the attire of a page, who came riding through -the grove towards a ford of the river. He was mounted on a sorry -hackney, carrying his valise behind him, and was guided by a clown, who -walked by his bridle. The boy showed symptoms of much amazement and -dismay on finding himself thus so unexpectedly surrounded by a body of -armed men; and he would have dropped from his horse, from sheer -apprehension, had not Sir Patrick’s kind and courteous salutation -gradually banished his alarm. - -“Who art thou, and whither goest thou, young man?” demanded the knight, -in a gentle tone and manner. - -“I am a truant boy, Sir Knight,” replied the youth, in a trembling -voice; “I have fled from home that I might see somewhat of the world.” - -“And where may be thy home?” demanded Sir Patrick. - -“On the English bank of the Tweed,” replied the boy. - -“Ha!” exclaimed Sir Patrick, “and why hast thou chosen to travel into -Scotland, rather than to explore the Southern parts of thine own -country?” - -“Verily, because I judged that there was less chance of my being looked -for on this side the Border,” replied the boy. “Moreover, the peace -that now prevails hath made either side safe enow, I hope, for travel.” - -“Nay, that as it may happen,” said the knight. “But why didst thou run -away from thy friends, young man? Was it that thou wert evil-treated.” - -“Nay, rather, Sir Knight, that I was over charily cockered and cared -for,” replied the boy; “more especially by my mother, at home, who, for -dread of hurt befalling me, would give me no license to disport myself -at liberty with other youths. I was, as it were, but a page of dames. -But, sooth to say, I have been long tired of dames and damosels, and -knitting, and broidery, and all the little silly services of women.” - -“Nay, in truth, thou art of an age for something more stirring,” -replied Sir Patrick; “a youth of thine years should have to do with gay -steeds, and armour, and ’tendance upon knights.” - -“Such are, indeed, the toys that my heart doth most pant for,” replied -the boy; “and such is mine excuse for quitting home. I sigh for the gay -sight of glittering tourneys, and pageants of arms, and would fain -learn the noble trade of chivalry.” - -“If thou hast no scruple to serve a Scottish Knight,” replied Sir -Patrick, “that is, so long as until the outbreak of war may call on -thee to appear beneath the standard of thy native England, I shall -willingly give thee a place among my followers; and, by St. Genevieve, -thou dost come to me in a good time, too, as to feats of arms, being -that I am now on my way to the grand tournament to be held on the Mead -of St. John’s. So, wilt thou yede with me thither, my young Courfine?” -The boy made no reply, but hung his head, and looked abashed for some -moments. “Ha! what sayest thou?” continued the knight; “wilt thou wend -with me, or no? Thine answer speedily, yea or nay, young man, for I -must be gone.” - -“Yea, most joyfully will I be of thy company, Sir Knight,” replied the -boy, his eyes glistening with delight; “and while peace may endure -between our countries, I will be thy true and faithful page, were it -unto the death.” - -“’Tis well, youth,” replied Sir Patrick; “but thou hast, as yet, -forgotten to possess me of thy name and parentage.” - -“My name, Sir Knight,” replied the boy, with some confusion and -hesitation—“my name is Maurice de Grey—my father, Sir Hargrave de Grey, -is Captain of the Border Castle of Werk—and the gallant old Sir Walter -de Selby, Captain of the other Border strength of Norham, is mine -uncle.” - -“Ha! is it so?” exclaimed Hepborne, with great surprise and -considerable agitation—“Then thou art cousin to the La——? then thou art -nevoy to Sir Walter de Selby, art thou? Nay, now I do look at thee -again, thou hast, methinks, a certain cast of the features of his -family. Perdie, he is a most honourable sib to thee. Of a truth thou -art come of a good kindred, and if thou wilt be advised by me, sweet -youth, thou wilt straightway hie thee back again to thine afflicted -mother, doubtless ere this grievously bywoxen with sorrow for loss of -thee.” - -“Nay, good Sir Knight, I dare not now adventure to return,” replied the -boy; “and sith thou hast told me of that tourney, verily thou hast so -much enhanced my desire to go with thee, that nothing but thy refusal -of what thou hast vouchsafed to promise me shall now hinder me.” - -“Had I earlier known of whom thou art come, youth,” replied Sir Patrick -gravely, “I had been less rash in persuading thee with me, or in -’gaging my promise to take thee; but sith that my word hath already -passed, it shall assuredly be kept; nor shall thy father or mother have -cause to regret that thou hast thus chanced to fall into my hands. -Come, then, let us have no more words, but do thou dismiss thy rustic -guide, and follow me without more ado.” - -The youth bowed obedience, and taking the peasant aside, gave him the -reward which his services had merited, and, after talking with him for -some little time, sent him away, and prepared to follow his new master. -Meanwhile, Sir Patrick called Mortimer Sang, and gave him strict -charges to care for the boy. - -“Be it thy duty,” said he to him, “to see that the young falcon be well -bestowed by the way. Meseems him but a tender brauncher as yet; he must -not be killed in the reclaiming. Let him be gently entreated, and -kindly dealt with, until he do come readily to the hand.” - -All being now in readiness, the troop moved forward; and Sir Patrick -Hepborne, who wished to know something more of his newly-acquired page, -made the boy ride beside him, that they might talk together by the way. -Maurice displayed all the bashfulness of a stripling when he first -mixes among men. He hung his head much; and although the knight’s eye -could often detect his in the act of gazing at him, when he thought he -was himself unobserved, yet he could never stand his master’s look in -return, but dropped his head on his bosom. The knight, however, found -him a lad of intelligence and good sense much beyond his years, and ere -they had reached Edinburgh, the boy had perfectly succeeded in winning -Sir Patrick’s good affections towards him. - -On their arrival in the capital, Sir Patrick bestowed on the page a -beautiful milk-white palfrey, of the most perfect symmetry of form and -docility of temper, and added rich furniture of velvet and gold to -complete the gift. He accoutred him also with a baldrick, and sword and -dagger, of rare and curious workmanship—presents which seemed to have -the usual effect of such warlike toys on young minds, when the boy is -naturally proud of assuming the symbols of virility. He fervently -kissed the generous hand that gave them, and blushed as he did so; then -mounting his palfrey, he rode with the knight up the high Mercat -Street, to the admiration of all those who beheld him. The very -populace cheered them as they passed along, and all agreed that a -handsomer knight or a more beautiful page had never graced the crown of -their causeway. - -Yet though the boy seemed to yield to the joy inspired by the -possession of these new and precious treasures, his general aspect was -rather melancholy than otherwise, and Hepborne that very evening caught -him in tears. He dried his eyes in haste, however, as soon as he saw -that he was observed, and lifting his long dark eye-lashes, beamed a -smile of sunshine into the anxiously inquiring face of his master. - -“What ails thee, Maurice?” said Hepborne, kindly taking his hand—“what -ails thee, my boy? Thy hand trembles, and thy cheeks flush—nay, the -very alabaster of thine unsullied forehead partake of the crimson that -overrunneth thy countenance. ’Tis the fever of home-leaving that hath -seized thee, and thou weepest for thy mother, whom thou hast left -behind thee; silly youth,” said he, chuckling him gently under the -chin, “’tis the penalty thou must pay for thy naughtiness in leaving -them. Doubtless, thou hast made them weep too. But say if thou wouldst -yet return? for if thou wouldst, one of mine attendants shall wend with -thee, and see thee safe to Werk; and——” - -“Nay, good Sir Knight,” cried the boy, interrupting him, “though I weep -for them, yet would I not return to Werk, but forward fare with thee.” - -“Nay,” said Hepborne, “unless thou shouldst repent thee of thy folly, -sweet youth, I shall leave thy disease to run its own course, and to -find its own cure. And of a truth, I must confess, I should part with -thee with sorrow.” - -“Then am I happy,” cried the boy, with a sudden expression of delight: -“Would that we might never part!” - -“We shall never part whilst thou mayest fancy my company,” said -Hepborne, kissing his cheek kindly, and infinitely pleased with the -unfeigned attachment the boy already showed him. “But youth is fickle, -and I should not choose to bind thy volatile heart longer than it may -be willing; for it may change anon.” - -The boy looked suddenly to heaven, crossed his hands over his breast, -and said earnestly, “I am not one given to change, Sir Knight; thou -shalt find me ever faithful and true to thee.” - -After leaving Edinburgh, Hepborne travelled by St. Johnstoun, and -presented himself before King Robert the Second at Scone, where he then -happened to be holding his court. The venerable monarch received him in -the most gracious and flattering manner. - -“Thy renommie hath outrun thy tardy homeward step, Sir Knight,” said -His Majesty, “for we have already heard of thy gallant deeds abroad. -Perdie, we did much envy our faithful ally and brother of France, and -did grudge him the possession of one of the most precious jewels of our -court, and one of the stoutest defences of our throne. We rejoice, -therefore, to have recovered what of so good right belongeth to us, and -we hope thou wilt readily yield to our command that thou shouldst -remain about our royal person. Since old age hath come heavily upon us, -marry, we the more lack such staunch and trusty props.” - -“My Most Gracious Liege,” said Hepborne, “I shall not be wanting in my -duty of obedience to your royal and gratifying mandate. At present I go -to attend this tourney of my Lord of Moray’s, and I go the more gladly, -that I may have an opportunity of meeting with my peers of the -baronage, of Scottish chivauncie, whom my absence in France hath -hitherto prevented my knowing. Having your royal leave to follow out -mine intent, I shall straightway render myself in your grace’s -presence, to bow to your royal pleasure.” - -“By doing so, Sir Patrick,” said the King, “thou wilt much affect us to -thee. We have of late had less of thy worthy father’s attendance on our -person than we could have wished. Mansuete as he is in manners, sage in -council, and lion-hearted in the field, we should wish to see him -always in our train. But we grieve for the sad cause of his retirement. -Thy virtuous mother’s sudden death hath weighed heavily on him, yet -must he forget his grief. Let a trental of masses be said for her -soul;—he must bestir himself anon, and restore to us and to his country -the use of those talents, of that virtue and bravery with which he hath -been so eminently blessed, and which were given him for our glory and -Scotland’s defence. If thou goest by the most curt and direct way into -Moray Land, thou wilt pass by our son Alexander Earl of Buchan’s Castle -of Lochyndorbe. Him must thou visit, and tell him that we ourselves did -urge thee to claim his hospitality.” - -Hepborne readily promised that he would obey His Majesty’s injunctions -in that respect, and took his leave, being charged with a letter for -the Earl, from the King, under his private signet. - -His route lay northwards, through the centre of Scotland. As he -journeyed onwards, through deep valleys and endless forests, and over -high, wide, and barren wastes, he compared in his own mind the face of -the country with the fertile regions of France, which he had so lately -left. But still, these were the mountains of his fatherland that rose -before his eye, and that name allied them to his heart by ties -infinitely stronger than the tame surface of cultivation could have -imposed. His soul soared aloft to the summits of the snow-topt -Grampians, where the hardy and untameable spirit of Scotland seemed to -sit enthroned among their mists, and to bid him welcome as a son. - -He made each day’s journey so easy, on account of the tender page, that -a week had nearly elapsed ere he found himself in the upper part of the -valley of the Dee. It was about sunset when he reached a -miserable-looking house, which had been described to him as one -accustomed to give entertainment to travellers. It was situated under -some lofty pines on the edge of the forest. The owner of this mansion -was a Celt; a tall, stout, athletic man of middle age, clad in the garb -of the mountaineers. Having served in the wars against the English, he -had acquired enough of the Southron tongue to enable Hepborne to hold -converse with him. The knight and the page (whom, notwithstanding his -injunction to Mortimer Sang, he had yet kept always within his own eye) -were ushered together into a large sod-built apartment, where a -cheerful fire of wood burned in the middle of the floor. The squire and -the rest of the party were bestowed in a long narrow building of the -same materials, attached to one end of it. The night had been chilly on -the high grounds they had crossed, and the fire was agreeable. They sat -them down, therefore, on wooden settles close to it, and the rude -servants of their host hastened to put green boughs across the fire, -and to lay down steaks of the flesh of the red-deer to be cooked on -them. - -Meanwhile the host entered with a wooden stoup in his hand, and poured -out for them to drink, into a small two-eared vessel of the same -material. The liquor was a sort of spirit, made partly from certain -roots and partly from grain; and was harsh and potent, but rather -invigorating. Hepborne partook of it, but the page would on no account -taste it. - -“Fu?” said Duncan MacErchar, for that was their host’s name, “fu! fat -for will she no drink?” - -“He is right,” said Hepborne; “at his age, water should be his only -beverage.” - -The host then went with his stoup to offer some of its contents to the -knight’s followers, most of whom he found less scrupulous than the -page. During his conversation with the men, he soon learned who was -their master; but he had no sooner heard the name of Hepborne than he -became half frantic with joy, and hastily returned into the place where -Sir Patrick was sitting. - -“Master Duncan MacErchar,” said Hepborne to him as he entered, “thou -must e’en procure me some mountaineer who may guide me into Moray Land. -I be but a stranger in these northern regions, and verily our way among -the mountains hath been longer than it ought, for we have been often -miswent. Moreover, I am altogether ignorant of thy Celtic leden, so -that when we have had the good fortune to meet with people by the way, -we have not been able to profit by the information they could give us.” - -“Ugh!” cried MacErchar, with a strong expression of joy, and rubbing -his hands as he spoke; “but she’ll go with her hersel, an naebody else -can be gotten to attend her. Ugh ay, surely she’ll do that and twenty -times more for ony Hepborne, and most of all for the son of the noble, -and brave, and worthy Sir Patrick, and weel her part. Och ay, surely!” - -“And how comest thou to be so very friendly to the Hepbornes, and, -above all, to our family?” demanded Sir Patrick. - -“Blessings be upon her!” said MacErchar, “she did serve mony a day with -her father, the good and the brave Sir Patrick, against the English, -and mony was the time she did fight at her ain back. She would die -hersel for Sir Patrick, or for ony flesh o’ his.” - -Hepborne’s heart immediately warmed to the honest Celt; he shook him -cordially by the hand, and MacErchar’s eyes glistened with pleasure. - -“Depend on it, Master MacErchar,” said he, “my father shall know thine -attachment to him.” - -“Ou fye,” said MacErchar, “it would be an honour and a pleasure for her -to see Sir Patrick again, to be sure!—ugh ay!” And he stopped, because -he seemed to lack language to express all he felt. - -“Thou livest in a wild spot here,” said Hepborne; “but thou art a -soldier, and hast travelled.” - -“Ou ay, troth she hath done that,” said Duncan, with a look of -conscious pride; “troth hath she travelled mony a bonny mile in -England, not to talk o’ Ireland, where she did help to take -Carlinyford. Troth she hath seen Newcastle, and all there-abouts, for -she was with the brave Archembald Douglas, the Grim Lord of Galloway. -Och! oich! it was fine sport!—She lived on the fat o’ the land yon -time; and, u-hugh! what spuilzie!—ay, ay, he! he! he!” - -“Thou didst march into England, then, with the French auxiliaries who -came over to St. Johnstoun under Jean de Vian, Comte de Valentinois?” -demanded Sir Patrick. - -“Ou ay, troth she was with the Frenchmens a long time,” said -MacErchar—“Peut Parley Frenchy, hoot ay can she. Fair befall them, they -helped to beleaguer and to sack two or three bonny castles. Ugh! what -bonny spuilzie! sure, sure!” - -He laid his finger with great significancy against his nose, and, -having first shut the door, he lifted a brand from the fire, and went -to one end of the apartment. There he removed a parcel of faggots that -lay carelessly heaped up against the wall, and, lifting a rude frame of -wattle that was beneath them, uncovered an excavation in the earthen -floor, from which he brought out a massive silver flagon, one or two -small silver mazers, and several other pieces of valuable spoil; and -besides these, he produced a plain black bugle-horn, and two or three -coarse swords and daggers. - -“Troth she would not show them to everybody,” said he; “but she be’s an -honourable knight, and Sir Patrick’s son;—she hath no fear to show the -bonny things to her. But she has not had them out for mony a day syne.” - -Hepborne bestowed due admiration on those well-earned fruits of Master -Duncan MacErchar’s military hardships and dangers. Though of less -actual value to the owner than the wooden vessel from which he had so -liberally dealt out his hospitable cup at meeting, yet there was -something noble in the pride he took in showing them. It was evident -that the glory of the manner of their acquisition gave them their chief -value in his eyes; for it was not those of most intrinsic worth that -were estimated the highest by him. - -“See this,” said he, lifting the plain black bugle-horn; “this be the -best prize of them all. She took this hersel off a loon that fought and -tuilzied with her hand to hand; but troth she tumbled him at the -hinder-end of the bicker. Fye, fye, but he was a sorrowful mockel stout -loon.—This swords, an’ this daggers, were all ta’en off the loons she -killed with her nain hand.—But uve, uve! she maunna be tellin’ on her, -though troth she needna fear Sir Patrick Hepborne’s son. But if some of -the folks in these parts heard of these things, uve, uve! they wouldna -be long here.” - -Saying this, he hastily restored the articles of spoil to the grave -that had held them, and putting down the wattle over them, he threw -back the billets into a careless heap against the wall. - -“Thy treasure is so great, Master MacErchar,” said Hepborne, “that thou -art doubtless satisfied, and wilt never again tempt thy fate in the -field?” - -“Hoot toot!” cried MacErchar, “troth she’ll be there again or lang; she -maun see more o’ the Southrons yet or she dies. But uve, uve! what for -is there nothing for her to eat?” - -He then burst out in a torrent of eloquence in his own language, which -soon brought his ragged attendants about him, and the best that he -could afford was put on a table before Sir Patrick and the page. Cakes -made of rough ground oatmeal, milk, cheese, butter, steaks of deer’s -flesh, with various other viands, with abundance of ale, appeared in -rapid succession, and both knight and page feasted admirably after -their day’s exercise. Hepborne insisted on their host sitting down and -partaking with them, which he did immediately, with a degree of -independent dignity that impressed Sir Patrick yet more strongly in his -favour. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - - Savage-looking Visitors—Night in the Highland Hostelry—Wolf-Dogs. - - -As they sat socially at their meal, they were suddenly interrupted by -the door being burst open, when two gigantic and very savage-looking -men entered, in most uncouth and wild drapery. They were clothed in -woollen plaids of various colours and of enormous amplitude, and these -were wrapt round their bodies and kept tight by a belt of raw leather -with the hair on it, leaving the skirts to hang half-way down their -naked thighs, while the upper part above the belt was thrown loosely -over the shoulder, so as to give their muscular arms and hairy knees -the full freedom of nakedness. Their heads also were bare, except that -they had the copious covering which Nature had provided for them, the -one having strong curly black hair, and the other red of similar -roughness, hanging in matted locks over their features and about their -ears. The forests which Nature had planted on their faces, chins, and -necks too, had been allowed to grow, untamed by shears; their legs were -covered half-way to the knee by strips of raw skin twisted round them, -and their feet were defended by a kind of shoes made of untanned hides. -Each had a dirk in his girdle, and a pouch of skin suspended before, -while across their backs were slung bows and bunches of arrows. In -their hands they brandished long lances, and several recently-taken -wolves’ skins were thrown over their shoulders, but rather for carriage -than covering. Five or six large wiry-haired wolf-dogs entered along -with them. - -MacErchar instantly started up when they appeared, and began speaking -loudly and hastily to them in their own tongue, waving them from time -to time to retire, and at length opened the door, and showed them the -way to the other apartment. - -“Who may be these two savage-looking men?” demanded Hepborne of his -host as he entered. - -“Troth, she no kens them, Sir Patrick,” replied MacErchar, “she never -saw them afore; but they tells her that they be’s hunters from the -north side of this mountains here.” - -“Live they in the way that I must needs wend to-morrow towards Moray -Land?” asked Hepborne. - -“Uch, ay,” replied MacErchar; “but mind not that, Sir Patrick, for -hersel will go wi’ her the morn.” - -“Nay,” said Hepborne, “that may not be, that is, if these men are to -return whence they came, and that their road and mine run nearly in the -same direction. Perdie, I cannot in that case suffer thee to yede so -far with me unnecessarily, when their guidance might suffice. Thou -shalt give them knowledge of the point I wish to reach, together with -all necessary directions touching the places where we may best halt, -and spend the night; and they shall receive a handsome guerdon from me -when they shall have brought me and mine in safety to the Castle of -Lochyndorbe, whither I am first bound.” - -“Uch-huch! of a truth she would like to go with her,” said MacErchar; -“but troth, after all, she must confess that she kens but little o’ the -way beyond her ain hills there. Weel would it be her part to wend wi’ -her; but if yon loons ken the gate into Moray Land (as doubtless they -have been there mony a time, and she does not mistake them) they will -be better guides, after all. But what an she should ask some questions -at them?” - -“Thou hadst better do so,” said Hepborne; “best ask them whence they -come, and what parts of the country they know, before thou dost teach -them the object of thy questions.” - -“Troth, and she’s right there,” said Duncan MacErchar; “this salvage -loons are not just to lippen till; weel does she ken them; and, uve, -uve! she maun tak special care to look sharp after them gin she should -yede wi’ them; they are but little chancy, in troth. But she’ll call -them in now, and see what the loons will say.” - -The two uncouth-looking men were accordingly brought in. They made no -obeisance, but stood like a couple of huge rocks, immovable, with all -their thickets and woods upon them. They even beetled over the tall and -sturdy form of Duncan MacErchar, who, though above the middle size, -might have passed as a little man when placed beside those gigantic -figures. Duncan put several questions to them in their own language, -which they answered, but always before doing so, they seemed to consult -each other’s countenances, and then both answered in the same breath. -They eyed the knight and his page from time to time, as the inhabitants -of all secluded and wild regions are naturally apt to stare at -strangers. After a good deal of colloquy had passed, MacErchar turned -to Hepborne— - -“Sir Patrick,” said he, “these men ken every inch of the country from -here to the Firth of Moray. Shall she now ask them if they be willing -to guide her honour to Lochyndorbe?” - -“Do so, I beseech thee,” said Hepborne, “and tell them I will give them -gold when they bring me thither.” - -MacErchar again addressed them in their own language. The men seemed to -nod assent to the proposals he made them; and after a few more words -had passed between them— - -“Uch, Sir Patrick,” said he, “they be very willing for the job. They’ll -bring her there in two days. They say that she must be off by sunrise -in the morning.” - -This Sir Patrick readily undertook; and Duncan MacErchar having wet the -treaty with a draught of the spirits from his stoup, of which he poured -out liberally to each, the men retired. Sir Patrick Hepborne then -signified a wish to go to his repose. Two heather-beds, of inviting -firmness and elasticity, were already prepared at the two extremities -of the chamber where they were; and the knight having occupied the one, -and the page the other, both were very soon sound asleep. - -About the middle of the night Sir Patrick was awakened by a noise. He -raised himself suddenly, and, looking towards the door, whence it -seemed to have proceeded, he saw that it was open. One or two of the -great rough wolf-dogs came slowly in, looking over their shoulders, as -if expecting some one to follow them—and, making a turn or two round -the expiring fire, and smelling about them for a little while, walked -out again. Hepborne arose and shut the door, and then threw himself -again within his blankets. He lay for some time awake, to see whether -the wolf-dogs would repeat their unpleasant intrusion; and finding that -there was no appearance of their doing so, he again resigned himself to -the sweets of oblivion. - -He had lain some time in this state when he was a second time awakened, -he knew not how, but he heard as if there were footsteps in the place. -The fire had now fallen so low that he could see nothing by its light, -but by a glimmering moonbeam that made its way in he saw that the door -was again open. As he looked towards it, he thought he perceived -something like a dog glide outwards. He started up, as he had done -before, and, going to the door, he again shut it; and, that the -wolf-dogs might no more torment him, he piled up the rustic table he -had supped on, and some of the stools and settles against it. The -precautions he thus took were effectual, for the dogs were no more -troublesome to him all night; and the first interruption his slumbers -experienced was from the overthrow of the whole materials of his -barricado, and the exclamation of “Uve! uve!” that burst from Duncan -MacErchar, who came for the purpose of rousing him to prosecute his -journey. Hepborne explained the cause of his having so fortified the -door. - -“Uch ay,” said MacErchar, “they be’s powersome brutes—powersome brutes, -in troth, and plaguy cunning. I’se warrant they smelt the smell of the -rosten deer’s flesh, and that brought them in. But they got little for -their pains, the ragged rascals—not but they are bonny tykes, poor -beasts! and troth, ’tis better to have ane o’ them in the house than -the wolves themselves, that we’re sometimes plagued with.” - -The host approached the side of Hepborne’s couch, with his everlasting -stoup in his right hand, and the wooden cup in his left, and poured him -out of the spirits it contained. The knight sipped a little, and then -MacErchar retired to see that his morning’s meal was properly provided. -It was no less copiously and comfortably supplied, according to his -means, than the supper of the previous evening had been. - -At length Mortimer Sang came to receive his master’s orders; and when -Hepborne asked him how he and his people had fared, he learned that -they had been treated with every thing the good host could procure for -them. Oats were not to be had for the horses; but, in addition to the -grass that was cut for them, Master MacErchar had himself carried a -large sack of meal to the stables and out-houses of turf, where the -animals had with some difficulty been forced in, and he had most -liberally supplied them with his own hands. He went round all the men -of Hepborne’s party, and gave each his morning’s cup of spirits. In -short, he seemed to think that it was impossible he could do enough -from his small means, for the knight and every person and animal -belonging to him. - -When the horses were brought out, Hepborne called MacErchar to him, and -offered him, from his purse, ten times as much money as the value of -his night’s entertainment and lodging would have cost. - -“Uve! uve!” said Duncan, sore hurt, and half offended; “uve! uve! Sir -Patrick! Hoot no. What! take money from the son of Sir Patrick -Hepborne, the son o’ the noble brave knight that she has followed mony -a days!—take money from his son for a bit paltry piece and a drink!—Na! -na!—Uve! uve!—Ou fye! ou fye!—na, na!—Troth, she’s no just so poor or -so pitiful as that comes to yet. Uve! uve! Surely!” - -Hepborne at once saw the mischief he had done. He would have rather put -his hand in the fire than have hurt feelings that were so honourable to -Duncan MacErchar; and he almost began to wish that his purse had been -there, ere it had been the means of giving pain to so noble a heart. He -did all he could, therefore, to remedy the evil; for, putting his purse -sheepishly into his pocket, he called for the stoup of spirits, and, -filling the cup up to the brim, drank it off, to the health, happiness, -and prosperity of Master Duncan MacErchar; then shaking the mountaineer -heartily by the hand— - -“May we meet again, my worthy friend,” said he; “and wherever it may -be, let me not pass by thee unnoticed. Meanwhile, farewell, and may the -blessing of St. Andrew be about thee!” - -This courteous and kind behaviour completely salved the wound Hepborne -had so unwittingly inflicted. Duncan was overjoyed with it, and -gratified beyond measure. He tried to express his joy. - -“Och, oich! God’s blessing and the Virgin’s blessing be about her. Och, -och! Sir Patrick! uu-uch! God’s blessing and the Virgin’s blessing—and -uch-uch!—and, Sir Patrick—Sure, sure! ou ay—uu—u!” - -His English failed him entirely, and he resorted to that language in -which he was most fluent. Hepborne mounted his horse, and, waving him -another farewell, rode on to overtake his guides, who were standing on -a distant eminence waiting for him; and as he receded from the humble -mansion of Master Duncan MacErchar, he for several minutes -distinguished his voice vociferating in pleased but unintelligible -accents. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - - Wild Scottish Bisons—Fight with a Bull—Cold and Fatigue. - - -Sir Patrick Hepborne and the page, followed by Mortimer Sang and the -rest of the party, rode slowly on after their savage guides, along -sideling paths worn in the steep acclivities of the mountains, by the -deer, wild bisons, and other animals then abounding in the wilderness -of Scotland. The fir forests appeared endless; the trees were of the -most gigantic stature, and might have been of an age coeval with that -second creation that sprang up over the surface of the renovated and -newly-fructified earth, after the subsiding waters had left their -fertilising mud behind them. Long hairy moss hung streaming from their -lateral branches, which, dried by the lack of air and moisture, -occasioned by the increasing growth of the shade above, had died from -the very vigour of the plant they were attached to. As Hepborne beheld -the two mountaineers striding before them in their rough attire, -winding among those enormous scaly trunks, or standing on some rocky -point above, leaning against one of them, to wait for the slow ascent -of himself and party, he could not help comparing them with those -vegetable giants, and indulging his fancy in the whimsical notion that -they were as two of them, animated and endowed with the powers of -locomotion. The ground they travelled was infinitely rough and varied -in surface, hills and hollows, knolls, gullies, rivers, and lakes; but -all was forest, never-ending forest. Sometimes, indeed, they crossed -large tracks of ground, where, to open a space for pasture, or to -banish the wolves, or to admit a more extended view around for purposes -of hunting, or perhaps by some accidental fire, the forest had been -burnt. There the huge trunks of the trees, charred black by the flames, -and standing deprived of everything but a few of their larger limbs, -added to the savage scenery around. - -Before entering one of these wastes, in a little plain lying in the -bottom of a valley, where the devastation had been arrested in its -progress by some cause before it had been carried to any great extent, -their guides descried a herd of the wild bisons, which were natives of -Scotland for ages after the period we are now speaking of. The animals -were feeding at no very great distance, and the mountaineers were -instantly all eagerness to get at them. Pointing them out to Hepborne, -they made signs that he and his party should halt. He complied with -their wishes; and they immediately secured their dogs to the trees, to -prevent the risk of giving any premature alarm, and, setting off with -inconceivable speed through the skirting wood that grew on the side of -the mountain, were soon lost to view. Hepborne kept his eye on the -herd. They were of a pure milk-white hue, and, as the sun was reflected -from their glossy hides, they appeared still more brilliant, from -contrast with the blackened ruins of the burnt pines among which they -were pasturing. At their head was a noble bull with a magnificent mane. - -As Hepborne and the page were admiring the beauty and symmetry of this -leader of the herd, noting the immense strength indicated by the -thickness and depth of his chest with the lightness and sprightliness -of his head, and his upright and spreading horns, of a white rivalling -that of ivory in lustre, and tipt with points of jet black, they -observed a fat cow near to him suddenly fall to the ground, by an arrow -from the covert of the trees, while another having been lodged in his -flank at the same moment, he started aside, and bounded off in a wide -circuit with great swiftness, and the whole herd, being alarmed, darted -after him. Out rushed the mountaineers from their concealment, and, -making for the wounded cow, soon despatched her with their spears. - -They then attempted to creep nearer to the herd, and even succeeded in -lodging more than one arrow in the bull; but as none of them took -effect in a vital part, they only served to madden the animal. He -turned, and, ere they wist, charged them with a fury and speed that -left them hardly time to make their escape. They ran towards the place -where Hepborne and his party were concealed, and, just as the knight -moved forward into the open ground, they succeeded in getting up into -trees. Sir Patrick’s manœuvre had the desired effect in checking the -attack of the bisons, for they stopped short in the middle of their -career, gazed at the party, and then, led by the bull at their head, -again galloped off in a wide circle, sweeping round a second time -towards the knight, and coming to a sudden stand beyond bow-shot. After -remaining at rest for some minutes, with their heads all turned towards -the party, the bull began pawing the ground and bellowing aloud, after -which he charged forward the half of the distance, and then halted. - -Hepborne, seeing him thus detached from his followers, put his lance in -the rest, and was preparing to attack him; but just as he was rising in -his stirrup, and was about to give his horse the spur, the page, with a -countenance pale as death, and a hand trembling with apprehension, -seized his bridle-rein, and looking anxiously in his face— - -“Do not peril thy life, Sir Knight,” said he—“do not, I beseech thee, -peril thy life against a vulgar beast, where thou canst gain no honour; -do not, for the sake of the blessed Virgin—do not essay so dangerous -and unprofitable an adventure.” - -“Pshaw,” said Hepborne, vexed with the notion that the boy was -betraying pusillanimity; “is that the face, are those the looks, and is -that the pallid hue of fear thou dost mean to put on as the proofs of -thy fitness for deeds of manhood and warlike encounter?” - -The page dropped his head, ashamed and hurt by his master’s chiding; -but still he did not let go the rein— - -“Nay, Sir Knight,” said he calmly, “I did but argue that thy prowess, -shown upon a vile brute, were but lost. Rather let me attempt to attack -yonder salvage; he better befits mine unpractised arm than thine -honoured lance, which hath overthrown puissant knights.” - -“Tush, boy,” said Sir Patrick, somewhat better pleased to see the -spirit that lurked in the youth, “thou art much too young, and thine -arm is as yet too feeble to fit thee for encounter with yonder huge -mass of thews and muscles. Stand by, my dear boy, and let me pass.” - -He gave the palfrey the spur, and sprang forward against the bull. The -page couched his slender lance, to which a pennon was attached, and -bravely followed the knight in the charge, as fast as his palfrey could -gallop. The bull, seeing Hepborne coming on him, bellowed aloud, and, -putting down his nose to the ground, he shut his eyes, and darted -forward against his assailant. Hepborne wheeled his horse suddenly out -of his way, and, with great adroitness, ran his lance through him as he -passed him. But his manœuvre, though manifesting excellent judgment, -and admirable skill and horsemanship, had nearly proved fatal to the -page, whose palfrey, coming up in a straight line behind that of the -knight, and seeing the bull coming directly upon him, sprang to the -side, and by that means unhorsing the boy, left him lying on the -ground, in the very path of the infuriated beast. In agony from his -wound, the creature immediately proceeded to attack the youth with his -horns. But the page having kept hold of his spear, with great presence -of mind, ran its point, with the flapping pennon attached to it, right -into the animal’s eyes. The creature instantly retreated a few steps, -and before he could renew his attack he was overpowered by the knight -and his party, who immediately surrounded him, and was killed by at -least a dozen spear-thrusts at once. A general charge was now made -against the rest that still stood at a distance, crowded together in a -knot; when the whole of them, wheeling suddenly round, galloped off -with the utmost swiftness, and were lost in the depths of the forest. - -Hepborne leaped from his horse and ran anxiously to assist Maurice de -Grey, who still lay on the ground, apparently faint from the fall he -had had, and perhaps, too, partly from the alarm he had been in. He -raised him up, upon which the boy burst into tears. - -“Art thou hurt, Maurice?” demanded Hepborne, with alarm. - -“Nay,” said the boy, “I am not hurt.” - -“Fye on thee, then,” said Hepborne; “let not tears sully the glory thou -has but now earned by thy manly attempt in so boldly riding to my -rescue. Verily thou wilt be a brave lad anon. Be assured, my beloved -boy,” continued he, as he warmly embraced him, “I feel as grateful for -thine affectionate exertions in my behalf as if I now owed my life to -them. But dry up thy tears, and let them not henceforth well out so -frequently, lest thy manhood and courage may be questioned.” - -“Nay, Sir Knight,” said the boy, “these are not the tears of cowardice; -they are the tears of gratitude to heaven for thy safety; and methinks -they are less dishonourable to me,” continued he, with an arch smile of -satisfaction, “since I see that thine own manly cheek is somewhat -moistened.” - -Hepborne said no more, but turned away hastily, for he felt that what -the boy said was true. He had experienced very great alarm for -Maurice’s life, and the relief he received by seeing him in safety, -operating in conjunction with the thought that the danger the page had -thrown himself into had been occasioned by a mistaken zeal to defend -him from the bull, grappled his generous heart, and filled his eyes -with a moisture he could not restrain. - -The two mountaineers proceeded to skin the animals, a work which they -performed with great expertness; then cutting off the finer parts of -the flesh, and carefully extracting the tallow, they rolled them up in -the hides; and each lifting one of them on his brawny shoulders, -proceeded on their journey, after allowing their hungry dogs to gorge -themselves on the remainder. - -The knight and his party were now led up some of those wild glens which -bring down tributary streams to the river Dee, and they gradually began -to climb the southern side of that lofty range of mountains separating -its valley from that of the Spey. They soon rose above the region of -forest, and continued to ascend by zigzag paths, where the horses found -a difficult and precarious footing, and where the riders were often -compelled to dismount. The fatigue to both men and animals was so -great, that some of the latter frequently slipped down, and were with -great labour recovered from the hazard they were thrown into. At -length, after unremitting and toilsome exertions, they found themselves -on the very ridge of the mountain group, from which they enjoyed a view -backwards over many leagues of the wild but romantic country they had -travelled through during the previous day. - -They now crossed an extensive plain, the greatest part of which was -covered with a hardened glacier, while two high tops reared themselves, -one on either side, covered with glazed snow, that reflected the -sunbeams with dazzling brightness. The passage across this stretch of -table-land was difficult, the horses frequently slipping and often -falling, till, at length, they came suddenly on the edge of a -precipice, whence they looked down into one of the most sublime scenes -that nature can well present. - -The long and narrow trough of the glen, bounded on both sides by -tremendously precipitous rocks, rising from a depth that made the head -giddy to overlook it, stretched from under them in nearly a straight -line, for perhaps six or seven miles, being cooped in between the two -highest points of the Grampians. The bottom of the nearer and more -savage part of this singular hollow among the mountains was so -completely filled with the waters of the wild Loch Avon, as to leave -but little shore on either side, and that little was in most places -inclined in a steep slope, and covered with mountainous fragments, that -had fallen during a succession of ages from the overhanging cliffs. A -detachment of pines, from the lower forests, came straggling up the -more distant part of the glen, and some of them had even established -themselves here and there in scattered groups, and uncouthly-shaped -single trees, along the sides of the lake, or among the rocks arising -from it. The long sheet of water lay unruffled amidst the uninterrupted -quiet that prevailed, and, receiving no other image than that of the -sky above, assumed a tinge of the deepest and darkest hue. The glacier -they stood on, and which hung over the brow of the cliff, gave rise to -two very considerable streams, which threw themselves roaring over the -rocks, dashing and breaking into an infinite variety of forms, and -shooting headlong into the lake below. - -The sun was now sinking rapidly in the west, and night was fast -approaching. The great elevation they had gained, and the solitary -wilderness of alpine country that surrounded them, almost excluded the -possibility of any human habitation being within their reach. Hepborne -became anxiously solicitous for the page Maurice de Grey, who had for a -considerable time been manifesting excessive fatigue. Their dumb guides -seemed to stand as if uncertain how to proceed, and Hepborne’s anxiety -increased. He endeavoured to question them by signs, as to where they -intended the party to halt for the night. With some difficulty he -succeeded in making them understand him, and they then pointed out a -piece of green ground, looped in by a sweep of the river, that escaped -from the farther end of the lake. The spot seemed to be sheltered by -surrounding pine trees, and wore in every respect a most inviting -aspect. But if they had been endowed with wings and could have taken -the flight of eagles from the region of the clouds where they then -were, the distance must have been five or six miles. Taking into -calculation, therefore, the immense circuit they must make with the -horses in order to gain the bottom of the glen beyond the lake, which -must necessarily quadruple the direct distance, together with the -toilsome nature of the way, Sir Patrick saw that Maurice de Grey must -sink under the pressure of fatigue before one-twentieth part of it -could be performed. He was therefore thrown into a state of the utmost -perplexity, for the cold was so great where they then were, that it was -absolutely impossible they could remain there during the night, without -the risk of being frozen to death. - -One of the guides, observing Hepborne’s uneasiness and doubt, -approached him, and pointed almost perpendicularly downwards to a place -near the upper end of the lake, where the masses of rock lay thickest -and hugest. The knight could not comprehend him at first, but the man, -taking up two or three rough angular stones, placed them on the ground -close to each other in the form of an irregular circle, everywhere -entire except in one point, where the space of about the width of one -of them was left vacant; and then, lifting up a stone of a cubical -shape, and of much greater size, he placed the flat base of it on the -top of the others, so as entirely to cover them and the little area -they enclosed. Having made Hepborne observe that he could thrust his -hand in at the point where the circle had been left incomplete, and -that he could move it in the cavity under the flat base of the stone, -he again pointed downwards to the same spot he had indicated near the -upper end of the lake, and at last succeeded in calling Hepborne’s -attention to one of the fallen crags, much larger than the rest, but -which, from the immensity of the height they were above it, looked -liked a mere handful. The guide no sooner saw that the knight’s eye had -distinguished the object he wished him to notice, than he turned and -pointed to the mimic erection he had formed on the ground, and at -length made him comprehend that the fallen crag below was similarly -poised, and afforded a like cavernous shelter beneath it. At the same -time he indicated a zigzag path that led precipitously down the cliffs, -like a stair among the rocks, between the two foaming cataracts. This -was altogether impracticable for the horses, it is true, but it was -sufficiently feasible, though hazardous enough, for active pedestrians. -The guide separated Hepborne and Maurice de Grey from the rest of the -party, and then, pointing to the men and horses, swept his extended -finger round from them to the distant green spot beyond the end of the -lake; and this he did in such a manner as to make the knight at once -understand he meant to propose that the party should proceed thither by -a circuitous route, under the guidance of his companion, whilst he -should himself conduct Hepborne and his already over-fatigued page -directly down to the Sheltering Stone below, where they might have -comfortable lodging for the night. He further signified to Hepborne -that the horses might be brought for a considerable way up the lake to -meet him in the morning. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - - The Evening Encampment—Treachery. - - -So much time had been lost in this mute kind of conversation, that the -night was fast approaching, and Sir Patrick saw that he must now come -to a speedy decision. The plan suggested by the guide seemed to be the -best that could be followed, under all the circumstances, and he at -once determined to adopt it. At the same time, he by no means relished -this division of his forces, and, remembering the caution he had -received from Duncan MacErchar, he called Mortimer Sang aside, and gave -him very particular injunctions to be on the alert, and to take care -that his people kept a sharp watch over the mountaineer who was to -guide them, and to be sure to environ him in such a manner as to make -it impossible for him to dart off on a sudden, and leave them in the -dark, in the midst of these unknown deserts. Had they once safely -arrived at the green spot, where there was a temporary, though -uninhabited, hunting-hut, and plenty of grass for the horses, he had no -fear of his being able to join them with the page next morning; for the -trough of the glen was so direct between the two points where they were -separately to spend the night, that it was impossible to mistake the -way from the one to the other. Mortimer Sang engaged to prevent all -chance of the savage mountaineer escaping. He produced from one of the -baggage-horses a large wallet, containing provisions enough for the -whole party, which the good and mindful Master Duncan MacErchar had -provided for them, altogether unknown to Hepborne. From it he took some -cakes, cheese, butter, and other eatables, with a small flask filled -from the host’s stoup of spirits; these were added to their guide’s -burden of the flesh of the wild bisons they had slain; and, bidding one -another God speed, the party, under Sang, with one of the Celts, and -all the dogs, departed to pursue their long and weary way. - -Maurice de Grey had sat all this while on the ground, very much -exhausted; and when he arose to proceed he had become so stiff that -Hepborne began to be alarmed for him. The poor boy, however, no sooner -remarked the unhappy countenance of his master than he made an attempt -to rouse himself to exertion, and, approaching the edge of the -precipice, he commenced his descent after the guide, with tottering and -timid steps, dropping from one pointed rock to another, and steadying -himself from time to time as well as he could by means of his lance, as -he quivered on the precarious footing the rough sides of the cliffs -afforded. The height was sufficiently terrific when contemplated from -above; but, as they descended, the depth beneath them seemed to be -increased, rather than diminished, by the very progress they had made. -It grew upon them, and became more and more awful at every step. The -crags, too, hung over their heads, as if threatening to part from their -native mountains, as myriads had done before, and to crush the -exhausted travellers into nothing beneath their ruins. They went down -and down, but the lake and the bottom of the valley appeared still to -recede from them. The way became more hazardous. To have looked up or -down would have required the eye and the head of a chamois. A -projecting ledge increased the peril of the path, and the page, tired -to death, and giddy from the terrific situation he saw himself fixed -in, clung to a point of the rock, and looked in Hepborne’s face, -perfectly unable to proceed or to utter a word. There he remained, -panting as if he would have expired. The knight was filled with -apprehension lest the boy should faint and fall headlong down, and the -guide was so much in advance as to be beyond lending his assistance, so -that he alone could give aid to the page. Yet how was he to pass the -boy, so as to put himself in a position where he could assist him? He -saw the path re-appearing from under the projecting ledge, a little to -one side of the place where the page hung in awful suspense, and, -taking one instantaneous glance at it, he leaped boldly downwards. He -vibrated for a moment on the brink; and his feet having dislodged a -great loose fragment of the rock, it went thundering downwards, -awakening all the dormant echoes of the glen. He caught at a bunch of -heath with both his hands; and he had hardly recovered his equilibrium, -when Maurice de Grey, believing, in his trepidation, that the noise he -had heard announced the fall and destruction of his master, uttered a -faint scream, and dropped senseless from the point of rock he had held -by. Hepborne sprang forward, and caught him in his arms. Afraid lest -the boy might die before he could reach the Sheltering Stone, he -shouted to the guide, and, waving him back, took from him the bottle, -and put it to the page’s lips. The spirits revived him, and he opened -his eyes in terror, but immediately smiled when he saw that Hepborne -was safe. - -Sir Patrick now put his left arm around the page’s body, and, swinging -him upwards, seated him on his left shoulder, keeping him firmly there, -whilst, with his right hand, he employed his lance to support and -steady his ticklish steps. The timorous page clasped the neck of his -master with all his energy, and in this way the knight descended with -his burden. Many were the difficulties he had to encounter. In one -place he was compelled to leap desperately over one of the cataracts, -where the smallest slip, or miscalculation of distance, must have -proved the destruction of both. At length he reached the bottom in -safety, and there the page, having recovered from his terror, found -breath to pour forth his gratitude to his master. He now regained his -spirit and strength so much, that he declared himself perfectly able to -proceed over the rough ground that lay between them and the Sheltering -Stone; but Hepborne bore him onwards, until he had deposited him on the -spot where they were destined to halt for the night. The grateful -Maurice threw himself on his knees before the knight, as he was wiping -his manly brow, and embraced his athletic limbs from a feeling of -fervent gratitude for his safety. - -Sir Patrick now proceeded to examine the curious natural habitation -they were to be housed in. The fallen crag, which had appeared so -trifling from the lofty elevation whence they had first viewed it, now -rose before them in magnitude so enormous, as almost to appear capable -of bearing a castle upon its shoulders. The mimic copy of it -constructed by the guide furnished an accurate representation of the -mode in which it was poised on the lesser blocks it had fallen upon. -These served as walls to support it, as well as to close in the chamber -beneath; and they were surrounded so thickly with smaller fragments of -debris, that no air or light could penetrate between them, except in -one or two places. On one side there was a narrow passage, of two or -three yards in length, leading inwards between the stones and other -rubbish, and of height sufficient to permit a man to enter without -stooping very much. The space within, dry and warm, was capable of -containing a dozen or twenty people with great ease. It was partially -lighted by one or two small apertures between the stones, and the roof, -formed of the under surface of the great mass of rock, was perfectly -even and horizontal. It presented a most inviting place of shelter, and -it seemed to have been not unfrequently used as such, for in one corner -there was a heap of dried bog-fir, and in another the remains of a -heather-bed. - -The mountaineer carefully deposited his burdens within the entrance, -and then set about collecting dry heather and portions of drift-wood, -which he found about the edges of the lake; and he soon brought -together as much fuel as might have kept up a good fire for two or -three days. Having piled up some of it in a heap, he interspersed it -with pieces of the dry bog-fir, and then, groping in his pouch, -produced a flint and steel, with which he struck a light, and soon -kindled up a cheerful blaze. He then began to cut steaks of the flesh -of the wild bison, and when the wood had been sufficiently reduced to -the state of live charcoal, he proceeded to broil them over the embers, -on pieces of green heather plucked and prepared for the purpose. -Meanwhile the knight and the page seated themselves near the fire. - -“How fares it with thee now, Maurice?” demanded Sir Patrick kindly, as -he watched the cloud that was stealing over the boy’s fair brow, and -the moisture that was gathering under his long eyelashes, as he sat -with his eyes fixed in a fit of absence upon the ground—“What ails -thee, my boy? Say, dost thou repent thee of thy rashness in having -exchanged the softer duties and lighter labours of a page of dames, for -the toils, dangers and hardships befalling him who followeth the noble -profession of arms? Trust me, thy path hath been flowery as yet, -compared to what thou must expect to meet with. Methinks thou lookest -as if thy spirit had flown homewards, and that it were hovering over -the gay apartment where thy mother and her maidens may be employed in -plying the nimble needle, charged with aureate thread, or sowing pales -upon their gorgeous paraments.” - -“Nay, Sir Knight,” said Maurice de Grey, “my thoughts were but partly -of those at home. Doubtless they have ere this ceased to think of their -truant boy!” He sighed heavily, and tears rolled down his cheeks. - -“But why dost thou sigh so?” demanded Sir Patrick, “and what maketh thy -brow to wear clouds upon it, like yonder high and snow-white summit? -and why weepest thou like yonder mountain side, that poureth down its -double stream into the glen? Perdie! surely thou canst not be in love -at so unripe an age? Yet, of a truth, those mysterious symptoms of -abstraction and sorrow thou dost so often display, when thou art left -alone to thine own thoughts, would all persuade me that thou art.” - -The page held down his head, blushed, and sighed deeply, but said -nothing. - -“Is silence, then, confession with thee, Maurice?” demanded Hepborne. - -The page wiped his streaming eyes, and raised them with a soft and -melancholy smile, till they met those of his master, when he again -sighed, and, dropping them with renewed blushes to the ground, “I am -indeed in love,” said the boy, “most unhappily in love, since I burn -with unrequited passion. I did indeed believe, vainly believe, that I -was beloved; but, alas! how cruelly was I deceived! I found that what I -had mistaken for the pure flame was but the wanton flashing of a light -and careless heart, that made no account of the pangs it inflicted on -mine that was sincere.” - -The page’s eyes filled again, and he sighed as if his heart would have -burst. Sir Patrick Hepborne sighed too; for Maurice, whilst telling of -his unhappy love, had touched his own case most nearly. - -“Poor boy,” said he kindly, and full of sympathy for the youth; “poor -boy, I pity thee. I do indeed most sincerely feel for thee, that thou -shouldst have already begun, at so early an age, to rue the smart of -unrequited or unhappy love. Trust me,” continued the knight sighing -deeply, “trust me, I know its bitterness too well not to feel for -thee.” And again he sighed heavily. - -“Then thou too hast loved unhappily, Sir Knight?” inquired the page -earnestly. - -“Ay, boy,” said Hepborne sadly, “loved!—nay, what do I say?—loved!—I -still love—love without hope. ’Tis a cruel destiny.” - -“And hast thou never prospered in love?” asked Maurice; “hast thou -never fancied that thou hadst awakened the warm flame of love, and that -thou wert thyself an object adored?” - -“Nay, boy,” said Hepborne, “thou inquirest too curiously. Yet will I -confess that I have had vanity enough to believe that I had excited -love, or something wearing its semblance; but then she that did shew it -was altogether heartless, and I valued the cold and deceitful beam but -as the glimmering march-fire.” - -Maurice de Grey made no reply, but hung down his head in silence upon -his breast, and again relapsed into the dream he had been indulging -when Hepborne first roused him. The knight, too, ceased to have any -desire to prolong the conversation. His mind had laid hold of the end -of a chain of association, that gradually unfolded itself in a -succession of tender remembrances. He indulged himself by giving way to -them, and consequently he also dropped into a musing fit. Both were -disturbed by their savage guide, who, having finished his -unsophisticated cookery, now made signs to them to approach and eat. - -Love, however fervent, cannot starve, but must give way to the vulgar -but irresistible claims of hunger. The day’s fatigue had been long, -they were faint for want, and the odour of the smoking hot steaks was -most inviting. They speedily obeyed the summons, therefore, and made a -very satisfactory meal. Maurice de Grey had no sooner satisfied the -cravings of nature, than, worn out by his exertions and overpowered by -sleep, he wrapped himself up in his mantle, and throwing himself on the -heather, under the projecting side of the huge rock, his senses were -instantly steeped in sweet oblivion. - -Sir Patrick Hepborne regarded the youth with envy. His own thoughts did -not as yet admit of his yielding to the gentle influence of sleep. He -tried to divert them by watching the decline of the day, and following -the slow ascent of the shadows as they crept up the rugged faces of the -eastern precipices, eating away the light before them. A bright -rose-coloured glow rested for a time on the summits, tinging even their -glazed snows with its warm tint; but in a few minutes it also departed, -like the animating soul from the fair face of dying beauty, leaving -everything cold, and pale, and cheerless; and darkness came thickly -down upon the deep and gloomy glen. In the meantime the mountaineer had -been busying himself in gathering dry heath, and in carrying it under -the Shelter Stone, for the purpose of making beds for the knight and -the page. - -While the guide was thus employed, Hepborne sat musing at the fire, -listlessly and almost unconsciously supplying it with fuel from time to -time, and gazing at the fragments of wood as they were gradually -consumed. His back was towards the entrance-passage of the place where -the mountaineer was occupied, and the page lay to his right hand, under -the shadow of the rock. - -As Sir Patrick sat thus absorbed in thought, he suddenly received a -tremendous blow on his head, that partly stunned him, and almost -knocked him forwards into the flames. The weight and force of it was -such that, had he not had his steel cap on it, his brains must have -been knocked out. Before he could rise to defend himself, the blow was -repeated with a dreadful clang upon the metal, and he was brought down -upon his knees; but ere it fell a third time on him, a piercing shriek -arose, and a struggle ensued behind him. Having by this time gathered -his strength and senses sufficiently to turn round, he beheld the -horrible countenance of their savage guide glaring over him, his -eyeballs red from the reflection of the fire, his lips expanded, his -teeth set together, and a ponderous stone lifted in both hands, with -which he was essaying to fell him to the earth by a third blow. But his -arms were pinioned behind, and it was the feeble page who held them. -Hepborne scrambled to get to his feet, but, weakened by the blows he -had already received, his efforts to rise were vain. The murderous -ruffian, furious with disappointment, struggled hard, and at length, -seeing that he could not rid himself of the faithful Maurice whilst he -continued to hold the stone, he quickly dropped it, and, turning -fiercely round on the boy, groped for his dirk. Already was it half -unsheathed, when the gleam of a bright spear-head came flashing forth -from the obscurity on one side, and with the quickness of thought it -drank the life’s blood from the savage heart of the assassin. Down -rolled the monster upon the ground, his ferocious countenance illumined -by the light from the blazing wood. In the agony of death his teeth -ground against each other; his right hand, that still clenched the -handle of the dirk, drew it forth with convulsive grasp, and, raising -it as if for a last effort of destruction, brought it down with a force -that buried the whole length of its blade in the harmless earth. -Hepborne looked up to see from what friendly hand his preservation and -that of the courageous boy had so miraculously come, when to his -astonishment he beheld Duncan MacErchar standing before him. - -“Och, oich!” cried the worthy Highlander. “Och, oich! what a -Providence!—what a mercy!—what a good lucks it was that she was brought -here!” - -“A Providence indeed!” cried Hepborne, crossing himself, and offering -up a short but fervent ejaculation of gratitude to God; “it seems -indeed to have been a most marked interposition of Providence in our -favour. Yet am I not the less grateful to thee for being the blessed -instrument, in the hands of the Almighty, in saving not only my life, -but that of the generous noble boy yonder, who had so nearly sacrificed -his own in my defence. Maurice de Grey, come to mine arms; take the -poor thanks of thy grateful master for his safety, for to thy courage, -in the first place, his thanks are due. Trust me, boy, thou wilt one -day be a brave knight; and to make thee all that chivalry may require -of thee shall be mine earnest care.” - -Whether it was that the boy’s stock of resolution had been expended in -his effort, or that he was deeply affected by his master’s -commendation, it is not easy to determine; but he shrank from the -knight’s embrace, and, bursting into tears, hurried within the Shelter -Stone. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - - Another Night Attack—A Desperate Encounter. - - -“By what miracle, good mine host,” said Sir Patrick Hepborne to Master -Duncan MacErchar—“by what miracle do I see thee in this wilderness, so -far from thine own dwelling?” - -“Uch! uch! miracle truly, miracle truly, that she’s brought here; for -who could have thought that the false faitours and traitrous loons -would have led her honour this round-about gate, that they might knock -out her brains at the Shelter Stone of Loch Avon? An it had not been -for Donald and Angus, her two cushins, that hunts the hills, and kens -all the roads of these scoundrels, she would never have thought of -coming round about over the very shoulders of the mountains to seek -after them. But—uve! uve!—where’s the t’other rascals? and where’s her -honour’s men and beasts?” - -Hepborne explained the cause and circumstances of their separation. - -“Uch! uch!” cried MacErchar; “uve! uve!—then, Holy St. Barnabas, I wish -that the t’others scoundrels may not have them after all; so she shall -have more miles to travel, and another villains to stickit yet! uve! -uve!” - -And then changing his tongue, he began with great volubility to -address, in his own language, his cousins, who now appeared. They -replied to him in the same dialect, and then he seemed to tell them the -particulars of the late adventure, for he pointed to the dead body of -the ruffian on the ground, while his actions corresponded with the tale -he was telling, and seemed to be explanatory of it. The two men held up -their hands, and listened with open mouths to his narration. He then -took up a flaming brand from the fire, and, followed by his two -cousins, proceeded to explore the passage leading into the chamber of -the Shelter Stone, whence they soon returned with the burden of -wolf-skins which the ruffian guide had carried. Duncan MacErchar threw -it down on the ground near the fire, and as it fell— - -“Troth,” said he, with a joyful expression of countenance—“troth but -she jingles; she’ll swarrants there be’s something in her. Sure! sure!” - -With this he went on his knees, and began eagerly to undo the numerous -fastenings of hide-thongs which tied the wolf-skins together, and -which, as Hepborne himself had noticed, had been closely bound up ever -since they started in the morning, though the other guide carried his -hanging loose, as both had done the night before. The knots were -reticulated and decussated in such a manner as to afford no bad idea of -that of Gordius. - -“Hoof!” said Master MacErchar impatiently, after working at them with -his nails for some minutes without the least effect; “sorrow be in -their fingers that tied her; though troth she needs not say that now,” -added he in parenthesis. “Poof! that will not do neither; but sorrow be -in her an she’ll not settle her; she’ll do for her, or she’ll wonders -at her.” And, unsheathing his dirk, he ripped up the fastenings, -wolf-skins and all, and, to the astonishment of Hepborne, rolled out -from their pregnant womb the whole of the glittering valuables, the -fruit of his English campaigns. - -“Och, oich!” cried MacErchar with a joyful countenance, forgetting -everything in the delight he felt at recovering his treasure—“och, ay! -blessings on her braw siller stoup, and blessings on her bony mazers; -she be’s all here. Ay, ay!—och, oich!—ou ay, every one.” - -The mystery of Master Duncan MacErchar’s hasty journey and unlooked-for -appearance at Loch Avon was now explained. His sharp-eared cousin, -Angus MacErchar, had been loitering about the door at the time of the -departure of the knight and his attendants in the morning, and had -heard something clinking in the Celt’s bundle of wolf-skins as he -passed, but seeing no cause to suspect anything wrong, as regarded his -kinsman’s goods, he neglected to notice the circumstance until some -time after they were gone, when he happened to mention, rather -accidentally than otherwise, that he thought the rogues had been -thieving somewhere, for he had heard the noise of metal pots in the -bundle of one of them. Duncan MacErchar took immediate alarm. Without -saying a word, he ran to his secret deposit, and having removed the -heap of billets and the wattle trap-door, discovered with horror and -dismay that his treasures were gone. It was some small comfort to him -that they had not found it convenient to carry away what he most -valued; and he bestowed a friendly kiss upon the black bugle, and the -swords and daggers that were still there; but the whole of the silver -vessels were stolen. What was to be done? He was compelled to tell his -cousins of his afflicting loss, that he might consult them as to what -steps were to be taken. They advised instant pursuit; but well knowing -the men and their habits, they felt persuaded that the thieves would -carefully avoid the most direct path, and guessed that, in order to -mislead their pursuers, they would likely take the circuitous and -fatiguing mountain-route by Loch Avon. Taking the advice and assistance -of his cousins, therefore, Master Duncan MacErchar set off hot foot -after the rogues, and he was soon convinced of the sagacity of his -cousins’ counsels, for they frequently came upon the track of the party -where the ground was soft, or wet enough to receive the prints of the -horses’ feet; and when they came to the ridge of the mountains, they -traced them easily and expeditiously over the hardened snow. It was -dark ere they reached the brink of the precipice overhanging the lake; -but Angus and Donald were now aware of their probable destination, and -the fire they saw burning near the Shelter Stone made them resolve to -visit it in the first place. They lost no time in descending, the two -lads being well acquainted with the dangerous path; and no sooner had -Master Duncan MacErchar set his foot in the glen, than, eager to get at -the thief, he ran on before his companions. And lucky was it, as we -have seen, that he did so; for if he had been but a few minutes later, -both Sir Patrick Hepborne and Maurice de Grey must have been murdered -by the villain whom he slew. - -Hepborne now became extremely anxious about the safety of the party -under the guidance of the other ruffian. For the attack of one man -against so many he had nothing to fear; but he dreaded the possibility -of the traitor escaping from them before he had conducted them to their -destined place of halt for the night, and so leaving them helpless on -the wild and pathless mountain to perish of cold. He had nothing for -it, however, but to comfort himself with his knowledge of Sang’s -sagacity and presence of mind. - -Master Duncan MacErchar, with his two cousins, now hastened to cut off -a supper for themselves from the bison beef, which they quickly -broiled; and, after their hunger had been appeased, the whole party -began to think of bestowing themselves to enjoy a short repose. Before -doing so, however, Hepborne proposed that they should bury the dead -body. This was accordingly done, and from the debris of the fallen -rocks a cairn was heaped upon it, sufficiently large to prevent the -wolves from attacking it. - -The page, wrapped in his mantle, was already sound asleep within the -snug chamber of the Shelter Stone, and Sir Patrick lost no time in -seeking rest in the same comfortable quarters; but the three hardy -Highlanders, preferring the open air, rolled themselves up, each in his -web of plaiding, and then laid themselves in different places, under -the projecting base of the enormous fallen rock, and all were soon -buried in refreshing slumber. - -It happened, however, that Duncan MacErchar had by accident chosen the -spot nearest the passage of entrance. The fire had fallen so low as to -leave only the red glow of charcoal; but the night, which was already -far spent, was partially illuminated by the light of the moon, which -had now arisen, though not yet high enough to show its orb to those in -the bottom of the glen. He was suddenly awakened by a footstep near -him, and, looking up, beheld a dark figure approaching. With wonderful -presence of mind, he demanded, in a low whisper, and in his native -language, who went there, and was immediately answered by the voice of -the other guide, who had gone forward with Hepborne’s party, and who, -mistaking MacErchar for his companion in iniquity, held the following -dialogue with him, here translated into English. - -“Hast thou done it, Cormack?” - -“Nay,” replied Duncan, “it is but now they are gone to sleep, and I -fear they are not yet sound enough. What hast thou done with the party -of men and their horses?” - -“I left them all safe at the bothy,” replied the other, “and if we had -this job finished, we might go that way, and carry off two or three of -the best of their horses and trappings while they are asleep, and we -can kill the others, to prevent any of them from having the means of -following us when they awake. But come, why should we delay now?—they -must be asleep ere this; let us in on them—creep towards them on our -knees, and stab them without noise: then all their booty is our own.” - -“You foul murderer!” cried Duncan MacErchar, springing at him, his -right hand extended with the intention of making him prisoner. The -astonished ruffian stepped back a pace, as Duncan rushed upon him, and -seizing his outstretched hand, endeavoured to keep him at a distance. -Both drew their dirks, and a furious struggle ensued. Each endeavoured -to keep off the other, with outstretched arm, and powerful exertion, -yet each was desirous to avail himself of the first favourable chance -that might offer, and to bury the lethal weapon he brandished in the -bosom of his antagonist. The ruffian had the decided advantage, for it -was his right hand that was free, while MacErchar held his dirk with -his left. They tugged, and pushed stoutly against each other, and each -alternately made a vain effort to strike his opponent. The brave -MacErchar might have easily called for help, but he scorned to seek aid -against any single man. They still struggled, frequently shifting their -ground by the violence of their exertions, yet neither gaining the -least advantage over the other, when, all at once, MacErchar found -himself attacked behind by a new and very formidable enemy. This was -one of the great rough wolf-dogs, which, having come up at that moment, -and observed his master struggling with Duncan, sprang upon his back, -and seized him by the right shoulder. The ruffian, seeing himself -supported, and thinking that the victory was now entirely in his hands, -bent his elbow so as to permit him to close upon his adversary, and -made an attempt to stab MacErchar in the breast; but the sturdy and -undaunted hero, in defiance of the pain he experienced from the bites -of the dog, raised his left arm, and after receiving the stab in the -fleshy part of it, instantly returned it into the very heart of his -enemy, who, uttering a single groan, fell dead upon the spot. But the -dog still kept his hold, until MacErchar, putting his hand backwards, -drove the dirk two or three times into his body, and shook him off dead -upon the lifeless corpse of his master. - -“Heich!” cried he, very much toil-spent—“Foof!—Donald—Angus—Uve, -uve!—Won’t they be hearing her?” - -His two cousins, who had been fast asleep at the end of the Shelter -Stone, now came hastily round, making a great noise, which roused Sir -Patrick, who instantly seized his sword, and rushed out to ascertain -what the alarm was. - -“Oich, oich!” continued Duncan, much fatigued, “oich! and sure she has -had a hard tuilzie o’t!” - -“What, in the name of the blessed Virgin, has happened?” cried -Hepborne, eagerly. - -“Fu! nothing after all,” cried Duncan, “nothing—only that t’other -villains came up here from t’others end of the loch, and wanted to -murder Sir Patrick and his page; and so she grabbled at her, and had a -sore tuilzie with her, and sure she hath stickit her dead at last. -But—uve! uve!—she was near worried with her mockell dog; she settled -her too, though, and yonder they are both lying dead together. But -troth she must go and get some sleep now, and she hopes that she’ll -have no more disturbance, wi’ a sorrow to them.” - -“But, my good friend,” said the knight, “thine arm bleeds profusely, -better have it tied up; nay, thy shoulder seems to be torn too.” - -“Fu, poof!” said MacErchar carelessly, “her arm be’s naething but a -scart; she has had worse before from a thorn bush; and her shoulder is -but a nip, that will be well or the morn.” - -So saying, he wrapped his plaid around him, and rolling himself under -the base of the stone where he had lain before, he composed himself to -sleep again, and the others followed his example. The knight also -retired to his singular bed-chamber, and all were very soon quiet. - -As MacErchar had hoped, they lay undisturbed until daybreak, when they -arose, shook themselves, and were soon joined by Hepborne from within. -The sun had just appeared above the eastern mountain-tops, and was -pouring a flood of glory down among the savage scenery of the glen. -MacErchar and his two cousins were busily engaged in renovating the -fire; and as Sir Patrick was about to join them, his ears were -attracted by the low moans of a dog, which, beginning at the bottom of -the scale of his voice, gradually ascended through its whole compass, -and ended in a prolonged howl. He cast his eyes towards the spot whence -it proceeded—there lay the dead body of the ruffian murderer with the -dog that died with him in his defence stretched across him stiff; and -by his side sat two more of the dogs, that, having followed some chase -as he came up the glen, had not fallen upon his track again until early -in the morning, and had but just traced it out, when it brought them to -his inanimate corpse. There they sat howling incessantly over him, -alternately licking his face, his hands, and his death-wound. Their -howl was returned from the surrounding rocks, but it was also answered -from no great distance; and on going round the end of the Shelter -Stone, he beheld another dog sitting on the top of the cairn they had -piled over the dead body of the first man who was killed, scraping -earnestly with his feet, and moaning and howling in unison with the two -others. Hepborne went towards him, and did all he could to coax him -away from the spot; but the attached and afflicted creature would not -move. The howling continued, and would have been melancholy enough in -any situation; but in a spot so savage and lonely, and prolonged as it -was by the surrounding echoes, it increased the dismal and dreary -effect of the scenery. Hepborne called the MacErchars, and proposed to -them that they should bury the dead body which lay exposed on the -ground. They readily assented, and approached it for the purpose of -lifting and carrying it to the same spot where they had deposited the -other; but Angus and Donald had no sooner attempted to lay hold of it, -than both the dogs flew at them, and they were glad to relinquish the -attempt, seeing they could carry it into effect by no other means than -that of killing the two faithful animals in the first place, and this -Hepborne would on no account permit. - -“Verily he was a foul traitorous murderer,” said the knight; “but he -was their master. His hand was kind and merciful to them, whatever it -might have been to others. Of a truth, a faithful dog is the only -friend who seeth not a fault in him to whom he is attached. Poor -fellows! let them not be injured, I entreat thee.” - -Some food was now prepared for breakfast, and Maurice de Grey, who had -made but one sleep during the night, was called to partake of it. They -repeatedly tried to tempt the dogs with the most inviting morsels of -the meat, but none of them would touch it when thrown to them, and, -altogether regardless of it, they still continued to howl piteously. - -Hepborne now resolved to proceed to join his party. Duncan MacErchar -had already ordered his cousin Angus, who was perfectly well acquainted -with the way, to go with the knight as his guide, and not to leave him -until he should see him safe into a part of the country where he would -be beyond all difficulty. Sir Patrick was much grieved to be compelled -to part with him who had been so miraculously instrumental in saving -his life. He took off his baldrick and sword, and putting them upon -Duncan— - -“Wear this,” said he, “wear this for my sake, mine excellent -friend—wear it as a poor mark of the gratitude I owe thee for having -saved me from foul and traitorous murder. I yet hope to bestow some -more worthy warison.” - -“Och, oich!” cried Duncan, “oich, this is too much from her honour—too -much trouble indeed. Fye, but she’s a bonny sword; but what will hersel -do for want of her? Ou, ay—sure, sure!” - -“I have others as good among my baggage,” said Hepborne. - -“But thou didst save two lives,” said Maurice de Grey, running forward, -and taking Duncan’s hand; “thou didst save mine twice, by saving Sir -Patrick’s. Receive my poor thanks also, most worthy Master MacErchar, -and do thou wear this jewelled brooch for my sake.” - -“Och, oich!” said Duncan, “too much trouble for her—too much trouble, -young Sir Pages—too much trouble, surely; but an ever she part with the -sword or the bonny brooch, may she pairt with her life at the same -time.” - -They now prepared themselves for taking their different routes, and -Hepborne reminding MacErchar of the injunction he had formerly given -him, to be sure to claim his acquaintance, wherever they should meet, -and giving him a last hearty shake of the hand, they parted, and waving -to each other their “Heaven bless thee!” and “May the blessed Virgin be -with her honour!” set out on their respective journeys. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - - Meeting the Wolfe of Badenoch—The Cavalcade. - - -Hepborne and his page proceeded slowly down the margin of the lake, -preceded by their new guide; and as they looked back, they saw the -bright plaids of Duncan and Donald MacErchar winding up among the -rocks, and appearing on the face of the precipitous mountain like two -tiny red lady-bird beetles on a wall. The way towards the lower end of -the lake was rough and tiresome; but in due time they reached the place -where the party had spent the night, and where they found Mortimer Sang -looking anxiously out for their arrival. He had almost resolved to go -himself in quest of the knight, for he had strongly suspected -treachery, as his guide had more than once manifested symptoms of an -intention to escape from them during the previous night’s march, and -had been only prevented by the unremitting watch kept upon him by the -squire, and two or three of his most active and determined people, to -whom he had given particular instructions. This circumstance, coupled -with the subsequent discovery that the villain had gone off in the -night, the moment he had found an opportunity of doing so, had made -Sang so apprehensive of some villainy, that nothing would have kept him -with the party so long, had it not been for the remembrance of his -master’s strict orders to permit no consideration whatever to detach -him from them. - -Poor Maurice de Grey was considerably fatigued, and required to be -indulged with a little rest ere they could set forward. At length the -whole party mounted and got in motion, and, taking their way slowly -down the glen, under their new and intelligent guide, they soon found -themselves buried in the endless pine forests. Game, both fourfooted -and winged, of every description, crossed their path in all directions. -Red deer, and roe deer, and herds of bisons, were frequently seen by -them; now and then the echoes were awakened by the howling of a rout of -gaunt and hungry wolves, sweeping across the glen in pursuit of their -prey; and often the trampling of their horses’ feet disturbed the -capercailzie, as he sat feeding on the tops of the highest firs, while -their palfreys were alarmed in their turn at the powerful flap of his -sounding wings, as they bore him rapidly away. - -Leaving the deeper forests for a time, they climbed the mountain sides, -and, crossing some high ridges and elevated valleys where the wood was -thin and scattered, they again descended, and began to penetrate new -wildernesses of thick-set and tall-grown pine timber; until, after a -very long march, they arrived on the banks of the rapid Spey, where -they rested for a time, to refresh themselves and their horses. There -Angus procured a guide of the country for them, on whose fidelity he -could depend, and, having received a handsome remuneration from Sir -Patrick, returned the way he came. - -They now crossed the river by a broad ford, and began winding through -the forests that stretched from its northern banks, and continued -gradually rising over its pine-covered hills. The day was approaching -its close as they were winding along the side of a steep hill, that -rose over the head of a deep but narrow glen, surrounded by fantastic -rocks shooting here and there from amongst the oak woods that fringed -its sides. Sir Patrick’s attention was attracted by the sight of some -white tents that were pitched on a small level area of smooth turf in -the bottom, where it was divided by the meanders of a clear rill. - -“She be the Wolfe of Badenoch yonder,” said his guide, pointing -downwards with a face of alarm. - -“The Wolfe of Badenoch!” cried Sir Patrick eagerly; “what, are those -the tents of the Earl of Buchan?” for he knew that the King’s son, -Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan and Lord of Badenoch, whom he was -about to visit, had obtained that nom de guerre from his ferocity. - -“Ay, ay,” said the guide, “she’s right; tat’s the Earl of Buchan—tat’s -the Wolfe of Badenoch. Troth she’s at the hunts there. Uve, uve!” - -“Then, mine honest fellow,” said Hepborne, “if those be indeed the -tents of the Earl of Buchan, thy trouble with us shall be soon ended. -Do but lead me down thither, and thou shalt be forthwith dismissed, -with thy promised warison.” - -The guide paused and hesitated for a time, his countenance betraying -considerable uneasiness and apprehension; but at length he began slowly -to retrace his steps along the side of the hill, and, turning off into -a path that led down through the wood over a gentle declivity, he -finally brought them out into the bottom of the glen, about a quarter -of a mile below the spot where they had seen the tents. As they issued -from the covert of the trees into the narrow glade, the winding of a -bugle-mot came up the glen, and Sir Patrick halted for a few moments, -to listen if it should be repeated. By and by the neighing of steeds, -and a loud laughing and merry talking, announced the approach of a -crowd of people, who very soon appeared, filing round the turning of a -rock. - -“Mercy be about her! yon’s ta Wolfe now,” cried the guide, in the -utmost trepidation; and, without waiting for reward or anything else, -he darted into the adjoining thicket and disappeared. - -At the head of the numerous party that advanced came a knight, mounted -on a large and powerful black horse. And well was it indeed for the -steed that he was large and powerful, for his rider was as near seven -as six feet in height, while his body and limbs displayed so great a -weight of bone and muscle, that any less potent palfrey must have bent -beneath it. But the noble animal came proudly on, capering as if he -felt not the weight of his rider. The knight wore a broad bonnet, -graced with the royal hern’s plume, and a hunting-dress of -gold-embroidered green cloth, over which hung a richly ornamented -bugle, while his baldrick, girdle-stead, hunting pouch, anelace, and -dirk, were all of the most gorgeous and glittering materials. His boots -were of tawny buckskin, and his heels armed with large spurs of the -most massive gold. The furniture of his horse was equally superb, the -bits in particular being heavily embossed, and the whole thickly -covered over with studs and bosses of the same precious metal. His -saddle and housings were of rich purple velvet, wrought with golden -threads, and the stirrups were of solid silver. - -But, accustomed as Sir Patrick Hepborne had been to all the proud pomp -and splendid glitter of chivalry, he minded not these trifling matters -beyond the mere observance of them. It was the head and face of the -person who approached that most particularly rivetted his attention. -Both were on a great scale, and of an oval form. The forehead was high -and retreating, and wore on it an air of princely haughtiness; the nose -was long and hooked; the lips were large, but finely formed; and the -mouth, though more than usually extended, was well shaped, and -contained a set of well-arranged teeth, of uncommon size and unsullied -lustre. The complexion was florid, and the hair, beard, whiskers, and -moustaches, all ample and curling freely, were of a jet black, that was -but slightly broken in upon by the white hairs indicating the -approaching winter of life. But the most characteristic features were -the eyes, which would have been shaded by the enormous eyebrows that -threw their arches over them, had it not been for their extreme -prominence. They were fiery and restless, and although their expression -was sometimes hilarious, yet they generally wore the lofty look of -pride; but it was easy to discern that they were in the habit of being -perpetually moved by an irritable and impatient temper, that was no -sooner excited than their orbs immediately assumed a fearful -inclination inwards, that almost amounted to a squint. - -This knight, whom Sir Patrick immediately recognized, by the -description he had often heard of him, to be Alexander Stewart, Earl of -Buchan, the Wolfe of Badenoch, was about the age of fifty, or perhaps a -few years younger. By his side rode a lady, clad in a scarlet mantle, -profusely embroidered with gold, and seated on a piebald palfrey, -covered with trappings even more costly than those of the horse that -carried the Wolfe of Badenoch himself. She seemed to be approaching the -age of forty, and was slightly inclining to embonpoint, fresh in face -and complexion, and very beautiful. Behind them rode five gay and -gallant young knights, the eldest of whom might have been about twenty. -They were all richly apparelled, and accoutred in a taste somewhat -similar to that of the elder knight who rode before them, and were -mounted on magnificent horses, that came neighing and prancing along, -their impatience of restraint adding to the pleasure of their youthful -riders, especially of the younger, who were boys. - -A large train of attendants followed, partly on horseback and partly on -foot. These were variously armed with hunting-spears, cross-bows, and -long-bows: and many of the pedestrians, who were coarsely clad, and -some of them even barefooted as well as bareheaded, led a number of -alloundes, raches, and sleuth-hounds, whilst others carried carcases of -red deer and roebucks, suspended on poles borne between two, as also -four-footed and feathered animals of chase, which had fallen victims to -the sport of the day. - -All this, which has taken so much time to describe, was seen by Sir -Patrick Hepborne at a single glance, or at least he had sufficient -leisure to make himself master of the particulars ere the cavalcade -came up to him. As the Wolfe of Badenoch drew near, Sir Patrick -dismounted, and, giving his horse to his esquire, advanced towards him, -and paid him the respectful obeisance due to the King’s son. - -“Ha!” cried the Wolfe, reigning up his curvetting steed; “who, in the -fiend’s name, may this be?” - -“My noble Lord of Buchan,” said Hepborne, “I wait upon your Highness by -the especial desire of His Majesty the King, your royal father. Being -on my way to Moray Land, to be present at the tournament to be held by -the Earl of Moray on the Mead of St. John’s, I passed by Scone, to pay -mine humble duty at his Grace’s Court after my return from France, -where I have been for some of these late years; and knowing mine intent -of visiting these northern parts, your royal father did kindly bid me -seek your well-known hospitality as I should pass into Moray Land. -Moreover, he did honour me so far as to charge me with a letter under -his own signet, addressed for your Highness.—My name is Sir Patrick -Hepborne.” - -The Wolfe fidgetted to and fro upon his horse, and displayed very great -impatience until the knight had finished. - -“Ha!” said he, the moment he had done speaking—“ha! ’tis well. By my -trusty burly-brand, thou art welcome, Sir Patrick Hepborne. Thy name -hath a sweet savour with it for stark doughtiness in stiff stour, since -thou be’st, as I ween, the son of the bold Sir Patrick Hepborne of -Hailes. By my beard, thou art welcome,” said he again, as he stretched -out his hand to him. “As for the old man’s letter, we shall see that -anon when better place and leisure serve. Know this lady, Sir Patrick,” -continued he, turning towards her who rode with him; “she is the Lady -Mariota Athyn (of whom peraunter thou mayst have heard), and mother to -those five sturdy whelps who ride at my back, and who are wont to call -me father. But get thee to horse, Sir Patrick; the feast waits for us -ere this, and we can talk anon with our wine wassail. If thou hadst -done as much to-day as we have, and been as long from thy trencher, the -red fiend catch me but thou wilt think more of eating than of talking. -Get thee to horse, then, and on with us, I say; we are now but a short -space from the tents. To horse, then, to horse!” - -Mortimer Sang brought up his master’s steed, Sir Patrick vaulted into -the saddle, and, being beckoned by the Wolfe to take his place beside -him, immediately obeyed. The Lady Mariota Athyn, who had eyed the -handsome Maurice de Gray, gave him a condescending signal to come to -her right hand, and in this order they rode up the glen, towards the -place where the tents were pitched, the knight’s party mingling as they -went with that of Lord Badenoch, according to the various conditions of -the persons who composed it. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - - The Wolfe of Badenoch’s Hunting Encampment—Letter from King - Robert—Arrival at the Wolfe’s Stronghold. - - -The spot chosen for the Wolfe of Badenoch’s hunting encampment was -beautiful. The little rill came welling forth in one great jet, like a -copious fountain, from a crevice in the rocks that, rising like a mimic -castle, terminated the glen at its upper extremity. The bright greens -of the ivy, honeysuckle, and various creeping plants and shrubs that -climbed over its surface, blended with the rich orange, brown, and -yellow tints of the lichens that covered it. On the smooth flat sward, -a little in advance of this, was pitched the pavilion of the Wolfe -himself, with his banner waving before it. It consisted of three -apartments, the largest of which, occupying the whole front, was used -as the banqueting place, whilst the two others behind were devoted to -the private convenience and repose of the Earl and the Lady Mariota. - -To the right and left of this central pavilion were the tents of the -five young knights. Of these the eldest, Sir Alexander Stewart, -afterwards Earl of Mar, had all the violence of his father’s temper; -Sir Andrew, the second, was cool, crafty, and designing; and Walter, -James, and Duncan, who were too young to have anything like fixed -characters, had all the tricks and pranks of ill-brought-up and -unrestrained youths, though Duncan, the youngest, had naturally rather -a more amiable disposition than any of the others. - -Besides these tents, there were several more on the two flanks, -extending towards the extremity of the horns of the semi-circle, -occupied by squires, and the principal people of the Earl’s retinue. -Within a rocky recess at one side, almost shut out from view by the -embowering trees, a number of temporary huts were erected for culinary -purposes, as well as for lodging the great mass of the lower order of -attendants; and on the opposite side were extensive pickets, to which -the horses were attached in lines. - -The night dropped fast down on that low and narrow spot, and, as the -cavalcade arrived, the people were already engaged in lighting a huge -bonfire in the centre of it, quite capable of restoring an artificial -day, and this immense blaze was to be kept up all night, partly for -purposes of illumination, and partly to keep off the wolves. The Earl -no sooner appeared, than all was clamour, and running, and bustle, and -confusion. He halted in front of the tents—the bugles blew, and the -squires and attendants ran to hold his stirrup. But he waited not for -their assistance. Ere they could reach him he sprang to the ground, and -lifting the Lady Mariota from off her palfrey, carried her into the -pavilion. - -“Sir Patrick,” said he to Hepborne, as an esquire ushered him in, “thou -must bear with such rustic entertainment as we have to offer thee here -to-night. To-morrow we move to Lochyndorbe, where thou shalt be better -bestowed.” - -Sir Patrick bowed; but he saw no lack of provision for good cheer as he -cast his eyes over the ample board, which was covered with a profusion -of silver utensils of all kinds, among which were strangely mingled -pewter, and even wooden trenchers, and where there were not only silver -flagons and mazers, but leathern black-jacks, wooden stoups, and -numerous drinking-horns, the whole being lighted by a silver lamp that -hung over the centre. - -“What, in the fiend’s name, makes the feast to tarry?” cried the Wolfe -impatiently: “do the loons opine that we have no stomachs, or that we -are blocks of wood, that we can stand all day i’ the passes, and yet do -at night without feeding? The feast, I say—the feast! Nay, send me that -rascal cook here.” - -The cook, sweating from his fiery occupation, was instantly brought -before him, trembling, carrying a stew-pan in one hand, and a long iron -gravy-ladle in the other, with his sleeves tucked up, and clothed in a -white apron and night-cap. - -“Villain!” said the Wolfe, in a tremendous voice, “why are not the -viands on the table? By all the fiends of the infernal realms, thou -shalt be forthwith spitted and roasted before thine own fire, an we -have not our meal ere I can turn myself.” - -The cook bowed in abject terror, and, as soon as he was beyond the tent -door, ran off, bawling to his assistants; and in a few minutes, a crowd -of lacqueys bearing the smoking-hot dishes came pouring into the -pavilion, heaping the board with them till it groaned again. - -“Blow the bugle for the banquet,” cried the impatient Earl, seating -himself at the head of the table. “Sit thee down, Mariota, on my right -hand here; and do thou, Sir Patrick Hepborne, sit here on my left. The -boys and the rest may find places for themselves.” - -“But where is thy gentle page, Sir Knight?” said the Lady Mariota to -Hepborne. “I pray thee let him sit down with us. Certes, he doth appear -to be come of no mean blood. Make me to know how the doced youth is -hight, I do beseech thee?” - -“Lady,” said Sir Patrick, smiling, “he is called Maurice de Grey, a -truant boy of a good English house. His father is a gallant knight, who -governs the border strength of Werk. Tired of soft service as a page of -dames, he left his indulgent mother to roam into the world, and -chancing to encounter me, I adopted him as my page. In truth, though -young, he is prudent, and perdie, he hath more than once showed a good -mettle, and some spirit, too, though his thewes and muscles have hardly -strength enow, as yet, to bear it out.” - -“Oh, fye on thee, Maurice de Grey,” said the lady, smiling graciously -on the page, as he entered among the crowd—“fye on thee, Maurice, I -say. Art thou so naughty as to wish to shun the converse of women at -thine age? Oh, shame to thy youth-hed. Parfay, I shall myself undertake -thy punishment, so sit thee down by me here, that I may school thee for -thy folly and want of gallantry.” - -Maurice bowed respectfully, and immediately occupied the proffered -seat, where the lady did all in her power to gratify him by putting the -nicest dainties on his plate, and prattling many a kind and flattering -speech in his ear. Sir Alexander Stewart placed himself next to Sir -Patrick, and, though naturally fierce and haughty in his air, showed -every disposition to exert hospitable and knightly courtesy towards his -father’s guest. Below them, on both sides of the table, sat his -brothers; and the rest of the long board was filled up by the esquires -and other retainers, who each individually occupied the first room he -could find. For some time there was but little conversation, and -nothing interrupted the clinking of knives upon the trenchers but an -occasional pledge called for by the Wolfe, who, as he ate largely and -voraciously, drank long draughts too, to promote the easy descent of -the food into his capacious stomach. He continued to eat long after -every one else at table had ceased. - -“Ha!” said he at length, as he laid down his implements of carving; -“quick! clear away those offensive fragments. Hey! what stand ye all -staring at? Remove the assiettes and trenchers, I say—Are ye deaf, -knaves?” - -Every servile hand was upon the board in an instant, and the dishes and -plates disappeared as if by magic. - -“Wine—Rhenish!—Malvoisie! Wine, I say!” vociferated the Wolfe. “What, -ye rogues, are we to perish for thirst?” - -The silver flagons, stoups, and black-jacks were replenished with equal -celerity, and deep draughts went round, and the carouse became every -moment more fierce and frequent. The Lady Mariota Athyn rose to retire -to her own private quarter of the pavilion. - -“Young Sir Page,” said she to Maurice de Grey, “wine wassail is not for -thee, I ween; thou shalt along with my boys and me, thou naughty youth; -thou shalt with me, I say. Verily, I condemn thee to do penance with me -and my damsels until the hour of couchee. Come along, Sir -Good-for-Nothing.” - -The page arose, and went with the lady and her three younger sons, but -he seemed to go very unwillingly. In truth, he had received her little -attentions rather coldly; so much so, indeed, that Hepborne had felt -somewhat hurt at his seeming indifference. - -After much wine had been swallowed, and a great deal of conversation -had passed about hunting and deeds of chivalry— - -“And so thou goest to this tourney of my brother-in-law, the Earl of -Moray’s, Sir Patrick?” said the Wolfe. - -“Such is the object of my journey, my Lord,” replied Hepborne. - -“By St. Hubert! I have a mind to go with thee, were it only to show my -boys the sport,” replied the Wolfe. “But, by the thunder of Heaven! I -am not over well pleased with this same brother-in-law. The old man, my -doting liege-father, hath refused to add Moray Land to my -lieutenantship, which now lacketh but it to give me broad control from -the Spey to the Orcades; and, by my beard, I cannot choose but guess -that Earl John hath had some secret hand in preventing him. My sister -Margery denies this stoutly; but she would deny anything to keep fire -and sword from her lord’s lands. Yet may the hot fiend swallow me if I -ween not that I have hit the true mark in so suspecting.” - -“By the red Rood, then, I would straightway tax him with it,” said Sir -Alexander Stewart. - -“Nay, nay, meddle thou not, Sandy,” said the Wolfe. “I lack not thine -advice. This matter concerns not thee.” - -“Concerns not me!” exclaimed Sir Alexander, hotly—“by the martyrdom of -St. Andrew, but it does though—it concerneth me mightily; yea, it -enchafeth me to see thee, my father, pusillanimously suffer thyself to -be agrutched and hameled in the extent of thy flight, an if thou wert a -coistril hawk, to be mewed by any he of the mark of Adam.” - -“I tell thee, boy, thou art a silly fool,” roared out the Wolfe, -gnashing his teeth in a fury. - -“If I am a fool, then,” said Sir Alexander, in no less a rage, “I am at -least wise enough to know from whom I have had my folly.” - -The ferocious Wolfe could stand this no longer. His eyes flashed fire, -and, catching up a large silver flagon of wine, from which he had been -going to drink, he hurled it at his son’s head with so much celerity -and truth of aim that had not Hepborne raised his left arm and -intercepted it in its flight, though at the expense of a severe -contusion, the hot Sir Alexander would never have uttered a word more. -Heedless of the escape he had made, he rose to return the compliment -against his father; but Hepborne, and some of those nearest to him, -interfered, and with some difficulty the anger of both father and son -was appeased. It was a feature in the Wolfe’s character, and one also -in which his son Alexander probably participated, that, although his -passion was easily and tremendously excited on every trifling occasion, -so as to convert him at once into an ungovernable wild beast, capable -of the most savage and cruel deeds, yet there were times when he was -not unapt to repent him of any atrocious act he might have been guilty -of, particularly where his own family was concerned. He loved his son -Alexander—with the exception of the child Duncan, indeed, he loved him -more than any of the others, perhaps because he more nearly resembled -himself in temper. After the fray had been put an end to he sat for -some moments trembling with agitation; but, as his wrath subsided, and -he became calmer, he began to picture to himself his son stretched dead -at his feet by a blow from his own hand. His countenance became gloomy -and oppressed; he fidgetted upon his seat, and at length starting -hurriedly up— - -“Depardieux, I thank thee, Sir Patrick,” said he, taking Hepborne’s -right hand, and squeezing it heartily—“depardieux, I thank thee for -having arrested a blow I should have so much repented—Alexander,” -continued he, going up and embracing his son, “forgive me, my boy; but -provoke not mine ire in the same way again, I beseech thee.” - -“Nay, father,” said Sir Alexander, “perhaps I went too far; but, by the -mass, I was irritated by the thought that John Dunbar, Earl of Moray, -should have got between thee and the King with his silky curreidew -tongue.” - -“Right, boy,” cried the Wolfe, relieved by finding a new outlet for his -rage, and striking the table furiously with his fist as he resumed his -seat—“right, boy: there it is. If I but find that my suspicions are -true, by the beard of my grandfather his being my sister Margery’s -husband shall not save him from my wrekery. But, Sir Patrick,” -continued he, after a short pause, “so please thee, let me see the old -man’s letter thou wert charged with, Knowest thou aught of its -contents?” - -“No, my good lord,” said Hepborne, taking the embroidered silken case -that contained the King’s epistle from his bosom. “His Majesty put it -himself into my hands as I kissed his, to take my duteous leave, and -here it is as he gave it to me.” - -The Wolfe glanced at the royal signet, and then, with his wonted -impatience, tore up the silk, and began to read it to himself. His brow -darkened as he went on, his teeth ground against each other, and his -lip curled with a growing tempest. At length he dashed down the King’s -letter on the table, and struck the board with his clenched fist two or -three times successively— - -“Ha! see, Sir Knight, what it is thou hast brought me,” cried he, in a -fury so great that he could hardly give utterance to his words. “Read -that, read that, I say. By all the fiends, ’tis well I read it not at -first, ere I knew thee better, Sir Knight, or thou mightest have had -but a strange reception. Read it—read it, I say!” - -Hepborne took up the letter, and read as follows:— - - -“To the High and Noble, our trusty and well-beloved son, Alexander -Stewart. Earl of Buchan, Earl of Ross, Lord of Badenoch, and our -faithful Lieutenant over the northern part of our kingdom, from the -bounds of the county of Moray to the Pentland Frith, these greeting— - -“Son Alexander,—We do hope these may find thee well. It hath reached -our ears that thou dost still continue to keep abiding with thee thy -leman, Mariota Athyn. Though she, the said Mariota, be the mother of -thy five boys, yet is the noble Lady Euphame, Countess of Ross, thy -true and lawful wife; with her, therefore, it behoveth thee to consort, -yea, and her it behoveth thee to cherish: yet are we informed, and it -doleth us much that it should be so, that thou dost still leave her to -grieve in loneliness and solitude. Bethink thee that thou yet liest -under the threatened ban of holy Mother Church, and under the penalty -laid on thee by the godly Bishops of Moray and Ross for having cruelly -used her, and that thou dost yet underly, and art bound by their -sentence to live with her in a virtuous and seemly manner. Let not -gratitude permit thee to forget, also, that she did bestow upon thee -rich heritages in land, and that it is through her thou dost hold thy -title of Earl of Ross, which we did graciously confirm to thee. Return, -then, from thy wicked ways, and cleave unto thy lawful wife, to her -cherisaunce, as thou wouldst value our good favour, and as thou wouldst -give jovisaunce to these our few remaining years of eld. And so, as -thou dost obey these our injunctions, may God keep thee and thine in -health, and soften thine heart to mercy and godliness. So prayeth thy -loving father and King, - - -“Robert Rex.” - - -Hepborne laid down the King’s letter without venturing a single comment -on it, and it was instantly snatched up by Sir Alexander Stewart. - -“What!” cried he with indignation, after glancing it over, “is our -mother, or are we, to be turned adrift from our father’s house like -ragamuffin quistrons, to beg our way through the world, to please a -doting old man?” - -“Nay, sooner shall I pluck out every hair of this beard from my face,” -shouted the Wolfe in a fury, and tugging out a handful of it -unconsciously as he said so. “What! am I to be schooled by an old -bigoted prater at my time of life, and to be condemned to live with a -restless intriguing hag, who hath been the cause of so much vexation to -me! The red fiend shall catch me then! Not for all the bishops in -Mother Church, with the Orders four to boot, shall I submit me to such -penance. But, by all the powers of darkness, the split-capped Bishop of -Moray, Alexander Barr, shall suffer for this. He it is who hath been at -the bottom of it all; he it is who hath stirred up the King; and by the -infernal fires, he shall ere long undergo my wrekery. He hath been an -eternal torture to me; but, by my trusty burly-brand, I shall make the -craven, horrow lossel rue that ever he roused the Wolfe of Badenoch.” - -He struck the table tremendously with his fist as he concluded. His -calling himself by his nom de guerre was with him like Jupiter swearing -by the river Styx. His people moved on their seats, put on stern brows, -and looked at one another, as if each would have said, “Brother, we -shall have something to do here.” The Earl himself snatched up a flagon -of Rhenish, and took a deep draught to cool his ire; then turning to -Hepborne— - -“I bid thee good night, Sir Patrick,” said he; “thou hast no fault in -this matter; good night, I say.” Then turning to the rest—“See that Sir -Patrick Hepborne have the best quarters that may be given him. Good -night. By all the fiends, the white-faced hypocrite shall pay for it.” -And so saying, he disappeared into the inner apartment of the pavilion. - -Immediately afterwards, the page and the three younger Stewarts came -forth. Sir Alexander still continued to fret and broil with the fury -which the King’s letter had excited in him; yet he neglected not the -civilities due to their guest. He gave orders that the youngest boy’s -tent should be prepared for Sir Patrick Hepborne, and that his -brothers, Duncan and James, should occupy one tent for the night; and, -leaving Sir Andrew Stewart to see that the stranger Knight was properly -accommodated, he made an exit similar to his father’s. - -“’Tis an unfortunate weakness,” said Sir Andrew Stewart, as he -accompanied Hepborne to his tent, “’tis an unhappy weakness that so -cruelly besets my father and my brother Alexander; half the hours of -their lives are spent in temporary frenzy. It would be well for them if -they could bridle their passions.” - -Hepborne found it difficult to reply; so changing the subject adroitly, -and thanking Sir Andrew for his courteous attention, he bade him good -night, and was glad to take refuge in the quiet of the tent that had -been prepared for him. Being indisposed for sleep, he called his page, -whose couch was in the outer apartment, and, ere they retired to rest, -their conversation ran as follows:— - -“Maurice,” said the knight, “why didst thou show thyself so backward in -receiving the Lady Mariota’s favours? She seemed anxious to show thee -all manner of kind attention, yet thou didst repel her by thy very -looks.” - -“Sir Knight,” said the page, “I like not that woman; she is not the -wife of the Earl of Buchan, and meseems it a foul thing to see her sit -in the seat of so honourable and virtuous a lady as the Countess of -Ross, queening it where she hath no claim but the base one that may -spring from her own infamy.” - -“Thou art right, boy,” said Hepborne, “thou art right, in good truth; -but ’tis not for us to read moral lessons to our seniors. Where we see -positive harm, or glaring injury, done to any one by another, then it -behoveth a true knight to stay not his hand, but forthwith to redress -the grievance at peril of his life. But though he is not to court the -society of those who sin grossly, yet cannot he always eschew it, and -it falleth not within the province of a knight to read moral lectures -and homilies to every one he meeteth that may offend against God’s -laws; else might he exchange the helmet for the cowl. And, verily, he -should have little to do but to preach, since the wickedness of man is -so great, and so universal, that there is no one who might not call for -his sermons; yea, and while zealously preaching to others, he would -certainly fall into guilt himself. No, Maurice; let us take care to -live irreproachably; then let us suffer no one to do tyranny or -injustice to another; and having secured these important things, let us -leave all else to a righteous God, who will Himself avenge the sins -committed against His moral law. Yet do I much commend that virtuous -indignation in thee; and if thy love should ever haply run smooth, as I -sincerely pray that it may, I trust that thou wilt be a mirror of -virtuous constancy.” - -The page clasped his hands on his breast, and, throwing up his eyes to -Heaven, “Grant but that my love may yet prosper,” said he, fervently; -“grant but that, ye blessed Virgin, and the sun shall not be more -constant to the firmament, than I shall be in the attachment to the -object of my affection! But couldst thou be constant, Sir Knight?” -added he, with a sigh. - -“’Tis an odd question, boy,” said Hepborne, laughing. “I think I know -so much of myself as to say boldly that I could; and, verily, I would -never mate me where I weened there might be risk of temptation to aught -else. But, of a truth, I have not yet seen the woman of whom I might -think so highly as to risk chaining my virtue to her side.” - -The page sat silent for some moments, and at length, turning to -Hepborne, “I have seen knights,” said he, “who did roune sweet speeches -in the ears of foolish maidens, who did swear potent oaths that they -did love them, and yet, when the silly pusels believed them, they would -laugh at their facile credence, and then, leaping into their saddles, -ride away, making mirth of the sad wounds they had caused. Say, Sir -Knight, couldst thou do this?” - -“Depardieux, mon bel ami Maurice de Grey,” said the knight, laughing, -“methinks thou hast made thyself my father confessor to-night. What -meanest thou by these questions?” - -“In truth, my dear master,” said the boy, “I do but ask, that I may -better myself by the wisdom of thine answers. How should I, an untaught -youth, ever become an honour to knighthood, as I hope one day to be, -save by thy sage precept and bright example?” - -“Nay, then, sweet page,” said the knight, kindly, “I shall not deny to -answer thee. In good sooth, I have never yet been so base, nor could I -ever be guilty of so much wickedness.” - -The page’s eyes brightened for a moment at the knight’s virtuous -assertion. - -“There be women indeed,” continued Sir Patrick, “to whom it is even -dangerous for a courteous knight to address the common parlance of -courtly compliment, without instilling into them the vain belief that -their charms have wrought a conquest. Of such an innocent fault the -folly of many maidens may have made me guilty. Never, save once, did I -seriously love, and then, alas, I discovered that my heart had been -affected by an unworthy object, so that I did forthwith tear myself -from her.” - -“Unworthy, didst thou say, Sir Knight?” cried the boy, earnestly; “and -who, I pray thee, could be so unworthy to thee?” - -“Nay, my good Maurice,” said Hepborne, “that were truly to ask too -much. Were she as worthy as I did once esteem her, I would proudly -publish her name to the world; but after having said so much to her -dishonour, and now that she cannot be mine, her name shall never more -escape these lips whilst I think of her as I at present do, save when -’tis brought in accidentally by others, or when ’tis murmured in my -secret despair. But what ails thee, boy? Thou weepest. Tell me, I pray -thee, why thou shouldst now be thus drent in dreriment? What hast thou -to do with my love-griefs?” - -“I but cry for pity, Sir Knight,” said the boy. “Thy tale, too, doth -somewhat touch mine own, and so doth it, peraunter, affect me the more. -May Heaven in its mercy clear away those cruel clouds that do at -present so darken our souls!” - -“Amen!” said the knight fervently. “Then get thee to thy couch, -Maurice, for I will to mine.” - -Sir Patrick Hepborne had already slept for a considerable time, when he -was awakened by the clamour of voices. This, perhaps, would have -excited little astonishment, had he not previously remarked the -uncommon degree of quietness that had been preserved in the little -encampment, the probable effect of the stern character and alert -discipline of him who was at the head of it. He sat up, and leaning for -some moments on his elbow to listen, he by and by heard the trampling -of steeds, and the bustle of preparation, as if for a departure. He -then called to the page, who answered him so immediately, that Hepborne -suspected, what was really the case, that he had not as yet slept. - -“What noise is that we hear, Maurice?” said he. - -“Methinks,” said the page, “it is some party that sets forth. Perhaps -it may be one moiety of the retinue who go before, to prepare those of -the Castle for the Earl’s coming.” - -This very natural explanation satisfied Hepborne. He soon heard the -noise increase, and the neighing and prancing of the horses, with the -voices of many men, though their words were not intelligible; then he -heard a loud command to march, and the gallop of the troop died away -upon his ear, and then again all was quiet, and his repose was -uninterrupted until morning. - -He was hardly dressed when Sir Andrew Stewart came courteously to offer -the usual morning compliments, and to conduct him to the great -pavilion. - -“My father,” said he, “hath been called on urgent business into -Badenoch; he left this yesternight, to ride thither sans delay: my -brothers, Alexander, Walter, and James, also went with him; but he left -me here to do thee what poor hospitality I may until his return. -To-day, with thy good leave, we shall hie us to Lochyndorbe, and -to-morrow I hope he will be there to do the honours of the Castle in -his own person.” - -This sudden departure of the Wolfe of Badenoch accounted to Hepborne -for the disturbance he had met with in the night. The Lady Mariota -received him graciously. - -“But where is my handsome good-for-nothing page?” eagerly inquired she. -“Ah, there comes the naughty boy, I see. Come hither, Sir Scapegrace; I -trow I did school thee to some purpose yestreen; but parfay, thou shalt -have more on’t anon. Come hither, I say. Verily, the young varlet -hangeth his ears like a whelp that feareth the rod; but i’faith I am -not come to that yet,—though, never trust me,” added she, laughing, -“but thou shalt have it ere long, an’ thou be’st not more docile. Sit -thee down here, I say. And see now how, in hopes of thine amendment, I -have carved for thee the tenderest and whitest part of this black -grouse’s breast; yea, Sir Good-for-Nothing—with mine own fair fingers -have I done it.” - -Maurice de Grey appeared more than half inclined to keep aloof from the -lady, notwithstanding all her kind raillery; but he caught his master’s -eye, and seeing that Sir Patrick seemed to wish that he should receive -her notice with a good grace, he put on the semblance of cheerfulness, -and took his seat by her accordingly. - -The morning’s meal passed over without anything remarkable, the lady -devoting all her attention and all her trifling to Maurice de Grey, and -Hepborne being engaged in conversation with Sir Andrew Stewart; there -being no one else present but the boy Duncan. Soon afterwards, orders -were issued for the encampment to break up, and the attendants to -prepare themselves and their steeds for their departure. Much time was -lost until all the necessary arrangements were made. The sturdy sullen -loons were aware of the absence of the Wolfe, and revelled in the -enjoyment of the power, so seldom theirs, of doing things leisurely. -Besides, all the most active and intelligent persons of the suite were -gone. At length a string of little batt horses, pressed from the -neighbouring churls, were despatched with the most valuable and more -immediately necessary part of the moveables, and a few more were left -to bring up the tents and heavier articles, when additional aid should -arrive. - -Meanwhile, the palfrey of the Lady Mariota was brought out, together -with two others for her maids; and the horses of the rest of the party -also appeared. Hepborne assisted the lady to mount, but though she -thanked him graciously for his courtesy, she was by no means satisfied. - -“That white palfrey of thine, Sir Page Maurice,” said she, “seemeth to -have an affection for my pyeball; let them not be separated, I -pr’ythee. Mount thee, and be thou the squire of my body for this day. -Allons.” - -Maurice was obliged to comply, and rode off with the lady at the head -of the cavalcade, followed by her son Duncan, and attended by the two -damsels, who seemed, by their nods and winks to each other, to imply -something extremely significant, yet understood by themselves alone. -Sir Patrick Hepborne rode next, with Sir Andrew Stewart. Their train -was meagre compared to that which Hepborne had seen the previous -evening; indeed, his own attendants formed by far the greater part of -the cortege that now accompanied them. Their route was by the same path -that Hepborne had approached the glen, until they reached the steep -side of the hill overhanging the head of it, whence he had first peeped -into it. They then continued onwards through the forest in the same -northern direction in which the guide was conducting the knight, at the -time he was diverted from his way by discovering the Wolfe’s hunting -camp. - -They travelled through a great and elevated plain, covered by pine -trees so thickly as almost to exclude the sun, and even the hills that -bounded it were wooded to their very tops. At length they turned -towards an opening that appeared in the hills to their left, and, -winding over some knolls, began to catch occasional glimpses of an -extensive sheet of water, when the dark green fir tufts, now and then -receding from one another, permitted the party to look beyond them. In -a short time they reached the shore of the eastern end of Lochyndorbe, -about four miles in length, and of an oblong form. The hills bounding -it on the north and south arose with gentle slope. A considerable -island appeared near the upper or western extremity of the lake, a -short way from its southern shore, and entirely covered with the -impregnable Castle, of the same name with the sheet of water -surrounding it. In the vista beyond, a sloping plain appeared, with -high hills rising over it. The whole scene was one continued pine -forest, and as solitary and wild as the most gloomy mind could desire. -A group of firs, more ancient and enormous than the rest, occupied a -point of land, and were tenanted by a colony of herons; and the lonely -scream of these birds, and their lagging heavy flight, added to, rather -than enlivened the sombre character of the loch. - -As they made their way up the southern shore, the enormous strength of -the Castle became more apparent at every step. It was, in fact, a royal -fortress, constructed for the purpose of sustaining regular and -determined siege. It occupied the whole island to the very margin of -the water, and its outer walls running, in long unbroken lines, from -one point to another, in successive stretches, embraced a space of -something more than two acres within them. On a low, round projection -of land, immediately opposite on the southern shore, and within about -two hundred yards of it, was situated an outwork, or sconce, erected -for the purpose of preserving the communication with the terra firma, -but yet of too little importance to be of any great benefit to an enemy -that might chance to possess himself of it, or to enable him to do much -injury to the Castle, even with the most powerful engines then in -use—particularly as the massive walls opposed to it presented a -straight, continuous, unbroken, and unassailable front. Here they found -several large and small boats in waiting for them; but there appeared -to be a great want of people to serve them. - -“Methinks thou hast but a paltry crew for thy navy to-day, Master -Bruce?” said the Lady Mariota to an old grey-headed squire-seneschal, -who came to receive her. - -“Madame,” said he, “my lord the Earl sent orders here last night for -the spears, axemen, and bowmen, to meet him early this morning on -Dulnan side. About an hundred good men of horse and foot marched -thither long ere the sun saw the welkin, so that we be but meagrely -garrisoned, else thou shouldst have been received with more honour.” - -“Nay, then, since it is so,” said the lady, “let us cross as we best -may. That small boat will do for us, so lend me thine arm, Sir Page -Maurice.” And immediately entering the boat, she made the youth sit -beside her. Hepborne and Sir Andrew Stewart also embarked, and, leaving -the horses and attendants to follow at leisure, were pulled rapidly -towards the Castle by a couple of old boatmen. They landed on the -narrow strip of beach, extending hardly a yard from the walls, and that -only when the water was low, and were admitted through all the numerous -and potent defences of the deep gateway, by the warder, and one or two -men who kept watch. They then traversed the courts intervening between -the outer and inner walls, which were defended at all the salient -angles by immensely strong round towers, one of them completely -commanding the entrance. Then passing onwards, they came to the inner -gateway, through which they ascended into the central area of the -Castle, forming a large elevated quadrangle, surrounded by the -buildings necessary in such a garrison. - -The Lady Mariota, still leaning on the arm of Maurice de Grey, led them -into that part of the square occupied by the Earl’s mansion, and soon -introduced them into a banqueting-hall of magnificent proportions, hung -round with arms, and richly furnished for the times we speak of, and -where, notwithstanding the draft made that morning on the forces of the -place, there was still a considerable show of domestics in waiting. - -“Let us have the banquet immediately,” said the Lady Mariota to the -seneschal. “Sir Knight,” said she, turning to Hepborne, “if our -hospitality should lack its wonted comfort to-day, thou must lay it to -the account of our late absence from the Castle; and if it should want -its usual spirit, it must be set down to the score of the Earl’s -absence. But to-morrow both these wants shall be supplied. Andrew, thou -wilt see Sir Patrick Hepborne rightly accommodated. As for this naughty -page, Maurice de Grey, I shall myself see him fittingly bestowed in a -chamber near mine own, that I may have all proper and convenient -opportunity of repeating those lessons I have already endeavoured to -impress upon him. Come along then, good-for-nothing boy; come along, I -say.” - -The page cast an imploring look at his master, who regarded it not; -then hanging his head, he followed the Lady Mariota with an unwilling -step, like a laggard schoolboy who dreads the ferula of his pedagogue; -whilst Hepborne was ushered to his apartment, where, having procured -the attendance of the faithful Mortimer Sang, he proceeded to array -himself in attire suitable to the evening. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - - The Castle of Lochyndorbe—An Evening Episode on the Ramparts—The - Wolfe’s Raid on the Bishop’s Lands. - - -The evening’s banquet in the Castle of Lochyndorbe passed away pretty -much as the morning’s meal had done in the hunting pavilion, that is to -say, without anything very remarkable. The Lady Mariota, still devoting -all her attention to the page, left her son, Sir Andrew Stewart, to -entertain Sir Patrick Hepborne. Neither of the knights were disposed to -quaff those draughts of wine which the Wolfe of Badenoch himself seemed -to consider as essential to the comfort of life, and they soon -separated. Hepborne sat in his apartment for some time after Mortimer -Sang had left him, and then, falling into a train of reflection on the -events which had occurred to him since his return from France, and -perceiving that his clue of association must be fully unwound ere he -could hope to sleep, he walked forth to enjoy the balmy freshness of -the evening air, that he might give freer vent to his thoughts. - -He got upon the rampart that looked out over the broader part of the -lake, and as he entered on one end of it, he was confounded—he could -not believe his eyes—but it certainly was the figure of the Lady -Eleanore de Selby that he beheld, leaning against one of the balistæ -near the farther angle of the wall. The waning moon shed a dim and -uncertain light; yet it was sufficient to convince him that the figure -he saw before him was the same that had made so powerful an impression -on his mind at Norham. She was wrapped in a mantle, with her head bare, -and her beautiful tresses flowing down in the same manner he had seen -them when blown by the breezes from the Tweed; and she seemed to look -listlessly out upon the wavelets that flickered under the thin and -scanty moonbeam, as they lifted themselves gently against the bulwark -stones under the wall. Apparently buried in thought, she was so -perfectly without motion that he began to doubt whether it was not a -phantom he beheld; nay, it was impossible she could be there in -substance—she whom he had left at Norham affianced as a bride. In those -days of superstition it is no wonder, therefore, that he should have -believed it was the Lady Eleanore de Selby’s spirit he saw, or, in the -peculiar language of his own country, her wraith. His manly blood ran -cold, and he hesitated for a moment whether he ought to advance. The -figure still remained fixed. Again the thought crossed him, that it -might possibly be the Lady Eleanore, and love urged him to approach and -address her; but then prudence came to caution him not to seem to see -her, lest he might be again subdued, and forget what he had discovered -at Norham. Thus tossed by doubt, until he could bear suspense no -longer, both superstitious awe and prudence yielded to the influence of -love, and, unable to restrain himself, he walked along the rampart -towards the figure. It seemed not to hear his step—it moved not till he -was within three or four paces, when it started at the sound of his -steps, and, turning suddenly towards him, displayed the countenance -of—the page, Maurice de Grey. - -“Ah, Sir Patrick!” said the boy, and instantly applying his taper -fingers to his hair, he began twisting it up into a knot over his head, -accidentally assuming, as he did so, the very attitude in which -Hepborne had seen the lady when similarly employed on the rampart at -Norham. - -“Maurice de Grey!” exclaimed Hepborne with extreme astonishment, “is it -you I see? Verily, thine attitude, boy, did so remind me of that in -which I once beheld thy cousin, the Lady Eleanore de Selby, that for a -moment I did almost believe it was really she who stood before me. I -did never remark before that thou dost wear thy hair so womanishly -long.” - -Sir Patrick’s astonishment had been too great to permit him to remark -the page’s trepidation when first surprised by him, and before his -amazement had subsided, Maurice de Grey had time to recover himself. - -“’Tis true,” said he, “Sir Knight, that I have always worn my hair -long, and put up in a silken net, being loth to cut it away, seeing it -was the pride of my mother’s heart; but, nathless, if thou dost think -it unmanly in me to wear it so, verily it shall be cut off before -to-morrow morning, that it may no longer offend thee. Yet I marvel much -what could possibly make thee to think that my cousin, the Lady -Eleanore, could be here in the Castle of Lochyndorbe; or how hast thou -perchance set thine eyes on her, so as to have so perfect a remembrance -of her figure as thou dost seem to preserve? I know that her father, -Sir Walter, doth take especial care that she shall never be seen by any -Scottish knight. Then by what accident, I pray thee, didst thou behold -her?” - -Hepborne was considerably puzzled and perplexed by these naif questions -from the page. To have refused to reply to them at all would have been -the very way to have excited a thousand suspicions in the boy’s mind; -he, therefore, thought it better to answer him, and he wished to do so -in a calm and indifferent manner. But it was a subject on which he -could not think, far less talk, with composure, and, ere he wist, he -burst into an ecstacy of feeling that quite confounded the page. - -“See her!” said he; “alas, too often have I seen the Lady Eleanore de -Selby for my peace. Never, never, shall peace revisit this bosom. She -is another’s; yet, nathless, must this torn heart be hers whilst it -shall throb with life.” And saying so, he covered his face with his -hands, and retreated some steps to hide the violence of his emotions; -but becoming ashamed of having thus exposed his secret to the page, and -made him privy to the extent of his weakness, he returned to the boy, -and found him weeping bitterly, apparently from sympathy. - -“Maurice,” said Hepborne, calmly addressing him, “accident hath made -thee wring from me the secret of my love, as chance did also make me -tell thee yesternight, that I had cause to fear that the demoiselle who -hath so deeply affected me was not in truth altogether what she at -first appeared to me. As she is thy cousin, and so dear to thee as thou -dost now say she is, I would not willingly allow thee to suppose that I -have been estranged from her by mere caprice. I shall therefore tell -thee that the Lady Eleanore de Selby did give me good cause to believe -that my ardent protestations of love were not unpleasing to her; nay, -she even held out encouragement to the prosecution of my suit; and yet, -after all this ground of hope I did discover that she was affianced to -another knight, in whose arms I did actually behold her, as they parted -from each other, with many tears at the keep-bridge of Norham, on the -very morning when I and my friend left the place. Her emotions were too -tender to be mistaken. She it was who sported lightly with my heart, -not I with hers, for, had she not been faithless, I would have -sacrificed life itself for her love, and would have considered the -wealth of a kingdom but as dross compared with the possession of a -jewel so precious. Even as it is, I am doomed to love her for ever. I -feel it—I feel it here!” said he, passionately striking his heart—“I -can never, never cease to love her.” - -The page seemed petrified with the charge brought against his cousin. -He grew faint, and staggered back a pace or two, until he was stayed by -the support he received from the balistæ; then panting for a moment he -was at length relieved by a flood of tears. - -“Thou seest, Maurice,” said Hepborne, “the facts are too damning. It -would have been better for thee to have inquired less curiously. But -what figure is that which cometh yonder from the farther end of the -rampart?” - -“Blessed Virgin,” cried Maurice de Grey, “’tis my perpetual torment, -the Lady Mariota. What shall I do? Methought I had escaped from her -importunity for this night at least.” - -“Why shouldst thou not be able to bear with her?” said the knight; -“’tis a part of thy schooling, young man, to submit to mortification, -and, above all, to bear with unpleasant society, without losing a jot -of thy courtesy, especially where women are in question.” - -“True, Sir Knight,” said the page, half whimpering, “but the Lady -Mariota hath actually made violent love to me. Oh, I cannot bear the -wretch.” - -Hepborne could not help laughing at the ludicrous distress of the -youth, and he had hardly time to compose himself ere the Lady Mariota -came within speaking distance of them. - -“So, so, thou art there, runaway?” said she to the page, as she passed -by Hepborne with a mere bow of acknowledgment, to get at Maurice, who -retreated towards the balistæ with his head down—“so thou art there, -art thou, Sir Scapegrace? Thou art a pretty truant, indeed,” continued -she, hooking him under one arm, and giving him a gentle slap on one -cheek. “But, thank my lucky stars, I have caught thee now, and verily -thou shalt not again escape me. I’faith thou shalt have thy wings -clipt, my little tom-tit; I shall have thee tied to my apron string, -that thou hop thee not away from me thus at every turning. I did but -let thee out of my sight for an instant, and whisk I find thee at the -very outermost verge of my circle. Nay, had it not been for these walls -and waters, in good truth thou mightest have been beyond my search ere -this. Come away, Sir Good-for-Nothing. Allons, make up thy mind to thy -chain; let me lead thee by it, and do not thou pull so.” - -“Lady,” said Hepborne, “thou must have some mercy on the poor youth. He -hath so lately escaped from female thrall at home, that as yet he can -but ill brook anything that resembleth it. Leave him to me, I beseech -thee. At present he joys in the newly-acquired society of men; by -degrees he will come to feel how much more sweet and soothing are the -delights of women’s converse, and——” - -“Nay, nay, Sir Knight,” said the Lady Mariota, interrupting him -hastily, “I shall not yield my control over the renegado, I promise -thee; he shall with me this moment. Come, along, Sir Page Maurice—come -along, I say. Thou art a pretty youth indeed! I have searched for thee -through every apartment, nay, through every creek and cranny in the -Castle; and now that I have found thee, by my troth, I shall not yield -thee up so easily. Come along, I say.” And like a bitch-fox dragging -off an unhappy kid, so did the Lady Mariota drag away the hapless -Maurice de Grey, in defiance of his lagging step, his peevish replies, -his hanging head, his pouting lip, and the numerous glances of vexation -he darted from under his eyelashes at his tormentor. - -Hepborne retired to his repose, half amused and half angry with the -persecution inflicted on his poor page. Early next morning, Mortimer -Sang came to him with a courteous message from Sir Andrew Stewart, -begging to know if it was his pleasure to hunt for a few hours; and -Hepborne having cheerfully agreed to the proposal, the two knights met -alone at breakfast, and then crossed to the mainland with their horses, -hounds, hunting-gear, and a few attendants, to scour the neighbouring -forest for deer. - -As they were returning homewards towards evening, they heard the -echoing sound of bugles. - -“’Tis my father,” said Sir Andrew; “’tis the Earl returning with his -party from Badenoch; see, there they come, breaking forth from yonder -woodshaws.” - -It was indeed the Wolfe of Badenoch; but he was now in a very different -array from that which he had first appeared in to Hepborne. He was clad -from head to foot in a complete suit of bright plate armour, and his -height and bulk seemed to be increased by the metamorphosis. He rode at -the head of a gallant troop of well-mounted and well-equipped spearmen, -after which marched a company of footmen, consisting of pole-axe-men, -and bowmen. His sons, Sir Alexander, Walter, and James, rode proudly by -his side. The cavalcade went at a foot pace, because a rabble of -bare-legged and bare-headed tatterdemalion mountaineers ran before -them, armed with clubs, goads, and pikes, and driving along a -promiscuous herd of cows, bullocks, sheep, and goats, of all different -ages and descriptions, which considerably retarded their march. A -bugle-man preceded the whole, bearing aloft an otter-skin purse on the -point of a spear. His banner waved in the middle of the clump of -spears; and in the rear of all followed a tired and straggling band of -men, women, and children, who were grieving loudly, and weeping sadly, -for some dire injury they had sustained, and vociferating vain appeals -in their own language to the stern Wolfe, who, with his vizor up, and -his brows knit, rode on unheeding them. - -Ere the parties met, the two boys, Walter and James, galloped up to -meet their brother, Sir Andrew, and both began at once to shout out -their news to him— - -“Oh, brother Andrew, brother Andrew, we have had such sport!” cried the -one. - -“Nay, thou knowest not what thou hast lost, brother Andrew, by not -being with us,” cried the other. - -“Father hath seized——” shouted Walter. - -“The Earl hath taken possession of——” interrupted James. - -“Tut, hold thy gabbling tongue, James, and let me tell,” responded -Walter. - -“Nay, but I will tell it,” cried James lustily. - -“By the holy Rood, but I will not be interrupted,” screamed out Walter. - -“By the Bishop’s mass, then, but I will tell out mine own tale in spite -of thee,” bellowed James; “the Earl hath seized, I say——” - -“Confound thee, then!” roared out Walter in a frenzy, and at the same -time bestowing a hearty thwack with the shaft of his spear across his -brother’s shoulders—“confound thine impudence, take that for thine -insolence.” - -The no less irascible James was by no means slow in returning the -compliment, and they began to beat one another about the head with -great goodwill; nay, it is probable that their wrath might have even -induced them to resort to the points of their weapons, had they been -equal to the management of their fiery steeds; but the spirited animals -became restive in the bicker, and plunging two or three times, the -youths, more attentive to mauling each other than to their -horsemanship, lost their seats, and in one and the same instant both -were laid prostrate on the plain. Some of the followers of the hunting -party caught their palfreys, and raised the enraged boys, who would -have renewed their fight on foot had they not been held back. - -“Oh, ye silly fools,” said Sir Andrew, smiling coolly and -contemptuously upon them; “as the old cock croweth, so, forsooth, the -chicks must needs ape his song. Have done with your absurd and impotent -wrath.” And leaving them in the hands of the attendants, he rode slowly -forward with Hepborne to meet his father. - -“What!” demanded the Wolfe, laughing heartily, “were those cockerals -pecking at each other?” - -“Yea,” replied Sir Andrew, “a trifling dispute between them, which I -have quashed.” - -“Pshaw,” replied the Wolfe, “by the beard of my grandfather, but I like -to see their spirit; let not thy drowsy control quell it in them, son -Andrew. I would not have them tame kestrels like thee, for all the -broad lands of my father’s kingdom; so leave them to me to tutor, son -Andrew, dost hear?—Sir Patrick,” said he, turning to Hepborne, “I hope -thou hast not suffered in thine entertainment by mine absence? I should -crave thy pardon, I wis, for leaving thee so suddenly, and perhaps so -rudely; but I have let off my dammed-up wrath since I last saw thee, -and shall now be better company. By this trusty burly-brand, I have -shorn off the best plumes from the plump Bishop Barr; I have seized the -fat lands he held in the very midst of my Badenoch territory. By the -infernal fiends, I swore that he should pay for his busy intermeddling -in my family affairs, and by all the powers of darkness and desolation, -I have faithfully kept mine oath. I have hameled his pride, I trow. He -shall know what it is to have to do with the Wolfe of Badenoch. He -holds earth no more there. These are the custom-cattle of his lands, -and there dangleth the rent and the grassums gathered from his knave -tenants. Such of the churls who were refractory I have driven forth, -and put good men of mine own in their room. Begone with ye, ye -screaming pewits,” cried he, angrily turning towards the wretched train -of men and women who followed his party, and couching his lance as if -he would have charged furiously at them—“begone with ye, I say, or, by -the fires of the infernal realms, I will put every he and she of ye -instantly to the sword!” - -The miserable wretches, without a house to go to, ran off into the -woods at his terrible threat, and the ferocious Wolfe rode on with his -party. When they came to the water’s edge, the bugles sounded, and a -boat being instantly manned by six rowers, the Wolfe called to Sir -Patrick Hepborne to go along with him, and they were wafted across in a -few strokes of the oar, leaving Sir Alexander Stewart and his brothers -to superintend the embarkation of the booty. All in the Castle was stir -and bustle the moment the owner of it appeared. The oldest man in it -seemed to be endowed with additional muscular action at the very -presence of the Wolfe. They were all ranked up to receive him as he -entered the gateway, and they followed him, and darted off one by one, -like arrows, in various directions, as he gave his hasty orders. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - - The Lady Mariota and the Page—The Fury of the Wolfe. - - -The Wolfe and Sir Patrick Hepborne had no sooner entered the -banquet-hall than they were surprised by the appearance of the Lady -Mariota, who approached them from a room beyond it, drowned in tears. - -“Eh!” cried the Wolfe, setting his teeth against each other; “ha! mort -de ma vie, what is this I behold? Mariota in tears? Say, speak, why art -thou thus bywoxen? What, in the fiend’s name, is the matter? Who hath -caused these tears? Speak, and by all the infernal demons, I will have -him flayed alive.” - -“My Lord,” replied the Lady Mariota, hiding her face in her kerchief, -“I can hardly speak it—the page—the page Maurice de Grey———” - -“Say, lady, what of him? I beseech thee, what of him?” cried Sir -Patrick anxiously. “Hath any ill befallen him?” - -“Nay,” said the lady; “would that had been all I had to tell!—Oh, how -shall I speak it?—the wretch, taking advantage of my being left alone, -dared to insult me. I fled forth from the apartment where I had -unconsciously received him, and, having called the attendants, I had -him secured, and he is now a prisoner in the dungeon.” - -Hepborne was petrified with horror and amazement at this accusation -against Maurice de Grey. - -“Ha!” cried the Wolfe, “by my beard, thou didst bravely indeed, my -girl.—The red fiend catch me, but he shall forthwith swing for it. A -gallows and a halter there in the court-yard! By all the grim powers of -hell, he shall dangle ere we dine.” - -“Nay, nay, my Lord,” said Hepborne, sternly yet calmly, “that may not -be without a trial. The youth is mine, and I am thy guest. I demand a -fair trial for him; if he be guilty, then let him suffer for his -coulpe; but until his guilt be proved, depardieux, I shall stand forth -his defender.” - -“By the holy Rood, but thou speakest boldly, Sir Knight,” cried the -Wolfe, gnashing his teeth in ire. “Art thou then prepared to fight at -outrance for thy minion?” - -“My Lord,” said Hepborne coolly, “I am here as thy guest. Whilst I am -under thy roof I trust the common rules of hospitality will bind us -both; but shouldst thou rid thyself of their salutary shackles, I must -prepare myself to do my best to resist oppression, as a good and true -knight ought to do. I ask but fair trial for the boy, which, in justice -thou canst not and wilt not refuse me.” - -The Wolfe paced the room backwards and forwards for some time with a -hurried step, whilst the Lady Mariota sat sobbing in a chair. - -“Mariota,” said he at length, “thou wert alone when the page came to -thee?” - -“I was, my good Lord,” replied the lady; “My damsels had gone forth at -the time he entered my chamber.” - -“Now, Sir Patrick Hepborne,” exclaimed the Wolfe, “now thou must of -needscost see that all proof here is out of the question. Where can -proof be had where there hath been no witnesses?” - -“Yea, my Lord,” said Hepborne temperately, “what thou sayest is true, -in good faith; and it is also true that without proof there can be no -just condemnation.” - -The Wolfe began again to pace the room, hastily, his eyes flashing -fire. - -“What, Sir Knight,” exclaimed he, “dost thou go so far as to doubt the -word of the Lady Mariota? By the devil’s mass, but thou art bold -indeed.” - -“I say not that I doubt the word of the Lady Mariota,” replied -Hepborne; “but were the Lady Mariota my sister, and the page Maurice de -Grey my greatest enemy, I would not condemn him capitally on her simple -saying.” - -“Mariota,” cried the Wolfe in a rage, “leave the apartment; get thee to -thy chamber. By the martyrdom of St. Andrew, but thou dost beard me, -Sir Knight. Thou presumest on my old dotard father’s introduction of -thee, and on the frail laws of hospitality, which may indeed bind me to -a certain point; but beware thou dost push me beyond it, or, by my -beard, neither he nor they shall protect thee.” - -“Most noble Earl of Buchan,” replied Hepborne, with perfect temper and -sang froid, “again I say, that all I ask is justice. To that point only -do I wish to push thee, nor do I fear but thou wilt go so far. I do -confess, it seemeth somewhat strange to me to hear so foul a charge -against a boy who hath ever sought to fly the Lady Mariota’s advances. -Nay, ’twas but yesternight that she came herself to seek him on the -rampart, where the youth held idle parlance with me; and though he -tried to shun her, verily these eyes beheld her as she did court him to -go with her, the which the boy did most unwillingly.” - -The Wolfe of Badenoch knit his brows, and strode two or three times -through the long hall, the arched roof ringing again to the clang of -his heel as he moved. He seemed to be pondering within himself what to -resolve, an operation to the fatigue of which he rarely ever subjected -his mind, his general practice being to act first, and then, if ever he -thought at all, to think afterwards. At length he stopped short in his -career, opposite to where Hepborne was standing, with his arms calmly -folded across his breast; and, stretching out his hand to him— - -“Sir Patrick,” said he, “thou art right. I have perhaps been a little -hasty here. There is much in what thou hast said; and I honour thee for -thy cool and determined courage and temper. Listen to me then. If the -page Maurice de Grey confesseth the coulpe of which he is charged, thou -wilt not call it injustice if he be instantly ordered for execution. If -he denies it, then let him, or some one for him, do duel with me -to-morrow, as soon as light may serve us; and may God and the Blessed -Virgin defend the right, and make his innocence clear if he be sans -coulpe.” - -“Agreed,” said Hepborne. “I stand forth the boy’s defender, and will -cheerfully appeal to wager of single combat in his behalf. Let him -straightway be sent for, then, and let him be questioned with regard to -his guilt or innocence; all I ask for him is full and free speech.” - -“He shall have it,” cried the Wolfe; “I swear by my beard, he shall -have full power to speak as he lists. Pardieux, ’tis well we determined -this matter one way or other forthwith, for I long to dine.” - -“What is this I hear?” cried Sir Alexander Stewart, entering in a fury; -“what is this I hear? My mother insulted by a minion page! By the ghost -of my grandfather, the miscreant shall die ere I eat a morsel. Why doth -he not swing even now? What hath delayed his execution?” - -“Silence, Sandy,” cried the Wolfe angrily; “the matter is already -arranged without thine interference. The youth comes anon to be -questioned. If he confesses, the popinjay shall straightway grace the -gallows in the court-yard; if he denies, then is Sir Patrick Hepborne -prepared to do battle in his cause against me, by to-morrow’s sun.” - -“Let that glory be mine, then, I beseech thee, my noble father,” cried -Sir Alexander eagerly; “I claim the right of doing battle in defence in -my mother’s cause.” - -“Well, Alexander,” said the Wolfe gruffly, “if it so please Sir Patrick -Hepborne, I scruple not to yield him to thee.” - -“My appeal,” said Sir Patrick, “is against one and all who may singly -choose to challenge mine arm, and who may be pleased to succeed one -another in the single combat I am willing to wage in defence of the -youth Maurice de Grey.” - -“Hey day!” cried the Wolfe; “gramercy, Sir Knight, then, by mine honest -and trusty burly-brand, thou shall have thy bellyful of it, and I shall -not resign the first place to my son Alexander. We shall tilt it first, -so please thee. At sunrise we shall bestir ourselves, and on the open -lawnde beyond the land sconce we shall try the metal of our armour and -lance heads. If thou escapest mine arm, Sandy may have thee, if he -likes; but the red fiend’s curse upon it if it fail me. Ha! here comes -the prisoner.” - -The page Maurice de Grey now entered, wearing his chains about his -wrists. His countenance was placid and composed, and he advanced with a -firm step and undisturbed manner. - -“Knowest thou, Sir Page, of what coulpe thou art accused?” demanded the -Wolfe sternly. - -“I do,” replied the youth calmly. - -“Dost thou admit or deny the charge the Lady Mariota hath made against -thee?” - -“I most solemnly deny it,” replied the page. - -“Ha!” cried the Wolfe, “then is there no more to be said. Let him be -removed; and let everything be prepared for a single combat to-morrow -between Sir Patrick Hepborne and me—the place to be the lawnde beyond -the land sconce; and the time, the moment the welkin sees the sun. ’Tis -well ’tis so soon settled. Now let us dine, Sir Patrick, We may be -merry companions to-night, though we be to fight like fiends i’ the -morning. The banquet, I say—the banquet. Why dost thou tarry with thy -prisoner?” - -“One word, I pray,” said Maurice de Grey, now thrown into extreme -agitation by hearing that his master’s life was to be put in jeopardy -for him—“I crave one word ere I go.” - -“My Lord,” said Sir Patrick to the Wolfe, “I claim thy solemn behote; -thou didst promise free and ample speech for the youth; hear him, then, -I beseech thee.” - -“Well, youth, well,” cried the Wolfe, very impatiently, “what hast thou -to say? Be quick, for time wears, and hunger galls me; be quick, I -say.” - -“I demand a private conference, noble Earl,” said the page. “I have -something to unfold that will altogether change the complexion of this -case. If I do not make the Lady Mariota clear me of all guilt, I hereby -agree to hold myself as condemned to instant death, and shall patiently -submit to whatever fate thou mayest award me.” - -“Nay, nay, dear Maurice,” cried Hepborne anxiously, and putting more -faith in his own prowess than in anything the page could urge to -convince the Lady Mariota, of whose villainous falsehood in the foul -charge she had brought against the youth he had been fully convinced -from the first—“nay, nay, dear Maurice, rather leave the matter as it -is; rather——” - -“By the bloody hide of St. Bartholomew,” cried the Wolfe, with evident -joy, “but the boy shall have his way. We shall thus have this -mysterious affair cleared up, and settled forthwith, instead of -delaying till to-morrow. By the mass, but he hath excited queer -thoughts in my mind. But we shall see anon. Come then, let him along -with me, that I may show him to the Lady Mariota’s apartment. I swear -by the Holy Rood, Sir Patrick, that the youth shall have -justice—justice to the fullest extent of what he hath demanded. Clear -the way, then, I say; come, Sir Page, come along; thou shalt dance -hither anon at freedom, or thou shalt dangle it and dance it on the -gallows-tree below, where many as brave and stout a youth as thou hath -figured before thee. Come on, I say.” - -After the Earl and the page were gone, Sir Alexander Stewart paced the -hall in gloomy silence, his fiery soul boiling within him, so that he -could with difficulty restrain his rage. Every now and then a stamp on -the pavement louder than the rest proclaimed the excess of his internal -agitation. The cool Sir Andrew sat him quietly down, without uttering a -word, or appearing to be much interested in the matter at issue. The -three boys had not yet come in, but a crowd of the retainers, who were -usually admitted to sit below the salt, stood in groups whispering at -the lower end of the hall. Sir Patrick Hepborne had been rendered so -unhappy by the turn the affair had taken, and was so oppressed with -distress, anxiety, and dread as to the result, that he thrust himself -into the deep recess of one of the windows, to hide those emotions he -felt it impossible to repress. Not a word passed between the chief -persons of the scene. The time, which was in reality not in itself -long, appeared to Hepborne like an age; and yet, when at length he did -hear steps and voices approaching along the passage, leading from the -Lady Mariota’s apartment into the banqueting-hall, brave as he was, he -trembled like a coward, lest the moment should have come too soon for -the unhappy page. - -The door opened, and the Wolfe entered, frowning and gnashing his -teeth. Then came the page, freed from his fetters. The Wolfe of -Badenoch’s red eye was disturbed from recent ire, which he seemed even -yet to keep down with difficulty; yet he laughed horribly from time to -time as he spoke. - -“Ha! well,” said he, “the page Maurice de Grey hath proved his -innocence beyond further question. By the blood of the Bruce—ha! ha! -ha!—but it is ridiculous after all. The red fiend catch me if I—but -pshaw!—let us have the banquet,” cried he, hastily interrupting himself -in something he was going to say—“the banquet, I tell thee. Give me thy -hand, Sir Patrick. Thou wert afraid to trust thy beauteous page with -me, wert thou?—ha! ha! ha! Thou wouldst rather have fought me at -outrance. By’r Lady, but thou art a burly knight; but I like thee not -the worse. Depardieux, but thou art safe enow in my hands; trust me, -thou shalt hear no more on’t. Ha! ha! ha! I confess that thy page is as -innocent—I hereby free him from guilt. The banquet, knaves—the banquet. -Ha! the curse of the devil’s dam on me, if I could have looked for -this.” - -“What strange mystery is here?” said Sir Alexander Stewart impatiently. -“Where is the Lady Mariota, my mother?” - -The Wolfe had all this time been reining in his wrath with his utmost -power; it was all he could do to curb it; and it was ready to burst all -bounds at the first provocation that offered. - -“Better hold thy peace, Sir Alexander,” cried he, darting an angry -glance at him. “By the infernal flames, I am in no humour to listen to -thy folly. I have pledged my sacred word as a knight to secrecy, and -thou nor no one else shall know aught of this mystery, as thou callest -it. Be contented to know that the boy Maurice is innocent.” - -“And am I to be satisfied with this?” cried Sir Alexander, his wrath -kindling more and more as he spoke; “am I to remain satisfied with -this, without my mother’s word for it?” - -“Nay,” said the Wolfe, hastily, “by the holy Rood, thou shalt have no -word from thy mother to-night.” - -“No word from my mother!” exclaimed Sir Alexander. “What! dost thou -treat me as a child? By all the fiends, but I shall see her, though. -Where is she? Why doth she not appear? By the holy mass, I must see -her, and that instantly.” - -“By the martyrdom of St. Andrew, then,” cried the Wolfe, gnashing his -teeth, and foaming at the mouth from very ire—“by the martyrdom of St. -Andrew, but thou shalt not see her. I have sent her to cool her -passions in the dungeon to which she consigned the page; and hark ye, -son Alexander, if thou darest to prate any more about her, by all the -fiery fiends of Erebus, but thou shalt occupy the next chamber to that -assigned her, there to remain during my pleasure. Ha! what sayest thou -to that, Sir Alexander?” - -“I say thou art a tyrant and a beast,” exclaimed his son, boiling with -rage; “and if thou dost not instantly liberate my mother, by all the -powers of darkness, I will choke thee in thine armour;” and he strode -across the banquet-hall in a frenzy, to put his threat into immediate -execution. - -“Halt!” cried Sir Patrick Hepborne, in a voice like thunder, as he -stepped before the Earl, and planted himself directly in the -assailant’s way—“halt. Sir Alexander Stewart—halt, I say. Let reason -come to thine aid, and let not ungovernable passion lead thee to lay -impious hands on him to whom thou owest thine existence.” - -“Nay, let him come on,” cried the Wolfe, his eyes glaring ferociously. - -“Stand aside, Sir Patrick Hepborne,” cried Sir Alexander, “or, by all -the fiends of perdition, thou shalt suffer for thine interference; -stand back, I say, and leave us to——” - -“Nay,” cried Hepborne, firmly, “I will not back; and by St. Baldrid I -swear, that thou shalt do no injury to thy sire until thou shalt have -stepped over my body.” - -“Sayest thou so?” cried Sir Alexander, his eyes flashing like -firebrands—“then have at thee, Sir Knight;” and, catching up a -truncheon that lay near, he wielded it with both hands, and aimed a -blow at Sir Patrick’s head, that would have speedily levelled a patent -way for his fury over the prostrate body of the knight, had he not -dodged alertly aside, so that it fell harmless to the ground; and then, -with one tremendous blow of his fist, he laid the raging maniac -senseless on the floor of the hall. - -“Bind him,” cried the Wolfe, “bind him instantly, I say, and carry him -to the dungeon under the northern tower; he is a prisoner until our -pleasure shall pronounce him free.” - -His orders were instantly and implicitly obeyed, and Sir Alexander was -carried off, without sense or motion, under the charge of his jailors. -Sir Patrick was shocked at the outrageous scene he had witnessed, in -which he had been driven to interfere. Though satisfied of the justice -of the Earl’s sentence against his son, yet he was concerned to think -that he had been instrumental in effecting it, and he conceived he was -bound to endeavour to mediate in his behalf. - -“Nay, nay,” said the Wolfe hastily, “I thank thee heartily for the -chastisement thou hast given the whelp. To loose him now, were to -deprive him of all its salutary effects. By the blessed Rood, he shall -lie in his dungeon until he comes so far to his senses as to make a -humble submission both to thee and to me.—What! am I to be bearded at -every turning by my boys?—The red fiend catch me, but they and the -callet that whelped them shall down to the deepest abyss of -Lochyndorbe, ere I shall suffer myself to be so disgraced by her, and -snarled at by her litter.” - -Sir Patrick looked towards Sir Andrew Stewart for aid in his attempt to -soften the Earl; but, cool and cautious, he had never stirred from his -seat during the fray, and still sat there unmoved, turning a deaf ear -to his father’s stormy threats, and averting his eye from Hepborne’s -silent appeal. - -“Come, come, the banquet, knaves,” cried the Wolfe. “Why stand ye all -staring like gaze-hounds? The red fiend catch me, but I will hang up -half-a-dozen of ye like a string of beads, an we have not our meal in -the twinkling of an eye!” - -The lacqueys and attendants had hitherto been standing in silence and -horror, but they were all put instantly in motion. The banquet -appeared. The Wolfe ate more voraciously than usual, and swallowed -deeper draughts of wine also than he ordinarily did; but it was -evidently rather to wash down some vexation that oppressed him than -from anything like jollity. His conversation was hasty and abrupt, and -after drinking double his wonted quantity in half the usual time, he -broke up the feast and retired to his apartment. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - - Maurice’s Song—The Franciscan Friar—Excommunication. - - -As Sir Patrick Hepborne retired to his apartment, he called Maurice de -Grey, to inquire into the mysterious means by which he had so -effectually defeated the false charge which had been brought against -him; but the youth hung his head in answer to his master’s inquiries, -and hesitated in replying to them. - -“Sir Knight,” said he at length, “there hath been a mutual promise -passed on both sides, that neither the Earl of Buchan nor I shall -reveal what did pass in the converse held between him, the Lady -Mariota, and myself at our conference. I am therefore compelled to -refuse thee that satisfaction which I should otherwise be glad to yield -to thee.” - -With this answer Hepborne was compelled to remain satisfied, and the -page being suffered to depart, he retired to rest. - -Next morning the Wolfe and he met at breakfast, where were also Sir -Andrew and the younger brothers, but the Lady Mariota, with her eldest -son, Sir Alexander, were absent. - -“My Lord of Buchan,” said Sir Patrick, as they sat together, “I presume -not to touch thee on the subject of the Lady Mariota, because, with -regard to her, I can have no plea or right to interfere; but wilt thou -suffer me to entreat thee again in behalf of thy son Sir Alexander -Stewart? It grieveth me much that I should in any way have contributed -to his punishment, however greatly he may have merited thy -chastisement. Forgive me, I beseech thee, for being thus solicitous; -but as an especial boon granted to myself, I crave his liberation.” - -“Ha! well, Sir Patrick,” said the Wolfe, after listening to him with -more patience and moderation of aspect than he usually exhibited; “it -is somewhat strange that thou and the child Duncan are the only two -persons who have had the heart to make any appeal to me, either about -my son Alexander or his mother.” And as he said so, he darted an -indignant and reproachful glance towards Sir Andrew, who, as if nothing -amiss had occurred, had been talking of the weather, and of hunting, -and was at that moment helping himself largely to venison pasty. “As -for Sir Andrew there, he cares not who suffereth, so that his craven -bouke be well fassed with food, like a kite as he is. True indeed is -the saying, that misfortunes try hearts. But trust me, I thank thee as -heartily for the tenderness thou hast displayed, as for the spirit thou -didst show yesternight in checking that foolish boy Alexander. Let me -but finish my meal, then, and I shall hie me straight to the dungeons -of the prisoners, and observe in what temper they may now be, after a -night’s cooling, when I shall judge and act accordingly.” - -The Earl having gone in pursuance of this resolution, returned, after a -considerable absence, followed by the Lady Mariota and his son. Both -seemed to have been effectually humbled. The lady’s face bore ample -trace of the night of wretchedness she had spent. She curtseyed with an -air, as if she hoped that the forced smile she wore would melt away all -remembrance of what had passed; and then, without saying a word, sidled -off to her apartment. Sir Alexander Stewart came forward manfully. His -brow still bore the black mark of Hepborne’s fist that had prostrated -him on the floor, “as butcher felleth ox,” yet the blow seemed to have -been by this time effaced from his remembrance. - -“Sir Patrick,” said he, stretching out his hand, “my father tells me -that I owe my liberation to thee. Thou hast behaved generously in this -matter. The Earl hath given me to know such circumstances as -sufficiently explain his seeming harshness to my mother. I now see that -I was hasty, and I am sorry for it.” - -Hepborne readily shook hands with the humbled knight. - -“And now let us hunt,” cried the Wolfe. “Horses and hounds there, and -the foresters, and gear for the chase!” and away went the whole party, -to cross to the mainland. - -They returned at night, after a successful day’s hunting, and the Wolfe -of Badenoch was in peculiarly good spirits. The banquet was graced by -the Lady Mariota, as usual, tricked out in all her finery, and wearing -her accustomed dimpling smiles; and the Earl seemed to have forgotten -that he had ever had any cause of displeasure against her. Instead of -the marked attention she had formerly paid to Maurice de Grey, however, -she now, much to his satisfaction, treated him with politeness, free -from that disgusting and offensive doating which had heretofore so much -tormented the poor youth. The Wolfe ate voraciously, and drank deeply; -and his mirth rose with the wine he swallowed to so great a pitch of -jollity, that he roared out loudly for music. - -“Can no one sing me a roundelay?” cried he. “Mariota, thou knowest not -a single warble, nor is there, I trow, one in the Castle that can touch -even a citrial or a guittern, far less a harp. Would that our -scoundrel, Allan Stewart, were here, but—a plague on him!—he hath gone -to visit his friends in Badenoch. He could have given us romaunces, -ballads, and virelays enow, I warrant thee.” - -“My Lord Earl,” said the page modestly, “had I but a harp, in truth I -should do my best to pleasure thee, though I can promise but little for -my skill.” - -“Well said, boy,” cried the Wolfe. “By the mass, but thou shalt have a -harp. Ho, there!—bring hither Allan Stewart’s harp. The knave hath two, -and it is to be hoped he hath not carried both with him.” - -The harp was brought, and Maurice de Grey having tuned it, began to -accompany himself in the following ballad:— - - - There was a damsel loved a knight, - You’ll weep to hear her story, - For he ne’er guess’d her heart’s sad plight, - Nor cared for aught but glory. - - Lured by its bright and dazzling gleam, - He left the woe-worn maiden, - Nor in her eyes beheld the beam - Of love, from heart o’erladen. - - She sigh’d; her sighs ne’er touch’d his ear, - For still his heart was bounding - For neighing steeds, and clashing spear, - And warlike bugle sounding. - - She wept; but though he saw her tears, - He dreamt not he had wrought them, - But ween’d that woman’s idle fears, - Or silly woes, had brought them. - - He left her then to weep alone, - And droop in secret sadness, - Like some fair lily early blown, - ’Reft of the sunbeam’s gladness. - - But love will make e’en maidens dare - What most their sex hath frighten’d— - Beneath a helm she crush’d her hair, - In steel her bosom brighten’d. - - She seized a lance, she donn’d a brand, - A sprightly war-horse bore her, - She hied her to the Holy Land, - Where went her Knight before her. - - She sought him out—she won his heart— - Amidst the battle’s bluster; - As friends they ne’er were seen to part, - Howe’er the foes might cluster. - - But ah! I grieve to tell the tale! - A random arrow flying, - Pierced through her corslet’s jointed mail, - And down she fell a-dying. - - He bore her quickly from the field, - Through Paynim ranks opposing, - But when her helmet was unseal’d, - Her maiden blush disclosing. - - He cried, “Blest Virgin be our aid! - What piteous sight appals me! - It is—it is that gentle maid, - Whose lovely form still thralls me. - - “Lift, lift those heavy drooping eyes, - And with one kind look cheer me!” - She smiled like beam in freezing skies, - “Ah, Rodolph, art thou near me? - - “My life ebbs fast, my heart’s blood flows, - That long hath beat for thee, love; - And still for thee my bosom glows, - Though death’s hand is on me, love. - - “For thee in secret did I sigh, - Nor ween’d that love could warm thee, - Nor that my lustre-lacking eye - Could e’er have power to charm thee.” - - “Nay, Angeline,” cried Rodolph then, - “I wist not that I loved thee, - Till left my home, and native glen, - Remembrance of thee moved me. - - “Let him who woos not health nor joy, - Till lost are both the treasures, - My heart held love as childish toy, - Nor cared to sip its pleasures. - - “But follow’d by the form so fair, - I saw it on each billow; - I saw it float in empty air— - It hover’d o’er my pillow. - - “And e’en when hardy deeds I wrought, - ’Midst murderous ranks contending, - Thy figure ever filled my thought, - Mine arm new vigour lending. - - “And then the fame of deeds of arms - Had lost all power to cheer me, - Save that, methought, its dazzling charms - To thee might yet endear me. - - “And have I pluck’d these laurels green, - To deck thy dying brow, love? - Oh, lift for once those lovely een, - To hear my plighted vow, love!” - - “I’m happy now,” she faintly said, - “But, oh, ’tis cruel to sever!”— - Upon his breast her head she laid, - And closed her eyes for ever. - - -“Sir Page,” cried the Wolfe, at the close of this ballad, “by my -knighthood, but thou dost sing and harp it better than Allan Stewart -himself, though thy lays are something of the saddest. Meseems if thou -didst ween that our mirth had waxed somewhat too high, and that it -lacked a damper. In sooth,” continued he, turning to Hepborne with an -arch look, “thou art much to be envied, Sir Patrick, for the possession -of this lovely, this accomplished—ha! ha! ha!—this—this boy of -thine—ha! ha! ha!—this Maurice de Grey.—Come, Maurice, my sweet youth,” -said he, addressing the page, “essay again to tune thy throat, and let -it, I beseech thee, be in a strain more jocund than the last. Here, -quaff wine, boy, to give thee jollier heart.” - -“Thanks, my noble Lord,” replied Maurice de Grey, “I will exert my poor -powers to fulfil thy wishes without drinking.” - -And, taking up the harp again, he ran his fingers nimbly over the -strings, with great display of execution, in a sprightly prelude, -enlivening his auditors, and preparing them to sympathize with -something more in unison with the highly-screwed chords of the Earl’s -heart, when he was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a new -personage. - -A tall monk of the order of St. Francis suddenly entered, and, gliding -like a spirit into the middle of the hall, darted a pair of keen -searching eyes towards the upper end of the festive board. - -“What, ha! brother of St. Francis,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, “what -wouldst thou? If thou be’st wayfaring, and need cheer, sit thee down -there at the end of our festive board, and call for what thou lackest.” - -The Franciscan stood mute and unmoved, with his cowl over his head, and -his arms folded across his breast. The silver lamps threw a pale light -upon his face, and his shadow rose gigantically upon the wall. - -“Whence comest thou?—Speak!” cried the Wolfe, impatiently. “Are we to -be kept waiting all night, till thou dost choose to effunde the cause -of thy strange visitation?” - -“Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan, and Lord of Badenoch,” said the -Franciscan slowly, and in a deep solemn tone; “Alexander Stewart, I -come here as the messenger of the Bishop of Moray, to tell thee that -the tidings of thy daring, outrageous, and sacrilegious seizure of the -lands belonging to the Holy Church, have reached him: the cries alswa -of the helpless peasants, whom thou hast ousted from their dwellings, -have sounded in his ears. Thy cruelties are bruited abroad from one end -of the kingdom to the other, and it is now time that thy savage career -should be arrested. The godly Bishop doth, through me, his organ of -speech, call on thee to give up the lands thou hast sacrilegiously -seized in Badenoch; to restore the plundered herds and flocks, and the -rents thou hast theftuously taken by masterful strength; to replace -those honest and innocent peasants, who, resisting thy aggression, like -true vassals, were, with their wives and little ones, driven from their -homes and possessions by thee in thy brutish fury; and, finally, to -make such reparation to Holy Mother Church, by fine to her treasuries, -and personal abasement before her altars, as may stay her just wrath -against thee. In default of all which, the Holy Bishop hath commanded -me to announce to thee, that the lesser and greater excommunications -shall go forth against thee; and that thou shalt be accursed as a -vagabond on the face of this earth, and damned to all eternity in the -next world.” - -The fiery and ferocious Wolfe of Badenoch was so utterly confounded by -what he considered the unexampled audacity of this denunciation, that -amazement kept him silent from absolute want of words, otherwise his -limited stock of patience could not have endured the Franciscan till he -had uttered the tenth part of his long speech. He gnashed his teeth, -curled up his nose, and foamed at the mouth; and striking the table -furiously, as was his custom when violently moved, he shouted out— - -“Ha! Devils! Furies! Fiends of Erebus! What is this I hear? The Earl of -Buchan—the son of a King—the Wolfe of Badenoch—to be thus insulted by a -chough! Out, thou carrion-hooded crow! Thinkest thou to brave me down -with thine accursed crawing? By the beard of my grandfather, but thou -shalt swing twenty ell high, an thou voidest not the Castle of thy -loathsome carcase in less time than thou didst ware in effunding -one-fourth part of thy venomous and impudent harangue.” - -The monk stood motionless, in the same fixed and composed attitude he -had at first assumed, altogether unmoved by these tremendous threats. - -“Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan, and Lord of Badenoch,” he again -repeated in the same slow and solemn manner, “I call upon thee again to -declare whether thou be’st disposed to submit thyself patiently to the -healthful discipline of our Holy Mother Church? or whether thou be’st -resolved that she shall cut thee off, like a rotten and diseased -branch, to fall headlong into the pit where eternal fire shall consume -thee? Already, ere this, hadst thou incurred her just vengeance by -living in abominable adultery with Mariota Athyn, thy wanton leman, who -now sitteth in abomination beside thee; and by the abandonment of thy -leal, true and virtuous wife, whom thou hast left to mourn in a worse -than widowhood. In addition to the solemn appeal I have already made, I -am commanded to call on thee now to fulfil the sentence of the Bishops -of Moray and Ross, to pay down two hundred broad pieces of gold as the -mulct of thine offence, and forthwith to discharge thy foul and sinful -mate, and recal to thy bosom her who hath the true and lawful claim to -lay her head there. Wilt thou do these things, yea or not?” - -This ripping up of the old feud not only redoubled the rage of the -Wolfe of Badenoch, but roused that of the Lady Mariota and her sons. -She burst into a flood of tears, a violent fit of sobbing followed, and -she finally rushed from the banquet hall. The hot and fierce Sir -Alexander was broiling with fury; but the Wolfe took the speech of -him—— - -“Ha! so thou hast come to the kernel of this matter at last, thou ape -of Satan, hast thou? Now I do clearly ken how far I was right in -guessing at the tale-pyet that chattered in the ear of the King, my -father. But, by the blood of the Bruce, I have revenged his impertinent -meddling, by ousting him from the roost he had in my lands; and, by all -the hot fiends of perdition, if he rouseth the Wolfe of Badenoch more, -his neck shall be twisted about. Art content with my answer now, thou -hooded-carrion-crow?” - -“Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan, and Lord of Badenoch,” said the -Franciscan, with the same imperturbable gravity, firmness, and -composure, “hast thou no better response than this to make to the holy -Bishop of Moray? Bethink thee well———” - -“Scoundrel chough, begone!” cried the Wolfe, interrupting him. “Thou -hast already more than outstaid my patience, which hath in itself been -miraculous. If thou wouldst escape hence in safety, avoid thee -instantly; for if thou goest not in the twinkling of an eye, may -infernal demons seize me if thou shalt have leave to go at all.” - -“Then, Alexander Stewart,” said the Franciscan, “the Bishop’s curse be -upon thee and upon thine; for thou shalt be an outcast from our Holy -Mother Church, and———” - -“And the red fiend’s curse be upon thee and the split-crowned Bishop!” -cried the Wolfe, interrupting him. “Why stand these kestrel rogues to -see their lord, to see the Wolfe of Badenoch flouted by that stinking -and venomous weasel! Seize the vermin, knaves, and let him be tossed -into the Water Pit Vault; if I mistake not, the loch is high enow at -present to keep him company there; but, let him sink or swim, I care -not; away with the toad, I say. He may thank his good stars that I gave -him a chance for his life. By the infernal host, I was much tempted to -string him up, without more ado, to the gallows in the court-yard, that -he might dance a bargaret for our sport, sith he hath spoilt our mirth -and music by his ill-omened croaking. Away with him, I say!” - -“Beware of touching the servant of Heaven,” cried the firm and -undismayed Franciscan; “whosoever dareth to lay impious hands on me, -shall be subjected to the same curse as the sacrilegious tyrant who -sitteth yonder.” - -“Why stand ye hesitating, knaves?” roared the Wolfe. “Let him not utter -another word, or, by the pit of darkness, I shall have ye all flayed -alive.” - -The Franciscan’s threat had operated too strongly on the lacqueys to -permit them to secure the monk with their own hands, yet, afraid to -risk their master’s hasty displeasure, one or two of them had not -scrupled to fly off for the jailors and executioners of the Castle, men -who, like tutored bears, had neither fears nor hopes, nor, indeed, -thoughts of aught else but obedience to the will of a master, engrafted -upon their savage natures by early nurture and long usage. Four or five -of these entered as the Wolfe of Badenoch was speaking. They appeared -like creatures that had inhabited the bowels of the earth; bulky of -bone and muscle; their hair and beards were long and matted, their eyes -inanimate and unfeeling, and their hands, features, and garments alike -coarse and begrimed with filth, as if the blood of their murderous -trade still adhered to them. - -“Ha! ay! there ye come, my trusty terriers; seize that polecat there in -the cowl, and toss him into the Water Pit Vault. Quick, away with him!” - -The bold Franciscan had trusted to the sanctity of his character, but -he had presumed too far on its protecting influence; these reckless -minions of the Wolfe had him in their fell gripe in an instant, and -dragged him unresisting towards the door of the banquet hall, as if he -had been but a huge black goat. There, however, his eyes happened to -catch the figure and countenance of the page, Maurice de Grey; he -started, and, in spite of the nervous exertions of the ruffians who had -him in charge, he planted his feet so firmly on the pavement, that he -compelled them to halt, while he stood for a moment fixed like a -Colossus, darting a keen look at the page. The boy’s eyes sunk beneath -the sternness of his gaze. - -“Thou here!” exclaimed he with an expression of extreme surprise; “by -what miracle do I behold thee here? Would that I had seen thee -before—would that I had known——” - -But the sturdy and callous knaves who held him, noticed his sudden halt -and mysterious speech no otherwise than they would have done the voice -or struggles of the goat we have compared him to; they only put forth a -little more strength, and, before he could get another word out, -whirled him through the door-way, and lugged him sprawling down the -stair. Hepborne had been more than once on the eve of interceding for -the monk, but he saw that anything he could have said would have been -of little avail, amidst the general fury that prevailed against him, -and might have even provoked a more immediate and fatal vengeance; so -that all thoughts of running a hopeless tilt in his behalf, against the -highly excited ferocity of the Stewarts, were abandoned by him for the -present. - -The Wolfe of Badenoch was too much unhinged in temper, by the visit of -the Franciscan monk, to be in a humour to prolong the feast. - -“Caitiff! carrion! corby!” cried he after he was gone; “the red fiend -swallow me, but the bold Bishop shall bide for the return of his -messenger. Ho! bring me that stoup, knave.” - -He put the stoup of Rhenish to his head, and quaffing a potent draught -from it, set it down on the table with a violent crash, and calling -out, “Lights there—lights for the apartments,” he broke up the feast. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - - The Water Pit Vault—Friar or Devil, which? - - -Sir Patrick Hepborne went to his room, determined to leave Lochyndorbe -next day, to proceed to Tarnawa; so calling Maurice de Grey and -Mortimer Sang, and intimating his intention to both of them, he -dismissed them for the night and retired to his repose. - -A little past midnight, however, he was suddenly awakened by the page, -who came rushing into his apartment in a state of intense apprehension, -and sunk into a chair, overcome by his terrors. - -“Holy St. Baldrid,” exclaimed Sir Patrick, “what hath befallen thee, -Maurice? And of what art thou afraid? Speak, I beseech thee, and tell -me the cause of this strange alarm?” - -“Oh, Sir Knight,” cried the boy, pale as ashes and ready to faint, “the -friar—the monk—the Franciscan! I was telling my beads by my lamp, as is -my custom, being about to undress to go to bed, when one of the doors -of my chamber opened slowly, and the figure of the Franciscan stood -before me. My blood ran cold when I saw him, for methought murder was -in his eye, and I fancied I saw the hilt of a poinard glittering from -his bosom. I waited not to hear him speak, but snatching up my lamp, -rushed through the farther door-way, and fled hither for succour.” - -“Pshaw, Maurice,” said Sir Patrick, “verily thou must have dreamt that -thou didst see the friar. How couldst thou see him, who was plunged by -order of the stern Earl into the deep dungeon called the Water Pit -Vault?” - -“Nay, Sir Knight,” cried Maurice, “but he may have ’scaped thence, and -may be now wandering about the Castle.” - -“Nay, verily, that were impossible,” replied Sir Patrick; “’tis a -terrible place; I had the curiosity to peep into it, one of the times -it happened to be open, as I passed by the mouth of it. It is so much -below the level of the lake, that there is generally an ell’s-depth of -water in the bottom of it; and its profundity is such, that without -ropes, or a ladder, it were vain to hope to emerge from it, even were -the heavy stone trap-door that shuts it left open to facilitate escape; -nay, I tell thee it is impossible boy; believe me, the Franciscan -stands freezing there, God help him, among the cold water, for the -wretch cannot lie down without drowning. When I think of the horrors -the miserable man was so hastily doomed to, I cannot help regretting -that I did not make some attempt to soothe the Earl to mercy, though I -have strong reason to fear I might have brought a more hasty fate on -his head by my interference; but I shall surely use my endeavours to -move my Lord of Buchan for the poor friar’s liberation in the morning. -Trust me, boy, it could in no wise be the Franciscan thou sawest; and -by much the most likely explanation of thine alarm is, that thou hadst -become drowsy over thy beads, and, dropping asleep, didst dream of the -scene thou sawest pass in the banquet hall.” - -“Nay, nay, Sir Knight,” cried Maurice de Grey, “it was the Franciscan, -flesh and blood, or”—said he, pausing and shuddering, “or—it was his -sprite.” - -“Tush, boy Maurice,” said Sir Patrick, “in very truth, ’tis thy dreams -which have deceived thee; and, now I think of it, by St. Baldrid, I -wonder not that thou shouldst have dreamed of the friar, seeing that he -looked at thee so earnestly; and then he seemed to know thee too. -Pr’ythee, hast thou ever chanced to see him before?” - -“Not as far as I can remember, Sir Knight,” replied the boy; “but sure -I am I shall not fail to recollect him if I should ever see him again, -which the blessed Virgin forbid, for there is something terrible in his -eye.” - -“Tut, boy,” cried Hepborne, “what hast thou to fear from his eye? -Methinks thou hast displayed a wondrous want of courage with this same -peaceful friar.” - -“Peaceful!” exclaimed Maurice de Grey. - -“Ay, peaceful,” continued his master; “for a poor Franciscan friar -cannot well be aught else than peaceful. Thou hast played but a poor -part to run away from him, thou who didst attack the bison bull so -boldly; yea, thou who didst so nobly wage desperate strife with the -assassin who did attempt the life of thy master, at the Shelter Stone -of Loch Avon. Why didst thou not draw thy sword, and demand the cause -of his rude, intrusion?” - -“Nay, Sir Knight,” said the boy, shuddering, “he did verily appear -something more than human.” - -“Well, well,” said Hepborne, laughing, “I will but throw a cloak about -me and go with thee to thy chamber, to see whether he may yet tarry -there.” - -But when they went to the page’s apartment they found not the slightest -vestige of the friar; and Sir Patrick, with the wish of convincing the -boy that he had been dreaming, laughed heartily at his fears. But the -youth resolutely maintained his assertion that he had not slept; and -his master, seeing that the vision, or whatever else it might have -been, had taken so strong a hold of the page’s mind, that it would be -absolute cruelty to compel him to sleep alone, admitted him into a -small closet adjoining the apartment he himself occupied; and the boy’s -countenance showed that he was sufficiently grateful for the boon. - -When Sir Patrick Hepborne met the Earl of Buchan at breakfast, he -announced to him his determination to depart that day. - -“Ha!” said the Wolfe, “by the mass, but it doleth me much that thou art -going, Sir Patrick. Thou hast as yet had but small enjoyment in -hunting, yea, or in anything else in Lochyndorbe. Thy visit hath been -one continued turmoil. Since thou wilt go, however, by’r Lady, I will -e’en resolve me to go with thee to this same tourney at Tarnawa. But I -must think how to bestow the corby Franciscan friar ere I go; he cannot -be left in the Water Pit Vault until I return hither, for one night of -that moist lodging hath been enow to set many a one ere this to eternal -sleep. I must look him out some drier, though equally secure place of -dortoure.” - -“If I might not offend thee by the request,” said Hepborne, “I would -ask, as the last favour thou mayest grant me ere I go, and as it were -to put the crown upon the hospitality thou hast exercised towards me, -that thou wouldst give the poor wretch his freedom. Meseems it thou -hast done enough to terrify him, yea, and those also who sent him; and -the return of the ambassador with amicable proposals, may do more than -all his sufferings, or even his death. Forgive these gratuitous -advices, my Lord Earl, given in the spirit of peace and prudence, and -with the best intention.” - -Hepborne’s firmness, courage, and temper had in reality gained a -wonderful ascendancy over the ferocious Wolfe, during the short space -he had been with him; besides, he always managed to take the most -favourable time for making his rational appeals. The Earl heard him to -an end most patiently, and then pausing for a moment in thought— - -“Well,” said he, “Sir Patrick Hepborne, by the Rood, but there is -something right pleasing in seeing thee always enlist thyself on the -side of mercy—thou who so well knowest how to stand a bicker when it -comes, and who refuseth never to place thyself in the breach when of -needscost thou must. Well, we shall see, then; come along with me to -the Water Pit Vault, and we shall see what I can make of the -hooded-crow. He may be more tame by this time, and peraunter he will -croak less. Come along with me, I say, so please thee. Here, call the -jailor on duty—call him to the Water Pit Vault.” - -A lacquey ran to obey his commands, and Sir Patrick descended with him -to the outer court-yard. They found the grim and gruff jailor standing -ready to raise the stone at his lord’s command. The vault was entirely -under ground, the mouth of it being immediately within the outer -rampart, and opposite to that part of the surrounding lake which was -deepest. - -“Raise the stone trap-door, knave,” cried the Wolfe to the man; “we -need not send for a ladder or ropes until we see how the prisoner -behaves.” - -The trap-door was lifted up with considerable difficulty by the sturdy -jailor, and all three cast their eyes downwards into the obscure depth -below. It was some moments ere their sight was sufficiently -accommodated to the paucity of light to enable them to see to the -bottom. - -“Ha! what!” cried the Wolfe, “by the beard of my grandfather, but I see -him not; dost thou, Sir Patrick? Nay, by St. Andrew, there is no -Franciscan there, alive or dead; for now I can see even to the bottom -of the ell-depth of clear water that covereth the pavement. Hey! what! -by’r Lady, but it is passing strange. Knave,” cried he, turning to the -jailor, who appeared to be as much confounded as the Earl and his -guest, “didst thou see him lodged here yesternight with thine own -eyes?” - -“I did put him down myself with a rope, so please thee, my noble Lord,” -said the man. The rest were called, and they all declared they had -assisted in lowering him, and in replacing the stone over the mouth of -the vault, and all were equally petrified to see that the prisoner was -gone. - -“By all the powers of Tartarus,” cried the Wolfe, “but this passeth all -marvel! Of a truth, the devil himself must have assisted the carrion -corby; and, by my beard, but I did suspect that he was more the servant -of hell than of heaven, as he dared to call himself. Ha! well, if the -wizard caitiff do fall into my hands again, by all the fiends, but he -shall be tried with fire next, sith he can so readily escape from -water.” - -Sir Patrick was not less astonished than the rest of those who beheld -the miracle. He thought of the strange and unaccountable appearance of -the Franciscan to the page, which he now readily believed to have been -real, and he shuddered at the narrow escape which the boy had made from -murder. - -The news of the friar having vanished from the Water Pit Vault soon -spread like wildfire through the Castle, and many and various were the -opinions concerning it. Some few there were who secretly in their own -minds set it down as a miraculous deliverance worked in favour of the -Franciscan, to defeat the impiety and sacrilege of the Wolfe of -Badenoch, who had dared to order violent hands to be laid on a holy -man; but the greater part, who were of the same stamp with their -master, thought as he did; and some of them even went so far as firmly -to believe that the Franciscan was in reality no monk, but the devil -himself, disguised under the sanctified garb of a friar. The boldness -he had displayed, and the sudden and irresistible halt he had made, in -defiance of the power of the sturdy knaves who were dragging him away, -confirmed them in their notions. Nay, many of them even declared that -at that moment they had actually observed his cloven foot, pointed from -under the long habit, and thrust like iron prongs into the flag-stones -of the banqueting hall. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. - - The Wolfe of Badenoch and the Earl of Moray. - - -The Wolfe of Badenoch having once made up his mind to accompany Sir -Patrick Hepborne to the tournament of St. John’s, allowed but little -time to be lost by his people in preparation; and his sons and their -attendants, with his own splendid retinue, were speedily assembled on -the lawn beyond the land sconce. Hepborne’s more moderate cortège was -also quickly mustered there, and in less than an hour the two leaders -were at the head of their united trains, marching off with bugles -sounding, and banners and pennons flying. - -Leaving the lake by the same route by which Sir Patrick had approached -it, they travelled northwards through the apparently ceaseless forest, -that varied only in the undulations of the surface it grew upon, and in -the trees it produced. The pines were very soon, in a great measure, -exchanged for magnificent birches and oaks, spreading themselves far -and wide over the country, and forming the vast forest of Drummyn. -There they skirted the Findhorn, which thundered through the romantic -chasm, yawning between confined and precipitous crags, until they found -themselves on the summit of a bold cliff overhanging the river, from -the base of which it swept in one grand and broad line through the -centre of a beautiful plain of about a mile in diameter, dividing it -from south to north into two nearly equal parts. These were the Meads -of St. John, and there the stream seemed gladly to slumber in a -comparatively gentle current, after its boisterous and laborious -passage downwards from its native mountains. Ledges of rock did indeed -push themselves here and there from its enamelled margins, and served -to diversify them, as did those groups of wide-spreading oaks of -enormous growth, forming in most places a broad bowery fringe to either -shore; but there was nothing to disturb the perfect continuity and -level of the grassy surface of the meadows, except one or two bosky -groves, carelessly planted by the hand of nature. The high banks -retreating on both sides, to bend round and embrace the Meads, -presented an irregularity of form and slope; while the forest, -extending itself everywhere over the upper grounds, sent down some of -its most magnificent representatives to grace their sides. About a mile -or more to the left, perched on a gentle eminence, arose the venerable -Castle of Tarnawa, looking far and wide over its woody domain. Towards -the northern extremity of the Eastern Mead, stood the little chapel -dedicated to St. John the Baptist, giving name to the lovely valley -that now stretched in rich verdure beneath their eyes; and over the -farther boundaries of the meadows appeared the fertile plain of Forres, -the broad expanse of the Frith, and the distant mountain-range beyond. - -But these, the mere ordinary and permanent features of the scene, -though exquisitely beautiful in themselves, were at this time rendered -tenfold more interesting by the animation that everywhere pervaded the -Meads of St. John, where the whole population of the North had -assembled. Midway down the long stretch of the river was erected a wide -bridge, formed of enormous pillars and beams of wood, intended to give -temporary passage between the opposite banks during the ensuing sports; -and it was spanned above by several triumphal arches, which people were -then employed in decorating with boughs of holly and other evergreens. -A promiscuous and motley assemblage of booths, tents, log-houses, and -huts, in number beyond all possibility of reckoning, were seen -scattered like a great irregular village all around the base of those -semi-circular banks embracing the eastern side of the Meads. These -fragile tenements were occupied by the populace not only of the -neighbouring town and surrounding country, but by many who had come -from very distant parts of Scotland, some to establish a mart for their -wares, others to exhibit feats of strength, or agility, or juggling, -and the greater number, perhaps, to behold the spectacle, or assist in -the labours incident to the preparation for it. - -The lists were then erecting in the centre of the eastern meadow, -while, on the western side of the river, were observed a number of -pavilions, within the recess of a beautiful glade retiring among the -wooded banks. These were brought thither by knights who came to attend -the tournament, the accommodations in the Castle being quite unequal -for more than a chosen few. Such as were already erected had each a -banner or pennon flying before it, and others were pitching with great -expedition. In the midst of the whole was the pavilion of the Earl of -Moray, of much greater magnitude than any of those around it, while his -banner unfurled itself to the breeze from the top of a tall pine fixed -in the ground for the purpose. - -Such were the most prominent objects, then, in the Meads of St. John; -but the whole vale swarmed with living beings. Groups of men and horses -were seen moving over it in all directions, and the very earth seemed -in motion. - -“By the Holy Rood,” cried the Wolfe, “but it is a noble sight. Methinks -my brother-in-law, Earl John, must have had his hands in the King’s -purse ere he could have ventured on such a show as this. Come, Sir -Patrick, let us hasten to see how things may be in the Castle.” - -They followed a steep and winding path that led them down through the -wood into the valley below, and quickly crossed the level ground -towards the bridge. This they found guarded by a strong party of -spearmen and archers. The captain on duty came forward— - -“Sir Knights,” said he courteously, “so please ye to honour me with -your names and titles, that they may be passed forward to the Earl’s -pavilion for his inspection.” - -“Morte de ma vie,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch pettishly, “but this is -ceremony with a vengeance. What! shall I not have liberty to approach -me to mine own brother-in-law, until I shall have sent him my name! and -am I, or is my horse, to be kept on the fret here until the return of a -tardy messenger from yonder tents? What a fiend, dost thou not know me, -Sir Captain? dost thou not know me for the Earl of Buchan?” - -“My Lord Earl,” replied the captain of the guard with perfect -reverence, “I did indeed know the attence, but mine orders are so -imperative, that albeit it doth indeed much erke me to be so strict -with thee, yet must I of needscost subject thee to the same rule that -hath been laid down for all.” - -To prevent further words, Hepborne hastened to give his name and -quality, and the number of his retinue, to the captain of the guard; -and observing the growing impatience of the Wolfe, he managed to avert -his coming wrath, by expressing a desire to ride towards the lists, to -see what was going forward there, hoping that, by the time they had -examined all the operations in progress, the passage of the bridge -would be open to them. - -Having contrived to make the Wolfe waste nearly half-an-hour in this -way, Hepborne returned with him to the bridge, where they were informed -by the captain of the guard that the Earl of Moray was coming in person -to meet them; and accordingly they beheld him riding across the bridge -towards them, followed by an esquire and a very few attendants. He was -unostentatiously dressed in a light hunting garb; his figure was -middle-sized, his complexion fair, and his countenance fresh, round, -and of a mild expression. - -His horse’s hoofs had no sooner touched the sod of the meadow than he -dismounted, and giving the rein to his esquire, advanced to meet his -brother-in-law. The Wolfe of Badenoch leaped from his saddle, and -moving one step forward, stood to receive him. Sir Patrick Hepborne and -the five Stewarts having also dismounted, were at his back. - -“Brother,” said the Wolfe, after their first salutations were over, -“this is Sir Patrick Hepborne.” - -“Sir Patrick,” said the Earl graciously, “I rejoice to see thee here; -welcome to thy country, and to these my domains; I regret to understand -that I must cast away all hope of seeing thine honoured father upon -this occasion, and I yet more grieve at the cause of his present -unfitness for mixing in sports in which he was wont to shine as a -bright star. Nevoys,” continued he, saluting Sir Alexander Stewart and -his brothers, “I rejoice to behold ye thus waxing so stout; an ye -thrive thus, even the very youngest of ye will soon be well able to -bear a shock. What sayest thou, Duncan, my boy? Your pardon, Sir -Patrick, for a moment, but I must speak a little aside here with my -brother, the noble Earl of Buchan; I shall be entirely at thy command -anon.” - -The two Earls retired a few paces to one side, and Moray’s face -assuming an air of great seriousness, he began to talk in an under tone -to the Wolfe of Badenoch, whose brow, as he listened, gathered clouds -and storms, which went on blackening and ruffling it, until at length -he burst out into one of his ungovernable furies. - -“Ha! by the beard of my grandfather, and dost thou think that I care -the value of a cross-bow bolt for the split-crowned magpie?” cried he. -“Excommunicate me! and what harm, I pr’ythee, will his excommunication -do me? But, by’r Lady, he shall suffer for it. He has already had a -small spice of what the Wolfe of Badenoch can do when he is roused, -and, by all the fiends, he shall know more on’t ere long.” - -“Talk not so loud and vehemently, I beseech thee, brother,” said the -Earl of Moray; “publish not the matter thus.” - -“Nay, but I will tell it,” roared out the Wolfe; “I will publish the -insolence of this scoundrel Bishop to the whole world. What think ye,” -continued he, turning round to his sons and Sir Patrick—“what think ye -of the consummate impudence of the rascally Alexander Barr? He hath -dared to void his impotent curse on the Earl of Buchan and Ross—on the -son of the King of Scotland—on the Wolfe of Badenoch. My brother here, -the Earl of Moray, hath just had an especial messenger from the -croaking carrion, to tell him the news of my excommunication; but the -red fiend catch me, an I do not make him rue that he ever told the tale -beyond his own crowing rookery. Ha! let us to the Castle, brother—let -us to my sister Margery, I say. Depardieux, but thou shalt see that the -hypocritical knave’s anathema shall be but as seasoning to my food. -Trust me, I shall not eat or drink one tithe the less of thy good cheer -for it.” - -“Most noble Earl of Buchan, and my most excellent brother,” said the -Earl of Moray, with a hesitating and perplexed air, “it erketh me -sore—it giveth me, as thou mayest readily believe, extreme grief—to be -compelled to tell thee that I cannot with propriety receive thee at -present among the nobles who now house them within my walls, nor would -the heralds admit of thy presence at the ensuing tournament, whilst -thou liggest under the bann of the Holy Church, even were I bold enough -to risk for thee the Church’s displeasure against me and mine. Let me, -then, I pray thee, have weight with thee so far as to persuade thee to -ride straightway to Elgin, to make thy peace with the Bishop. Much as I -have on my hands at the present time, verily I will not scruple to -haste thither with thee, if thou dost think that I mought in any manner -of way further an accommodation, so that this dread reproach may be -forthwith removed from off thee. We can then return together speedily, -ere yet the matter shall have been bruited abroad (for, so far as I am -concerned, it is as yet a secret); and thou shalt then, much to my joy -and honour, take thy due and proper place by the side of thy brother -Robert, Earl of Fife and Menteith, at the head of mine illustrious -guests, and——” - -“Ha! what!” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch in a fury; “thinkest thou that -I will hie me straight, to lout myself low, and to lick the dust before -the feet of that lorel Bishop, who hath had the surquedrie to dare thus -to insult me? By my trusty burly-brand, I shall take other means of -settling accounts between us. But methinks he is right hasty in his -traffic. No sooner have I settled one score with him, than he runs me -up another in the twinkling of an eye. But, by all the furies, he shall -find that I shall pay him off roundly, and score him up double on my -side. And so, brother, thou dost think that I carry such leprous -contamination about my person, as may altogether unfit me for the -purity of thy virtuous house? Gramercy for thy courtesy! But by the -Rood, I do believe that something else lurketh under all these -pretences. Thou hast seen my dotard father the King lately; thou hast -held council with him I ween; and, I trow, my interests have not been -furthered by the advices thou hast whispered in the Royal ear. I still -lack the best cantle of my Lieutenantship in lacking Moray Land, and a -bird hath whistled me that John Dunbar, Earl of Moray, hath not been -backward in urging the monarch to refuse it to me. If this be so, -Brother Earl——” - -“I swear by my knighthood,” cried the Earl of Moray earnestly -interrupting him, and speaking at once with calmness and firmness—“I -swear by my knighthood, that whoso hath told thee this, hath told thee -a black falsehood; and I gage mine honour to throw the lie in his -teeth, and to defy him to mortal debate, should it so please thee to -yield me his name.” - -“Well spoken, brother John,” cried the Wolfe, apparently satisfied with -the solemnity of the Earl of Moray’s denial. “But thou art pretty safe -in thy darreigne; I did but suspect thee, and, in sooth, appearances -were infernally against thee. But I must take it upon thy word and -abide the event. Yet do I know of a truth that thou wert with the -King——” - -“That do I most readily confess,” replied the Earl of Moray mildly. “I -did indeed journey to Scone on my private affairs, and, among other -things, to crave His Majesty’s gracious permission to hold this same -tourney, and to petition for his royal presence here. But State -reasons, or infirmity, or perhaps both causes conjoined, keep him back -from us; nathless he hath sent his banner hither to wave over the -lists, to show that at least we have his royal good-will with us. I -most solemnly vow that I did never meddle or make with the King in any -matter of thine.” - -“The red fiend ride me then,” cried the Wolfe hastily, “but thy -reception of me hath been something of the coolest. Methinks that, -putting myself in thy case, and thee in mine, I should for thee have -defied all the lorel coistrils that ever carried crosier. Ha! by’r -Lady, ’tis indeed a precious tale to tell, that the Earl of Buchan was -refused herborow within the Castle of his brother of Moray.” - -“Again I repeat that it doleth me sore,” said the Earl of Moray, “that -I should be compelled to put on the semblance of inhospitality, and, -above all, towards thee, my Lord of Buchan, with whom I am so nearly -and dearly allied. But in this case, were I even to set the Bishop’s -threats at defiance in order to receive thee, thou must be aware that -it would only expose thee to certain disgrace; for, of a truth, thy -presence would quickly clear my hall of all the noble guests who are to -feast within its walls. Would, then, that I could incline thee to -follow my counsel, and that thou wouldst be content to ride with me to -Elgin, to appease the Bishop’s wrath, that he may remove his Episcopal -curse. We should be back here long ere cock-crow, and——” - -“Thou hast had my mind on that head already, brother John,” cried the -Wolfe, interrupting him, in a rage. “By the mass, but it is a cheap -thing for thee to make trade and chevisaunce of another’s pride; but, -by the blood of the Bruce, I promise thee, I shall give up no title of -mine to swell that of the lossel drone of a Bishop; so make thyself -easy on that score. What! to be trampled on by a walthsome massmonger, -and then to go cap-in-hand, that he may put his plebeian foot on my -neck! My horse there—my horse, I say. What stand the knaves staring -for? I bid thee goode’en, my Lord of Moray. I’ll to Forres then, to inn -me, sith I may not put my leprous hide within thy pure and unsullied -walls. God be with thee, Sir Patrick Hepborne;” and so saying he sprang -into his saddle. - -“But,” said the Earl of Moray, “though I cannot receive thee at -present, my Lord of Buchan, I shall be right glad to do all the honour -I may to Sir Alexander Stewart and the rest of my nevoys.” - -“Gramercy for thy courtesy,” cried the proud and fierce Sir Alexander; -“sith thou dost hold my father as a polluted and pestilential guest, -thou shalt have none of my company, I promise thee.” - -“Ha! well said, son Alexander,” shouted the Wolfe joyously; “well said, -my brave boy; by my beard, but thou hast spoken bravely. To Forres -then, my merry men.” - -And without abiding farther parlance, the hasty Wolfe of Badenoch, with -Sir Alexander and the younger Stewarts, rode off at a hand-gallop, -followed by their retinue. Sir Andrew, however, remained quietly -behind, and manifested no inclination to accompany his father. - -“And now, Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said the Earl of Moray, “I have to -crave thy pardon for having been thus so long neglectful of thee on a -first meeting; but, I trow, I need hardly apologise, since thou hast -thyself seen and heard enow, I ween, to plead my excuse with thee. This -matter hath in very sooth most grievously affected me. It hath truly -given me more teene and vexation than I can well tell thee. But I shall -to Forres by times i’ the morning, and then essay to soothe my Lord of -Buchan into greater moderation and a more reasonable temper than he -hath just displayed. Meanwhile the Countess Margery doth abide for us -in the pavilion. Let us then hasten thither, so please thee, for she -will not leave it to go to the Castle until I rejoin her, and verily it -waxeth late, and the nobles and barons will ere this be assembling in -Randolph’s Hall.” - -The Earl now led the way across the bridge, and thence towards the -pavilions. As they approached the great one, before which his banner -was displayed, a group of squires, grooms, and caparisoned palfreys -appeared promenading in front of it. - -“Yea, I see that her palfrey is ready,” said the Earl; “nay, yonder she -issues forth to meet us.” - -He dismounted, and Hepborne, following his example, was straightway -introduced by him to the Countess, who received him with great kindness -and courtesy. - -“Nevoy,” said she to Sir Andrew Stewart, who approached to salute her, -“I do most sincerely grieve at the cause of my brother the Earl of -Buchan’s absence. I hope, however, it will be but short, sith I trust -the holy Bishop Barr will not be inexorable, and that thy father will -join our festivities ere long. But where are thy brethren?” - -“We shall talk of that anon,” said the Earl, wishing to get rid of an -unpleasant subject; “meanwhile let us not lose time, for it waxeth -late, and our presence at the Castle is doubtless looked for ere now. -Get thee to horse, then, my sweet lady spouse, with what haste thou -mayest.” - -Hepborne advanced and gave his arm to the Countess, and having assisted -her into her saddle, the whole party mounted to accompany her to -Tarnawa. During their short ride through the forest, Hepborne enjoyed -enough of the conversation of the Earl and Countess to give him a very -favourable impression of both. The lady, in particular, showed so much -sweetness of disposition that he could not help contrasting her in his -own mind with her brother, the savage and ferocious Wolfe, to make up -whose fiery and intemperate character to its full strength, Nature -seemed to have robbed her soft and peaceful soul of every spark of -violence that might have otherwise fallen to its share in the original -mixture of its elements. Sound reason and good sense, indeed, seemed in -her to be united with a most winning kindness and sweetness of manner, -and it was quite a refreshment to Sir Patrick to meet with society so -tranquil and rational after that of the ever-raging and tempestuous -spirits with whom he had been lately consorting. The Countess failed -not to notice the handsome page, Maurice de Grey; but her attentions to -him were of a very different description from those of the Lady Mariota -Athyn, which had so afflicted him at Lochyndorbe. She spoke to him with -gentleness, and having been made aware of his family and history by -Hepborne, manifested the interest she took in the boy in a manner so -delicate that he was already disposed to cling to her as willingly as -he had before wished to avoid the Lady Mariota. - -As they approached the straggling hamlet, through which lay the -immediate approach to the Castle, its inhabitants, as well as the -peasants from the neighbouring cottages, were collected together. Men, -women, and children came crowding about them for the mere pleasure of -beholding the Earl and his Countess, and the grateful hearts of these -poor creatures burst forth in showers of blessings on the heads of -their benefactors. - -“God bless the noble pair!”—“There they come, God bless them!”—“May the -blessing of St. Andrew—may the holy Virgin’s choicest blessings be -about them!”—“What should we poor folk do an ’twere na for them?”—“What -should we do if anything should come over them?”—“Heaven preserve their -precious lives?”—“May Heaven long spare them to be a comfort and a -defence to us all!”—“God bless the noble Earl, and Heaven’s richest -blessings be showered on the angel Countess!” - -Such was the abundant and gratifying reward these noble and generous -hearts received for well fulfilling the duties of the high station -their lot had placed them in. They replied graciously to those simple -but sincere benisons, and though in haste, the Countess more than once -reined up her palfrey as she passed along the lane they opened for her, -to make inquiries after the complaints, distresses, and wants of -particular individuals; and where the matter admitted of her relief, -she failed not to give an order to attend at the Castle at her daily -hour of audience. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI. - - The Castle of Tarnawa—Distinguished Guests. - - -The party now climbed the slope, on the summit of which the Castle rose -grandly before them; and they were no sooner within its outer defences -than they found every corner of it alive. Lacqueys and serving-men of -all sorts, in all the variety of rich attire, were seen running about -in every direction. Most of the noblemen and knights had already -assembled to prepare for the tournament, and some of these, with their -ladies and daughters, were inmates of the Castle. From the Earl of -Moray’s particular regard and friendship for Sir Patrick Hepborne the -elder, an apartment was immediately assigned to his son; yet those who -were favoured with lodgings at Tarnawa were but few in number compared -with the many who were to be accommodated in the pavilions erected on -the margin of the Mead. But as all were expected to assemble at the -daily feast at the Castle, tables were laid for more than an hundred -guests in Randolph’s Hall, where even a company of twice the number -might have found ample room—this grand monument of feudal times -covering an area of nearly an hundred feet in length. - -A Squire Usher promptly attended to show Sir Patrick to his chamber, -where he unarmed, dressed, and perfumed himself; and when he had -completed his attirement, the Squire Usher again appeared to conduct -him to the great hall. - -“Nobles and chevaliers,” cried a pursuivant stationed at the entrance, -“nobles and chevaliers, place there for Sir Patrick Hepborne, younger -of Hailes, a puissant knight, of good stock and brave lineage, who but -the other day overthrew the renowned Sir Rafe Piersie in single combat, -which was nothing to his deeds of arms in France, for there——” - -“Good pursuivant,” said Hepborne, interrupting him, in an under voice, -as he poured a liberal largess into his cap, “thou hast said enow—no -more, I beseech thee.” But the pursuivant’s tongue was rather oiled -than gagged by the unusual magnitude of his donation. - -“Ay,” cried he aloud, “a brave tree is known by its good fruits, and -gentle blood by its generosity. Well may ye ken a noble hand by the -gift that comes from it; and well may ye ken a gallant and well-born -knight by his noble port and presence, and by his liberal largess. -Place there, I say, for Sir Patrick Hepborne—place there for the hero -of Rosebarque!” - -“Silence, I entreat thee,” cried Hepborne, advancing with all eyes upon -him, to meet the Earl of Moray, who was approaching to receive him. - -The magnificent Hall of Randolph presented at that moment one of the -most brilliant spectacles that could well be conceived, graced as it -then was with some of the flower of Scotland’s chivalry, who, with -their ladies and attendants, shone in all the richest and gayest -variety of silks, velvets, furs, and gaudy-coloured cloths, blazing -with gold and embroidery, sparkling with gems, and heavy with -curiously-wrought chains and other ornaments, while flaunting plumes -fluttered about, giving a multiplied effect of motion, so that the -whole area resembled one great tide of gorgeous grandeur, that was -perpetually fluctuating, mixing, and changing. - -“Sir Patrick,” said the Earl to Hepborne, “I believe thy sojournance -abroad hath hitherto permitted thee to see but little of our Scottish -chivauncie. It will be a pleasing task to me to make thee acquainted -with such of them as are here; and it will give me yet greater -jovisaunce to teach them to know thy merits. Let me then, first of all, -introduce thee to my brother-in-law, Robert Stewart, Earl of Fife and -Menteith, who, though he be but the King’s second son, is supposed, -with some truth, to have the greatest share of the government of -Scotland.” - -So saying, the Earl of Moray led Sir Patrick through the dividing -crowd, towards the upper end of the hall, where a platform, raised -about a foot above the rest, marked it as the place of honour. There -they found a circle of knights surrounding a tall majestic man of -commanding presence, whose countenance seemed to wear an expression of -amiability, affability, and even of benignity, apparently put on for -the occasion, like the ornaments he wore, but by no means forming a -part of his character. His face was handsome, and Hepborne could just -trace in it a faint likeness to his brother the Wolfe of Badenoch; but -there was a lurking severity about the eye which his gracious looks -could not altogether quench. He appeared to be highly courted by all -about him, and from the smiles that mantled over the faces he -successively looked at, he seemed to carry sunshine on his brow, and to -scatter joy wherever he threw his eyes. Hepborne only caught up the -last of his words as he approached the group in the midst of which he -stood. - -——“And if it should so please my liege-father,” said he to an elderly -knight who stood bowing as he spoke,—“if it should so please my -liege-father to throw the heavy burden of government on me, trust me, I -shall not forget thy hitherto unrequited services. The debt thy country -doth owe thee is indeed great, and thou hast hitherto been met with but -small mountance of gratitude. But how enorme soever the debt may be, it -shall be faithfully paid thee should I have any control.” - -“My Lord,” said the Earl of Moray, advancing, whilst the circle opened -up to make way for him, “this is Sir Patrick Hepborne, whom I promised -thee to introduce to thy notice.” - -“Thanks, my good brother, for this so speedy fulfilment of thy behote,” -replied the Earl of Fife. “Trust me, it giveth me exceeding joy to have -this opportunity of knowing so valiant a knight, the son, too, of so -brave and renowned a warrior, and one so sage in council, as the highly -and justly respected Sir Patrick Hepborne of Hailes, who, to the great -let and hinderance of his country’s weal, hath kept himself too much of -late from the bustle of State affairs. But now that thou hast returned -to thy native soil, Sir Patrick, we shall hope to see thee bear a part -of that fardel, which thy gallant father might have been otherwise -called on to support alone; for, if fame lie not, thy prudence bids -fair to render thee as serviceable in the closet of council as thine -arm hath already proved itself fit to defend the fame and rights of -Scotland in the field.” - -“My Lord,” said Hepborne, “I fear much that fame hath done me but a -left-handed service, by trumpeting forth merits the which I do but -meagrely possess, and that public expectation hath been raised high, -only to be the more cast down.” - -“Nay, trust me, Sir Patrick, there is small fear of that,” said the -Earl of Moray. - -“Fear!” said the Earl of Fife; “I have had mine eyes ever on the -branchers of the true breed, from whom Scotland and my father’s house -must look to have falcons of the boldest and bravest cast; and none -hath made promise of fairer flight than thou hast, Sir Patrick. True it -is, that thou hast yet to be reclaimed, as the falconer would term it; -that is, I would say, thou hast yet to learn what game to fly at. But I -shall gladly teach thee, for it will give me real joy to direct the -views, and advance the fortunes, of the son of my worthy old friend Sir -Patrick Hepborne.” - -“My Lord,” said Sir Patrick, “I am indeed much beholden to thy -courtesy——” - -“Nay,” said the Earl of Fife, interrupting him, “nay, not to me or my -courtesy, I promise thee, but to thine own worth only; for if the good -old King my father, and my brother John, should force the regency of -this kingdom on me, the duty I owe to them and to my country will never -suffer me to give place or office to any but those who are fit and -worthy to fill them; so thou hast to thank thyself and thine own good -conduct, already so much bruited abroad, for the high opinion I have -thus so early formed of thee, as well as for the desire I now feel to -foster thy budding honours, and to bring out all thy latent talents for -Scotland’s behoof.” - -“I am overwhelmed with your Lordship’s goodness,” said Hepborne, -bowing. “Trust me, mine humble endeavours shall not be wanting to -deserve this thy kind and early good opinion, formed, as I am disposed -to guess, for my revered father’s sake, though thou art pleased to -flatter me by assigning another cause.” - -“However that may be,” replied the Earl of Fife, squeezing him warmly -by the hand, “thou mayest rely on me as thy sincere friend, Sir -Patrick.—Ho! Sir John de Keith,” exclaimed he, suddenly breaking off, -and joining a knight who bowed to him as he passed by, “I shall have -that matter we talked of arranged for thee anon. The son of my old -friend the Knight-Marischal of Scotland, and one for whom I have so -high a personal regard, shall always command my most earnest endeavours -to gratify his wishes. Walk with me apart, I pray thee. Thou knowest -the money hath been——” - -But the rest of his discourse was lost in a whisper, and Hepborne’s -attention was called off by the Earl of Moray, who introduced him to -David Stewart, Earl of Stratherne and Caithness, another son of the -King’s, though by a second wife. After a few expressions of mere -compliment had passed between them, and the Earl of Stratherne had -moved on, - -“Lindsay,” cried his noble host to a bold and determined-looking -knight, who was elbowing his way through the crowd, with his lady -hanging on his left arm, “Lindsay, I wish to make thee acquainted with -Sir Patrick Hepborne, son of the gallant Sir Patrick of Hailes.—Sir -Patrick, this is my brother-in-law, Sir David de Lindsay of Glenesk; -and this is his lady, the Lady Catherine Stewart, sister to my -Countess. Sir David is my most trusty and well-approved brother, and it -would give me joy to see the bonds of amity drawn tight between you.” - -The lady received Sir Patrick’s compliments most graciously; a cordial -acknowledgment took place between the two knights; and Hepborne felt, -that although there was less of protestation, there was a greater smack -of sincerity in Lindsay than in the powerful Earl of Fife, who had said -and promised so much. - -“Welcome to Scotland, Sir Patrick,” said he. “By St. Andrew, but I -rejoice to see thee, for I have heard much of thee. What news, I pray -thee, from foreign pa——” - -The word was broken off in the midde, for ere he had time to finish it, -to the great astonishment of his lady, and the no small amusement of -Hepborne and the Earl, he suddenly struck himself a violent blow on the -cheek with the palm of his right hand. A roguish laugh burst from -behind him. Lindsay quickly turned round. - -“Aha! Dalzell,” cried he, “so it was thou, wicked wag that thou art?” - -“’Tis indeed Sir William de Dalzell,” said Lady de Lindsay, laughing; -“he is always at his mad tricks. There now, do but see what he is -about; he is actually applying the tip of a long feather from a -peacock’s tail to tickle the cheek of my sister Jane’s husband, the -grave Sir Thomas Hay of Errol.” - -“How doth he dare to attack the august cheek of the High Constable of -Scotland?” said the Earl of Moray, with a smile. - -“Nay, do but observe,” said Sir David Lindsay, “do but watch, I beseech -thee, what strange and uncouth grimaces our brother-in-law, the High -and Mighty Constable, is making, as the fibres of the delicate point of -the feather titillate the skin of his cheek. Ah! ha, ha, ha! by the -mass, but he hath given himself as hard a blow as I did, thinking to -kill the fly.” - -“And see,” said the lady, “he hath suspected a trick; but he looks in -vain for our waggish friend Dalzell, who hath dived like a duck and -disappeared. Ha, ha, ha! see how strangely the High Constable eyes the -solemn Earl of Sutherland near him, as if he half believed that grave -personage was the perpetrator of the espièglerie. ’Twould be rare sport -if he should tax him with it.” - -“’Twould be a rich treat indeed,” said Sir David Lindsay. - -“Sir Patrick,” said the Earl of Moray, “come hither, I pray thee. -Yonder comes James Earl of Douglas and Mar, with his Countess the Lady -Margaret Stewart, another sister of my Margery’s.” - -“He is indeed a knight worth knowing,” said Hepborne. - -“This way, then, and I will introduce thee to him,” said the Earl of -Moray. - -Hepborne followed his host towards that part of the hall where the bold -and Herculean Earl of Douglas was making his way with his lady slowly -through the assembled company, who crowded eagerly around him to offer -him their compliments. His manner was plain and dignified, and he -behaved with kindness and affability to all who addressed him, though, -on his part, he did not by any means seem to court notice. When -Hepborne was brought up to him by his brother-in-law, and his name made -known, he gave him a good soldierlike shake by the hand. - -“I am right glad to see thee in thine own country, Sir Patrick -Hepborne,” said he. “An I mistake not, some storm is a-brewing in -England, that may cause us to want all the good lances which Scotland -can muster. When King Dickon doth send these hawk-eyed ambassadors to -talk of peace, depardieux, but I, for my part, am apt to smell war. My -Lord of Fife sayeth that ’tis not so, and he is shrewd enough in -common. I have mine own thoughts; but we shall see who is right, and -that too ere many days are gone, an the signs of the times deceive me -not.” - -“’Twere well that we young unschooled soldiers should have something to -do, my Lord,” said Hepborne, “were it only to keep our swords from -rusting, and lest we should forget our exercises, and such parts of the -rudiments of war as chance hath taught us.” - -“Thou sayest well, my gallant young friend,” said the Douglas, his eyes -flashing as he spoke, again shaking Hepborne heartily by the hand; “but -thou art no such novice to forget thy trade so easily. Yet sayest thou -well; piping times of peace are the ruin of our Scottish chivauncie, -and stiffen the movements of even the most experienced warriors. Such -sentiments as these, seasoned with so much modesty, are but what I -mought have looked for from the son of that knight of sterling proof of -heart as well as hand, my brave old friend Sir Patrick Hepborne, thy -father.” - -Sir Patrick was more than gratified by the expressions of respect for -his father which he had heard drop from every mouth. The blush of -honest pride, mingled with that of warm filial affection, rose more -that once to his cheek; but it never before mounted with such a rushing -tide of joy as it did when this short panegyric fell from the lips of -the heroic Douglas. He was not permitted time to reply, for all were so -eager to have one word, nay, one glance of recognition from the brave -Earl, that his attention was rifled from Hepborne, and he was carried -away before he could open his mouth to speak to him again. - -“Dost thou see yonder group?” demanded the Earl of Moray as he pointed -them out to Sir Patrick. “The elderly knight and dame are William de -Vaux, Lord of Dirleton, and his lady. The fair damosel seated behind -them is their daughter, the Lady Jane de Vaux, held to be the loveliest -of all the maidens who have come to honour this our tournament. Nay, -she is indeed esteemed one of the fairest pearls of the Scottish Court, -and a rich pearl she is, moreover, seeing she is the heiress of her -father’s domains. The knight who lieth at her footstool, and sigheth -enlangoured at her feet, effunding soft speeches from his heart, and -gazing upwards with a species of adoration in his eyes, is the gallant -Sir John Halyburton, who wears her favours, and bears her proud merits -in high defiance on his lance’s point.” - -“Let me entreat your Lordship, who are those knights who come yonder so -bravely arrayed?” said Hepborne. - -“Those,” replied the Earl, “are the English knights who lately came on -ambassage. He in the purple velvet is the Lord Welles; that elder -knight on his right hand, who showeth deportment so courteous, is the -worthy Sir John Constable of Halsham and Burton, one who hath done good -deeds of arms in his day; he that is so flauntingly attired in the -peach-blossom surcoat so richly emblazoned, is the gay Sir Piers -Courtenay; and immediately behind him is the stark Sir Thomas Fairfax -of Walton. But stay, here comes my brother George, Earl of Dunbar and -March. George,” cried he, addressing his brother as he passed, “this is -Sir Patrick Hepborne, whose father thou well knowest.” - -“I do,” said the Earl of Dunbar, energetically squeezing Hepborne’s -hand, “and I shall not fail to receive the son of my dearest friend -into my warmest affections for his father’s sake. How left ye thy -gallant sire?” - -This question was but the preliminary to a long and friendly -conversation between Hepborne and the Earl of Dunbar, which lasted -until it was interrupted by a flourish of trumpets and clarions, -announcing the entrance of the Grand Sewer, with a white wand in his -hand. He advanced at the head of a perfect army of lacqueys, who -brought in the feast, and the company began to be marshalled to their -places by the pursuivants. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII. - - The Banquet at the Castle—Alarm—Forres on Fire. - - -The banquet given daily by the noble Earl of Moray was in every respect -befitting the rank and splendour of the company assembled to partake of -it. On the raised platform, at the upper end of the hall of Randolph, a -table was placed transversely, to which was attached, at right angles, -a limb that stretched down the greater part of the pavement. One side -only of the upper, or cross table, was occupied; and opposite to the -centre of it were seated the Earl and Countess of Moray, in full view -of all their guests. With them sat the Earl of Fife, and all those who -could boast of royal blood or alliance; whilst both sides of the long -table were filled up by the rest of the nobles, and knights, and -ladies, who were marshalled according to their respective rank. The -shield of each chevalier, with his coat armour emblazoned on it, was -hung on a hook on the wall, opposite to the place occupied by him at -table; so that all might be known by their bearings. - -Hepborne having been introduced to the party of William de Vaux, Lord -of Dirleton, led off his lady to the festive board. - -“Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said the old knight to him, soon after they had -taken their places, “perhaps thou art aware that thine excellent father -and I were early friends? yea, well did I know thee, too, when thou -wert as yet but an unfledged falcon. Full often, perdie, hast thou sat -on these knees of mine, and many a hair, too, hast thou plucked in -frolic from this grizzled beard, the which was then, I’ll warrant thee, -as black as the raven’s back. Thou knowest that my domains of Dirleton, -and those of Hailes, stand within a fair degree of neighbourhood. Give -me leave then to drink this cup of Malvoisie to the better acquaintance -of friends so old.” - -“I have often heard my father give utterance to many a kind and warm -remembrance of thy friendship for our house,” replied Sir Patrick, as -he prepared to return the Lord of Dirleton’s pledge; “and it giveth me -extreme joy thus unexpectedly to meet with one who deigned to bestow -notice upon my childhood, albeit I cannot recall the recollection of -the countenance of him who vouchsafed it.” - -“Nay, thy memory was too young at the time, Sir Patrick, to have -received permanent impressions of any kind,” replied the Lord of -Dirleton; “and as we were soon after driven abroad by domestic -affliction, thou never hadst any opportunity of seeing me after thou -couldst observe and remember; for when we returned to Scotland again, -we discovered that thou hadst gone to the very country we had left.” - -“I did hear of thy name from those who considered themselves highly -honoured by having enjoyed thy society during the time thou didst make -Paris thy residence,” said Hepborne. - -“Yea, we knew many there,” replied the Lord of Dirleton, “many who were -worthy and amiable; yet none, I trust, who could dislodge the early and -fixed Scottish friendships we had formed. That between thy father and -me was so strong in its nature, that we longed to cement our families -irrevocably together; and I do well remember me, that when thou wert -but some two or three years old, and the Lady Dirleton had produced her -first child, a daughter, Sir Patrick and I did solemnly vow that, with -the blessing and concurrence of Heaven, thou and she should knit us -more closely by thy union, so soon as years should have ripened ye -severally into man and woman.” - -“Alas!” interrupted the Lady Dirleton, the tears swelling in her eyes -as she spoke—“alas! it did not please Heaven to give its blessing or -its concurrence to our vows, or to lend its ear to our many prayers and -supplications for the fulfilment of our wishes. A cruel fate deprived -us of our infant daughter, and made me a wretchedly bereft and -grief-bywoxen mother. When I saw thee——” - -“Leave off this sad theme, I do beseech thee, Maria,” said the old -knight, interrupting her, with eyes that streamed over as fast as her -own; “’tis but unmeet talk, I wis, for a festive scene like this. At -some other and more fitting time, Sir Patrick may be disposed to list -the story, and to sympathise with our dole and dreriment.” - -By this time the more substantial part of the banquet had been removed, -a profusion of lights had changed the dim twilight of the place into -more than day, and healths and brimming goblets of wine were -circulating. Each knight was called upon to quaff a pledge to the -bright eyes that held him in thrall; and this public avowal of his -tender attachment was considered as a sort of prelude to the more -determined appeal he might be afterwards disposed to make in support of -her beauty and fame, at the point of his lance in the lists. Some there -were who, when it came to their turn, bowed silently, and permitted the -cup to pass by them; these, however, were few in number, and were such -as, from some private reason, wished to throw a veil of delicacy over -their attachment; but when Sir John Halyburton was called on, he arose -from the side of the blushing Jane de Vaux, and boldly proclaimed his -love and adoration of her to all present. - -“I pledge this brimming mazer to the health of the peerless Lady Jane -de Vaux,” said he; “and as I now drink the cup dry for her sake, so am -I prepared to drain my life’s blood in her service.” - -A murmur of approbation ran around the festal board. When it had -subsided, - -“Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said the Earl of Moray, “wilt thou vouchsafe to -honour us with a cup to the fair enslaver of thine affections?” - -Sir Patrick arose, and, putting his right hand over his heart, bowed -gracefully, and then seated himself in silence. In the former -instances, where knights had declined to speak, the Earl of Moray had -passed them by without further notice, but he was himself so -disappointed, and perceived disappointment so legibly written on the -faces of the company after Hepborne’s silent bow, that he could not -resist addressing him again. - -“What, Sir Patrick,” said he, “hast thou then no lady-love, for the -sake of whose bright eyes we may hope to see thee bestirring thyself -sturdily in the lists?” - -“My Lord Earl,” replied Hepborne, risingly modestly, “it will give me -joy to break a few spears, out of mere courtesy, with any knights who -may esteem mine arm worthy of being opposed to theirs.” - -The Earl saw that it would be indelicate to press him further, and went -on to the conclusion of his circle of healths. The choir of minstrels, -who had already occupied the music gallery, had begun to make the -antique Hall of Randolph resound with their pealing preludes, when -their harmony was interrupted by a clamouring noise of voices from -without; and immediately a crowd of squires and domestics of all kinds -came rushing into the hall, exclaiming, “Fire, my Lord Earl of Moray, -fire!” - -“Where—where—where is the fire?” burst from every mouth; and the ladies -shrieked, and many of them even fainted, at the very mention of the -word. - -“The town of Forres is blazing,” cried half-a-dozen voices at once. - -The utmost confusion instantly arose amidst the assemblage of nobles, -knights, and ladies. Out rushed the Earl of Moray, and out rushed such -of his guests as had no lady to detain them within. Hepborne, for his -part, happened by accident more than anything else, to follow his host -up a staircase that led to the battlements, which in daylight commanded -a view over the whole surrounding country; but the landscape was now -buried in darkness, save where a lurid blaze arose at three or four -miles’ distance in the direction of the eastern horizon, through which -appeared some of the black skeletons of the consuming tenements of -Forres, or where the broad and full estuary of the river reflected the -gleam which cast its illumination even over the houses of the seaport -of the distant point, and the wide ocean beyond it. Far off, shouts and -yells arose from different quarters of the circumjacent forest, as if -from people who were collecting, and hastening in dismay towards the -scene of the conflagration. - -“Holy Virgin, defend us! what can have caused so sudden and -unlooked-for a calamity?” cried the Earl of Moray, in a tone of extreme -distress. - -“Meseems it can hardly be the result of accident,” replied Hepborne, -“for the fire doth blaze in divers parts at once. Can it have been the -work of some enemy?” - -“Enemy!” cried the Earl, “what enemy can there be here? And yet it may -have been done by some marauding band of plundering peelers. Yet that -seems impossible—it cannot be. But let me not waste time here, when I -can ride to the spot. Ho, there, in the court-yard—my horse, d’ye -hear?” shouted he over the battlements, and then rushed down stairs. - -Sir Patrick followed him, with the determination of accompanying him to -the blazing town. Both speedily donned their riding gear and light -armour, and sallied forth. On the terrace they found a crowd of the -nobles and knights collected together in amazement. The Earl only -stopped to throw out a few hasty words of apology for so abruptly -leaving his guests, and then, accompanied by Hepborne, descended to the -court-yard, vociferating loudly for their horses. In a short time both -mounted and galloped off, attended by a few horsemen, who threw -themselves hastily into their saddles. - -“Let us take our way by the Mead of St. John’s,” cried the Earl, -pushing his horse thitherward; “we can cross the river by the bridge, -and we shall then be able to alarm the people, who have there a -temporary abode at present. Their aid will be of much avail, if, as I -fear, all aid be not already too late.” - -On they galloped through the dark alleys of the forest, every now and -then overtaking some straggler, who was hurrying on, out of breath, in -the direction they were going, shouting at intervals to those who had -outrun him, or who had lagged behind him; but when they reached the -Mead of St. John’s, those plains, which were lately so full of -animation, were now silent as death; not a human being seemed to have -remained within their ample circuit; all had been already summoned -away, some by anxiety to arrest the destruction of their houses and -goods, others by the charitable wish to assist in subduing the -conflagration, and others, again, by the nefarious desire and hope of -an opportunity of pilfering, but the greater number by that universal -human passion, curiosity. - -“Let us hasten onwards to Forres, for there is no one here,” cried the -good Earl, after riding in vain over part of the ground, and knocking -and shouting at most of the temporary erections on the Eastern Mead, as -he swept past them. “This way, Sir Patrick; our road lies up this steep -bank; I hope some good may yet be done by the united force of such -multitudes. By St. Andrew, it was good they were here; and ’twill be a -lucky tournament if it be the means of stopping this sad malure.” - -Sir Patrick followed him over some irregular hillocks, covered with the -forest; and, winding amongst them, they entered a defile, where the -trees grew thinner, giving place, in a great measure, to a natural -shrubbery, composed of scattered bushes of furze, broom, and juniper. -The fire had been all this time hid from their eyes, but it burst upon -them through the farther opening of the defile in all its terrific -grandeur, at about a mile’s distance. The destructive element had now -all the appearance of speedily gaining resistless dominion over the -little town, for the several independent detachments of flame which had -appeared in different parts of it, as they surveyed it from the Castle, -had now run together, and united themselves into one great sea of red -and overwhelming destruction, that heaved and tossed its tumultuous -billows high into the air. The appalling blaze filled up the entire sky -that was visible through the defile they were threading. Against the -bright field it presented, a dark group of armed horsemen were seen -standing on the path before them, where it wound from among the -hillocks, their figures being sharply relieved against the broad gleam -beyond. The Earl of Moray reined up his steed, but his previous speed -had been such that he was almost upon them ere he could check him. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII. - - The Burning of the Church and Town of Forres. - - -“By’r Lady, but the bonfire brens right merrily,” cried a stern voice, -which they immediately knew to be that of the Wolfe of Badenoch. “Ha! -is’t not gratifying to behold? Morte de ma vie, see there, son -Alexander, how the Archdeacon’s manse belches forth its flaming bowels -against the welkin. By St. Barnabas, but thou mayest tell the very -blaze of it from that of any other house, by the changes produced in it -from the abundant variety of ingredients that feed it. Thou seest the -cobwebby church consumeth but soberly and meekly as a church should; -but the proud mansion of the Archdeacon brenneth with a clear fire, -that haughtily proclaims the costly fuel it hath got to maintain it—his -crimson damask and velvets—his gorgeous chairs and tables—his richly -carved cabinets—his musty manuscripts, the which do furnish most -excellent matter of combustion. By the mass, but that sudden quenching -of the flame must have been owing to the fall of some of those swollen -down-beds, and ponderous blankets, in which these lazy churchmen are -wont to snore away their useless lives. But, ha! see how it blazes up -again; perdie, it hath doubtless reached the larder; some of his -fattest bacon must have been there; meseems as if I did nose the -savoury fumes of it even here. Ha! glorious! look what a fire-spout is -there. Never trust me, if that brave and brilliant feu d’artifice doth -not arise from the besotted clerk’s well-stored cellars. Ha, ha, ha! -there go his Malvoisie and his eau-de-vie. The vinolent costrel’s -thirsty soul was ever in his casks; so, by the Rood, thou seest, that, -maugre every suspicion and belief to the contrary, it hath yet some -chance of mounting heavenward after all. Ha, ha, ha! by the beard of my -grandfather, but it is a right glorious spectacle to behold.” - -“My Lord brother-in-law,” cried the Earl of Moray, in a voice of horror -and dismay, as he now advanced towards the group, “can it be? Is it -really thou who speakest thus?” - -“Ha, Sir Earl of Moray,” cried the Wolfe, starting and turning sharply -round, “what makest thou here, I pray thee? Methought that ere this -thou wert merry in thy wine wassail?” - -“Nay, perhaps I should have been so,” replied the Earl of Moray -temperately, “had not news of yonder doleful burning banished all note -of mirth from my board. Knowest thou aught of how this grievous -disaster may have befallen?” - -“Ha, ha, ha! canst thou not guess, brother of mine?” cried the Wolfe, -with a sarcastic laugh. - -“I must confess I am not without my fears as to who did kindle yonder -wide-spreading calamity,” said the Earl of Moray gravely; “yet still do -I hang by the hope that it was impossible thou couldst have brought -thyself to be the author of so cruel, so horrible, so sacrilegious a -deed. Even the insatiable thirst of revenge itself, directed as it was -against one individual, could hardly have led thee to wrap the holy -house of God, and the dwellings of the innocent and inoffensive -burghers, in the same common ruin with the tenements belonging to those -whom thou mayest suspect as being entitled to a share of thy vengeance. -’Tis impossible.” - -“Ha! by the flames of Tartarus, but it is possible,” cried the Wolfe, -gnashing his teeth; “yea, and by all the fiends, I have right starkly -proved the possibility of it too. What! dost think that I have spared -the church, the which is the very workshop of these mass-mongering -magpies? Or was I, thinkest thou, to stop my fell career of vengeance, -because the beggarly hovels of some dozen pitiful tailors, brogue-men, -skinners, hammermen, and cordwainers, stood in my way?—trash alswa, who -pay rent and dues to this same nigon and papelarde Priest-Bishop, who -hath dared to pour out his venomous malison on the son of a King—on the -Wolfe of Badenoch! By all the infernal powers, but the surface of the -very globe itself shall smoke till my revenge be full. This is but a -foretaste of the wrekery I shall work; and if the prating jackdaw’s -noxious curse be not removed, ay, and that speedily too, by him that -rules the infernal realms, I swear that the walthsome toad and all the -vermin that hang upon him shall have tenfold worse than this to dree!” - -“Alexander Stewart!” cried a clear and commanding voice, which came -suddenly and tremendously, like that of the last trumpet, from the -summit of the knoll immediately above where the group was standing. -There was an awful silence for some moments; a certain chill of -superstitious dread stole over every one present; nay, even the -ferocious and undaunted Earl of Buchan himself felt his heart grow cold -within him, at the almost more than human sound. He looked upwards to -the bare pinnacle of the rising ground, and there, standing beside a -scathed and blasted oak, he beheld a tall figure enveloped in black -drapery. The irregular blaze of the distant conflagration came only by -fits to illumine the dusky and mysterious figure, and the face, sunk -within a deep cowl, was but rarely and transiently rendered visible by -it, though the eyes, more frequently catching the light, were often -seen to glare fearfully, when all the other features were buried in -shade, giving a somewhat fiendish appearance to the spectre. - -“Alexander Stewart!” cried the thrilling voice again; “Alexander -Stewart, thou grim and cruel Wolfe, when will the measure of thine -iniquity be filled up? Thou sweepest over fair creation, levelling -alike the works of God and man, regardless of human misery, like the -dire angel of destruction; the very green of the earth is turned into -blood, and hearts are rent beneath every tramp of thy horse’s hoofs: -yet art thou but as a blind instrument in the hands of the righteous -Avenger; and when thou shalt have served the end for which thou wert -created, verily thou shalt be cast into eternal fire. If thou wouldst -yet escape the punishment which speedily awaits thine atrocities, -hasten to bow, in penitence, before those altars thou hast dared to -pollute, and make full reparation to the holy ministers of religion for -the unheard of insults and injuries thou hast offered them. Do this, or -thine everlasting doom is fixed; death shall speedily overtake thee, -and thou shalt writhe amidst the ineffable torments of never-ceasing -flames.” - -As the voice ceased, there arose from the distant town a strong and -more enduring gleam of light, which rendered visible every little -broom-blossom and heath-bell that grew upon the side of the knoll, and -threw a pale, but distinct illumination over the features of the -figure. - -“Holy Virgin! blessed St. Andrew! ’tis the mysterious Franciscan,” -whispered several of the Earl of Buchan’s attendants, as they crossed -themselves, in evident alarm. - -“Ha! is it thee, thou carrion chough?” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, -recovering from the surprise and dismay into which he had been plunged -by so unexpected and fearful a warning from one whom he had not at -first recognized; “ha! morte de ma vie,” cried he, couching his lance, -digging the spurs deep into his horse’s flanks, and making him bound -furiously up the slope of the knoll; “by all the furies, thou shalt not -’scape me this bout, an thou be not a very fiend. Haste, Alexander, -ride round the hill.” - -“This way, villains,” cried Sir Alexander Stewart instantly, obedient -to his father’s command; “this way, one-half of ye, and that way the -other half. Let not the caitiff escape us; take him alive or dead; by -the mass, it mattereth not which.” - -Divided into little parties, the Wolfe’s attendants spurred off to -opposite points of the compass, in order to encircle the hill. The -figure had already disappeared from the pinnacle it stood on, but the -furious Earl of Buchan still pushed his panting horse up the steep -ascent, until he disappeared over the top. The Earl of Moray and Sir -Patrick Hepborne remained for some time in mute astonishment, perfectly -at a loss what to think or how to act. Shouts were heard on all sides -of the hillock; but in a short time they ceased, and the individuals of -the Wolfe of Badenoch’s party came dropping in one by one, with faces -in which superstitious dread was very strongly depicted. - -“Didst thou see him?” demanded one. “Nay, I thank the Virgin, I saw him -not,” replied another. “Whither can he have vanished?” cried a third. -“Vanished indeed!” cried a fourth, shuddering, and looking over his -shoulder. “Ave Maria, sweet Virgin, defend us, it must have been a -spirit,” cried another, in a voice of the utmost consternation. - -“Hold your accursed prating,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, who now -appeared, with his sons clustered at his back, all bearing it up -boldly, yet all of them, even the stout Earl himself, much disturbed -and troubled in countenance. “Ha!” continued he, “by all that is good, -there is something strange and uncommon about that same friar. I know -not well what to think. I bid thee good-bye, brother-in-law; I wot, we -part but as half friends; yet commend me to Margery. Sir Patrick -Hepborne, when it pleaseth thee to come to Lochyndorbe, thou shalt be -right welcome. Allons, son Alexander, we must thither to-night yet for -our hostelry; so forward, I say;” and saying so, he rode away at the -head of his party. - -“Rash and intemperate man,” cried the good Earl of Moray, in a tone of -extreme distress and vexation, as he turned his horse’s head towards -Forres, “what is it thou hast done? Into what cruel and disgraceful -outrage hath thy furious wreken driven thee. The very thought of this -ferocious deed being thine, is to me more bitter than ligne-aloes. The -noble and the peasant must now alike hold thee accursed for thy red -crimes. Hadst thou not been my wife’s brother, and the son of my liege -lord the King, I must of needscost have done my best to have seized -thee straightway; but Heaven seemeth to be itself disposed to take -cognizance of thy coulpe, for in truth he was more than mortal -messenger who pronounced that dread denunciation against thee.” - -The solemn silence with which these words were received by Sir Patrick, -showed how much his thoughts were in unison with those of the Earl. - -“But let us prick onwards,” cried Lord Moray, starting from his musing -fit; “every moment may be precious.” - -They had not gone many yards, when they heard the mingled sound of -numerous voices, and found themselves in the midst of a great crowd of -people of all ages, and of both sexes, who, idle and unconcerned, had -taken post on the brow of the hill, and now stood, or lay on the ground -in groups, calmly contemplating the rapid destruction that was going on -in the little town, and giving way to thoughtless expressions of wonder -and delight, at the various changes of the aspect of combustion. - -“Why stand ye here, idlers?” cried the Earl of Moray, riding in among -them, and stirring up some of them with the shaft of his lance; “come, -rouse ye, my friends; shame on you to liggen here, when ye might have -bestirred ye to save the town; come, rouse ye, I say.” - -“Nay, by the mass, I’ll not budge,” cried one. “’Tis no concern of -mine,” cried another. “Nay, nor of mine,” cried a third. “I do but come -here to sell my wares at the tourney,” cried a fourth. - -“Depardieux, but every mother’s son of ye shall move,” cried the Earl, -indignant at their apathy. - -“And who art thou, who dost talk thus high?” gruffly demanded one of -the fellows, as he raised a sort of pole-axe in a half-defensive and -half-menacing attitude. - -“I am John Dunbar, Earl of Moray,” replied the Earl resolutely; “and by -St. Andrew, if ye do not every one of you make the best of your way to -Forres sans delay, and put forth what strength ye may to stop the -brenning of the poor people’s houses and goods, I will order down an -armed band from the Castle, who shall consume and burn to tinder every -tent, booth, bale, and box, that now cumbereth the meads of St. John. -“Will ye on with me now, knaves, or no?” - -“Holy Virgin, an thou be’st the good Earl,” cried the fellow, lowering -his pole-axe, “I humbly crave thy pardon; verily we are all thine -humble slaves. Come, come, my masters, run, I pray ye, ’tis the good -Earl John. Fie, fie, let’s on with him, and do his bidding, though we -bren for it.” - -“Huzza for the good Earl John—huzza! let’s on with the good Earl of -Moray,” cried they all. - -“Mine honest men,” cried the Earl, “I want not thy services for nought. -Trust me, I shall note those who work best, and they shall not go -guerdonless; and if ye should all be made as dry as cinders, by hard -and hot swinking, ye shall be rendered as moist as well-filled sponges, -with stout ale, at the Castle, after all is over.” - -“Huzza for the good Earl John! huzza for the good Earl of Moray!” -shouted the rabble; and he rode off, followed by every man of them, -each being well resolved in his own mind to earn his skinful of beer. - -As the Earl and Sir Patrick were pushing up towards the ridge along -which the town was situated, the shouts of men, and the dismal screams -and wailings of women and children, arose from time to time from within -it. The good nobleman redoubled his speed as he heard them, and the -party soon reached the main street, the scene of confusion, misery, and -devastation. The way was choked with useless crowds, who so encumbered -those who were disposed to exert themselves, that little effectual -opposition could be given to the fury of the fire. Amidst the shrieks -and cries which burst forth at intervals from the mob, the Earl’s ears -were shocked by the loud curses on the Wolfe of Badenoch that were -uttered by the frantic sufferers. But no sooner was he recognized than -his arrival was hailed with acclamations of joy and gratitude, which -drowned the expression of every other feeling. - -“Here comes the good Earl”—“The Virgin be praised—blessed be St. -Laurence that the Earl hath come”—“Ay, ay, all will go well now sith he -is here”—“Stand aside there—stand aside, and let us hear his commands.” - -The Earl and Sir Patrick Hepborne hastily surveyed the wide scene of -ruin, and were soon aware of its full extent. The manse of the -Archdeacon, to which the incendiaries had first set fire, was already -reduced to a heap of ashes. The priest who owned it had fled in terror -for his life when it was first assailed; and the greater part, if not -all the population of the little burgh having been employed on the Mead -of St. John’s in the preparations for the tournament, or in loitering -as idle spectators of what was going on there, little interruption was -given to the vengeful Wolfe of Badenoch in his savage work. He and his -troop were tamely allowed to stand by until they had seen the residence -of the churchman so beleagured by the raging element, that little hope -could remain of saving any part of it. He next set fire to one end of -the church; and ere he and his party mounted to effect their retreat, -they fired one or two of the intervening houses. Many of the tenements -being of wood, and the roofs mostly thatched with straw, the fire -spread so rapidly as very soon to form itself into one great -conflagration, that threatened to extend widely on all sides. Still, -however, it was confined to one part of the town, and there yet -remained much to save. Hitherto there had been no head to direct, but -the moment the Earl appeared all were prepared to give implicit and -ready obedience to his orders. He took his determination in a few -minutes, and, imparting his plan to Hepborne, they proceeded to carry -it into instant execution. - -The portion of the street that was already in flames had been abandoned -by the people, the fire having gained so hopeless an ascendancy there -that all efforts to subdue it would have been vain. The Earl therefore -resolved to devote his attention to confining it within its present -limits. He stationed himself within a few yards of that extremity which -they had first reached, and, having ordered the crowd to withdraw -farther off, he brought forward the useful and active in such numbers -as might be able to work with ease, and he began to pull down some of -the most worthless of the houses. Hepborne, in the meanwhile, called -together a few hardy and fearless-looking men, and followed by these -and Mortimer Sang, who was rarely ever missed from his master’s back -when anything serious or perilous was going forward, he proceeded, at -the risk of life, to ride down the narrow street, between two walls of -fire, where blazing beams and rafters were falling thick around them. -His chief object was to get to the farther boundary of the -conflagration, and he might have effected this by making a wide circuit -around the town; but, besides gaining time by forcing the shorter and -more desperate passage, the generous knight was anxious to ascertain -whether, amidst the confusion that prevailed, some unfortunate wretches -might not have been left to their fate among the blazing edifices. - -He moved slowly and cautiously onwards, his horse starting and prancing -every now and then as the burning ruins fell, or as fresh bursts of -flame took place; and, steering a difficult course among the smoking -fragments that strewed the street, or the heaped-up goods and -moveables, which their owners had not had time to convey farther to -some place of greater security, he peered eagerly into every door, -window, and crevice, and listened with all his attention for the sound -of a human voice. More than once his eyes and his ears were deceived, -and he frequently stopped, in doubt whether he should not rush boldly -through fire and smoke to rescue some one whom his fancy had caused -him, for an instant, to imagine perishing within. His mind being so -intensely occupied, it is no wonder that he could pay but little -attention to his own preservation; and accordingly he received several -rude shocks, and was at last fairly knocked down from his saddle by the -end of a great blazing log, which grazed his shoulder as it descended -from a house he was standing under. Mortimer Sang caught the reins of -his master’s horse, and Sir Patrick was speedily raised from the ground -by the people who were near him; and he regained his seat, having -fortunately escaped with some slight bruises received from the fall, -and a contusion on his shoulder, arising from the blow given him by the -beam. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX. - - Sir Patrick and the Earl at Forres. - - -Sir Patrick Hepborne had hardly recovered himself when, as he was -passing a house to which the fire had but just communicated, he -encountered a crowd of people rushing out, hastily attired in all -manner of strange coverings. It was the inn of the burgh. Among those -who came forth there was one gigantic figure, who ran against his horse -like a battering-ram, and almost threw the animal on his haunches by -the concussion. Ere Hepborne could recover himself the monster was -gone; but his attention was quickly diverted from this incident by the -sound of a voice chanting irregularly in broken song, mingled with the -notes of a harp. It came from the upper part of the building. The -house, though extending a good way backwards from the street, was of -two storeys only; but as the flames were briskly attacking the lower -part, no time was to be lost in making the musician leave it. - -Hepborne sprang from his horse, and, hastening down a lane to the -doorway, rushed up the narrow stair, and being led by ear towards the -music, ran along a passage and entered an apartment over the gable next -the street, where, to his utter astonishment, he beheld the minstrel, -Adam of Gordon, seated on a stool, in his nightcap and under-garments, -accompanying his voice by striking wild chords upon the harp, and -looking upwards at intervals, as if seeking inspiration. - -“Adam of Gordon!” cried Hepborne, in absolute amazement, “what dost -thou here? Quick, quick, old man; thy life is in peril; throw on thy -cloak and fly with me; the flames gain upon us!” - -“Nay, Sir Knight,” said the minstrel, “disturb me not, I beseech thee; -I do but work myself here into proper bardic enthusiasm, that I may the -better describe the grandeur of this terrific scene. Trust me, this is -the minstrel’s golden moment; let it not pass by unimproved.” And -saying so he again began to strike on his harp, and to recur to his -subject. - - - The raging flame in fury swept, - It seized their chamber where they slept, - Along the wasting floor it crept, - Where locked in virtuous love they lay. - She dreamt that on a bed of flowers, - Beneath the cool and fragrant bowers, - With him she wasted happy hours; - She waked—she shrieked! she swooned away! - He quick uprose, in wild alarm, - To snatch his love—— - - -“Nay, Adam, this is absolute madness, for whilst thou art composing thy -ballad we shall both be brent. Haste thee, old man. Hark! there was the -crash of falling ruins.” - -“One stanza more, I entreat thee, Sir Knight; my brain is hot with my -subject. - - - To snatch his love from threatening harm, - He clasped her in his vigorous arm.” - - -“Nay, then,” said Hepborne, “I must of needscost enclasp thee in mine, -or we shall both perish;” and snatching up, with one hand, the -minstrel’s drapery that lay beside him, he lifted old Adam, harp and -all, high in his other arm, and carried him down the stair on his -shoulder; whilst the bard, entirely occupied with his subject, was -hardly conscious of being removed from his position, and went on -chatting and strumming— - - - “He quick uprose, in wild alarm, - To snatch his love from threatening harm; - He clasped her in his vigorous arm, - And rushed—— - - -Holy St. Cuthbert, I’m choked! I’m—pugh!—ooh!” - -A sudden stop was indeed put to his song by the smoke through which -Hepborne was condemned to force his way with his burden, and the harp -accompaniment was effectually silenced by the flames which shot over -them on either hand, and burnt off the strings of the instrument. -Hepborne bore the minstrel bravely into the street. - -“Where is thy steed, Adam?” demanded Hepborne, as he set him down. - -“In the stable behind,” replied the minstrel, somewhat brought to his -senses by the danger which he now saw had threatened him. Hepborne -immediately despatched some of those who were with him to fetch out the -horse. - -“Heaven bless thee for my safety, Sir Knight,” said Adam; “but now that -I am beyond risk, if it so please thee I would gladly saunter through -the burning town alone, to gather hints for the garniture of my -ballad.” - -“Nay, nay, old man,” replied Hepborne, quickly, “this is no place for -thee. Here cometh thy little curtal nag—mount thee, straightway, and -hie thee to Tarnawa with this man, who shall guide thee thither. There -thou mayest inquire for a page of mine, called Maurice de Grey, who -will quickly make thee known to my Lady the Countess of Moray; she will -be right glad to see any one of minstrel kind in these times of -tournament. But stay,” added Hepborne, laughing to observe the -grotesque figure of the half-clad minstrel on horseback; “Here, throw -his cloak over him and hasten hence with him beyond danger. Away, away -from hence, or ye are lost,” cried he, with increased rapidity of -utterance; and the group had hardly time to make their horses spring -from the spot ere the front wall of a house, slowly cracking and -rending, fell with a tremendous crash into the street, and they were -divided from each other by the heaped-up debris. Satisfied, however, of -the minstrel’s safety, Sir Patrick now hurried on to the post which the -Earl of Moray had assigned him at the farther extremity of the -conflagration. - -A considerable vacant space around the church had fortunately prevented -the fire from spreading beyond it. The holy edifice itself was burning -slowly, yet so little attention had been paid to it that the choir, -which the incendiaries had first inflamed, was already almost consumed. -Sir Patrick Hepborne immediately established two lines of people, -extending between the church and a neighbouring well, so that buckets -of water were conveyed with great rapidity towards it, and the supply -in this way was so great that he soon succeeded in preventing the -flames from spreading to the other parts of the building; and their -progress being once arrested, they at last began to sink of themselves -from lack of combustible materials, and by degrees were altogether -subdued by the crowds of active and well-directed men, who thought and -talked of nothing but the Castle beer, and who worked to earn a skinful -of it. - -The sun had now risen on the scene of desolation. Toil-spent, and -overwhelmed with grief at the misery which appeared around him, as well -as vexation at the thought of how it had been occasioned, the Earl -dismounted from his horse and sat himself disconsolately down on a -stone by the side of the way. There Hepborne found and saluted him for -the first time since their separation of the previous evening. - -“’Tis a grievous spectacle, my Lord Earl,” said Sir Patrick, as he -observed the affliction that was pourtrayed on his Lordship’s -countenance, “’tis indeed a grievous spectacle; but thou hast the -pleasing gratification of thinking that, without thy timely presence -here, the ruin must have spread itself wider, and that if it had not -been for thy well-timed counsels and generous exertions not a house -would have been remaining at this moment within the burgh.” - -“Alas!” exclaimed the Earl, in a tone of extreme mortification, -“grievous as the calamity is, I am less moved by it than with the -tormenting reflection that it was the work of my wife’s brother. ’Tis -piteous, indeed, to listen to the lamenting of those helpless and -innocent people, but their wounds may be speedily salved by the aid of -a little paltry gold; whilst those which the Earl of Buchan hath -inflicted on the hearts of all connected with him by allowing a brutal -thirst of revenge to make him guilty of an act so cruel and outrageous, -must fester and rankle for many a day. What will the good old -greyheaded Monarch suffer when the news do reach him? Verily it doleth -me sorely that by my marriage I should be sykered with one who hath the -fear of God so little before his eyes. Yet must I not think of it. It -behoveth me now to remedy the mischief he hath wrought, and to set -about relieving the more immediate wants of the wretched people who -have lost their houses and their all. Here, Martin,” cried he to one of -his esquires, “take these tablets; seek out some one who is well -informed as to the town and its inhabitants, and quickly bring me a -careful list of the houses that have been burned, together with the -name, sex, age, and condition of the inmates.” - -The squire hastened to obey the Earl’s command. Several of the knights, -his guests, who had followed him from the Castle, and who had given him -good assistance in extinguishing the fire, now came about him, pouring -out liberal congratulations on the success of his well-conceived and -promptly-executed measures; and while they formed a knot around him, -they were in their turn surrounded by crowds of the lower sort of -people, composed partly of the homeless sufferers, who were weeping and -wailing for the calamity that had befallen themselves and their little -ones, and pouring out curses against the ferocious Wolfe of Badenoch, -who had brought all this misery upon them. But these execrations on the -Earl of Buchan were not unmingled with blessings on the Earl of Moray -for his timely aid, without which the speakers felt that they too might -have been by this time rendered as destitute as their less fortunate -neighbours. Then many were the clamorous entreaties for charitable -succour; whilst those indifferent persons, who had assisted in subduing -the conflagration, were elbowing one another, and uttering many a broad -and rustic hint of the reward they looked for. At length Martin -appeared with his list. - -“Here,” said the Earl, aside to him, “into thy faithful hands do I -confide this purse; ’tis for the more immediate relief of those poor -people. Leave not the town until thou hast inquired into circumstances, -and done all thou canst to secure temporary accommodation for those who -have been rendered houseless. I shall take care to provide more -permanent aid for them anon.” - -This order, though given in a half whisper, was caught up by some of -those miserables, whose wretched and forlorn state had quickened their -ears to every sound which gave them the hope of relief. The news of the -Earl’s humane bounty spread among them more rapidly than the fire had -done over their possessions and property. Their gratitude burst forth -in shouts: - -“God bless the noble Earl of Moray!”—“Long live our noble -preserver!”—“Heaven reward our kind benefactor!”—“If his brother, the -wicked Wolfe of Badenoch, be a destroying devil, surely the good Earl -of Moray is a protecting angel!”—“May the best gifts of the Virgin be -upon him and his!” - -The Earl called for his horse, and mounted amid the cheers of the -populace. - -“Let all those who lent me their friendly aid on this occasion -forthwith follow me to the Castle,” cried he, and, glad to escape from -praises which, as they were bestowed on him at the expense of the -brother of his Countess, gave him more of pain than pleasure, he turned -his horse’s head in the direction of the Castle, and rode off, -accompanied by Sir Patrick Hepborne and the rest of the knights who -were with him, and followed at a distance by a shouting and ragamuffin -rabble, who were eager to moisten their hot and parched throats from -the capacious and hospitably-flowing cellars of Tarnawa. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XL. - - In the Countess of Moray’s Apartments—Sir Patrick gets Quizzed. - - -The Earl and his friends had no sooner reached Tarnawa, than they -retired, each to his own chamber, to enjoy a few hours’ rest. Sir -Patrick Hepborne made inquiry for his page, but the latter was nowhere -to be found at the time; so, leaving orders that the youth should be in -attendance, he gladly committed his wearied limbs to the comforts of -his couch. - -It was about midday when he raised his head from his pillow, and his -first thought was to call for Maurice de Grey; but a lacquey informed -him that the youth had not yet appeared. He sent the man for Mortimer -Sang, and when the esquire came, he was much disappointed to learn that -he had seen or heard nothing of the boy. - -“Go then, I pr’ythee,” said Sir Patrick, “and make diligent inquiry for -the youth through the Castle, and when thou hast found him, send him -hither without a moment’s delay. Verily, it seemeth that he doth -already begin to forget that I am his master.” - -Sang hastened to obey, but remained absent much longer than Sir -Patrick, in his anxiety about the boy, could think reasonable. The -knight walked hastily about the room, and at length becoming very -impatient, he sent first one lacquey, and then another, after the -esquire. At last Mortimer Sang returned. - -“Well, where is Maurice de Grey?” demanded Hepborne. - -“By the mass, Sir Knight, I can gain no tidings of him.” - -“’Tis very strange,” replied the knight, with a look of much vexation. -“I do much fear me that the youth is of a truant disposition; it was -indeed that which gave him to me. He ran away from his paternal home, -and from maternal care, united himself to my party, and how oft did he -solemnly and hautently vow never to quit me until death should sever -us! His present absence doth wear a very mysterious and suspicious -aspect.—Hath the old Harper been seen?” demanded Sir Patrick, after a -pause, during which he paced the room two or three times backwards and -forwards. - -“Nay, Sir Knight,” replied the squire, “he hath not been visible.” - -“Depardieux, then they must have gone off together,” replied Sir -Patrick, with a tone of extreme dissatisfaction; “’tis most like that -the minstrel, who must have known him before, hath aided, and perhaps -been the partner of his escape. Yes, they must have been well -acquainted, seeing that old Adam did so greatly frequent the English -Border, and that he was so much esteemed by the Lady Eleanore de ———, I -mean, by the page’s kinswoman. Well, I shall feel the loss of the boy’s -company, for, sooth to say, his prattle did often beguile me of a dull -hour. Truly, he was a shrewd and winning youth; but I am sore grieved -to discover that he hath had in him such deceit, and so little feeling -for the kindness I did ever show him.” - -With these words, the knight threw himself on the couch, altogether -unable to conceal the chagrin and distress of mind he was suffering. - -“Perdie, I should have been as a father to that boy,” said he again; “I -should have made him a knight worthy of the highest place in the annals -of chivalry. The youth seemed to value, yea, and to give heed to my -counsels too; nay, the admiration with which he looked up to me might -have been almost considered as ridiculous, had it not been viewed as -the offspring of extreme attachment. He spoke as if he imagined that I -was all excellence, all perfection. What strange cause can have -occasioned his so sudden abandonment of me, and that, too, without -having given me the smallest warning or hint of his intention? Did not -I, more than once, tell him that I should be willing to aid his return -to his friends, should he ever feel a desire to do so? His escapade is -an utter mystery to me. Ha! I have it,” continued he, after a short -pause of consideration; “I trow, I have hit it at last. The youth hath -some turn, nay, and, I wot, no mean one neither, for poesy and song; -moreover, he toucheth the harp with liard and skilful fingers; and -seeing that he is fond of change, he hath, ’tis like, taken fancy to -become a troubadour, and so has exchanged me as his master for old Adam -of Gordon. Well, well, why should I vex myself about a silly, careless, -truant boy?” - -But Sir Patrick did, notwithstanding, vex himself most abundantly, and, -nearly an hour afterwards, he was found, still lying in peevish and -fretful soliloquy, by Mortimer Sang, who entered his chamber, with a -message from the Countess of Moray, entreating his company in her -apartment for a short conference. Sir Patrick hastily prepared himself -to attend her, and was immediately ushered into her presence by a -squire in waiting. - -He found his noble hostess seated with the Lady Jane de Vaux, in the -midst of her damsels, some of whom were employed in idle chitchat, -others in singing, from time to time, to the harp or guitar, whilst the -rest were assisting in an extensive work of embroidery. They were -immediately dismissed on his entrance, and the Countess came forward -graciously to receive him. - -“I fear, Sir Patrick,” said she, “that I may have perhaps broken in -rather prematurely upon those hours of repose which the fatigue of -yesternight’s violent, though charitable, exertions had doubtless -rendered as welcome as they were necessary. The Earl, my husband, was -so overspent with toil when he returned this morning, that he was -buried in slumber ere I had time to question him as to the cause of the -calamity, or even as to its full extent. I was on the eve of entreating -a few minutes’ audience of thee at that time, that I might have my -curiosity satisfied, but just as I was about to send my page to crave -this boon of thine, thy page, Maurice de Grey, came hither, and -informed me that thou also hadst betaken thee to thy couch. I have thus -been compelled to champ the bit of impatience ever sithence; but, -impatient as I am, I shall not easily forgive myself if I have been the -means of rudely disturbing thy needful refreshment.” - -“My page!” cried the knight with a mixture of surprise and eagerness, -and made him forget everything else that the Countess had said to him; -“verily, I have been seeking and sending for my page during the greater -part of the morning. I beseech your Ladyship, when was the little -varlet here, and what could have induced him to be so bold as to -intrude himself on the Countess of Moray?” - -“Nay,” replied the Countess, with an air of surprise no less strong -than that of Sir Patrick, “I did assuredly think that it was thou who -didst order him to come hither. He came to introduce a certain minstrel -to my notice, and in so doing to take the opportunity of paying his -duty to me, by thine own desire, ere the old man and he should depart -hence together.” - -“Depart hence!” cried Hepborne, with still greater astonishment, -mingled with excessive vexation; “depart hence, didst thou say? So then -the heartless boy hath really left me. Of a truth, when first I missed -him, I did suspect that he and the minstrel had gone off together. -Whither have they gone, I do beseech thee?” - -“Nay, that is indeed miraculous,” replied the Countess; “’tis indeed -miraculous, I say, that thou shouldst not have known the page was going -away; for albeit he did not positively say so, yet did he so -counterfeit with us that I for one did never doubt but that he came -hither by thy very command to do his obeisance to me ere he should yede -him hence. ’Tis a right artful youth, I’ll warrant me. Nay, Sir Knight, -methinks thou hast good reason to congratulate thyself on being so -happily rid of a cunning chit, who mought have worked thee much evil by -his tricks. Of a truth, I liked not his looks over much———” - -“Forgive me, noble lady,” cried the knight, “I cannot hear the boy -spoken of otherwise than as he may in justice deserve. I saw not ever -any trick or mischief in him; on the contrary, he did always appear -most doced in his demeanour and service. Moreover, he is a boy of most -sensible remark, and more prudence of conduct than one might reasonably -look for in a head so young and inexperienced; then as for his heart, -it was warmer than any I ever met with in old or young. I trow he did -prove to me more than once that his attachment to my person was -something beyond mere pretence. Twice did he nearly sacrifice his life -for me. What can have induced him to go off thus secretly? Had I been -cruel to him he might have fled from me with good reason; but I loved -the boy as I should have loved a younger brother, yea, or a son, if I -had had one. There was so much gentleness about him; yet lacked he not -a sly, sharp, and subtle wit.” - -“Yea, of a truth, he hath a wit,” cried the Lady Jane de Vaux, archly; -“ay, and as you say, Sir Knight, ’tis indeed a sharp one. How the -wicked rogue did amuse us by the rehearsal of thy loves, Sir Knight! I -do mean thy loves for his fair cousin, the beauteous Lady Eleanore de -Selby. Ha, ha, ha! parfay, the varlet did stir up some excellent -good-humoured pleasantry and merry laughter in us.” - -“In truth, his stories were most amusing,” said the Countess; “trust -me, it is a smart and witty little knave as ever I saw.” - -“A most rare and laughter-stirring imp, indeed,” cried the Lady Jane de -Vaux; “nay, the mere remembrance of him doth provoke me yet—ha, ha, -ha!” - -Sir Patrick Hepborne stood confounded and abashed, to find himself thus -unexpectedly placed as a butt for the ridicule of the two ladies. - -“My noble Countess of Moray, and you, beauteous Lady Jane de Vaux, you -do seem to have vouchsafed me the honour of being your quintaine this -morning—the targe against the which you may gaily prove the sharp -points of your merry wit. Depardieux, my lot in being so selected is to -be envied, not deplored; and I must thank you for the distinguished -preference you have deigned to show me. Yet cannot I but feel -disappointment most severe, to discover thus that a youth, towards whom -I was so well affected, should have requited my love so ill-favouredly. -Of a truth, the wicked knave hath been most indiscreet. And yet meseems -that I myself have been even more indiscreet than he, since the secret -was altogether mine own, and I ought to have kept it better.” - -“In good sooth, we were much indebted to the imp for his information,” -said the Lady Jane de Vaux; “for to be free with thee, Sir Knight, our -stock of female curiosity, the which was raised highly by the public -refusal of so renowned a chevalier to drink a pledge to his lady love, -was beginning to be much an over-match for our limited store of -patience. Our appetite for intelligence regarding the state of thy -heart was waxing so great, that had not this boy of thine come to us -this morning, to open his wallet and satisfy our craving, we might ere -this have been dead of mere starvation. His visit here was quite a -blessing to us.” - -“By St. Andrew, I am thunderstruck,” cried the Knight, “Depardieux, the -young caitiff hath indeed deceived me deeply in thus betraying the most -sacred secret of my heart.” - -“Of a truth, thine unexampled constancy did deserve better treatment, -Sir Knight,” said the Countess, with a tone and manner tinged with a -certain degree of asperity and sarcasm, which Hepborne hardly believed -that amiable lady could have assumed; whilst, at the same time, she and -Jane de Vaux exchanged very significant looks. With an effort to -command herself, however, she turned the conversation rather suddenly -towards the subject of the burning of Forres; and after gathering from -Hepborne the general circumstances of that calamity, she, with more -than usual dignity, signified to him her wish to be alone, and he -retired to his apartment, to fret himself about the loss of his page, -and the provoking circumstances by which it was accompanied. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XLI. - - Rory Spears, the Earl’s Henchman. - - -Sir Patrick Hepborne left the apartments of the Countess of Moray -melancholy and unhappy. He retired to his own chamber, to ruminate on -the ingratitude of his heartless page; and, when the hour of the -banquet arrived, he went to the Hall of Randolph with a mind but little -attuned to harmonize with its festivities. But it was more in unison -with his feelings than he had anticipated. The Countess of Moray, who -was by this time fully aware that the destructive fire of Forres had -been kindled by her brother’s hand, was unable to appear; and her -example was followed by most of the other ladies. The Earl of Fife, -too, and several other nobles and knights, were absent. The Earl of -Moray was indeed present; but he was there only in body, for his -thoughts seemed to be elsewhere. All his attempts to rally his spirits -were unavailing, and the sombre air which hung upon his countenance -speedily spread along the gay ranks of the festive board, to the -extinction of everything like mirth. - -In this state of things, the Earl speedily broke up the feast. He had -serious thoughts of breaking up the tournament also, and these he -privately communicated to his brother-in-law, the Earl of Fife; but -that crafty politician objected to a measure which could only make his -brother’s outrage the more talked of; and he had a still stronger -reason in his own mind, for he did not wish to be deprived of the -opportunity, afforded him by the tournament, of gaining over friends to -the party he was forming to strengthen his own power. It was therefore -finally determined that next day it should be solemnly proclaimed by -the heralds. - -The Earl of Moray and his lady passed a sleepless night, turning in -their minds how they could best repair the wrong done by their brother, -the Wolfe of Badenoch. Early in the morning one of the Countess’s -favourite damsels, Katherine Spears by name, came to beseech an -audience of the Earl for her father, Rory Spears. There was nothing -extraordinary in this request, for the Earl was so much the friend of -his people that he was ever ready to lend an ear to the complaints of -the meanest individual among them. The man who now craved an interview -was an old partizan of the Earl’s, who had fought under his banner and -at his back in many a battle, and who was employed in time of peace in -hunting, hawking, and fishing. - -As the Earl had a peculiar regard for Rory Spears, the damsel was -ordered to send him up immediately to a small turret room, where his -Lordship usually received people in his rank of life. Rory’s heavy -fishing boots were soon heard ascending the turret stair, and his bulky -figure appeared, followed by a great rough allounde and one or two -terriers. As Katherine showed him in, there was something peculiarly -striking in the contrast between her sylphlike figure, delicate face, -and ladylike air, and his Herculean mould and rough-hewn features, in -which there was a strangely-mixed and contradictory expression of -acuteness and simplicity, good nature, and sullen testiness. His huge -shoulders had a natural bend forward, and a profusion of grizzled curls -mingled in bushy luxuriance with the abundant produce of his cheeks, -lips, and chin. On his head was a close red hood, that lay over his -neck and back, and he wore a coarse grey woollen jerkin and hauselines, -covered with an ample upper garment of the same materials, and of a -form much resembling that constituting a part of the fisherman’s garb -of the present day. In one hand he brandished a long pole with a sharp -iron hook at the end of it, the bend of the hook being projected into a -long pike, and the whole so constructed as to be equally serviceable as -a hunting-spear or as a fish-clip. He stooped yet more as he entered -the low doorway of the turret room, and had no sooner established his -thick-soled boots upon the floor than he made an obeisance to the Earl, -with his cap under his arm. - -“What hath brought thee hither so early, friend Rory?” inquired the -Earl. - -“In good sooth, my noble Lord, I did think that the Castle mought maybe -be lacking provender, wi’ a’ thay knights, grandees, and lordlings ilka -day in the hall, an’ so mony o’ their people in the kitchen, so I did -gather some of the knaves with their horse beasts, and I hae brought -thee ower six fat deer, some wild pollayle, and a dozen or twa o’ -salmons, to help the buttery-man to fill his spense; ’tis no deaf nits, -I rauken, that’ll fill sae mony mouths.” - -“I thank thee, Rory,” said the Earl; “it was indeed most considerate in -thee; thy present is most welcome. How fares it with Alice, thy wife?” - -“Fu’ weel, my Lord Yearl,” replied Rory; “troth I see no complaints -about the woman. And how’s a’ wi’ my Lady Countess?” - -“A little indisposed to-day, Rory,” replied the Earl gravely. - -“Fie, fie! I’m sorry for that,” said Rory; “I’se warrant feasting and -galravaging mun agree but soberly wi’ her Ladyship’s honour. By St. -Lowry, but I’m no that mokell the better for it mysel when I drink ower -deep.” - -“Too much drink is certainly bad, Rory, though the Countess’s -indisposition hath nothing of that in it,” replied the Earl smiling: -“but a black-jack of ale can do thee but little harm of a morning, so -get thee to the kitchen, that thou mayest have thy draught.” - -“Thanks, my most noble Yearl,” cried Rory; “a black-jack full of -ale—nay, I spoke of gallons; it will take gallons to gi’ me an aching -head, I promise thee; nay, one gallon, or twa gallons, peraunter, would -do me but little harm. But that wasna just a’ my business, my Lord; I -hae something mair to speak to thee about. Wasn’t thee wanting a cast -o’ hawks?” - -“Yea, I did indeed much wish for some of these noble birds, the which -our rocks are famed for rearing, good Rory,” replied the Earl. “The -King hath heard of the excellence of our falcons, and I have promised -to send him a cast of them.” - -“Aweel, aweel, the King’s honour shanna want them an’ I can get a grup -o’ them,” replied Spears; “and sae your Lordship may tell him frae me.” - -“Thanks, good Rory, for thy zeal,” replied the Earl; “get thee then to -the kitchen, and have thy morning’s draught.” - -“But that was not just a’ that I had to say to thine honourable -Lordship,” said Rory, still lingering. - -“I do opine that thou lackest advice and assistance in some little -matter of thine own, friend Rory?” said the Earl smiling. - -“Troth, my noble Lord Yearl, thou art not far from the mark there; and -yet it’s not just mine own matter neither, though some few years mought -peraunter ha’ made it mine; but it’s nobody’s now but his who hath got -it.” - -“Nay, now thou art somewhat mystical, Rory,” said the Earl; “come to -the point at once, I pr’ythee, and effunde thy whole tale distinctly to -me, for my time is rather precious this morning.” - -“The short and the long, then, of this matter, my Lord Yearl, is, that -my wife’s mother hath been robbed of fifty broad pieces,” replied Rory. - -“What! old Elspeth of the Burgh? who can have done so foul a larcen?” -demanded the Earl. - -“Ay, good my Lord, just our old mother Elspeth,” replied Spears. “The -money was the hard earnings of her goodman, the smith, who, rest his -soul, was a hard-working Christian, as thou mayest remember.” - -“And how did this wicked stouthrief happen?” inquired the Earl. - -“By the mass, I will tell thee as speedily as may be, my Lord,” replied -Rory. “It was but the night before last, that is to say, the night o’ -the brenning o’ the Burgh, that it did happen. The haflins lassie that -looketh after old Lucky was sent out to bring her tidings o’ the fire. -Thee knawest that the poor soul downa easily budge from eild; and as -she did lig in her blankets she hearden a heavy foot in the place; and -when she got up she did find the kist opened, and the old leathern -purse with her money gone.” - -“’Tis a hard case, indeed,” said the Earl; “and hast thou any -suspicions, Rory?” - -“Nay, for a matter o’ that, I hae my own thoughts,” replied Rory; “yet -I canna say that I am just sicker anent it; but cannot thou do nought, -my noble Yearl?” - -“Do thou use all thine ingenuity to find out the thief,” said the Earl; -“I shall see what my people may be able to do to aid thee; and if we -discover the rogue, a court shall be summoned, and he shall straightway -hang for his villainy.” - -“Thanks, my good Lord,” replied Rory, making his obeisance preparatory -to departure; “verily I am much beholden to thee; but an’ we recover -not the broad pieces, we shall gain little by the foiterer’s neck being -lengthened; yet I’ll see what may be done to catch him.” - -“Do so, Rory,” said the Earl; “thou shalt have the aid of some of my -people, and I do wish thee success.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XLII. - - The Lovely English Damosel. - - -“So,” said Rory Spears to his daughter, as she saw him out into the -court-yard of the Castle, previous to his departure, “my lady the -Countess hath bid thee attend to a young English damosel, sayest thou?” - -“Yea, and she is one of the sweetest, as well as one of the loveliest -damosels I did ever behold,” replied Katherine, “and of temper and -disposition most gentle and sunshiny. Of a truth, it is quite a -pleasure to be with her; I am already as if I had known her from -infancy. She is so gently condescending with me, that I could live with -her for ever.” - -“What, wouldst thou forget thy benefactress to cleave to a stranger?” -exclaimed Rory Spears, in a tone of reproach. - -“Nay, verily, not so,” replied Katherine. “The duty I owe the Countess, -and, above all, the love and gratitude I bear her, are too strong to -permit me ever to forget her; but whatever my lady wills me to do, I am -bound to do; and I own I do feel grateful to her for laying no more -disagreeable task on me than that of attending on one so truly amiable -as this English lady.” - -“English leddy here, or English leddy there, what is ony English leddy, -compared to the Countess of Moray?” replied Rory Spears impatiently. “I -like not newfangledness—I like not to see thee relish any one but thy -noble mistress, to whom thou shouldst ever cleave. She hath made a -woman o’ thee, for the whilk may the Virgin’s blessing be about her. -She hath caused thee to be taught many things; but let me not have the -grief and vexation to find that thou hast forgotten the plain simple -lesson o’ hamely virtue, and right acting, and the kindly feelings that -I did put into thy young heart when thou wert but as a wild kid o’ the -craigs, that is, when thou wert my bairn; for, from thy leddy lear and -tutoring, thou art now far aboon a simple man like me. Yet dost ane -honest warm heart, simple though it be, lift up him that carries it to -be the make of the very greatest and wisest among the judges o’ the -land, and so I am even wi’ thee, lassie, and enteetled to speak to -thee, learned as thou art, and foolish though I be. Let not thy heart -dance away after strangers.” - -“My dearest father, thou hast much misjudged me,” replied Katherine. -“This lady hath robbed me of no title of mine affection for the Earl -and Countess, whom I do most ardently love, yea, as second parents; -nay, I do love them hardly less than I do my mother and thee.” - -“Thou shouldst love them more, lassie,” cried Rory, with great energy -and emphasis. “Much as we may have claim to thine affection, what have -we done for thee that may equal the bounteous blessings they have -conferred?” - -“Thou art my father, and Alice is my mother,” replied Katherine, -seizing his rough horny hands, and looking up in his weather-beaten -face and smiling affectionately. “Thou kennest thou didst put notions -of virtue and of right acting, yea, and kindly feelings, into my young -heart; and do I owe thee nothing for sike gifts?” - -“Nay, Kate, thy lear hath made thee an overmatch for me,” cried Rory, -quite overcome, and, embracing his daughter with the tears pouring over -his cheeks; “God bless thee, my bairn—I fear not for thy heart; but, by -St. Lowry, I must away. My blessing rest with thee, Kate. Ho there, -loons, hae ye redd your beast horses o’ their burdens?” - -“Ou ay, Maister Spears,” replied one of the men who came with him. - -“Let’s on, then,” exclaimed he; so, striking the end of his pole to the -ground, and whistling shrilly on his dogs, he moved hastily out by the -Castle gate at the head of his ragged troop. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XLIII. - - Mustering for the Tournament—The Proclamation—The Procession at St. - John’s Chapel. - - -The lists were now finished, and the crests and blazoned coat-armour of -such knights as meant to tilt were on this day to be mustered in the -little chapel of St John’s. Chivalry was to be alive in all its gaudy -pomp. Hitherto the knights had loitered about idle, or wasted the hours -in sighing soft things into the delighted ears of their lady-loves, or -in playing with them at chess or tables. Some, indeed, had more -actively employed themselves, in hawking or hunting, and others had -formed parties at bowls; but now all was to be bustle and busy -preparation in the Castle, both with knights and ladies. - -By dawn of day, squires, pages, and lacqueys, were seen running in all -directions. Armour was observed gleaming in the ruddy beams of the -morning sun; proud crests and helms, and nodding plumes, and -richly-emblazoned shields and surcoats, and glittering lances, and -flaunting banners and pennons, everywhere met the eye. The Earl of -Moray, who had much to direct and to decide on, was compelled to shake -off the sombre and distressing thoughts that oppressed him, and even to -use his eloquence with the Countess, to induce her to rouse herself -from the grief she had been plunged into by the shame her brother, the -Wolfe of Badenoch, had brought upon her. She also had important duties -to perform; and the first burst of her vexation being now over, she -exerted her rational and energetic mind to overcome her feelings, and -to prepare for the proper execution of them. - -To gratify to the fullest extent that fondness for parade which so -powerfully characterised the age, and to render the spectacle as -imposing as possible, the whole of the knights, with their respective -parties, were ordained to appear in the Castle-yard, where, having been -joined by the ladies, it was intended they should be formed into a -grand procession, in which they were to ride to the Mead of St John’s, -to witness the herald’s proclamation. - -Sir Patrick Hepborne was early astir, and his attendants and horses -were all assembled before the Castle-yard began to fill. In the midst -of them waved his red pennon, bearing his achievement on a chevron -argent, two lions pulling at a rose. The parade that Mortimer Sang had, -with great good judgment, selected for them, was immediately opposite -to the window of the apartment which he knew was occupied by Katherine -Spears, whose melting eyes had much disturbed his repose, and had -created no small turmoil in his bosom. Mortimer yet hoped to win his -spurs, in which event, the daughter of Rory Spears, though he was -reputed rich, might have hardly, perhaps, been considered a proper -match for him. But Master Sang could not resist the fascination of -Katherine’s talk; and when in her company, he was so wrapped in -admiration of her, that he invariably forgot that Rory Spears was her -father, or that she had ever had a father at all. The damsel, for her -part, looked with inexpressible delight on the soldier-like form of -Squire Mortimer, and listened with no less pleasure to his good-natured -sallies of humour, graced, as they always were, with much of the polish -of travel. - -The sound of the trumpets, as the party of each respective knight -appeared within the arched gateway of the Castle’s outworks, now came -more frequent, and the neighing of impatient steeds, provoking one -another in proud and joyous challenge, became louder, and the shrill -voices of the pursuivants were heard, proclaiming the name, rank, and -praises of each chevalier as he appeared. The sun shone out bright and -hot, increasing the glitter of the gold-embossed armour of the knights, -and the splendour of their embroidered pennons and banners, their -richly-emblazoned surcoats, and their horse-furniture, that swept the -very ground as the coursers moved. - -As Sir Patrick Hepborne passed outwards, on his way to descend to the -courtyard, he found the Earl of Moray already upon the terrace, arrayed -in all his pride. Behind him stood his standard-bearer, supporting the -staff of his banner in an inclined position, so that its broad silk -hung down unruffled by a breath of air, displaying on a golden field -the three cushions pendant, within a double tressure, flowered and -counterflowered with fleurs-de-lys gules. - -“Sir Patrick,” said he, “thou art yet in good time. If it so please -thee to tarry here with me for some short space, I will endeavour to -teach thee some of the names and titles of those gallant chevaliers who -are beginning to throng the yard of the Castle below. Thou dost already -know my brother, the Earl of Dunbar, who standeth yonder, with his red -surcoat covered with argent lions rampant; and I have also made thee -know him with whom he holdeth parlance, who beareth an ostrich proper -as his crest, and who hath his surcoat emblazoned gules, with a fess -cheque argent and azure, to be the brave Sir David Lindsay of Glenesk, -my worthy brother-in-law. With him is the proud Sir Thomas Hay of -Errol, Constable of Scotland, who standeth alike sykered to me. Thou -seest he beareth as his crest a falcon proper, and the silver cloth of -his surcoat is charged with three red escutcheons. - -“But see how the noble Douglas’s flaming salamander—jamais -arrière—riseth over the towering crests around him; and as he shifts -his place from time to time, thou mayest catch a transient glimpse of -the bloody hearts that cover his argent field. Yonder hart’s head -erased proper, attired with ten tynes, and bearing the motto, Veritas -vincit, tells us that the wearer is Sir John de Keith, son of the -Knight Marischal of Scotland. His emblazonry is hid from thee at -present, but peraunter thou art aware that his coat-armour is argent on -a chief or, three pallets gules. Yonder surcoat of cloth of gold with -three mascles on a bend azure, as thou mayest have already discovered, -veils the armour of Sir John Halyburton, than whom no knight hath a -firmer seat in saddle, or a tougher arm to guide his ashen spear. Thou -seest he weareth the red scarf of his lady-love attached to the Moor’s -head proper, that grinneth as his crest amid the plumes of his helmet.” - -“I do know him well, my Lord,” replied Sir Patrick; “it hath pleased -him to admit me already into close friendship.” - -“Ha!” continued the Earl, “seest thou yonder knight, who rideth so -gaily into the court-yard, with his casque surmounted by a buck’s head -couped proper, attired or? He is as brave a chevalier as ever spurred -in field—Sir John de Gordon, Lord of Strathbolgy; his azure banner -waves behind him, charged with three boars’ heads couped or. That -knight who beareth for his crest a sleuth-hound proper, collared and -leished gules, and whose gold-woven surcoat is charged with three red -bars wavy—he, I mean, who now speaketh to the Douglas as he leaneth on -his lance—is his brother-in-law, Sir Malcolm Drummond. Next to him -stands Sir Alexander Fraser of Cowie, known by his azure coat, and his -three cinquefeuilles argent. - -“Thou mayest know the Earl of Sutherland by the gravity of his air, as -well as by his richly embroidered red surcoat, displaying three stars -within a border or, and the double tressure flowered and -counterflowered with fleurs-de-lys of the field, marking his descent -from King Robert the First. His helm beareth the cat sejant proper, -with the motto, Sans peur. Behind him standeth Hugh Fraser, Lord of -Lovat, with his crest, a stag’s head erased or, armed argent, and his -azure coat charged with three argent cinquefeuilles. - -“Ha! ha! ha! there thou comest, thou mad wag, Sir William de Dalzell, -with thine erect dagger on thy helm, and thy motto, I dare. Depardieux, -thou mayest well say so, for, by St. Andrew, thou wilt dare anything in -lists or in field. Thou seest, Sir Patrick, that his sable surcoat hath -on it a naked man, with arms extended proper. That lion passant, -quardant gules, doth ornament the silver surcoat of Sir Walter Ogilvie -of Wester Powrie, Sheriff of Forfar and Angus; and yonder golden coat, -with the three red crescents, doth cover the armour of Sir William -Seaton of Seaton. That argent lion rampant is the crest of Sir Robert -Bruce of Clackmannan; thou seest his golden coat hath a saltire and -chief gules. That crest, a boar’s head couped or, marks Sir Gillespie -Campbell of Lochow; and the unicorn’s head, near it, is that of Sir -William Cunninghame of Kilmaurs. My neighbour, Sir Thomas de Kinnaird -of Cowbin, is easily known by his red surcoat, bearing a saltire -between four golden crescents. He that holdeth converse with him, and -hath three silver buckles on a bend azure on his silver surcoat, is Sir -Norman de Leslie of Rothes. Behind him is Sir Murdoch Mackenzie of -Kintail; his surcoat is hid from our view, but he beareth, on an azure -field, a stag’s head embossed or. - -“Yonder knight, who rideth in at this moment, clad in a golden surcoat, -blazoned with a bend azure, charged with a star of six points between -two crescents of the field, is Sir Walter Scott of Rankelburn, as brave -a Borderer as ever rode with his lance’s point to the South. With him -cometh a chevalier, whose crest is an erect silver spur winged; he is -Sir John de Johnston, one of the guardians of the Western Marches. He -who cometh after Sir John, bearing as his crest the bear’s paw holding -a scimitar, and who hath his red surcoat charged with a lion rampant -holding a crooked scimitar in his dexter paw, is Sir James Scrimgeour, -the Constable of Dundee, I wot a right famous knight. With him is a -knight also clad in a red surcoat, but having three golden stars; that -is Sir Henry Sutherland of Duffus. - -“Yonder sable eagle displayed on the argent surcoat, doth distinguish -the gallant Sir Alexander Ramsay, Lord of Dalwolsy; and that other -knight in silver, with the three sable unicorns’ heads, is Sir Henry de -Preston of Fermartyn. He in the azure——But hark, Sir Patrick, the -trumpets sound—the procession is about to be marshalled—we must descend -to the courtyard.” - -The trumpets had no sooner ceased than the voice of a pursuivant was -heard— - -“Oyez! oyez! oyez!—Let the standard-bearer of each noble and knight -take up the parade which the herald did already assign to him, there to -remain till he be duly marshalled.” - -Immediately the banners and pennons, which waved in numbers below, were -seen moving in various directions through the crowd, and each became -stationary at its fixed point, near the edge of the area of the -court-yard. This was a preliminary arrangement, without which the -herald would have found great difficulty in executing his duty. As it -was, he and his assistants soon began to bring the most beautiful order -out of the gay confusion that prevailed. The Earl of Fife, who was to -represent the King, appeared, and the Countess of Moray, and all the -ladies, gorgeously apparelled in robes of state, came forth from the -Castle, and began to mingle their slender and delicate forms with the -firm, muscular, war-proved, and mail-clad figures of the knights. - -At length all were marshalled and mounted; the court-yard shook with -the shrill clangour of the trumpets and kettle-drums, and the neighing -and prancing of the steeds; and the shouts that began to arise from the -vulgar thousands who were impatiently waiting without the walls, -announced that their eager eyes were at least gratified with the -appearance of the first part of the spectacle. - -Forth came some mounted spearmen and bowmen, before whom the dense -crowd began slowly to open and divide; and then some half-dozen -trumpets, with several kettle-drums and clarions, all riding two and -two. These were followed by a troop of pages, also riding in pairs, and -after them came a train of esquires, all gallantly mounted and armed, -and riding in the same order. Between the pages and the esquires were -some kettle-drums and trumpets as before. Then came the Royal Standard, -preceded by a strong band of trumpets, kettle-drums, and clarions, and -various other martial instruments, and guarded by some of the oldest -and noblest of the knights, and such as had no ladies present to claim -their attendance. The standard was followed by the Earl of Fife, who -rode a magnificent milk-white charger, armed and barbed at all points, -and caparisoned with regal splendour. On the present occasion he was -here acting as representative of the King his father, and the pomp of -his array was not inferior to what might have been looked for from a -crowned head. Before him rode six pages and six esquires; and eight -more pages walked, four on each side of his horse, supporting the poles -of a canopy of crimson velvet, covered with golden shields, bearing the -lion rampant gules. His golden surcoat, and the drapery of his horse, -were richly emblazoned with the rampant red lion, and his private -banner that followed bore the full blazon of his arms. The Earl of Fife -was attended by a number of elderly knights of noble blood, who acted -as his guards. - -After the King’s representative came the trumpets of the heralds, -followed by the pursuivants; immediately after them appeared the -heralds, in their crowns and robes; and in the middle of the latter was -Albany Herald, his horse led by a page on each side of him. He bore -before him, on a crimson velvet cushion, a helmet and sword of rare and -curious workmanship, which glittered with gold, and sparkled with -precious stones. These were to be the prize of him who, by universal -consent, should best acquit himself in the lists; and the very sight of -them called forth loud shouts of applause from the populace. -Immediately after the heralds came the Marischal and Speaker of the -Lists, attended by the Marischal’s men. - -After these came the Earl and Countess of Moray, richly attired, -magnificently mounted, and nobly attended. They were accompanied by the -Lord Welles, and his suit of English knights, to whom succeeded the -married knights who had ladies present, each riding according to his -rank, with his lady by his side, her palfrey being led by a page on -foot. Before each chevalier went his banner or his pennon, and he was -followed by his esquire, pages, and other attendants. Next came the -young or unmarried knights, also marshalled according to their rank, -each preceded by his banner or pennon, and followed by his squire and -cortège. But the youthful gallants were each bound round the neck with -a silken leash, which was held in gentle thrall by the fair hand of a -lady, who rode beside him on a palfrey, led by a foot page. It is -perhaps unnecessary to mention that Sir John Halyburton’s silken -fetters were held by the Lady Jane de Vaux. - -After the knights came another train of esquires, who were followed by -pages and lacqueys; and, lastly, the procession was closed by a -considerable force of spearmen, bowmen, and pole-axemen. - -The head of the procession had no sooner appeared through the echoing -gateway, than the air was rent with the repeated acclamations of the -populace, who formed a dense mass, stretching away from the outworks in -one uninterrupted mosaic of heads and faces, until they disappeared -beneath the shade of the distant trees of the woodland. The paltry -roofs of the cottages in the straggling hamlet were clustered so thick -that they looked like animated heaps of human beings; and the ancient -single trees that arose here and there among the hovels, were hung with -living fruit. The agitation and commotion of the motley and -party-coloured crowd was very great, but it expanded, and consequently -thinned itself, as the procession moved on, the whole flowing forward -like a vast river, until it lost itself in the depths of the forest, -where its winding course, and the appearing and disappearing of its -various parts among the boles of the trees, with the brilliant though -transient gleams produced by the sunbeams, that pierced their way now -and then downwards through accidental openings in the foliage, kindling -up the bright lance-heads and helmets, and giving fresh lustre to the -vivid colours of the proud heraldic emblazonments, lent an infinite -variety of effect to the spectacle. - -Whilst they moved over the green sod, under the leafy canopy of the -forest, the tramp of the horses was deafened, and the shouts of the -populace were in some sort muffled; but when the procession issued -forth on the Meads of St. John, the affrighted welkin rang again with -the repeated and piercing acclamations of a multitude which went on -increasing in numbers as they advanced, particularly after they had -crossed the bridge, and even until they reached the lists. The gates -and barriers were wide open, and the procession filed in. - -The Royal Standard was now hoisted over the crimson-covered central -balcony, in which the representative of the Sovereign was afterwards to -take his place, and it was hailed with prolonged cheers; while the -heralds, pursuivants, Marischal, and Speaker of the Lists, and the -judges of the field, having stationed themselves on a platform -immediately underneath the royal balcony, the procession formed itself -into a wide semi-circle in front of it. Meanwhile the galleries -surrounding the lists were rapidly filled up by the populace, and all -waited the issue with breathless impatience. - -The Albany Herald now advanced to the front of the platform, and, -holding up the prize sword and helmet in both hands, there was a -flourish of trumpets and kettle-drums, which was drowned by the -deafening shouts of the spectators. This had no sooner subsided, than -Albany, having commanded silence by means of the shrill voices of his -pursuivants, thus began:— - -“Oyez, oyez, oyez!—All ye princes, lords, barons, knights, esquires, -ladies, and gentlemen, be it hereby known to you, that a superb -achievement at arms, and a grand and noble tournament, will be held in -these lists, within four days from this present time, the acknowledged -victor to be rewarded with this helmet and sword, given by the noble -and generous John Dunbar, Earl of Moray. All ye who intend to tilt at -this tournament are hereby ordained forthwith to lodge your -coat-armouries with the heralds, that they may be displayed within the -holy chapel of St. John the Baptist, and this on pain of not being -received at the tournament. And your arms shall be thus:—The crest -shall be placed on a plate of copper, large enough to contain the whole -summit of the helmet; and the said plate shall be covered with a -mantle, whereon shall be blazoned the arms of him who bears it; and on -the said mantle, at the top thereof, shall the crest be placed, and -around it shall be a wreath of colours, whatsoever it shall please him. -Further be it remembered, that on the morning of the fourth day from -hence, the arms, banners, and helmets of all the combatants shall be -exposed at their stations; and the speakers shall be present at the -place of combat by ten of the horologue, where and when the arms shall -be examined, and approved or rejected, as may be fitting and right. The -chevaliers shall then become tenants of the field, and tilt with blunt -weapons in pairs, and then the victors shall tilt successively in -pairs, until they be reduced and amenused to two; and he of the two who -may the best acquit himself, shall receive from the hand of her whom he -may proclaim to be the most peerless damsel, the prize of the helmet -and sword.—God save King Robert!” - -The herald’s proclamation was received with a flourish of trumpets, -clarions, and kettle-drums, and the continued shouts of the people. -Silence being at length restored, - -“Pursuivant,” said he, “stand forth and deliver thee of the rules of -the tourney.” - -The pursuivant obeyed the orders of his superior, and proclaimed the -laws of the tourney item by item; after which the trumpets and kettles -again sounded, and the shouts of the populace were renewed. When they -had died away, the heralds with their attendants again mounted, and -then the procession moved round the lists in the order we have already -described, and, issuing from the same gate at which it had entered, it -proceeded slowly towards the adjacent chapel of St. John the Baptist, -which it entirely surrounded, and then halting, under the direction of -the heralds, it formed a wide circle about the beautiful little Gothic -building that stood in an open grove of tall ash-trees. - -“Oyez, oyez, oyez!” cried a pursuivant, “let the esquires of those -chevaliers who mean to tilt at this tournament for the prizes given by -the noble and generous John Dunbar, Earl of Moray, or who may, in any -manner of way, desiderate to challenge others, or to leave open to -others the power of challenging them to by-tilting for any other cause -whatsoever—let their esquires now advance, and let the heralds have -inspection of their crests and coat-armouries. He who shall fail to -comply, and whose crest and coat-armour shall not be up before sunset, -shall have no right to enter the lists as a tenant of the field in any -manner of way whatsoever, except always as to pages or squires, to -whom, for this day and to-morrow, the lists shall be open, to give all -such an opportunity of proving their manhood. Advance, then, ye -standard-men and esquires, that ye may deposit the gages which prove -your masters to be gentlemen of arms, blood, and descent; that ye may -see their trophies erected, and stay and watch each by his master’s -achievement, to mark whosoever may touch the same, that his knight’s -honour may not suffer by his neglecting the darreigne.” - -In obedience to this order, each knight sent his standard-man, and an -esquire or page, towards the chapel; and Sir Patrick Hepborne was about -to send Mortimer Sang, when that faithful esquire dropped on his knee -before him. - -“Nay, my good master, I do humbly crave a boon at thy hands,” said he; -“I do beseech thee let some other of thy people be chosen for this -duty, sith I should at least wish to be a free man for this day and -to-morrow, that I may do some little matter for mine own honour. By St. -Andrew, if I may but bestir myself decently, it will not be amiss for -thy credit, Sir Knight, seeing that a chevalier, whose personal -renommie hath been already established, may be even well enough excused -for amusing himself by taking pleasure in the well-doing of his horse, -his hound, or his hawk.” - -“Friend Mortimer,” replied Sir Patrick, “I do much rejoice that thou -hast the glorious desire of reaping laurels so strong within thee. -Trust me, I shall be no hindrance in thy way to fame, but rather I -shall hold fast the ladder, and aid thee to climb and reach it. Thy -time shall be thine own, and thou shalt be at full liberty to use thy -discretion. I shall be much interested in thy success, and shall have -small fear in thy commanding it; so get thee to one of the armourers of -the field, and fit thyself forthwith at my cost, in whatever thou -mayest lack.” - -The squire threw himself on one knee, and, kissing his master’s hand, -warmly expressed his gratitude, and then hastened away towards the -lists, to purchase from some of the armourers who had shops there, the -pieces of which he deemed himself in want, and Hepborne, for his part, -chose out another esquire to fulfil the duty of watching his -achievement in the chapel. - -The heralds having put everything in such order as might bear -inspection, now came forth from the chapel, and marshalling the nobles, -knights, and ladies into a foot procession, they led them through the -enclosure to the western door, where they entered to behold the -spectacle. The sight was most imposing. Along both sides of the nave, -and all the way up to the screen of the choir, were placed stands, each -covered by a plate of copper, on which stood the tilting helmet, -surmounted by the wreath and crest of the knight. The helmet rested on -the upper part of the mantle, so as to support it by the pressure of -its weight, whence it was expanded with the lower part of it spread on -the ground, in such a manner that the achievement emblazoned on it in -dazzling colours was fully stretched before the eye. Behind it, on the -right side, stood the squire or page who was appointed to watch it, and -on the left stood the standard-bearer, supporting the banner or pennon -of his master. - -“Advance, ladies, dames, and damosels,” cried the herald in a loud -voice, that made the groined roof re-echo; “advance and survey the -helmets, crests, and coat-armouries, and see whether thou mayest -peraunter descry the bearings of any traitor, malfaitor, or reviler of -the ladies; for if so be that such may be discovered by any, she shall -touch his crest, and both it and his achievements shall be thrust -hence, that he may have no tilting at this tournament. Advance, then, -and the herald shall descrive them in succession; and if any other -knight or achievement may yet appear this day before sunset, it is -hereby reserved to the ladies to exercise their right on him, if they -see fitting so to do.” - -The herald now led the knights and ladies in procession up the right -side of the nave, around the transept, and returned down the left side -of the nave; and having thus given them a general view of the whole, he -led them around three times more, during which he accurately described -the name and titles of each knight to whom the successive crests and -achievements belonged. One or two achievements were touched by some of -the younger knights, who wished to prove the firmness of their seat, -before the day of tournament, by trial in a by-tilting, with some -antagonist of their own selection, or against whom they wished to -establish the superior charms of their lady-love; but the more -experienced warriors, who had already well proved their lances -elsewhere, reserved their efforts for the grand day when the tournament -was properly to begin. - -The ceremony of surveying the crests and coat-armouries being now over, -the knights and ladies returned to their steeds, palfreys, and -attendants, and the whole were soon again in motion, though not in the -order or with the ceremony they had observed in their approach to the -lists, and to the Chapel of St. John’s. The procession was now broken -up into parties, and the Earl of Moray and his Countess, leading the -way with the Earl of Fife, all followed in gay disorder, with a less -chastened pace and less formal air. The ladies had freed their knights -from their temporary bonds, though they still held them by the mere -influence of their radiant eyes. The laughing Jane de Vaux went on in -the full enjoyment of her own triumph, and her face reflected the -smiles of her merry party, as she cantered joyfully over the Mead after -the Earl and Countess of Moray, to partake of a collation spread under -a large awning in front of the pavilions on the other side of the -river. - -Sir Patrick Hepborne’s pleasure in this rural feat was damped by the -marked distance with which the Countess of Moray now treated him. He -fatigued himself with attempts to account for a conduct so different -from the kind and easy reception she had given him at first; and he was -still more shocked to observe, that even the Earl himself seemed to -have adopted somewhat of the same freezing exterior since he had last -parted with him in the court-yard. He tried to persuade himself that it -was in a great measure fancy in him, and that in reality it was to be -explained by the natural tone of dignity which the day demanded; and -with this explanation he was obliged to content himself. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XLIV. - - The Italian Armourer—The Knight of Cheviot. - - -“Ha! Signor Andria Martellino, can it be? Do mine eyes deceive me, or -is it really thou whom I do thus behold in Scotland?” cried Mortimer -Sang, as he entered the temporary shop of an armourer, erected at the -back of one end of the lists; “by the mass, I should as soon have -looked to see our Holy Father the Pope in these parts, as thee in the -Mead of St. John’s.” - -The person the squire thus addressed was a tall, thin, shambling, -though athletic, black-a-viced looking man, whose very appearance -bespoke his long intimacy with ignited charcoal and sulphurous vapours, -and whose stooping shoulders argued a life of bending over the anvil, -whilst the length, swing, and sinew of his arms betrayed the power with -which he might still be expected to assail the stubborn metal. As Sang -spoke to him he opened a wide mouth from ear to ear, so that the large -gold rings that ornamented their pendulous cartilages almost appeared -to issue from the corners of it, and replied with a grin of immediate -recognition. - -“Eh! Signore Mortimero Sang, how I am verri glad to see dee. Dee be -verri vell, I do hope? E il vostro padrone, il Cavaliere?—Eh! il -Cavaliere Seer Pietro Hepborne, I hope he is good?—sta bene?—Preet -vell, eh?” - -“Yes,” replied Sang, “I thank God, he is well; he is here upon the -field.” - -“Ha, ha!” returned the armourer, “Seer Pietro wid dee here? Ha, I glad -to hear dat. I glad to see heem. San Lorenzo, he alvays moss good for -me. Sempre, sempre mi fa molto bene. He do me more vell dan all de oder -Cavalieri in de leest at Paris; he break more shield, more -breast-plate, more helmet of knight, dan all de oder who did joust. -Dite mi, Signor Mortimero, dos he vant anyding in my vay? I have moss -good armour, all made of right good Milano metal—tutta fabricata nella -fabrica mia—all made in my vat dee do call vorksop. Dere, guardate, see -vat a preet show. Aha!” continued he, as he opened a door that led from -the temporary workshop, where his assistant workmen were labouring at -the forge, into an inner place, where there was a grand display of -armour, and weapons of all sorts and sizes, ready for immediate use; -“dou mayest see I can feet il Cavaliere Seer Pietro vid anyding dat he -may vant in my vay.” - -“Nay,” replied Sang, “I do opine that Sir Patrick lacketh nothing in -thy way; he is right well supplied with all necessary gear at present.” - -“Ah!” said the Italian, “I am verri sorri, verri sorri for dat. I glad -to gif him armour for noding at all; he do cause me moss good vid the -vicked blows he do give. Ha! it vas vonder to see heem. I do make -armour to stand against the blows of de Diavolo heemself—ma, for Seer -Pietro—no; he cut troo anyding. I verri glad to arm heem for noding—si, -Signor Mortimero, for noding at all.” - -“Eh! sayest thou so, Signor Martellino, my master?” exclaimed Sang, -with a knowing look; “by the mass, but I am right glad to find thee so -liberally disposed, yea, and all the more, too, that thou dost seem to -have sike mountance of the very articles I do lack. By St. Baldrid, -though Sir Patrick hath no need to put thy generosity to the preve in -his own proper person, I shall do my best to pleasure thee, and shall -strive so far to overcome my delicacy, and to yield me to thy volunde, -as to coart myself to accept of a helmet and a complete suit of plate -from thee on gift.” - -“Eh, cospetto! no, no, no, Signor Mortimero, mio caro,” hastily replied -the Italian starting back, and screwing up his mouth, and shrugging his -shoulders; “eh, povero me, quello non poso fare—I not can do dat. Ma, -dou not intend vat I do mean. I not do mean dee; but I do mean il -Signor Cavaliere Pietro Hepborne, il vostro padrone. It vas heem I do -speak about.” - -“Nay, I do comprehend thee perfectly,” answered Sang; “but as it is -with my master’s money that I must pay for what I may buy from thee, I -was in full thought that thou mightest have been filled with jovisaunce -thus to discover a mode of showing thy gratitude and regard towards -him, by haining his purse, and giving that gratis the which he must -otherwise lay out for so largely.” - -“Ha! Signor Mortimero caro,” said Andria, “ma non m’intendete ancora; -dou not intend vat I do say yet. Il Signor Cavaliere Pietro Hepborne e -voi sono du persone; ha! dou and dy master not von man. I do say -(figurativamente) dat I moss glad to arm Seer Pietro, because he do -vork moss mischief to de arms of de oder knights, so moss dat he more -dan pay me by vat I sell to dem, for all vat I mote gif him. He do cut -out good vork and good sell for me; ma voi siete vat you call an -apprentiss in de joost. I give dee good armour! Ha, ha! it vould be all -destroy in one leettel momento, and dou voud do leettel harm to dose -dat mote be against dee. Ah-ha! dou voud destroy no von man’s armour -but dine own. Ha! dou hast de good coraggio, and de stout leems; ma, -per Baccho, dy skeel is not like dat of dy padrone, Seer Pietro.” - -“Nay, as to that,” said Sang, laughing good-naturedly, “thou mayest be -right enow, Signor Andria; yet meseemed that the stream of thy -generosity did run best when thou didst ween that no one thirsted. But -I am glad to see thee so well provided with good steel plate, from the -which I must now supply myself, sith that thou wilt not be generous; -and though they be dear, yet of a truth I do ken that thy goods are -ever of the best.” - -“Ah-ha! Signor Sang,” answered the Italian, with an air of triumph, -“adesso avete ragione—dou art right; la mia armadura è fabricata -d’acciajo stupendissimo de Milano—vat dou voud call de best steel of -Milano. Dere is not no von as do work in vat dou call steel as do know -his trade better; dere is no armajuolo is so good as mine broder and -me. Bah! Giacomo dere dost make so moss noise vid his hammaire dat I -not see myself speak. Come dis vay, Signor Mortimero, com dis vay—come -into dis appartamento, and I make dee see all vat do make thee vonder.” - -“Holy St. Andrew, what sort of men dost thou look to meet with in -Scotland, when thou dost bring sike armour as that?” cried Sang, as he -entered, and pointed to an enormous suit of plate armour that hung at -one side of the farther wall of the place; “why that must be intended -for a giant.” - -“Ha, ha, ha, he! so dou dost vonder already, Signor Sang,” said the -Italian; “I did look for dy vonder, but I did not tink so dat I voud -see dee vonder for dat; I not tink but dou didst see dat in my store at -Paris. I have had him verri long—ma no, I do remember dat ’tis not long -since mine broder Giuseppe did bring him from our store at Milano. He -and anoder I did sell yesterday morning vas make by mine broder -Giuseppe, for de two ends of de store at Milano, for show. Dey look -verri preet at de two ends of de appartamento dere, vere we did show de -armour for sell. I never tink I sell von or oder, or dat I ever see von -man dat mote be big enow to wear dem. But yesterday morning I have de -good fortune to meet vid von Polypheme, who did come to me, vid von -mout I fear he did eat me up. He did vant armour. Eh, morte, I do tink -I did feet him ven none oder von man in Europe have done it but -mineself. I make him pay vell; ma, ven you see armourers like de -broders Martellini—Andria me, e Giuseppe, mine broder—de first -armourers in the vorld?” - -“True, true,” replied Sang, “ye are both mighty men-at-arms, and ye -seem to know it as well, too; though, from what I know of ye both, ye -do ken better how to make a sword than to use it. But come, we lose -time. Hand me down that tilting helmet, that cuirass, and those -vantbraces and cuisses. Let me see, I say, what thou hast got that may -fit me for a turn or two in the lists. I must e’en try what I can do, -an ’twere only to hack and destroy some steel-plate to win thy favour, -and so screw up thy generosity, that I may earn a gratis suit from thee -for my prowess one of these days.” - -“Aha! Signor Sang, den must dou joost vid some knight dat vear de -armour of dat donner Tedesche at de oder end of de leest,” cried -Martellino, with a sarcastic air of triumph; “dat stupid Meenher -Eisenfelsenbroken, dat do pretend to make de armour as good as me. Eh, -he! quel bericuocolajo! dat do make his breastplate of de bread of de -gingaire, his vork vill split more easy; ma, for dat sell by de -Martellini, no, dou not break it so fast, caro Signor Sang.” - -“Perdie, if I can but meet with that same Polypheme of whom thou didst -talk, I will at least try the metal of thy brother Giuseppe’s plate.” - -While the squire was in the act of fitting himself with what he wanted, -a new customer came into the front shop or forge, where the armourer’s -men were working strenuously, with heavy and repeated strokes, at a -piece of iron that glowed at that moment on the anvil. It was Rory -Spears. - -“Hear ye me, lads,” roared he; “will ye haud yer din till I speak?” - -The hammers fell thicker and faster, for the men heard him not. - -“Dinna ye hear me? Haud yer din. I tell ye, till I effunde three words. -Na, the red fiend catch ye, then—devil ane o’ ye will stop. Haud yer -din, I tell ye,” shouted Rory, at the very top of his voice; but if it -had been like that of ten elephants united, it must have had as little -effect as that of a weasel amidst such thunder. The furious grimaces -and gesticulations that accompanied it were sufficiently visible, and -the iron having now become cold, the men stopped of their own accord, -and gave him an opportunity of being heard. - -“Ay, by St. Lowry, I thought I should gar ye hear at length. Seest thou -here, lad,” continued he, addressing one of the men in particular, and -at the same time holding out to him the strange amphibious weapon he -usually carried, “seest thou here, my man? my clip-gaud lacketh -pointing; try what thou mayest do to sharpen it.” - -The man understood not his words, but comprehended his signs, and -nodded assent; then pointing to the work they were busy about, he made -Rory aware that he must wait until they had finished it. - -“Ou, ay, weel-a-weel,” said Rory, “Ise tarry here till thou be’st ready -to do the job;” and sitting down on a stool, he began peering about -with his eyes in all directions. - -The door of the inner apartment being open, he sent many a long look -through the doorway, as Mortimer Sang and Andria Martellino crossed and -re-crossed his field of vision. The squire at last appeared, fully -armed cap-a-pie. - -“Ha!” said he, as he strode forth, well contented with himself, “ha! -this will do—this will do bravely.” - -“Ou, Maister Sang, art thou bound for the lists too,” said Rory Spears. - -“Hey, Master Spears, art thou there?” replied the squire. “By’r -lackins, I knew thee not at first. Yea, I am going to try my luck. -What! be’st thou bent thither alswa with thy gaud-clip?” - -“Na, na, not I,” replied Rory. “I hae other fish to fry, I promise -thee. I did come here but to get my gaud-clip sharpened. As I did sit -yestreen watchin the salmons loupin at the ess, I did espy an otter -creeping over the rock; so I threw my gaud at the brute and speared -him, but I broke the point on’t, as thou mayest see here. Na, na, I can -clip a salmon, or can toss a spear at a rae or red buck i’ the forest, -or it may be, at a man in the field; but I kenna about yere galloping -and jousting.” - -“Signor Martellino, here is thy coin,” said Sang, counting it out to -him; “but remember thee thou didst owe me half a broad piece in change -the last chevisaunce that did pass between us; I do mean the which thou -didst forget to return me in our dealings at Paris, ere thou didst set -out for Milan.” - -“Ah! signor, non mi recordo niente di quello,” replied Martellino, with -a knavish air of pretended forgetfulness. - -“Nay, but by St. Bartholomew, thou must remember it,” said Sang -sternly. “I higgle never for thy price, but I shall have every penny -that is lawfully mine own. It was in paying thee for a morion I had of -thee; thou hadst not the change, and thou didst say I should have it -next day; but when I did call, thou wert gone to Milan. By St. -Barnabas, I will have mine own.” - -“Ah! si, Signor Mortimero,” said the Italian, as if suddenly -recollecting, and twanging his response obsequiously through his nose, -accompanying it at the same time with a profound inclination of his -body, “si, avete ragione davvero, I do now remember.” - -“’Tis well,” said Sang, “take this then; I shall now go look for -Polypheme. Master Spears, I bid thee good day;” and saying so, he -walked out of the forge, and, taking the rein of his steed from the -groom that attended him, mounted and rode off towards the chapel of St. -John’s. - -As he approached the gate of the enclosure that surrounded it, he -observed a countryman holding two sorry ill-equipped hackneys with one -hand, and with the other an enormous heavy long-tailed coarse black -waggon-horse, covered with saddle and trappings of no small value; yet, -unfit as it seemed for tourney, it bore all the furniture necessary to -a steed destined for the lists. - -Squire Mortimer dismounted, and, tossing his rein to the groom, -hastened into the Chapel, to see what new knight had arrived who could -own so unseemly a courser. The crowds who had visited the interior to -gaze at the achievements of the chevaliers, were by this time all gone -to the lists, and the most perfect stillness reigned within the Chapel. -The pages, esquires, and bannermen stood by the heraldic trophies of -their respective knights, immovable as statues; and the only sound or -motion within the place proceeded from a herald who remained to receive -and put up the achievement of any knight who might yet arrive before -sunset, and to register his name and titles, and who was at that moment -employed in doing these offices for him who called himself the Knight -of Cheviot. - -This colossal man in armour was standing opposite to the place where -his achievement was erecting. On the helmet was a furze bush, with the -motto, “I prick full sore;” and the blazon bore on a field-vert, a -mountain azure, with the sun’s disc beginning to appear from behind it, -or, and the motto, “I shall shine.” The gigantic owner was leaning on a -spear, the shaft of which looked liker some taper pine-tree of good -growth, than any instrument that mortal might be supposed to wield. The -vizor of his bassinet was down, and his face was hid so that no one -could judge of it or know it; but the very shadow that he threw over -the length of the pavement of the transept, even until it rose against -the wall at the farther end of it, was enough to have daunted the -boldest heart. Sang stood patiently, with his arms folded, attentively -surveying him, and the achievement that was rearing for him; and no -sooner was the arrangement of it completed than, clutching up the shaft -of his lance short in his hand, he bestowed such a thwack with the butt -end of it on one cheek of the tilting helmet of the Knight of Cheviot, -that he made it sound through the Chapel like a bell, till all the -squires, pages, and bannermen started to hear it. - -“Who art thou,” demanded the huge figure in a hollow and indistinct -voice—“who art thou who darest to challenge the Knight of Cheviot to -tilt before the day of tourney?” - -“I am Mortimer Sang, esquire of the body of the renowned Sir Patrick -Hepborne, younger of Hailes,” replied he, “and thus may the herald -inscribe me, so please him. Achievement have I none at present, but a -bold heart and doughty deeds may yet win me a proud one. I do crave the -boon of a meeting from thee, mighty Knight of Mountains, so soon as the -lists may be free for us.” - -“Am I, a knight, obliged to give ear to the challenge of an esquire?” -demanded he of Cheviot. - -“Sir Knight,” said the herald, “such matchers are not without example, -both for jousting and outrance. But to-day and to-morrow are set apart -for giving license to all esquires and pages of good report, who have -fair reason to hope that they may one day win their spurs, that they -may challenge whom they list.” - -“I could have wished some nobler antagonist to begin with,” muttered -the Knight of Cheviot; “I could have wished that Sir Patrick -Hepborne——” - -“Dost thou refuse my challenge, then?” demanded Sang, striking the butt -end of his lance against the other cheek of the helmet with greater -force than before. - -The Knight of Cheviot was silent and disturbed for some moments. - -“Nay, Sir Knight,” said the herald, “thou mayest not well refuse it, -without forfeiting all right to tilting at this tourney.” - -“Then will I accept it,” muttered the Knight of Cheviot, after a short -silence of seeming hesitation. “What! must it be even now, saidst -thou?” - -“Ay, truly, as soon as the lists are clear for us,” replied Sang -coolly; “for I take it some of them are hot at it by this time. I shall -look to meet thee there forthwith, and I shall now hasten thither to -secure us our turn.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XLV. - - The Tournament. - - -The Earl of Moray’s sylvan banquet of refreshment was by this time -over, the balconies and galleries were already filled with the knights -and ladies, and the lists were surrounded by the populace, all eagerly -beholding the numerous tilting matches going on between young knights -who wished to exercise themselves, and prove each other’s strength of -arm, adroitness, and firmness of seat, or between squires or pages, who -wished to earn their first harvest of fame. The sport had been as yet -but indifferent. Most of those who had ridden against each other were -novices, who afforded but a poor specimen of what the Scottish chivalry -could do. The English knights, and, above all, the Lord Welles, were -sneering to each other at the wretchedness of the exhibition, and every -now and then throwing out sarcastic remarks against those who were -engaged, whenever the occurrence of any slight piece of awkwardness -gave them an opening for doing so. The Scottish knights who were within -ear-shot of what dropped from them, were nettled at what they heard; -and had not the sacred character of an ambassador compelled them to -keep down their emotions, the Lord Welles, or some of his suite, might -have been called on to show, in their own persons, what Englishmen -could do; but, circumstanced as they were, none of the members of this -diplomatic corps had considered it as necessary to put up his blazon in -the chapel of St. John. - -“Thinkest thou, Courtenay, that there is any chance of men appearing -here to-day?” said the Lord Welles, in a voice that showed he little -cared who heard him, or what soreness he might occasion. “In my mind -those have been but women and boys who have been tilting for our -amusement.” - -“Depardieux. thou sayest well, my lord,” replied Sir Piers Courtenay, -“for such woman’s play and child’s tilting did I never before behold. -Our Cheapside shop-boys would make better work on’t with their -yard-measures. Then there is no fancy in their armour—a crude and -barbarous taste, my Lord—yea, and a clownish and plebeian air about -their very persons, too. Trust me, my Lord, I do not rashly venture on -the grave and serious accusation I am now about to hazard, when I do -declare, solemnly and fervently, that I have not seen one spur of the -accurately proper fashion on any knightly heel in these Caledonian -wildernesses.” - -“Ha, ha, ha. The nicety of thy judgment in such matters, Courtenay, is -unquestionable,” said the Lord Welles laughing. - -A trumpet now sounded from one of the barriers, and was immediately -answered from that at the other end of the lists. The voice of a -pursuivant was next heard. - -“Oyez! oyez! oyez! The good esquire Mortimer Sang doth call on the -gallant Knight of Cheviot to appear to answer his challenge.” - -There was some delay for a little time, during which all eyes were -thrown towards the barrier, where Mortimer was steadily bestriding a -superb chestnut charger, with an ease and grace that might have led the -spectators to suppose that the horse and man were but one animal. One -of Sir Patrick Hepborne’s pages, well mounted, attended him, to do him -the necessary offices of the lists; and although his helmet displayed -no crest, and that his arms were plain, and his shield without -achievement, yet his whole appearance had something commanding about -it, and all were prepossessed in his favour. - -“That looks something like a man,” quoth the English knights to each -other. - -“What a noble-looking presence! If he be only an esquire, of a truth he -deserves to be a knight,” went round among the spectators. - -“How handsome he is, and how gallant-looking and warlike!” whispered -the soft voice of Catherine Spears, who stood behind the Countess of -Moray. - -The pursuivant from Sang’s barrier now repeated his challenge; a -confused murmur soon afterwards arose from that at the opposite end of -the lists, and by and by, the huge bulk of the Knight of Cheviot, -mounted on his enormous charger, was seen moving like the mountains he -took his name from, through an amazed group of wondering heads. The -horse and man seemed to have been made for each other, and they looked -like the creatures of a creation altogether different from that of this -earth, and as if such inhabitants would have required a larger world -than ours to have contained them. - -“By’r Lady, but yonder comes no child, then,” exclaimed Sir Miles -Templeton, one of the English knights, who sat behind the Lord Welles. - -“By St. George, ’tis an animated colossal monument,” said the Lord -Welles. - -“If it be cast down, we cannot choose but have an earth-quake,” cried -Sir Piers Courtenay. - -“Who or what can he be?” said Sir John Constable. - -“We shall doubtless hear anon,” replied the Lord Welles. - -“Hath not the brave esquire been rash in selecting so huge a monster -for his coup d’essai in the lists?” said the Countess of Moray. “To -what knight may he be attached?” - -“To me, my noble lady,” said Sir Patrick Hepborne from a place behind, -where he had sat unnoticed by the Countess. “Trust me, he will acquit -himself well—his heart is as stout as it is true.” - -“Sayest thou so, Sir Knight?” said the Countess, turning round and -looking at him with some severity. “Then do I give thee joy that thou -hast at least one leal heart in thy company.” - -“Oh, my lady,” cried the alarmed Katherine Spears, “Squire Mortimer can -never stand against yonder terrible giant. What will become of him? -Holy St. Andrew protect us, I dare not look!” - -“Nay, fear thee not, gentle damsel,” said Sir Patrick, with assumed -composure; “though yonder living tower look so big and so threatening, -trust me I have no dread for friend Sang. He hath much good thew and -muscle packed into reasonable compass, and they are nerved by a heart -withal that nothing can danton. Fear ye not for Sang. By St. Baldrid, I -begin to feel a stirring interest in this coming shock.” - -“May the blessed Virgin guard and aid him!” cried Katherine Spears, -half covering her eyes. - -The pursuivant at the end of the lists where the Knight of Cheviot -appeared, now responded to him who had given forth the challenge. - -“Oyez! oyez! oyez! The gallant Knight of Cheviot is here, and ready to -answer the darreigne of the good squire, Mortimer Sang.” - -“Laissez les aller” cried the herald from the platform under the Royal -balcony; the trumpet sounded, and the barriers at both ends of the -lists were immediately dropped. - -The lists, as was very commonly the case in those times, were double; -that is to say, they were divided towards the middle, for about -two-fourths of their length, by a longitudinal barrier of wood of about -four feet high. This was for the purpose of separating the horses of -the combatants from each other, to save them from injury; for each -knight, taking a different side of the wooden wall, ran his career -close to it, and tilted at his adversary over it, without risk of the -steeds meeting in shock, as in the undivided lists. - -No sooner were the barriers withdrawn, than Mortimer Sang spurred his -courser, sprang forward, and swept along like a whirlwind. The huge -animal ridden by the gigantic and ponderous Knight of Cheviot was slow -in getting into motion, and came on blowing and snorting, with a heavy -lumbering gallop, that shook the very ground. The esquire had already -ridden along one-half of the wall of division ere his antagonist had -reached a third of the distance. His lance was firmly and truly pointed -against the immense body that approached, and every eye was intently -watching for the issue of a joust that promised to be unexampled in the -annals of chivalry. Both steeds were steadily maintaining the line in -which each had started. The enormous tilting-lance of the knight, as it -came on, resembled the bolt-sprit of some vessel driven before the -wind, and, blunt though it was, the annihilation of the esquire -appeared certain to the spectators. The collision was within a few -yards of taking place, when, to the astonishment of all, the Knight of -Cheviot suddenly dropped his lance, and, seizing the bridle of his -charger with both hands, exerted all his strength to pull him aside, -and succeeded in making him bolt away from the thrust of his opponent. -That it was an intentional effort and no accident was evident to every -one. A general hiss, mingled with loud hootings broke, from the -balconies and galleries. Mortimer Sang, exasperated at the shameful and -cowardly conduct of him on whom he had so sanguinely hoped to prove his -prowess, checked the straight course of his horse’s career, and, -sweeping around in a narrow circle, ran him at the wooden barrier, and, -leaping him desperately over it, rode furiously, lance in rest, against -the dastard Knight of Cheviot, who had hardly yet reined up his steed. - -Shouts of applause followed this spirited manoeuvre of Sang’s. The base -knight heard them, looked around, beheld the esquire coming, and began -immediately to fly towards the gates of the lists. “Halt,” cried -Mortimer aloud, “halt, thou craven. What! fearest thou a blunt lance? -Halt, thou mountain of Cheviot, halt, I say, that I may climb to thine -uppermost peak to tweak thee by the nose, that I may pluck thy prickly -crest from thy foggy head, and stick it beneath the tail of the -draff-horse that beareth thee; halt, coward, that I may forthwith blot -out thy rising sun, that thou mayst no more dare to shine.” - -But the Knight of Cheviot stayed not to look behind him. His legs -played upon the sides of his horse like some piece of powerful -machinery, and he spurred off as if the devil had been after him, the -animal exhibiting a pace which no one could have believed was in him. -The marshalmen would have stopped him in his way to the gate, but to -have essayed to arrest the progress of a huge rock, just parted from -the summit of some lofty Alp, and spinning along the plain with all the -impetus derived from its descent, could not have been a more irrational -or more hopeless attempt, or one more pregnant with certain destruction -to those who made it. The way was cleared before him; but the gate was -shut. Neither horse nor man seemed to regard the obstruction, however; -it appeared as if both were influenced by the same blind fear. They ran -against it with so great an impetus, that its strong bars and rails -yielded before the shock, and were strewed upon the plain. Away flew -the fugitive across the Meads, and on Sang urged furiously after him. -The shouts from the lists were redoubled. Down rushed crowds of the -populace from the scaffolds, and away they poured with a hue and cry -after the chase. - -The flying giant had much the start of Sang, but the superior speed of -the squire’s well-bred courser was fast lessening this advantage. It -was in vain that he attempted to double and wheel, for Sang, cutting -sharply round, only gained the more on him. He stretched his course -straight for the forest, but all saw that he must be speedily -overtaken. Sang neared him, and couching his lance, planted himself -firmly in his saddle. A single bound of his horse brought him within -reach of the knight, and giving him an alert and vigorous push in the -rear with his blunt weapon, he threw his unwieldy body forward on his -horse’s neck, so that, encumbered by the weight, the animal stumbled a -step or two, and then losing his fore legs, rolled himself and hurled -his rider forward upon the sod. - -Ancient Æsop hath told us of a certain tortoise, that, being carried -into the clouds by an eagle, was dropped thence on a rock. It is easy -to conceive how the various compartments of the creature’s natural -armour must have been rent from each other by the fall. So it was with -the Knight of Cheviot. The descent of such a mountain was no light -matter. Large as his armour was, its various pieces were far from -meeting each other over the immense limbs and joints they should have -enclosed; and the leathern latchets which laced them together being -somewhat aged, they, and even the rivets, gave way with the shock; and -the fastenings of the helmet and of the different plates bursting -asunder, and there being no shirt of mail beneath them, the Knight of -Cheviot lay sprawling among the ruins of his defences, in a black -jerkin and hauselines. The active Sang would have been upon him in a -trice, but, filled with astonishment, he reined up his steed and halted -to wonder. Nor was superstitious fear altogether without its influence -in arresting him in his first intention of seizing the dastard -impostor, who had thus disgraced the name of knight, as well as the -lists in which he had dared to show himself, and of having him dragged -to that summary punishment inflicted on such occasions by the laws of -chivalry. His eyes stared with an amazement that was almost incredulous -of the reality of what they beheld. He whom he saw struggling on the -ground was the wizard, Ancient Haggerstone Fenwick, whom he had once -accidentally seen at Norham, and of whose supernatural powers he had -then heard enough to fill him now with temporary awe, at this his -unexpected appearance. Sang raised his own vizor and rubbed his eyes, -and when he saw that it was really the face and figure of the Ancient -which he beheld, he for a moment suspected that it was some demoniacal -trick of enchantment that had been played him to rob him of the fame he -had hoped to earn. Rage got the better of every feeling of -superstition. - -“Ha!” exclaimed he, “be’st thou wizard or devil, I’ll wrestle with -thee;” and flinging himself from his horse, he strode towards the -struggling Knight of Cheviot. - -But he was a moment too late. Ere he could reach the wizard, the latter -had recovered himself sufficiently to scramble to his legs; and just as -the squire was about to lay his fangs upon him, he escaped with a sort -of shuffling run, that grew as he proceeded into an awkward striding -gait that might have done honour to a camelopard; the plates of his -armour hanging to his body by frail tags, clattering and jingling as he -flew, and spinning off at a tangent from his person, as the thongs -successively gave way. The esquire pursued him as fast as he could, but -his armour hampered him so much that he had no chance in a race with -one who was loosely attired, and who was every moment lessening his -weight by getting rid of some part of his steel encumbrances. - -“Halt, coward!” cried Sang, puffing and blowing after him. “Ha, by St. -Baldrid, ’tis in vain to follow him. An he were the Spirit of the -Cheviots himself, who may step thee from one hill-top to another, he -could not exert more alacrity of escape. He devoureth whole roods of -ground at a stride as he fleeth. By the mass, see him! he courses up -yonder bank with his backpiece hanging down behind him, rattling like a -canister at the tail of some mongrel hound. Body o’ me, how it got -atween his legs; would that it had thrown him down. Ha! now it hath -lost its hold of him—and now the red fiend may catch him for me, for -there he goes into the forest.” - -The squire returned slowly and sullenly to meet his page, who was by -this time coming up. The huge dray horse of the Knight of Cheviot -having regained his legs, was standing heaving his enormous sides like -a stranded whale. - -“’Tis a cruel bite, Archibald Lees,” said Mortimer Sang to the page; -“’tis a cruel bite, I say, when a man thinketh he hath roused a lion, -to find his game turn out but a stinking pole-cat after all. Get thee -after the lurdon, and pick up the pieces of his armour, the which did -drop from his scoundrel carcase as he fled.” - -“Methought, as I chanced to see him casing, that he would turn out to -be some such vermin,” replied the page, as he proceeded to obey the -squire’s commands. - -Sang sat himself down for a little time to recover his wind, comforting -himself with the idea that he had at least won a trophy of armour that -would be valuable from its very rarity. - -“I shall have them hung up in mine own tower,” said he to himself. “As -for the horse, he may fetch as much as may repay Sir Patrick for the -advance he hath made for the arms I had of Andria Martellino. By mine -honour, he hath a body and limbs that might pull a castle after them. -He will sell right speedily to a wainman, ay, and that for a noble -price too.” - -A crowd of the populace now began to approach the place where he was -sitting, clamouring as they came along. At their head came Rory Spears, -with his fish-clip brandished over his shoulder, and followed by a -party of the marshal’s men, bringing along the Italian armourer in -custody, whose face exhibited an expression of extreme dismay and -trepidation. - -“Ay, ay, we shall soon ken whether the rogue speaketh truth or no,” -cried Spears indignantly. “He saith, if I mistake him not, that Squire -Sang knoweth somewhat of the matter. We shall see what he may hae to -say for himsel when he cometh before him. Bring him along here.” - -“What turmoil is here, I beseech ye, my masters?” demanded Sang. - -“Ah! Signor Mortimero,” cried the Italian, with a deplorable face of -terror; “a—a—ah! It is moss joy for me to see dee; I ask dem to bring -me to dee—dey no ondairstond me; ah, San Lorenzo!—dey do vant to hang -me by de naik—dey do accuse me of de steal.” - -“Well,” said Sang, with a gruff laugh, as if the attempt at a joke -suited but ill with his present vexation and disappointment at the -issue of his combat, “by the mass, methinks thou mayest be well enow -content to be accused of steel in Scotland, for there lacketh not in -Paris those who did boldly affirm that thou didst employ a much softer -metal in thy warlike wares.” - -“Pah! no, no, no, signor,” exclaimed Martellino, in extreme distress, -“not acciajo, vat dou do call steel van metal—ma, de steal, de rob; dey -do accuse me of steal a posse of gold, and as dou art mine verri good -friend, I did crave them to bring me to dee.” - -“Nay,” said Sang, “that is in truth a more serious matter. An that be -made out to be truly the case, thy neck will assuredly be stretched, -friend Andria, in spite of all that I may do to help thee. But sith -thou hast come to me, I swear that I shall see that thou hast fair -play.” - -“Oh, Signor Sang, sarai il mio protettore,” exclaimed the Italian, with -a gleam of hope in his anxious eyes. “All dat I do vant is de play -fair. If dou veelt listen to me, I vill make dee ondairstond dat I no -steal.” - -“Nay,” said Rory Spears, coming forward, “I have no objection that he -should be questioned by Squire Mortimer. St. Lowry forbid that he sudna -get justice. Gif he be innocent o’ the coulpe, and can but make his -innocence clear, we sall be saved the trouble o’ hooking him up afore -the Yearl and his court. It wad be but an evil turn to do a poor -foreign deevil, to gar him dree two or three days’ jail, whan he hath -done naething that may call for sike a warison. Question him, Maister -Sang, question him.” - -“If I am thus appointed preliminary judge,” replied Sang, mounting the -dray-horse, “I shall get me on my sack here, that I may sit at mine -ease, and have mine eye on all that passeth in court. Make way there; -clear the way for the prisoner,” continued he, motioning? to the crowd -to form a circle round him. “Who hath lost the purse the which he is -accused of having taken?” demanded he. - -“My wife’s mother, auld Elspeth i’ the burrows town,” replied Rory, and -he hastily recapitulated the meagre particulars he had lately given the -Earl of Moray. - -“Ha!” said Sang, “and who accuseth Andria Martellino of being the -thief?” - -“Ich do dat, mynheer joodch,” replied a squat, thick-set, broad-faced, -heavy-looking German. - -“And who mayest thou be, friend?” asked Sang; “and what mayest thou -have to effunde that may throw light upon this affair?” - -“Mine name ist Hans Eisenfelsenbroken, de grat Yarman, dat mach de -armou better nor nobody dat can mach dem so well. Ich dit see de borse -in de hond of dis him here mit mine own eyes.” - -“A suspicious evidence,” said Sang shaking his head gravely, “a most -suspicious evidence; trust me, I shall tell no store by it without -strong corroboration. Hath the prisoner yet been searched?” - -“Nay, there hath as yet been no time,” replied the marshalmen. - -“Let him be forthwith riped, then,” said the esquire. - -The marshalmen proceeded to execute his orders, and, to the joy of Rory -Spears, they very speedily drew forth from beneath his gaberdine a -leathern bag, containing a considerable weight of coin. - -“By St. Lowry, but that is my auld mother’s money-bag,” cried Rory -Spears, eyeing it from a distance. - -“Let me have it,” said Sang; “knowest thou thy mother’s money-bag by -any mark?” - -“Yea,” replied Spears, readily; “it hath E. S. on the twa lugs of it, -and a cross on the braid side.” - -“Of a truth, this is the very bag,” said the squire; “the marks are all -here.” - -“Eh! mine Got, did not Ich tell dee de troot, Mynheer Spears! I do know -him to be a tafe. Ha, ha! Er wird be hanged, and Ich werde have all de -trade Ich selbst!” cried the rival German armourer, with a joy which he -could not contain. - -“Silence, fellow, and respect the court,” cried Sang, in a tone of -authority. “Canst thou explain how thou hadst this leathern purse, -Master Martellino?” continued he. “By St. Andrew, if thou canst not, it -will go hard with thee.” - -“Ah, si, signor,” replied Martellino, with a face of joy, “de page of -dy vorship, de good Signor Lees, he happain to be vid me in my shop at -de time after I did sell de great armour to de big gigante, and he did -see him give to me de posse of gold dat is dere—van fifty broad piece -of gold.” - -“That is thy mother’s sum to a tittle,” said Sang, addressing Rory. -“But how camest thou to receive so much money from the dastard knave -for a suit of armour?” continued he, putting the question to the -Italian. - -“He did bribe me to give him van of mine vaine horses, dat do carry -mine goods,” replied the Italian; “and he did give me de posse and de -money and all.” - -Archibald Lees vouched for the truth of all this; and some one in the -crowd, who had been in Forres during the fire, had remarked the uncouth -and gigantic figure as it glided into the old bedrid woman’s house; and -having been struck with the strangeness of its appearance, had -particularly remembered its passing speedily out again in great haste. -Another remembered that the false knight and his two accomplices had -lodged in a house of entertainment next door to Elspeth Spears’ house; -and it was even supposed by many that they had aided the conflagration, -after it was begun by the Wolfe of Badenoch and his party. - -All was now clear, and the upright judge proceeded to pronounce his -decision. - -“Let the money be forthwith told over, and let it, and the bag that -holds it, be restored to Master Roderick Spears, as custos thereof for -his aged mother. Let the armour, the which hath been gathered piecemeal -from the plain, be restored to the rightful owner, Signor Andria -Martellino; and let him have our judgment-seat also, sith it doth of -right belong to him. I do hereby absolve him from all coulpe. Albeit he -is sharp enow in a bargain, verily I believe he would hardly steal. As -for thee, Mynheer Eisenfelsenbroken, I shall only say that thy zeal to -further justice was rather of the eagerest, and mought have been more -creditable to thee had not the culprit, against whom thou wert so ready -to witness, been thy rival in trade. Thy conduct will doubtless have -its weight with all good men. And now I dissolve the court,” added he, -jumping from the dray-horse, and proceeding to mount his own charger, -which the page held for him. - -The German went grumbling away, disappointed wickedness giving a -blacker hue to his swarthy face. - -“Ah, Signor Sang,” exclaimed the Italian, coming up to him with tears -of gratitude in his eyes; “dou hast been mine good friend; dou hast vin -dine armour. Here is de money—here is de price thou deedst pay me. Take -it back.” - -“What, fellow!” cried Sang, jocularly, putting him by; “what, wouldst -thou bribe the hand of justice? Wouldst thou soil that which should be -pure? Avoid, I tell thee, avoid;” and, putting spurs to his horse, he -rode off towards the lists, followed by the cheers of those who had -witnessed the scene. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XLVI. - - The English Ambassador and the gallant Lindsay. - - -BY the time Mortimer Sang returned to the lists, he was disappointed to -find that he had no chance left of establishing his reputation that -night against a worthier antagonist. The Earl of Fife had already -dropped his white wand, and orders had been issued for the clearance of -the enclosure and shutting the barriers. The heralds had commanded the -banners to be furled, and all were now on the move. - -The gay groups of chevaliers and ladies returned from the lists in -independent parties, some to the Castle, and others to their pavilions -on the field, to prepare for joining the general assemblage at the -banquet in the Hall of Randolph. The number of guests who met there at -the usual hour was much greater than on any of the former occasions, -many knights having arrived during the previous evening, or during that -day, that they might have their heraldic blazons and trophies put up in -the chapel of St. John the Baptist, to give them a right to tilt at the -tournament. The Countess of Moray resumed her place beside her lord, at -the head of the board. Sir Patrick Hepborne attended the party of the -Lady of Dirleton, who, with her lord, showed him an increase of -kindness each successive time they met; but when he addressed the Lady -Jane de Vaux, she seemed to have put on that frosty and chilling air -which had given him so much vexation in the Countess of Moray. - -The conversation naturally turned on the exhibition of the day, and was -for some time confined to the various private dialogues in which it had -sprung up. Praise fell on some few names—Sang’s conduct, and his -amusing chase were talked of with commendation of him, and ridicule of -his opponent, the impostor Knight of Cheviot, of whose robbery of the -old woman’s purse all were now made aware. Some young knights were -mentioned with approbation, but the general feeling was, that the -exhibition had been poor, and much more was hoped for from to-morrow. - -By degrees the hum of voices that prevailed around the festive board -began to subside beneath the interest that was gradually excited by a -conversation now arising between the Lord of Welles and some of his -English knights, on the one hand, and several of the Scottish -chevaliers on the other; and, at last, so deep was the silent attention -it produced, that every word of it was heard by all present. - -“My Lord Earl of Moray,” said the Lord Welles, “I feel much beholden to -thee for having persuaded me hither from Scone; for, however tedious -and tiresome mought have been the journey, it hath given me an -opportunity of satisfying myself and my friends of the unbounded -liberality and magnificence of thy hospitality, the which can be -surpassed by nothing south of Tweed. But I hope thou wilt take no -offence at the plainness of speech and honesty which I use, when I tell -thee that had thy Scottish tilting been all the inducement thou hadst -to offer me, I mought have as well staid where I was, as I should most -assuredly have been but meagrely recompensed for the hardships and -deprivations of my long and wearisome pilgrimage through so large a -portion of your trackless Scottish forests and wastes.” - -“Nay, my Lord Welles,” replied the Earl of Moray, “I care not what may -have occasioned me the honour of thy presence at Tarnawa, enow for me -is the satisfaction of its enjoyment, enhanced as it is by the gracious -reception of what hospitality I may offer thee. Yet of a truth it -erketh me to find that thou hast lacked that pleasure in the survey of -the exercises of this day’s jousting the which I had hoped to afford -thee. Thou knowest that such meetings of arms are but rare with us in -Scotland, and we may not look for that expertness the which doth -distinguish the tourneys of more southern climes; yet had I hoped that -thou mightest have been in some sort amused.” - -“Nay, perdie, I said not that I was not amused,” cried the Lord Welles, -with a sarcastic leer—“I said not that I was not amused; for amused I -certainly was, and that exceedingly too; but amusement is not what I do -ever look for in beholding the exercise of the lists. When I do lack -amusement, I do hie me to view the tomblesteers, and those who do -practise jonglerie; and indeed I did of a truth see many to-day who -were very well fitted for shining among a corps of tumblers; and so I -could not choose but be amused, yea even unto laughter, as I did -witness the ingenious summersaults they performed. Yet looking, as I am -ever accustomed to do, for firm sitting and well-addressed lances in -the lists, depardieux, I could not but be disappointed that thou hadst -nothing better to show me in behalf of Scottish chivalry.” - -“Thou knowest, my Lord Welles,” said the Earl calmly, “that these were -but the novices in arms, to whom the license of this day and to-morrow -is given to exercise themselves withal. Judge not too hastily, I -beseech thee, of our Scottish chivalry, of whom thou hast but as yet -seen the feeble efforts of the braunchers.” - -“I should not wish to judge too hastily,” replied the Lord Welles; “but -if the young falcons show such poor courage of flight, parfay, I see -not great hope of their ever winging well up to the quarry. If thy -youthful knighthood of Scotland show no more bravely, depardieux, there -is but little chance of much shining metal or skill being displayed -among those who have grown tall under such awkward and unseemly -practice.” - -“My most excellent Lord,” said Sir Piers Courtenay, following up the -speech of his principal, “my most sweet, excellent, and -highly-respected Earl of Moray, I must be permitted to add to those -remarks, the which it hath pleased the judicious and nicely-observant -Lord Welles to effunde, that I did, to my inexpressible astonishment -and dismay, yea, and almost to the doubting the accuracy of the -observation of mine eyes, perceive, and I hope thou wilt forgive me for -thus daring to divulge it, always believing that I do so without -meaning offence, and giving me credence for the entertainment of the -most perfect respect and consideration for your Lordship; I did verily -perceive, I say, several grievous outrages on the established rules for -the equipment of men and horses in those who did ride to-day. Three -spurs did I observe that were too high set on the heels, by the fourth -part of an inch at least; one did I notice of a vile fashion; one -bridle-bit was all courbed awry; one dagger was worn nearly, though not -quite, an inch too low; divers of the wreaths were ill adjusted on the -helmets (the ladies,” bowing round to them as he said so, “will pardon -me for adventuring on criticism so nearly affecting them); some of the -crests were an inch too high; and, to conclude, there were more than -one surcoat ill cut. Now, I do crave thy permission to remark, most -potent Earl, that he who doth neglect these highly essential, though -minute points of chivalry, cannot be expected to excel in the greater -and more obvious.” - -“I do hope, my noble Earl of Moray,” said Sir William de Dalzell -roguishly—“I do hope that thou wilt exert thy power and thine influence -over the young and rising sprigs of Scottish chivalry, that they may -arm themselves more en regle; but, that they may strictly and correctly -do so, it doth behove thee to hunt out and catch that large ensample of -good and well-fashioned English knighthood the which did with such -brilliancy grace our Scottish lists this day—he of the Cheviot -mountains, I do mean, for I am credibly informed that he is of English -fabrication; but I trow it will puzzle thee sore to find a Scot, -whether knight, esquire, or page, who can run with him; yet ought he -natheless to be hunted out, caught, and exhibited for the amelioration -of our salvage nation; yea, and after his death he should be speedily -embowelled, embalmed, and stuffed, to be set up as a specimen of the -rigid and scrupulous accuracy of chivalric arming practised by English -knights, to the securing of the improvement of Scottish taste and the -establishment of a purer and more perfect description of it than hath -hitherto prevailed in such matters, to the latest generation.” - -“Thou dost not call by the glorious name of knight that impostor who -assumed the character and name for some villainous purpose, and who had -the lion’s skin torn from his scoundrel carcase?” exclaimed the Lord -Welles, with a haughty and indignant air. - -“It mattereth not whether he were knight or no,” replied Sir William de -Dalzell; “of one thing we are all certain, and that is, that he was ane -Englishman.” - -“And are all Englishmen to be judged by the ensample of such a craven -as that? one, too, who was hatched on the very borders of Scotland?” -replied the Lord Welles, with a slight expression of anger. - -“Nay” said Sir David Lindsay of Glenesk, “nay, my good Lord, not so; -but neither are the deeds of all Scottishmen to be judged by the -nerveless essays of a few untaught striplings. I do beseech thee to -suspend thy decision as to Scottish tilting until our tourney doth -commence, and I do give thee leave to call us gnoffes if thou wilt, -yea, tomblesteers, if so be thou dost then think we deserve any such -opprobrious epithets; but if I mistake not, thou shalt see enow to -satisfy thee that thou mayest meet with some in Scotland who may be an -overmatch for the best of thine English knights.” - -“Parfay, thou goest far, Sir David Lindsay,” said the Lord Welles, with -a sneer; “meseems it thou knowest but little of the mettle of English -chivauncie, to talk of it so slightingly.” - -“Nay, I went not farther than I did intend,” replied the Scottish -knight; “I trow I have seen good emptying of saddles in my day, and -have encountered knights of all nations, and I am bold to say that were -I to choose my champion it should not be from England he should be -taken, while we have Scotsmen left to afford me good picking. At -present, thanks be to God, we have whole armies of knights, any one of -whom, so far from provoking an Englishman’s mirth, will, by the very -mention of his name alone, make any southern chevalier look grave.” - -“Nay, boast not, Lindsay,” said the gallant Douglas, “we can prove enow -by deeds to set us above vaunting.” - -“I vaunt not, my Lord Earl of Douglas,” replied Sir David Lindsay; “yet -when vaunts are the only weapons used against us, what can a man do?” - -“Let words have no place, then,” said the Lord Welles, with -considerable eagerness, as well as haughtiness of manner—“let words -have no place; and if thou knowest not the chivalry and the valiant -deeds of Englishmen, appoint me a day and a place where thou listeth, -and, depardieux, thou shalt have experience to thine edification.” - -“If it so please thee, then, to waive thy privileges, my Lord,” quickly -rejoined Sir David Lindsay; “if so be, I say, that thou wilt condescend -to waive thy privileges, and that thou wilt vouchsafe to honour our -lists with an exhibition of thy skill and nerve, by St. Andrew I will -gladly meet thee to-morrow; yea, or if thou shouldst wish to eschew the -encounter in thine own sacred person, of a truth I shall be well -contented to take whichsoever of thy companions thou mayest be pleased -to assign me. We shall at least be sure that the appearance of one -English knight in the lists shall give a zest to the jousting which -to-day’s exhibition did so meagrely supply.” - -“I do beseech thee, my noble and most fair Lord,” said Sir Piers -Courtenay to the Lord Welles—“I do beseech thee, let me be the -supremely felicitous knight who may appear under the banner of St. -George to combat in honour of England.” - -“Nay, Courtenay,” said the Lord Welles, “I can neither resign to thee -the right I have obtained to the gallant Sir David Lindsay, nor can I -submit to tilt now; but if Sir David will indulge me so far as to name -some other time and place, verily, I shall pledge myself to give him -the meeting, yea, and that, too, with as much good-will as he can wish -for it.” - -“By the mass, I care not though thou dost make the meeting in England, -or even in London itself,” said Sir David Lindsay. “Let me have a -safe-conduct from the English King for myself and party and I will not -scruple to ride, yea, even to the farthermost point of thy southern -soil in search of an antagonist so desirable.” - -“Let it be on London Bridge, then,” said the Lord Welles. - -“On London Bridge!” muttered a number of the Scottish knights, as if -they thought that it was but hardly liberal in the English noble to -close so narrowly with the wide proposal of their champion. - -“Yea, on London Bridge, or in thine own garden, if it so listeth thee, -my Lord Welles,” replied the staunch Sir David, without attending to -the ejaculations of his friends. “Let us not delay to record the -conditions.” - -“My word is enow for this night, I do trust,” replied the Lord Welles, -rising and offering his hand across the table to Sir David Lindsay, who -took it in the most friendly manner. “To-morrow we may have the terms -properly drawn up at greater leisure.” - -“So then, ’tis as it should be,” said the Earl of Moray. “Let a -brimming goblet be filled. I drink to the health of the Lord Welles and -the health of Sir David Lindsay of Glenesk, and let both names float -together in friendly guise on the same mantling mazer.” - -This double health was received with loud acclamations by all, and the -goblets circulated briskly to do honour to it. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XLVII. - - The Earl of Fife’s Council Meeting—The Challenge between the - Scottish and English Knights. - - -The health had hardly well gone round ere the shrill notes of a bugle -were heard, followed by a stir that arose in the court-yard, the noise -of which even reached the ears of those in the hall. A messenger had -arrived express, and a letter was speedily delivered to the Earl of -Fife. - -“Ha!” said he, with an air of surprise, as he surveyed the impression -of the signet attached to the purple silk in which it was wrapped; and -then hastily breaking it open, glanced rapidly over its contents. - -All eyes were turned towards him with eager inquiry. An expression of -earnest attention to what he read was very visibly marked on his -features. - -“Your pardon, brother,” said he, starting up at length, after a -moment’s thought; “I crave your pardon, and that of this honourable -company, but this letter is from my Royal father, and on pressing state -affairs. I must of needscost break up the banquet sooner than thy -wonted hospitality would authorize me to demand of thee, were the -business of a less urgent nature; but we must hold a council -straightway to determine how we may best and most speedily fulfil the -wishes of His Majesty. I shall wait thy coming in thy private -apartment, and shall by and by hope for the attendance of such of the -nobles and knights here assembled as may be required to aid our -resolves.” - -Having said so, the Earl of Fife bowed graciously to the company with -such a sweeping, yet particularizing glance, as left each individual in -the firm belief that he had been especially distinguished by the great -man’s notice; and, putting his hand into his bosom, he moved down the -hall with all the appearance of being instantly absorbed in deep -reflection. - -The Lord Welles and his suite of English knights, darting very -significant looks towards one another, sat a few minutes, and then -rising, retired in a body. The Countess of Moray, and the rest of the -ladies, also soon afterwards left the board, and sought their -apartments, and the Earl of Moray instantly broke up the banquet, and -hastened to join his brother the Earl of Fife, taking with him the Earl -of Douglas and the Earl of Dunbar. Such of the Scottish nobles and -knights, however, as conceived that their presence might be required at -the expected council, continued to pace the ample pavement in small -parties, or to stand grouped together in little knots, all exercising -their ingenuity in guessing at the probable cause and nature of so -sudden and unlooked-for, and apparently so important a communication. -The most prevalent surmise was, that a war with England was to be -declared, and the very thought of such a thing gave joy to every manly -bosom. Suspicions of the prospect of a rupture between the two -countries had begun to be pretty general of late; and the circumstance -of bringing down the English ambassadors to Tarnawa, was by some, who -affected to be deeper read in such matters than others, interpreted -into a fine piece of state policy to keep them out of the way, while -preparations were maturing for the more powerful and successful -commencement of hostilities on the part of Scotland. All were impatient -to know the truth, and when a messenger came to the door of the hall -with a roll of names, which he read over, calling on those of the -nobles and knights who were named in it, to remain in the hall, and -take their places at the board, at the upper end of it, according to -their rank, those who were so selected could not well hide their -satisfaction, while those who were compelled to withdraw did so with -extreme reluctance. - -Sir Patrick Hepborne was overjoyed to find that he was to be one of -those in whom the Earl of Fife wished to confide. He took his seat at -the table with the rest, and the most profound silence succeeded to the -sounds of mirth and pleasure which had so lately reigned within the -hall. Whatever conjectures might have escaped the lips of those around -the board, whilst they mingled carelessly with those who were idly -speculating on the probable purport of the King’s message, they now -considered the seal of silence imposed on their lips, by their being -selected as councillors; and accordingly they sat gazing at each other -with grave and solemn looks, calmly awaiting the arrival of the Earl of -Fife. Certain faces there were which betrayed something like a -consciousness of greater self-importance than the rest, as if they -either knew, or would have had others believe that they knew, something -more than those around them. But whatever they knew or thought they -ventured not to express it. - -At length the Earls of Fife, Moray, Douglas, and Dunbar appeared, and -took their seats at the upper end of the table. All eyes and ears were -fixed in attention; and the Earl of Fife, laying the King’s letter and -packet on the table, began to open the business he had to communicate -to them. - -“My Lords and Gentlemen,” said he, in a tone of voice which, though -audible enough to every one of them, was yet too low to have found its -way through any of the crannies of the door at the farther end of the -hall, “I shall be as brief as possible with you. Ye all know how great -is my consideration for you individually, so I trust that I have no -need to waste time in assuring ye of my love for ye all, or of the zeal -with which I am filled for promoting your respective interests. Highly -sensible am I of the great blessing that hath befallen Scotland, in -raising up such store of wisdom and valour among her sons, as I do know -to exist in the persons of the noble lords and honourable knights by -whom I have now the felicity of being surrounded; and I do the more -congratulate myself upon this knowledge at the present time, seeing -that the wisdom and the valour I have spoken of must now be called -forth into important action. For, to withhold the news from you no -longer, Scotland is about to be, nay, more probably hath been already -invaded—a large army having hovered on the Eastern Marches, threatening -the Merse with fire and sword, the which may have ere this been poured -out upon them. Your good King, and my Royal father, hath sent this -intelligence express from Aberdeen, where he now abideth, at the same -time commanding our instant attendance there to counsel and advise him, -and to receive his orders for our future conduct. We are, moreover, -directed to lead thither with us all the strength of dependants we can -muster, and to take such immediate measures as may ensure the instant -gathering of those districts which are under the control of each of us -respectively. A large force must of needscost be quickly got together; -it is therefore highly expedient that our vassals should be forthcoming -with as little delay as possible, that they may be ready to unite -themselves with the host wheresoever and whensoever it may assemble. -Such of us as are wanted at Aberdeen must set forward to-morrow. These, -then, are the matters and the commands which my Royal father sends you, -and which I, as his organ, have been instructed to convey to you.” - -A murmur of applause ran round the table. Broken sentences burst from -the respective knights, each shortly but pithily expressing the -satisfaction he felt at the prospect of having something more serious -than jousting to occupy him. - -“I have yet one more communication to make, my Lords and Gentlemen, of -which you must be the witnesses, and I need not say that I entreat you -to be the silent witnesses of it. I must convey to the Lord Welles -intelligence, which I am not without suspicion he hath been for some -time anticipating, from his own private knowledge of events. I mean to -crave an immediate conference with him here in your presence; but it is -my wish that no one whom I have here admitted to my confidence will -talk to him, or any of the English knights, either now or afterwards of -anything I have mentioned. I have to communicate to the Lord Welles the -King’s license for his departure, and I hope I do not ask too much when -I beg that I may be left to do so entirely unassisted, and that nothing -he or his shall say may provoke ye to speak. Silence will best accord -with your dignity. Go, brother, my Lord Earl of Moray, so please thee, -and entreat the presence of the Lord Welles among us, with such of his -suite as he may list to accompany him.” - -The Earl of Moray hastened to obey his brother-in-law, and, during his -absence, the Earl of Fife seemed to have retreated into his own -thoughts. The knights who sat with him remained in still contemplation -of him and of one another. The English envoy was received with -dignified decorum. - -“My Lord Welles,” said the Earl of Fife to him after he was seated, “I -have now to perform a piece of duty to my King, the which, as it -regardeth thee, doth particularly erke me. As thou art thyself aware, I -have this night received a letter from His Majesty, and I have now to -tell thee, that in it I am commanded to inform thee that he will -dispense with thy further attendance at his Royal Court. In so far as -our personal intercourse hath gone, I have good reason to regret that -it is to be discontinued so soon; and the more so that it hath fallen -into my hands to snap it. This parchment, which I have now the honour -of presenting to thee, doth contain a safe-conduct for thee, and all -with thee, to return into thy native country by the shortest possible -route. It doleth me much that we are to be so soon reft of thine -agreeable society. Yea, the removal of thy presence is most especially -galling at such a time, when all was prepared for making the days of -thy stay in Scotland as light as mought be. Our coming tourney will be -nought without thee.” - -“My Lord of Fife, of a truth this is a most sudden and unlooked-for -event,” said the Lord Welles, with the appearance, if not with the -reality, of surprise on his countenance. “Hath any reason been -assigned, the which it may be permitted thee to utter to me?” - -“His Majesty’s reasons, my good Lord, are not always given,” replied -the Earl of Fife, evasively; “but thou knowest that it is the part of a -subject implicitly to obey, without inquiring too curiously into the -nature of the wires that may be on the stretch to put him in motion; -and I must submit as well as others. Hast thou had no communications -lately from thine own court?” - -“If thy coming tourney doth ever hold,” said the Lord Welles, -altogether avoiding the home question of the Earl of Fife, and glancing -curiously into the faces of those around him, “it will suffer little in -its pomp or circumstance, I trow, from my departure, where thou hast so -great an assemblage of Scottish knights to give lustre to it, but if -they should be called away, indeed, by anything connected with my -dismissal, it may in that case dwindle, peraunter, and expire of very -consumption ere it hath been well born.” - -The Lord Welles’s eyes returned from their excursion round the table, -without displaying signs of having gathered anything from the firm -Scottish countenances they had scanned. - -“And when must I of needscost set forward, my Lord?” continued the Lord -Welles, addressing the Earl of Fife. - -“A party of lances will be in waiting to-morrow morning by sunrise, to -guide and protect thee on thy way, and I do believe that thou wilt find -that sufficient time hath been given thee in the parchment thou hast, -to make the journey easy. Shouldst thou, peradventure, covet the -provision of anything that may contribute to thy comfort or expedition, -the which I may have the power to procure for thee, I do beseech thee -to let me be informed, and it shall be mine especial care that thou -mayest be gratified.” - -“Nay, my Lord Earl of Fife, I lack nothing,” replied the Lord Welles. - -“And now, then, my good Lord, I bid thee good night,” said the Earl of -Fife. “Farewell; it will give me joy again to meet with thee as a -friend, until when may St. George be with thee.” - -“Receive our fullest thanks for all thy gracious courtesy,” replied the -Lord Welles. - -The Earl of Fife now arose with the Earls Douglas, Moray, and Dunbar, -and took his leave, with many condescending protestations. The Lord -Welles and his friends loitered a little time after he was gone, and -the Scottish knights having by this time risen from the council board, -he mingled familiarly among them. - -“This dismissal of mine is something of the suddenest,” said he, in a -general kind of manner, to a few of them who were clustered together. -“Can any umbrage have been taken? Is it possible King Robert can mean -to steal a march on His Majesty of England, and cross the Border ere he -giveth him warning? or hath he already done so with an English envoy in -his territories?” - -He paused after each of these short interrogatories, as if in the hope -of fishing out a reply from some one, which might instruct him in the -extent of the information that had come from the Scottish Monarch; but -no one exhibited either the will or the power to gratify him, and he -adroitly changed to another subject. - -“Ha! Sir David Lindsay,” said he, turning round and addressing that -knight, “let us not forget to settle the engagement and darreigne that -hath passed between us.” - -“Nay, trust me, that shall not I,” replied Sir David Lindsay; “I but -waited until thou hadst concluded thy weightier and more pressing -affairs, to entreat thee that we may enter into our articles of tilting -now. I do hope that nothing may arise to baulk us of our sport.” - -“What, I beseech thee, can baulk us?” demanded the Lord Welles slyly, -and probably with the hope that he would yet catch what he had been -angling for, by throwing this long line, and drawing it so skilfully -round. - -“Nay, I know not,” replied Sir David Lindsay readily; “thou mightst -have repented thee peraunter, and it would have sorely grieved me hadst -thou wished to draw thy head from our agreement.” - -“Depardieux, thou needest be in no dread of that, Sir David; I am not a -man of that kidney, I promise thee,” hastily replied the Lord Welles, -in some degree thrown off his guard by the gentle touch which Lindsay -had given to his honour; “for whether it be in war or in peace thou -shalt have a safe-conduct from King Richard, if I have the influence -that I do believe I have; yea, a safe-conduct for thee and thine, that -thou mayest on thy part fulfil thy behote. Let us straightway hasten to -arrange and register the terms of our meeting.” - -“’Tis well thought of,” said Sir David Lindsay; “let us have a clerk to -put our mutual challenge in proper style, and distinct and lasting -characters, that, each of us having a copy thereof, neither of us may -mistake.” - -A scrivener was accordingly sent for, and the council board, again -ordained to change the service it was destined to, now became a -theatre, where the nicest points of chivalry and the minutest rules of -tilting were canvassed at greater length and with more eagerness of -debate than had been bestowed on the much more important business which -had been previously gone through there. The superfine judgment of Sir -Piers Courtenay in such matters was singularly pre-eminent; and his -auditors were extremely edified by some long and very learned -disquisitions with which he was pleased to favour them. At length -everything was happily adjusted to the satisfaction of both parties, -and written copies of the terms being signed and exchanged between the -two principals in the proposed affair, they cordially shook hands and -separated, with many chivalric and courteous speeches to each other. - -Things were no sooner settled thus, than several Scottish knights -pressed forward to entreat Sir David Lindsay that they might be -permitted to bear him company when the time should be finally fixed. -The first of these was Sir William de Dalzell, and another was Sir -Patrick Hepborne. To these, and to Sir John Halyburton, Sir David -Lindsay readily promised that places should be preserved, however -limited a number the safe-conduct might be granted for; but he declined -further promises until he could be sure of fulfilling them. The -Scottish knights, who had been all too much interested in what was -going forward to permit them to leave the hall until everything was -finally adjusted, now hastened to call their esquires, and to make -those private preparations for travelling which were not publicly to -appear until after the departure of the English envoy and his suite. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XLVIII. - - The Departure from the Castle of Tarnawa—The Alarm of War. - - -The morning had not yet dawned when the court-yard of the Castle -re-echoed to the tramp of the mettled steeds of the Lord Welles and the -English knights, and their numerous retinue. The gay caparisons of the -men and horses, and the gaudily embroidered banners they carried, -flaunted and fluttered in vain amid the raw, grey, and chilling light -that quenched their glittering lustre, and left them but meagrely -visible. A body of Scottish lances, commanded by several trusty -officers, stood ready to march with them as a guard, and the troop was -of such strength as might overawe any undue curiosity they might -display, as well as do them honour, or protect them from injury or -insolence during their march through Scotland. The Earl of Moray was on -foot to do them the parting civilities of a host. - -“Forget not London Bridge,” cried a loud voice from the window of a -high turret that overlooked the court-yard. - -The Lord Welles and his knights were already in their saddles. They -twisted their necks with some difficulty, so as to have a view upwards, -and there they beheld the hairy bosom and sternly-comic features of Sir -William de Dalzell, who, in his chemise and bonnet de nuit, had thrust -his head and shoulders forth from a window. - -“Fear not,” cried the Lord Welles; “the meeting shall not fail on the -side of England. - -“Nor of Scotland neither,” replied Dalzell, “if so be that fourfooted -beasts can be had to carry our bodies to the muddy banks of thy -stinking Thames. I bid thee bon voyage, my Lord, though, by St. Andrew, -I envy thee not thine early morning’s march; and so I’ll to my couch, -and court the gentle influence of Morpheus for some hour or twain, for -contraire to all due course of nature, I see it threatens to snow.” - -With these words he threw into the air two large handfuls of -feather-downs, and instantly drew himself in. The Lord Welles was half -disposed to take the matter up as an insult; but the Earl of Moray, -laughing good-humouredly as the artificial snow descended on the group, -soon pacified his excited indignation. - -“Nay, mind him not, my Lord,” said he—“no one among us minds the jest -of Sir William de Dalzell; and if we did, perdie, we should gain little -by the trial, for we should only bring more of his humorous conceits on -our heads. His wit, how rude soever it may seem, hath no meaning of -harm or insult in it.” - -The Earl allowed the Lord Welles and his knights to be some time gone -ere he began to summon his people about him, and to issue his orders -for an immediate march. Sir William de Dalzell was the first of the -Scottish knights, his guests, who appeared armed cap-a-pie in the -court-yard, where the bustle of the foregoing morning was soon more -than renewed. Two or three hundred good men of the Earl’s followers -began to assemble, with their horses and arms, in obedience to the -summons which had been secretly sent through the population of the -district during the night. The rumour of the approaching war spread -from mouth to mouth, and rude jokes and laughter followed its -propagation, until the joyous clamour, becoming louder and louder, -began at last to swell till the welkin was rent with the bursting -shouts of the men-at-arms and soldiery, who rejoiced at the prospect of -having something more serious than a tourney to do with. - -Sir Patrick Hepborne sprang from his couch, and began to busy himself -for his departure. As he moved across the floor, his naked foot struck -against something that felt like the head of a nail, and was slightly -wounded by it. He stooped to ascertain what it was, when, much to his -surprise, he discovered a ring, with a beautiful emerald set in it, -that had slipped into a crevice between the planks, so as to leave the -stone sticking up. He immediately recognized it as having been worn by -the page Maurice de Grey. It was of beautifully wrought gold, and, -after a more minute examination, he discovered some Gothic characters -within its circle, which he read thus— - - - Change never, - But love ever - Thine Eleanore de Selby. - - -At the very name of Eleanore de Selby, Sir Patrick’s heart beat -quicker. He had no doubt that the jewel had dropped from the finger of -the page, probably the morning he left Tarnawa. He had already resolved -to keep it carefully, in remembrance of the boy; but the legend seemed -to prove it to have been a gift to Maurice de Grey from his cousin the -Lady Eleanore de Selby; and the conviction that it had once been hers, -all unworthy as she was, imparted to it a tenfold value, which he in -vain attempted to struggle against. It seemed to have appeared -miraculously to warn him never to forget her, and he resolved to -treasure it as a relic of one who could never be his. - -Meanwhile the court-yard resounded with the neighing of steeds and the -din of arms, and the trumpets and bugles were heard to strike shrilly -on the Castle walls, till its very turrets seemed to thrill with their -hoarse clangour. It was chiefly thronged by some of the same knights, -and some of the same esquires, pages, lacqueys, and steeds, whose -painted surcoats of a thousand dies, whose armour glittering with gold -and gems, and whose gorgeous attire and furniture, had reflected the -rays of the sunrise of the previous morning. But the new-born orb of -this day looked upon them in another guise. Though by no means devoid -of splendour, what they now wore was more adapted for use than for -ornament, and their very countenances displayed more of the fury of -joy, and had put on an air of greater sternness, that sorted strangely -with their uncouth jeers and laughter. The number of spearmen, bowmen, -pole-axe-men, and men-at-arms of all descriptions, was now much larger; -and in addition to this variety of the motley crowd, there were several -horse litters in attendance, and numerous batt and sumpter horses -loading with the lighter baggage, whilst at the Castle gate appeared a -small train of wains and wainmen, who were receiving the heavier -articles that were to be transported. - -One of the most active men in the midst of the bustle was Rory Spears, -who, with a morion on his head, and a back and breast-plate donned -instead of his fisherman’s coat, was busily occupied assisting in and -superintending the loading of the baggage. - -“Father,” said his daughter Katherine to him, as she at last obtained -an opportunity of addressing him, whilst at the same time her eyes -wandered to the adjacent spot, where Squire Sang was engaged in getting -Sir Patrick Hepborne’s party in order; “would I could wend with thee, -father!” - -“Hey!” exclaimed Rory, turning suddenly round upon her, and at the same -time poising a large package on his broad shoulder, and keeping it -there with one hand, whilst with the other he brandished his gaud-clip, -with singular energy of action; “what ails thee, lass? Is the wench -wud, think ye? Wouldst thou to the wars, sayest thou? Na, na, Kate; the -camp be nae fit place for sike like as thee, I trow. What, expose thee, -with all thy leddy learning and madame ’haviour, to be the hourly butt -for the ribald jests of the guards, and the boozing companions of the -sultering huts! By my fackins, that would be it indeed. Na, na! stay -thee at home, lassie, and look to the Countess, and thy new young -leddy; ay, and thy mother Alice, and the auld woman in the Burgh alswa; -and when I come back, my winsome grouse-pout, I’ll bring thee some -bonny-waully frae the wars. We shall ha’ spulzie to pick and choose -amang, I rauckon.” So saying, he threw his right arm, gaud-clip and -all, around his daughter’s waist, and kissing her heartily and with -much affection, hastened off with his burden. - -He was no sooner gone, than Mortimer Sang, seizing one moment from the -bustle of his occupation, strode across to where Katherine was -standing, gazing in silent, abstracted, and melancholy guise, towards -the pile of baggage heaped up on the ground, which her father’s -powerful arms had been rapidly diminishing. With the corner of her eye -she marked the squire’s approach; but the fulness of her heart told her -that she dared not look up, lest it should run over. Sang stood for -some moments absorbed in contemplation of her, his eyes rapidly feeding -his passion, and his passion slowly filling his eyes. - -“Mrs. Katherine,” said he at length, “ahem! Mrs. Katherine. Of a truth, -it is a bitter and ill-favoured thing to be compelled to part with -those with whom we have been happy. Verily, ’twas but yestre’en that -you and I were right blithe together, and by this e’en there will be -many miles atween us—ay, and who can tell, for a matter of that, -whether it may ever again please Heaven to bring us together for even -one such jolly evening—Heigho!” - -Katherine could stand this no longer, but giving way to a burst of -grief, hid her eyes in her apron, and being too much agitated to speak, -and too much shocked at this her involuntary disclosure of her -attachment to the squire, she ran off and disappeared into the Castle. - -Sang brushed the mists from his eye-lids with the back of his hand, -that his eyes might follow the fair vision as it flew. A Gothic doorway -received it. He heaved up a sigh, that rose from the bottom of his -heart, and again sunk heavily to the abyss whence it was raised, and -stood for some moments gazing at the black void that no longer -possessed her figure. Again his eyes were dimmed with moisture, again -he cleared them, and again he sighed; and casting one look towards his -men, who were standing idle in consequence of his absence, and another -to the doorway, he seemed to stand fixed between the equal attractions -of duty on the one hand and love on the other. A confused and -half-smothered laugh roused him from his dream. It proceeded from the -troopers and lacqueys of his party, who were all regarding him, and -nodding and winking to each other. Stung with an immediate sense of the -ludicrous appearance he must have presented his men, the balance of his -will was overthrown at once, and he sprang off to rate them for their -idleness. - -“What ho, my masters, meseems as if ye had lost your main-spring, that -ye stand so idle. By the bones of the blessed St. Baldrid, but I will -baste your lazy ribs with my lance-shaft, an ye stand staring in that -fashion; by all that is good I will make kettle-drums of yere bodies. -Ha! I’ll warrant me I shall alter your music, ay, and change these -jokes and that laughter of yours into grinnings that shall make your -fortunes at e’er a fair in Christendom. Go to, bestir yourselves, -knaves.” And following up this with a few well-directed hints of a more -substantial description, laid across the shoulders and backs of those -whom he conceived to be most deserving of his chastisement, they were -all as busy as ants in a moment. - -“Master Spears,” said Sang to Rory, as he passed him accidentally, “it -erketh me to learn that thou goest not with us.” - -“Not ganging with thee!” exclaimed Rory, with an expression of -countenance partaking partly of surprise at the question, partly of -doubt whether it was put seriously or in joke, and partly of the -pleased anticipation of the proud triumph he was about to enjoy when he -should have breath to pour forth his answer; “not ganging with thee, -Master Sang! By St. Lowry, but I am at a loss to fortake thy meaning. -What wouldst thou be at? Dost thou mean to say that I wend not with my -Lord the Yearl? If thou dost, by’r lackins, but thou art as sore wide -o’ the mark as if thou hadst shot blindfold. I’d have thee to know, Sir -Squire,” continued Rory, raising himself up to his full height, -sticking his left arm akimbo, and thrusting out his right to its utmost -horizontal extent, his hand at the same time resting on the hook of his -gaud-clip, the shaft of which was pointed to the earth, “I’d have thee -to know, my most worthy friend, Master Mortimer, and be it known to -thee, with all the due submission and respect the which I do bear thee, -that thy master, Sir Patrick, mought no more take the field withouten -thee, than my master, the noble Yearl of Moray, would get into his -saddle till he saw me at his back. Trust me, though I cannot ride -tilting as thou dost, nor loup barriers, nor gallop after runaway Gogs, -Magogs, and Goliaths of Gath, in armour, as thou mayest, I can push as -good a thrust with a lance, when I take a grup o’t in real yearnest, -against a chield that may be ettling to do me the like favour, as I can -yerk out this same gaud-clip i’ my hand here, again a rae or ane otter -beast. Na, na—the Yearl gang to the wars withouten me! No possible.” - -“Nay, as to its being possible, Master Spears,” replied Sang, folding -his arms across his breast with a waggish air, “trust me, I can assure -thee of the fact, seeing I did hear the Earl say to his esquire that -thou wert to tarry at Tarnawa, to wait on a young English damsel, who -might lack thy protection for a certain journey she hath in -contemplation.” - -“Ha!” exclaimed Spears, who had stood in utter dismay as Sang was -speaking; “art thou sickerly assured of what thou sayest, Squire -Mortimer? My faith, things be come to ane queer pass indeed, sin’ they -are gawin to transmew rough Rory Spears into a squire of dames. They -will, nae doot, make a tire-woman of him ere it be lang. But, by my -troth, I ken mair aboot mewing of hawks than mutching of maidens, and -there is no sweet essence, oil, or unguent to me like the guff o’ a -wolf, a tod, or a brock. Aweel-aweel, the Yearl’s wull sail be my wull; -but this I will say, though it may be I should not, that if ever it -gaed contraire to the grain wi’ me to do his bidding, by St. Lowry, now -is the very time. But what maun be maun be—that’s a’ I can say till’t.” -So shouldering his gaud-clip, he slowly and sullenly retired into the -Castle, his utter disappointment and mortification being but ill -concealed by his drooping head, and his hair that hung loose about his -face from under his morion. - -Rory sought his Lord, and, notwithstanding the bustle of business in -which the Earl was immersed, he succeeded in obtaining an interview -with him, when, to his indescribable horror, he discovered that all -that Sang had told him was correct. His grudge at his daughter’s -present service now grew into a dislike to her whom she served, who, -besides her crime of being an Englishwoman, no light one in his eyes, -had also to answer for his present humiliation. The Earl paid him some -handsome compliments on his fidelity, his good conduct, and his valour, -the possession of which qualities had occasioned his selection as the -person to be left at Tarnawa, to be in readiness for the honourable and -delicate piece of duty which might be perchance required of him. But -even these high commendations from the quarter most valued by him were -insufficient to make amends for the mortification he felt at his -disappointment, nor could they season the proposed duty so as to make -it palatable to him. - -“Aweel-aweel, my Lord Yearl of Moray, thy wull sall be my wull,” was -all that his Lordship could extract from Rory Spears. - -After Mortimer Sang had arranged everything about the baggage of his -party, and got the men and horses in proper order for the march, he -took the opportunity of stealing away from them for a few moments, with -the hope of obtaining a sight of Katherine Spears, whom he now -discovered to be, even more than he had ever supposed, the ruling -magnet of his heart. He found her drowned in tears. - -“Fair Katherine,” said he as he approached her with the utmost delicacy -and tenderness, “why art thou thus grief-by-woxen? Knowest thou not -that thy father tarrieth with thee at Tarnawa? Dost thou not already -know that he goeth not with the host?” - -“Yea, Sir Squire,” sobbed Katherine, hastily drying her eyes at the -sound of his voice, and vainly endeavouring to wipe away all traces of -her sorrow; “yea, I did so learn this morning from my lady.” - -“For whom grievest thou, then, fair maiden?” demanded Sang. “Surely -thou canst not be so oppressed at thoughts of the Earl’s departure?” - -“Nay, as to that, no,” replied the artless girl. “It may be I shall -partake in the woe of my Lady Countess. But I weep not for him. Nay, I -weep not for any one now.” - -Mrs. Katherine spoke the truth. She certainly did not weep at that -particular moment, but the exertion it cost her to restrain her tears -becoming much more than she was equal to, their accumulation was too -powerful to be withstood, and, overwhelming every dam and barrier that -maidenly prudence and propriety had raised to confine them, they burst -forth more violently than ever, and poor Katherine sobbed aloud as if -her heart would have broken. If there were still any remains of -resolution about that of the squire, it melted at once like the -snow-wreath that lies in the direct course of some wide and resistless -deluge of waters, which, as it is dissolved, mingles itself with and -swells the very flood that creates its dissolution. He blubbered like -an infant. - -“Lovely Katherine,” said he, sitting down beside her, and taking her -hand with the utmost respect and tenderness—“most beauteous Mrs. -Spears—my loveliest of all damsels, be composed, be comforted, I -beseech thee; my dearest Katherine, my love, my only love, be composed -and tell me—ah, tell, I entreat thee, whether I have any share in these -precious drops? Tell me thou weepest for my departure, and those liquid -diamonds that fall on my hand will be more prized by me than the purest -gems that ever came from the East. Tell me but that I shall carry thy -heart with me when I go, and I will leave thee mine in exchange for it, -and swear on the honour and faith of a trusty esquire, to be thine, and -thine only, for ever. What is glory, what is renown, what is the -exalted rank of knighthood itself, without the possession of her we -love? Say but thou wilt love me, sweet Katherine, and, when the war is -at an end, I will return to claim thy hand, were it from the uttermost -part of the earth. Say, do my hopes deceive me, or am I in very truth -happy in being beloved by thee?” - -Katherine’s paroxysm of grief had been partially arrested, almost from -the moment that Squire Mortimer had taken her hand so kindly, and begun -to speak. She quickly became more composed as he went on; her cheeks -became suffused with blushes, and showed beneath her tears like roses -after a shower; smiles soon afterwards came to play over them like the -sunbeams over the fresh and fragrant flowers; and, by the time that Mr. -Sang had finished, the maiden’s confusion, rather than her indistinct -murmurs, gave the esquire all the satisfaction he could have wished. -They swore eternal fidelity to each other, and, after a short and sweet -conversation, and an exchange of some little love-tokens had taken -place between them, they separated, to attend to their respective -avocations. - -By this time all was in order for the march. Already had several of the -nobles and knights departed independently from the Castle; and those -who remained, being of the Earl’s kinsmen or connexions, were to guide -their motions by his. He resolved to begin his journey immediately, -being anxious to accomplish several miles of way ere the sun was yet -risen to the height of his fury. The trumpets sounded; the clangour -stirred up the hearts of both men and steeds, and they expressed their -joy by stunning shouts and repeated neighings. But their shrill brazen -voices were a death-knell to the departing joy of many a soft bosom -that sighed within the Castle, and to none more than to that of -Katherine Spears. Her nerves were subjected to no fresh trial of -resolution, for the esquire’s absence from his party, at the moment of -starting, would have been inadmissible. - -The trumpet brayed aloud, for the third time, its harsh summons, and -the court-yard rang as the mailed horsemen leaped into their -steel-cased saddles. The Countess of Moray was on the terrace with her -maidens, waving many a sighing farewell to her gallant lord. The Earl -gave the word, and, in company with his brothers-in-law the Earls of -Fife and Caithness, his brother the Earl of Dunbar, the Earl of -Douglas, Sir David Lindsay, Sir John Halyburton, the Lord of Dirleton, -Sir Patrick Hepborne, and others, he rode forth at the Castle gate, -followed by the whole column of march. - -The troops which he headed were but a small portion of those whose -attendance he could command as vassals, being only such horsemen as -were ever ready to assemble at a moment’s notice, to attend him on any -sudden emergency. They now served him as a guard of honour in his -journey to the King, and the charge of summoning and mustering the -great body of his feudal force, and of despatching them under their -proper officers, to join him where he might afterwards direct, was left -to his Countess to carry into effect. The cavalcade filed off with a -noise like thunder through the gateway, and part of them forming upon -the natural glacis beyond, halted until the train of baggage wains had -fallen into the line immediately in rear of the horse litters, in which -the ladies travelled, and then they closed into the rear of the line of -march. The whole moved on slowly through the little hamlet, now silent -and deserted, except by its weeping women, its old men, and its -children, and then wound into the depth of the forest. An opening among -the trees gave them again a view of Tarnawa, and many was the head that -turned involuntarily round to look once more at its grey walls, some of -them, perhaps, though they little thought so, for the last time. - -Sir Patrick lifted up his eyes, raised his beaver, and turned them -towards the Castle. He beheld a bevy of white figures grouped together -on a bartizan, and white scarfs or handkerchiefs were waving. He smiled -in secret as the imagination crossed him that the motion of these was -like that which had flashed upon his eyes from the keep of Norham. But -his fancy had dreamt so, and the vision having been once engendered, -continued to haunt him as he rode at the head of his small troop. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XLIX. - - The Lord of Dirleton’s Tale—The Bishop of Moray and his Clergy. - - -The Earl of Moray led him and his little force through the Meads of St. -John. That scene, lately so gay, was now considerably changed. Most of -the pavilions on the hither meadow had been struck, and the knights who -had occupied them had already left the ground with their people, whilst -others waited to join the line of march. The temporary bridge was there -to afford them a passage; but the demolition of the lists had been -already begun under the superintendence of the pursuivants, and others -of the heralds, to whom the property of the materials was an -acknowledged perquisite. The inhabitants of the little town of tents -and temporary huts were in humming motion, like a hive of bees that are -about to swarm. All were preparing to depart with lamentations, their -occupation being gone with the tournament that had assembled them; and -pack-horses, and wains, and rude carts without wheels, that were -dragged along the ground on the pointed extremities of the shafts -projecting behind, were loaded with the utmost expedition. - -The street of the burgh presented a different picture. Thither the news -of the approaching war had not yet reached, and the townsmen rested -with blackened hands and faces from their melancholy work of clearing -out the burnt rubbish from the foundations of their houses, to gaze, -and wonder, and speculate on the armed force. Loud were the cheers with -which they greeted the Earl of Moray, and they were not tired with -these manifestations of their gratitude to their generous lord until -they had accompanied him for a considerable way beyond the eastern end -of the town. At the distance of some five or six miles from Forres the -Earl halted his men, just where the half-wooded and half-cultivated -country gave place to a bare heath of considerable extent, and where -the gentle breeze was permitted to come cool and unbroken against their -throbbing temples, after they were relieved from the thraldom of their -bassinets and morions; whilst the oaks that fringed the moor, and -straggled into it in groups and single trees, enabled them to find -sufficient shade from a now oppressive sun, to eat their morning’s meal -in comfort. - -A pavilion was pitched for the reception of the nobles, knights, and -ladies, and, after partaking of the refreshment that was provided under -it, they wandered forth in parties to waste the time beneath the trees, -until the horses should have been fed, and everything prepared for -continuing the march. Sir Patrick Hepborne, having fallen into -conversation with De Vaux, the old Lord of Dirleton, wandered slowly -with him to a clump of trees at some distance, and they sat down -together on an old oak that had fallen by natural decay from the little -grove of gigantic trees that threw a shade over it. The place was -sufficiently retired to promise security from interruption, and -Hepborne longed much to obtain from his companion the distressing -history to which he and his lady had alluded on the evening of their -first meeting at Tarnawa. He felt it difficult, however, to hint at a -subject of which he already knew enough to satisfy him, that it could -not fail to be productive of painful emotions to his father’s old -friend, and he would have left it untouched had not accident led to it. - -“That blasted moor, where tree grows not,” observed the Lord of -Dirleton, “and where, as thou see’st, the stunted heath itself can -hardly find food for life, amid the barren sand of which its soil is -composed, was cursed into sterility by the infernal caldron of the -weird-hags who, by their hellish incantations, did raise a poisonous -marsh-fire to mislead Macbeth; and did so drag him down from the path -of honour and virtue, to perish in a sea of crimes his soul would once -have shuddered at. See’st thou yonder huge cairn of stones? Some men -say that it marks the very spot where the foul crones first met him, -as, with his associate Banquo, he did return victorious from the -overthrow of the Danes, who did invade Fife, and whose bravest leaders -he sent to eternal repose in St. Colme’s Isle; it was there, I say, -that tradition reporteth they did appear to him, when, with the -flattering tongue of the great Tempter, they did salute him Thane of -Glammis and of Cawdor, and alswa King hereafter.” - -“Tell me, I pray thee,” said Sir Patrick, “what make these soldiers who -do so crowd towards the cairn? Methinks some of them on horseback, and -some of them on foot, are riding and running full tilt around it, as if -in frolicsome chase of each other.” - -The Lord of Dirleton was silent for some moments. He sighed, and, much -to Sir Patrick’s surprise, tears came into his eyes. He was deeply -affected for some moments. - -“Thou must of needscost marvel, Sir Knight,” said he at length, “to see -me so much moved by a question the which is so simple in itself, and -the which did fall so naturally from thee. But thy wonder will cease -anon. Be it known to thee, that these men do run and ride in that -manner, in compliance with a well-received belief, that to surround the -cairn with three times three circuits, securely buys the happiness of -him who doth so, for the space of three times three months. Peraunter -thy marvel will now be enhanced, why I should have wept at the notice -of a practice so apparently harmless; but that thine astonishment may -forthwith cease, I shall haste me to tell thee the cause of these -tears. I am not sorry that I have been led thus accidentally to the -subject, sith I did well intend me to effund into thine ear, at first -fitting time, the circumstances of that bereavement of the which, when -I did once before obscurely hint to thee, thou didst then seem to wish -to hear more.” - -The Lord of Dirleton paused, as if to recollect himself, and, after an -effort to master certain feelings that agitated him, he began his -narrative— - -“It was about three months after the Lady of Dirleton had happily given -birth to her first daughter, that I left her and her baby in full -health, and soon afterwards travelled northward into these parts, with -mine early friend, John Dunbar, Earl of Moray. We had been at Lithgow -together, at the proclamation of King Robert, and I had yielded to my -Lord’s wishes, to bear him company for some few days at his Castle of -Tarnawa. After a short sojournance in his hospitable hall, I reached -this spot on my way homewards, and chancing to halt here, as we do now, -I was told of the virtues of the Witch’s Cairn. Bethinking me that it -was good to secure nine months of happiness at so easy a price, I -spurred my horse into a gallop, and began to course around it at full -speed. - -“I had already encircled it twice three times, and had begun the -seventh round, when my horse was suddenly scared by the appearance of a -haggard female figure that arose from among the docks and clot leaves -in the middle of the heap, and glared fearfully at me. The animal -started so unexpectedly aside that he threw me from the saddle, and I -lay stunned by the severity of the fall. When my senses returned to me, -I found myself in the hands of my people, who were busied about me -under a tree. Convinced that it was some supernatural thing that had so -strangely crossed me, and put a period to mine attempt to work against -fate, I did eagerly demand of those about me what had become of the -unsightly witch. All agreed that she had limped slowly away before -their eyes until lost in the neighbouring wood; one or two there were -who did ween her to be no other than some ancient shepherdess or -nerthes-woman, who, wearied with watch, mought liggen her down to rest -there, and who had been frayed from her sleep by the sounding tramp of -my horse’s gallop; but the rest were of my mind, that she was verily -some evil witch, whose blasted form and eyne boded some dire malure. - -“Sore oppressed with the belief of approaching calamity, I did hie me -back to mine own Castle of Dirleton, with a far heavier heart than I -had left it, dreading drearily as I went that I should learn some -dismal tidings when I should reach thither. But all was well; and as -things went not in anywise awry for some time, I began to laugh in -secret at my own apprehensions. Prosperity favoured me, indeed, in a -somewhat unusual manner. For six months was I blessed by a train of -good luck so unusual, that hardly a day passed without some happy or -favourable occurrence; but this was the very cause of awakening new -fears in me. If, said I, reasoning with myself—if the six withershin -circles round the Witch’s Cairn have had any influence in producing -this marvellous coil of good fortune, what will happen when the -spell-thread is unwound to the end, where it was so mysteriously -snapped? This seventh moon must be pregnant with some dire affliction. - -“I trembled for its approach. It began—several days of it had already -stolen away—all was well, and I did again blush for my fears; but, -alas! they were too soon realised. One evening Sarah, the nurse of our -infant, was amissing with her charge. It grew late, and the Lady -Dirleton became frantic with the most cruel apprehensions. She insisted -on accompanying me out to search for the nurse and her babe. The alarm -spread, and not only the domestics but the whole vassals, largely -sharing in our affliction, turned out to aid us. All our efforts were -in vain, for a dark and stormy night came on; and on that wide plain -that stretcheth between the Castle and the sea, there was greater risk -of the seekers losing themselves than chance of their finding the woman -and the babe. The Lady Dirleton recklessly wandered until she was so -sore toil-spent that she was carried to the Castle almost insensible. I -did still continue my search in despair, in defiance of whirlwinds of -sand and red glaring flashes of lightning. Faint and distant screams -were heard by times ymeint with the blast. We followed in the direction -they went in, as well as the mirkness of the night might permit us to -do. Sometimes they would bring us down towards the shore of the sea, -where they were lost amidst the thunders of its waves rolling furiously -in on the beach. Anon we did hear them retreating inland, and we were -led by them, in a zig-zag course, hither and thither across the plain, -in idle pursuit. ‘The child! the babe!—ha, the murderer!—ha, blood, -blood, blood!—murder, murder!—the child, the child!’ were the fearful -words we caught from time to time, ymingled with wild unearthly cries. -Still we followed, and we shouted by times; but our shouts were -unheeded, albeit they must natheless have been heard by the person -whose voice reached our ears so strongly. - -“At length, after a harrassing night of fruitless following, the voice -died away from us, and we groped wearily and hopelessly about until day -did gloomily dawn upon us. We again wandered down towards the shore, -and there descried a female figure, with torn garments and dishevelled -hair, running and leaping about with wild and irrational action among -the sand-heaps by the sea side. I thought of the hag of the Witch’s -Cairn, and my blood curdled within me. - -“For some time we followed the figure, but almost with as little -success as we had before done in the darkness of night. At length, by -making a circuit around her, we came close upon her, where she had -seated herself on the top of a benty hillock. It was Sarah, the nurse -of our child. She rose wildly, by fits and starts, and waved her arms -high in the air, and gave streaming to the wind the infant’s sky-blue -mantle, the which was red with blood-stains. Her eyes were fixed in -vacancy, and she regarded us not as we approached her; but she screamed -and shrieked unintelligibly; and again she laughed loud and horribly at -intervals. We rushed upon her, and then it was we discovered that -reason had been reft from her. Her eyes glared wildly around on us all, -but she knew no one, and no syllable could now be extracted from her. -It was too clear, alas! that she had murdered mine infant in the sudden -frenzy that had seized her!” - -“Blessed Virgin, protect us!” cried Sir Patrick Hepborne, horror-struck -with the Lord of Dirleton’s story. - -“She was the daughter of an old and much attached domestic,” continued -de Vaux, “and she herself, devoted to us as a daughter, loved the -infant as her own. Nothing but madness could have driven her to do a -deed so horrible. Where she had disposed of the body of the poor -innocent we could never discover, though our search for it was -unceasing for some days. As for the wretched Sarah, whom God had so -visited as to make her no longer accountable for her actions, she was -brought back into the Castle, and put under that needful restraint to -the which she was subjected for many years thereafter. When she came to -be examined more narrowly, some one discovered a dreadful gash on her -right hand, as if given by a dagger, a circumstance the which did add -to the heap of mystery the truth was buried under, and engendered full -many a vague thought and idle surmise. I gave mine orders that some one -should be for ever on the watch by Sarah, night and day, to catch up -anything she might utter in her ravings, that might chance to -illuminate the darkness that hung over this heart-breaking calamity. -But albeit her voice was rarely silent for a moment, being unceasingly -poured forth in elritch screams of laughter when she was in her wildest -fits, or in piteous moaning and waymenting when she was low, yet did -she rarely mould it into words of meaning. Full oft would she take up -in her arms the mantle, the which she had never parted withal, and hush -it with sad lullaby, as if the child had been within it; and more than -once, when thus employed, she was seen to clasp it in agony to her -bosom, to look wildly on vacancy, and to stretch forth her arm, as if -dreading the approach of some one, and fleeing into the darksome corner -of her cell, she was heard to yell out, ‘Murderer!—ha! the babe, the -babe!—help, murder!—blood, blood!—my babe!’—and then she would lay open -the mantle, and gazing into it with frenzy, would increase her screams -to the very cracking of her voice, as if she had but that moment -discovered that the infant was gone. - -“Thou mayest right well conceive, Sir Patrick,” continued the Lord of -Dirleton, after a pause, during which he yielded to the emotions so -powerfully excited by this recapitulation of the circumstances of this -so terrible affliction which had befallen him—“thou mayest easily -imagine, I say, what a deep, nay, fathomless tide of sorrow poured over -the souls of the Lady Dirleton and me. We loathed the very air of the -scene tainted by this dreadful tragedy. Anxious to escape from it, we -hastened abroad, and strove, by mixing in the society of a new world, -to blunt the pangs we suffered from the very souvenance of our home. I -need say no more, I wis, but to crave thy good pardon, Sir Patrick, for -drawing so hugely on thy patience by this long narration, the which, I -do natheless opine, hath not been altogether uninteresting to thee, -sith I have observed that thou hast, more than once, showed signs of -thy friendly sympathy for our misfortune.” - -“In truth, my Lord, I am deeply affected by thy strange and melancholy -history,” replied Hepborne. “But what, I pray thee, hath become of -Sarah, thy child’s nurse, on whom so much mystery doth hang?” - -“After many years of confinement, Sarah’s wudness did become more -tranquil; it seemed as if it was gradually worn out by its own fury. -Then did succeed the mantling and stagnant calmness of idiocy—and -seeing that she was no longer harmful, she was, by slow degrees, -permitted greater license, until at last she was suffered to go about -at the freedom of her own will. But will she seemed to have none. -Supported by the Lady Dirleton’s charity, and tended by her order, she -wandered to and fro in the neighbourhood of the Castle, like a living -clod, hardly ever exhibiting even a consciousness of existence.” - -“And dost thou believe, my Lord,” demanded Hepborne, “that the wudness -of this poor afflicted wretch did verily work this sad malure to thee? -Or didst thou never entertain aught of suspicion of crime against any -who were more accountable for their deeds?” - -“Ay,” replied the Lord of Dirleton, after a pause; “ay, we had -suspicions—horrible suspicions. My brother John, that is my -half-brother, for he was the son of my father by a woman of low birth -and infamous character, who, by sacrifice of virtue and afterwards by -her cunning, didst circumvent my father, then an old man, and did -induce him to patch up a marriage with her. After the death of my -father she would fain have kept the same place she had done during his -life; but as I had just then married me I could not insult my wife by -the introduction to her notice of a woman so notourly infamous. I -natheless did what in prudence I might for my brother, then a young man -of some eighteen or twenty winters. I took him under mine own roof, -where I in vain endeavoured to bring down his naturally haughty and -unbending temper, and to restrain the violence of his passions. I had -shown him an elder brother’s kindness from very boyhood, and methought -his heart did love me. But his wicked and infamous mother, stung with -the disgrace of being refused admittance within our gates, so worked -upon his young mind that she taught him to regard me rather as an enemy -than as a benefactor. Forgetful of the anxiety I did ever display for -the advancement of his fortunes and the improvement of his mind, he -became impatient of reproof, and ever and anon he was guilty of the -most gross and offensive insults to me, and yet more so to the Lady -Dirleton, against whom his mother’s hatred was more particularly -inflamed. Such ungrateful behaviour did naturally beget much unhappy -brawling, and high and bitter words often passed between us. At length -his daring arose to such a height that he presumed to usher in his -impure dam among the noble and honourable guests who assembled to -witness the ceremonial baptism of our infant. O’ermastered by rage at -the moment, and boiling with indignation, I forgot myself so far as to -give him a blow; and I did hound both of them straightway forth with -ignominious reproach from my walls. I saw not John ever again, yet I -had good cause to fear that he——But hold! my wife and daughter -approach; and, hark! the trumpets do sound for the march.” - -As the Earls of Moray, Fife, Dunbar, and Douglas, who led the line, -were breaking through the oak forest through which they travelled for -some time after leaving the halting-place, the proud towers of Elgin -rose before them, and the tinkling of many a bell from its various -convents and churches told them that its inhabitants were already aware -of their approach. Soon afterwards the long train of a procession was -seen winding down from the entrance of the town, and as they drew -nearer they descried at the head of it the venerable Alexander Barr, -bishop of the diocese. He was accompanied by his twenty-two canons -secular, and various other members and servants of the Cathedral; and -after him came a body of Black Dominican Monks, followed by the Grey -Franciscan Friars, all marching in pairs. Ere the warlike body of -nobles, and knights, and men-at-arms had reached the bridge, the -procession had halted to receive them. The Bishop, in his episcopal -robes, sat, patiently waiting them, on a well-fed milk-white palfrey, -of sober and staid disposition, suited to his master’s habits. The Earl -of Moray hastened to dismount, and would have run to assist the Prelate -from his horse. But there was no pride in the old man, and seeing the -Earl’s intention, he quitted his saddle with an agility hardly to be -looked for from one of his years, and, hastening to meet his embrace, -bestowed his willing benediction on him, as well as on the Earls of -Fife, Dunbar, and Douglas, and those who followed them. - -“My Lord Bishop,” said the Earl of Fife, “verily I did scarcely look -for this good countenance and gentle demeanour from thee, seeing how I -am sykered to him who hath wrought the Church so much foul wrong. But -thou well knowest——” - -“Talk not of these matters, my Lord Earl of Fife, I beseech thee,” -cried the Bishop, interrupting him; “talk not of these matters now. We -shall have ample leisure to discuss these painful themes ere the hour -of couchee. Mount, I beseech thee, and let me now do what honour I may -to the son of my King, and to his noble brothers-in-law, the gallant -Earls of Douglas and of Moray, by escorting them to the Royal Castle. -Thy messengers, my Lord,” continued he, turning to Earl Moray, “did -out-run my tardy hospitality; for ere I gathered tidings of thy coming, -or could bestir myself to make fitting provision for thy reception, and -for the banqueting of these nobles, knights, and ladies, thy -preparations at the Castle were already largely advanced, else had I -assuredly claimed thee and all as my guests.” - -“Of a truth, we are rather too potent a company to harass thee withal,” -replied the Earl of Moray; “and, as Constable of the Royal Castle here, -it would ill become me to shrink from the fulfilment of its -hospitality. Let us mount, then, and hie us thither.” - -All being again in their saddles, those composing the procession turned -their faces towards the town, and began to move slowly onwards. The -black crosses on the humble white gowns of the Dominicans or Black -Friars, and the grey gown and cowl of the Franciscans—their meek and -world-contemning countenances—their bare feet, the soft tread of which -gave forth no sound—the humble banner of St. Giles, the tutelary saint -of the town, who was represented in his pastoral habit, holding a book -in his right hand, and a staff in his left, with the motto, “Sic itur -ad astra,” were all calculated to lead the mind far above the pomps of -this vain world, and were strangely contrasted with the fierce and -haughty looks of the warriors—their glittering armour—their nodding -plumes—the yell of the bugles—and the proudly-blazoned surcoats, and -shields, and banners, and pennons, which flared against the declining -sun, as if their glory had been made to endure even beyond that of the -blessed luminary itself. - -They wound up the steep hill to the Castle, and there the religious -orders halted in two lines, facing each other, until the gaudy -war-pageant had passed inwards, with all its crashing clangour of -instruments, and all its flash and glitter. The holy brethren then -moved away in silence, disappearing in succession, like the waves that -follow the foaming surges raised on the bosom of a lone lake by the -fall of some mountain crag. - -But there was one monk of the order of St. Francis there who staid not -with his brethren to gaze with lack-lustre eye on the ranks of the -warriors as they rode by. Deep excitation seemed suddenly to be -awakened in him by some passing object. With an agitated air, he -shrouded himself up in his grey cowl, and tightening his girdle of -ropes about his loins, he mingled with the ranks of riders, and glided -into the Castle. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER L. - - The Mystery of the Lady Beatrice—Arrival of the Nobles and - Men-at-Arms at Aberdeen. - - -The banquet, though sufficiently splendid, was tempered by moderation, -and the guests broke up at an early hour, for the Bishop took an -opportunity of signifying his wish to hold private council with the -Earls of Fife, Moray, Douglas, and Dunbar, and one or two of the other -nobles and knights whom he named. The hint was accordingly taken, and -the accommodation of the Castle being too confined for a company so -numerous, the Bishop of Moray consigned to the care of his canons the -duty of providing fit lodging for such as might be compelled to go into -the town. Though the apartments in the houses of these churchmen were -small, yet were they most luxuriously furnished for the times to which -this history refers. - -As De Vaux, the Lord of Dirleton, was one of the few whom the Bishop -requested to aid him with his advice, the former remained for some time -at the Castle. His lady and daughter were therefore consigned to the -care of a rosy-faced, tun-bellied canon, who was ready with his -attendants to escort them to his antique mansion. As his lacqueys -lighted them along under the covered arcades lining both sides of the -streets, his gay smiles and gallant air sorted but indifferently with -the solemn religious grandeur that was everywhere spread over this -ancient episcopal town. - -The subject of conference between the Bishop and the nobles was the -late outrages of the Wolfe of Badenoch. The good Bishop was himself -incapable of seeking vengeance, in as far as he as a mere man was -concerned. But he was zealous for the interests of that religion and of -that Church of which he was the minister; and being firmly resolved -that neither should be insulted with impunity, he stated to the Lords -and Knights his determination to go with them to Aberdeen, and to lay -the matter before the King. To such a step no objection could be urged -by those who heard him, and accordingly, after some conversation on -other matters, which continued to a pretty late hour, the party broke -up. - -As the Lord of Dirleton was leaving the Castle, with the intention of -finding his way to the house of the canon, whither his lady and the -Lady Jane de Vaux had gone before him, he was suddenly addressed by -some one from behind, who, in a distinct but hollow tone, whispered in -his ear— - -“Wouldst thou know aught of the fate of thy first-born daughter?” - -“Ha! what canst thou tell me?” cried De Vaux, turning round with -inconceivable eagerness, and addressing a Franciscan monk who stood -behind him shrouded up in his cowl; “speak, I beseech thee, holy man, -what hast thou to tell of my first-born daughter?” - -“Dismiss thine attendants,” replied the Franciscan calmly, “and follow -me to the church of Greyfriars; there shalt thou learn all that I have -to tell.” - -“Get thee to thy lodgings,” cried the Lord of Dirleton to his people, -“and leave me with this holy monk. I would have converse with him -alone.” - -“My Lord,” replied his esquire, “it were safer methinks to have thy -people about thee; treachery hath many disguises—there may be danger.” - -“Talk not to me of danger,” cried De Vaux; “leave me, as I do command -thee.” - -The esquire bowed, and retired with the valets and lacqueys who had -waited. The monk, who had stood aloof abiding his determination, now -moved away, and the Lord of Dirleton followed him. The streets were -deserted and silent, and the Franciscan staid not to speak, but glided -so quickly along as to defy all attempts at conversation on the part of -the knight who followed him. After threading through some narrow lanes -and uncouth passages, the Lord of Dirleton was led by his guide to the -door of the church of the Greyfriars, to which the monk applied a large -key that hung at his girdle, and after letting himself and the knight -in, he again locked it carefully behind him. The interior of the holy -place was dimly illuminated by the few lamps that were burning here and -there before some of the shrines, but the gloomy light was not even -sufficient to dissipate the shadows that hung beneath the arch of the -groined roof. - -“Speak, quickly speak, father—in charity speak, and satisfy my -anxiety,” cried the old Lord of Dirleton, panting with the eagerness of -expectation, combined with the breathlessness of exertion. “What -knowest thou of the fate of my child?—Is she alive?—In mercy speak!” - -The Franciscan shot a glance at De Vaux from under his cowl, and then -strode slowly up the nave of the Church until he came opposite to a -shrine dedicated to an image of the Virgin. There he halted, and -leaning against its iron screen with his back to the lamps, dropped his -head on his bosom, and seemed lost in thought for some moments. - -“Oh, speak,” cried the Lord of Dirleton, following him—“Speak—does my -child live? my child Beatrice?” - -“Thy child liveth not,” murmured the monk, in a deep sepulchral tone; -“’tis of her death I would tell thee.” - -“Alas, alas! I did indeed fear so,” cried the Lord of Dirleton, deeply -affected. “I had indeed ceased to hope that she might be yet alive. Yet -even to know her fate were something amid the sad obscurity which hath -so long oppressed us. What canst thou tell me of her, holy father?” - -“Thou hadst a brother,” said the Franciscan, slowly and solemnly. - -“Alas! I had. I had indeed a brother,” cried De Vaux. “Then are my -fears but too just. It was he then who reft me of mine infant. Oh, -wretch, wretch, how couldst thou be so cruel!” - -“It was he,” cried the monk, with a peculiar energy of manner, whilst -his eyes glared strangely from beneath his cowl as he spake; “it was -thy brother, who, in revenge for the blow he received from thine hand, -tore thine infant daughter from her nurse, and fled with her.” - -“Then may God in His infinite mercy forgive him!” cried De Vaux, -clasping his hands together with strong agitation of manner; and, -dropping on his knees before the shrine of the Virgin, he buried his -face in his mantle, and gave way to his emotions. - -“What! canst thou in truth forgive him, then?” cried the monk; “canst -thou in sincerity pray for his forgiveness in Heaven? Wouldst thou not -rather seek revenge against him—revenge, the which may ere long be put -within thy power—revenge, to which even I might peradventure help -thee?” - -“And dost thou, the servant of Christ—thou who shouldst be the -messenger of peace—dost thou become a tempter?” cried De Vaux, looking -upwards at the monk with astonishment; “dost thou counsel revenge?—dost -thou become a pander to the most malignant of human passions, so as to -offer thyself to be the instrument who shall drag up my sinful, yet -perchance ere this, repentant brother, to dree my vengeance?” - -“’Tis well,” replied the Franciscan coolly; “I did so speak but to -prove thy virtue, the which I do find to be great. Forgiveness is the -badge of our Christian faith, which it well becometh thee to wear; and -thou hast the jewel of its highest perfection, sith thou canst bring -thy mind to forgive him who was the murderer of thy first-born child.” - -“The murderer of my child!” cried the wretched De Vaux, starting from -his knees, and pacing the church, wringing his hands. “Were my worst -fears true, then? was my innocent infant, my smiling cherub, was my -Beatrice murdered? The few words thou didst let fall had overpowered my -first suspicions, and had already engendered hopes that my brother’s -violence had at least stopped short of a crime so horrible. Murdered, -saidst thou? Oh, most foul, most foul! He whom I did love and cherish -from boyhood as my son—yea, loved as the issue of my own loins—in whose -nurture I so interested myself, and on whom I did propose to bestow -large possessions—What, the flesh of mine own father to murder my -helpless babe!” - -“Thy forgiveness is indeed of most marvellous and unexampled -excellence,” cried the Franciscan in a whining tone, the true meaning -of which could hardly be interpreted; “wouldst thou, then, that thy -brother should be brought before thee, that he may receive full pardon -at thy hands for the cruel coulpe he hath committed against thee?” - -“Nay, nay, nay,” cried the wretched Lord of Dirleton with rapid -utterance, “let me not see him—let me not see him. I loved the sight of -him once as the darling son of mine aged father—let me not see him now -as the murderer of my child. The taking of the life of my brother -cannot restore that of which he did bereave my Beatrice. As I hope for -mercy from on high, so do I forgive him. Let him then live and repent; -let him do voluntary penance, that his soul may yet meet with mercy at -Heaven’s high tribunal; but let me not see him. Had he only robbed me -of my child, I mought peraunter have been able to have yielded him my -forgiveness face to face; yea, and moreover to have extinguished all -animosity by weeping a flood of tears upon his bosom; for verily I am -but as a lone and bruised reed, and a brother’s returning love were a -healing balm worth the purchasing. But the murderer of my child—oh, -horrible!—let me not see him.” - -The Franciscan drew his cowl more completely over his face, and stood -for some moments with his head averted, as if to hide those emotions to -which De Vaux’s agitation had given rise. Starting suddenly from the -position he had taken, he sprang forward a pace or two towards the Lord -of Dirleton, and then halted suddenly ere he reached him. De Vaux, -wrapped up in his own thoughts, was unconscious of the movement of the -monk. He threw himself again on his knees before the shrine of the -Virgin, and began offering up sincere but incoherent and unconnected -petitions, at one time for the forgiveness of his own sins, at another -for the soul of his murdered daughter, and again for mercy and pardon -from Heaven for the crimes of his brother. The Franciscan, with his -arms crossed over his breast, stood with his body gently bent over the -pious supplicant, absorbed in contemplation of him, and deeply moved by -the spectacle. A footstep was heard—the Lord of Dirleton’s ear caught -it too at length, and he arose hastily; but the Franciscan friar with -whom he had been holding converse was gone. - -“Father,” said the knight eagerly to a brother of the convent who now -approached him from an inner door, “tell me, I pray thee, who was he of -thine order who passed from me but now?” - -“Venerable warrior,” replied the monk with an air of surprise, “in -truth, I saw no one. May the blessing of St. Francis be with thee. -Peraunter thine orisons hath induced our Blessed Lady to send some -saint miraculously to comfort thee. Nay, perhaps St. Francis himself -may have been sent by the Holy Virgin to reward thy piety for thus -seeking her shrine at such an hour. Leave me something in charity for -our poor convent, and her blessing, as alswa that of St. Francis, will -assuredly cleave to thee.” - -“Hath not one of thy brethren loitered in the streets until now?” -demanded the Lord of Dirleton. - -“Nay,” replied the monk, “I this moment left the dormitory, where they -are all asleep. Trust me, they are not given to wander in the streets -at such an hour as this; and no one else could come hither, seeing that -the door of our church is carefully locked at night.” - -The Lord of Dirleton was lost in thought for some moments; but, -recollecting himself, he gave gold to the begging friar, who received -it meekly. He then craved the monk’s guidance to the house of the -canon, where his lady and daughter were lodged; and the holy man, -taking a key from his girdle, unfastened the door of the church, and De -Vaux silently followed him, ruminating as he went on the mysterious -interview he had had, as well as on the sad story of his murdered -daughter, the whole of his affliction for whom had been so strangely -and so strongly brought back upon him. - -In the morning, the march of the nobles, knights, and men-at-arms was -swelled by the presence of the Bishop of Moray, attended by a large -party of his churchmen and followers. The whole body reached the -ancient city of Aberdeen early on the fourth day, and Sir Patrick -Hepborne had reason to be fully satisfied with the gracious reception -he met with from King Robert. He was gladdened by a happy meeting with -his father, and with his friend Assueton, who had come to attend on His -Majesty. - -“How fareth thine excellent mother, Assueton?” demanded Hepborne -jocularly; “thou hast doubtless ere this had enough of her good -society, as well as of thy home.” - -“Nay, of a truth, my dearest bel ami,” replied his friend, “parfay my -conscience doth sorely smite me in that quarter. Verily, I have not yet -seen mine excellent mother. Day after day have I been about to hie me -to her, to receive her blessing; but something untoward hath ever -arisen to detain me; and just as I was about to accomplish mine intent, -I was hurried away hither by the King’s command. Perdie, I did never -before think that I could have complained of the sudden outbreak of -war; yet do I confess that I did in good earnest begrudge this -unlooked-for call most bitterly.” - -“And hath love or filial affection the most to do in exciting thy -complaint, thinkest thou?” demanded Hepborne. - -“Um! somewhat of both, perhaps,” replied Assueton gravely. “By St. -Andrew, but I am an altered man, Hepborne. Nay, smile not; or rather, -if it so pleaseth thee, smile as thou mayest list, for certes I am now -case-hardened against thy raillery.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LI. - - King Robert at Aberdeen—Duncan MacErchar again. - - -The evening was beautiful, when the loyal inhabitants of Aberdeen, who, -by their King’s temporary residence among them, were rendered eagerly -alive to every little movement regarding him, began to be aware that -something was in contemplation, from observing a slender guard of -spearmen marching forth from the Castle, and forming in single files at -about a yard between each, so as to enclose an extended oblong space on -the upper part of the street. The populace began to crowd towards the -barrier of spears, in expectation of something interesting, and soon -formed a dense mass everywhere behind it. The houses overlooking the -spot began to be filled with guests, too, who were glad to claim -acquaintance with their inmates, for the sake of procuring places at -the windows, which were all of them quickly occupied, as well as every -one of those antique and curiously applied outer stairs and whimsical -projections that characterized the city architecture of the period. - -Idle speculation became rapidly busy among the anxious gazers. All -hoped they were to see the King, yet few thought the hope well founded; -for the infirmities of age had so beset His Majesty that he was but -little equal to undergo the labour of the parade attendant on his -elevated rank, far less to endure public exhibitions of his person. - -All doubt was soon put to an end, however. A distant flourish of -trumpets was heard, and martial music followed, swelling and growing -upon the ear as it slowly approached from the innermost recesses of the -Castle. It burst forth with shriller clangour, and the performers -presently issued from the Castle, preceding a grand procession of -nobles, knights, and ladies, habited in the most magnificent dresses, -followed by a small body of guards, in the midst of whom there was a -splendid litter, having the Royal Arms, surmounted by the Crown of -Scotland, placed over its velvet canopy. It was borne by twelve -esquires, in the richest Royal liveries. Murmurs of self-congratulation -and joyful greeting began to run around the assemblage of people; but -when the litter was set down in the middle of the open space, and -Robert II., their beloved monarch, the observer of justice, whose ears -were ever open to the complaints of his meanest subjects, and of whom -it was even commonly said that he never spoke word that he performed -not—when the good King of Scotland was assisted forth from his -conveyance, deafening shouts rent the air, and were prolonged -unceasingly, till the lungs of the shouters waxed weary from their -exertions. - -The reason of the monarch thus taking the air before his people, was to -give confidence to the good citizens of Aberdeen, amidst the -exaggerated rumours of invasion, by showing himself so surrounded by -his dauntless barons. - -The infirm old King, plainly habited in a purple velvet mantle, lined -with fur, and purple silk nether garments, with grey woollen hose, -folded amply over them, for the comfort of his frail limbs, leaning -upon his son the Earl of Fife, and partly supported by his -much-favoured son-in-law, the Earl of Moray, took his broad hat and -plume with dignity from his head, and, showing his long snowy hair, -bowed gracefully around to the people, and then began to walk slowly -backwards and forwards, aiding himself partly with his son’s arm and -partly with a cane, now stopping to converse familiarly with some of -the ladies, or of the many nobles and knights by whom he was attended, -or halting occasionally, as if suddenly interested in some person or -thing he noticed among the crowd, and then again resuming his walk with -all the marks of being perfectly at home among his people. The show, if -show it might be called, went not on silently, for ever and anon the -enthusiasm of the vulgar getting the better of their awe for majesty, -their voices again rose to heaven in one universal and startling peal. -The gallant groups of nobles and knights, who, by their numerous -attendance on the King, gave strength to the throne in the eyes of the -people, were also hailed with gratifying applause; and even some of the -more renowned leaders among them were singled out and lauded by the -plaudits of the spectators. Among these the Douglas was most -prominently distinguished, and the good John Dunbar, Earl of Moray, had -his ample share. - -How important do the smallest, the most pitifully trifling -circumstances of a King’s actions appear in the eyes of his people! All -those of his nobles or knights to whom Robert chanced particularly to -extend his Royal attention, were it but for a minute, were noted by the -shrewd observation of the Aberdonienses as among the favoured of the -Court, and many a plan was hatched by individuals among the spectators -for winning their patronage. Not a movement of His Majesty, not a turn, -not a look, escaped remark, and the mightiest results were augured from -signs the most insignificant. - -It happened that Sir Patrick Hepborne was standing with his father not -far from the lower extremity of the open space, when the King came up -to them. He had particularly noticed both of them before; and the -acclamations of the people, who knew the deeds of the elder knight, and -already loved the younger for his father’s sake, showed how much their -hearts beat in unison with this mark of their Sovereign’s approbation. -But now the King had something more to say to Sir Patrick the elder -than merely to honour him in the eyes of the people, with an appearance -of familiarity. He really wanted his advice with regard to the proposed -armament, and to have his private opinion of certain matters ere the -council should sit. With monarchs, opportunities of private conference -with those they would speak to, are difficult to be commanded without -remark; their actions, and the actions of those about them, are watched -too closely to permit them to be approached without begetting -speculation. A politic King is therefore obliged to catch at and avail -himself of moments for business which are perhaps but ill suited for -it; and it is often in the most crowded assemblage that they run the -smallest risk of suspicion of being engaged in anything serious. -Robert, leaning on his two attendants, stood unusually long in -conference with the Hepbornes. The fatigue and pain which he suffered -in his limbs, by being detained in the standing posture for so great a -length of time, was sufficiently manifest from the uneasy lifting and -shifting of his feet, though his countenance, full of fire and -animation when he spoke himself, and earnestly fixed in attention to -what Sir Patrick Hepborne said to him in return, had no expression in -it that might have led the spectator to believe that it was at all -connected with the frail and vexed limbs that supported it, but which -it seemed to have altogether forgotten in the intensity of the interest -of the subject under discussion. - -While the personages of this group were thus engaged, a considerable -movement in that part of the crowd near them, followed by some -struggling and a good many high words, suddenly attracted their notice. -A momentary expression of anxiety, if not of fear, crossed the wan -features of royalty. The Earl of Moray and the two Hepbornes showed by -their motions that they were determined to secure the King’s safety at -the risk of their own lives; for, with resolute countenances, they laid -their hands on their swords, and stepped between him and the point from -which the danger, if there was any, must come, and to which their eyes -were directed. The Earl of Fife acted independently. He made a wheel, -which was difficult to be explained, but halted and fronted by the side -of his father again, immediately in rear of the Earl of Moray and his -two companions. The crowd, within a few yards of them, still continued -to heave to and fro as if in labour, and at last a bulky figure -appeared in the ancient Highland costume, and worming his way forward -to the line of guards, immediately endeavoured to force a passage -through between two of them. The two soldiers joined their spears to -each other, and each of them grasped a butt and a point the more -effectually to bar his progress. Undismayed by this their resolution, -he in an instant put a hand on a shoulder of each of them, and raised -himself up with the determined intention of hoisting himself over the -obstruction. This action of his, however, was immediately met by a -simultaneous and equally decisive movement on the part of the two -guards. Just as he had succeeded in throwing one leg over the -impediment, they, by a well-concerted effort, lifted him vigorously up, -and horsed him upon the shafts of the coupled spears, amid the laughter -of the surrounding populace. After some moments of rueful balancing -upon his uneasy and ticklish saddle, during which he seemed to hang in -dreadful doubt on which side he was to fall, his large body at last -overbalanced itself, and he rolled inwards towards the feet of the -King, and those who were standing with him. The whole was the work of a -moment. - -A loud murmur, mingled with the shrieks of “Treason—traitorie!” arose -among the anxious people; and all bodies, heads, and eyes were bent -towards the scene of action, in dread lest something tragical should -follow. The two guards pressed forward to transfix the unceremonious -intruder with their spears as he lay on the ground. - -“Back,” cried Sir Patrick Hepborne the younger, bestriding his body -like a Colossus; “back, I say, this man must not be hurt; he means no -evil; I will answer for him with my life.” - -“Secure him at least, Sir Patrick,” cried the Earl of Fife. - -“My Lord, I will be his security,” replied Sir Patrick. “He is a good -and loyal subject, and nothing need be apprehended from him.” - -“Is he not mad?” demanded Fife, with some anxiety. “Methinks his eye -rolls somewhat wildly. By the mass, I like not his look overmuch.” - -“Be assured, my Lord, I well know the man,” replied Sir Patrick, -stooping to assist him to rise. - -“Out fie!” cried Duncan MacErchar, who now stood before them, smoothing -down his quelt, and blowing the dust with great care off a new suit of -coarse home-spun tartan, that, with his rough raw-hide sandals, suited -but ill with the splendid sword and baldrick that hung on him, and the -richly-jewelled brooch that fastened his plaid; “Och, oich! Sir -Patrick—ou ay, ou ay—troth, she be’s right glad to see her honour -again. Uve, uve, ye loons,” continued he, addressing the two soldiers -who had made so powerful a resistance to his entrance, “an she had kend -that ye were going to give her sike an ill-faur’d ride as yon, and sike -an ugly fling at the end o’t, by St. Giles, but she would have crackit -yere filthy crowns one again others like two rotten eggs. But, oich, is -she weel?” cried he, again turning eagerly towards Sir Patrick Hepborne -the younger. “Troth she did hear of the gatherin’, and so she e’en came -down here to see if King Roberts was for the fechts. And oich, she was -glad to see her honours again, and the ould mans Sir Patricks yonder; -but, uve, uve, she has had a sore tuilzie to get at her.” - -“I rejoice to see thee, Master MacErchar,” said Hepborne, hastily -waving him away, under the strong impression of the necessity of -ridding the King’s presence of him, without a moment’s delay; “but the -present time and place ill befitteth for such recognition. Retire then, -I do beseech thee, and seek me on some other occasion. Thou mayest ask -at the Castle gate for mine esquire Mortimer Sang, whom thou knowest; -he will bring thee to me at such time as may be convenient for me.” - -“Uve, uve!” cried Duncan MacErchar, the warm sparkle gradually -forsaking his eye, as Hepborne spoke, leaving him much abashed with a -reception, for the coldness of which he had been little prepared; “oit, -oit—ou ay—surely—troth she’ll do that. She’s not going to plague her -honour’s honour a moment. She’s yede her ways hame again to her nain -glen as fast as her legs can carry her. That she will—surely, surely. -But, by the blessed mass, had she but kend that she sould be any -hinderance to her honour, she sould not have yalt so far to fartigue -her with a sight of her. But she did bid her be sure to claim ken o’ -her in ony place, and before ony body.” - -“Yea, I did so,” replied Hepborne, vexed to see that he still remained -in the King’s presence, and rather provoked at his boldness, not being -aware that poor Duncan was perfectly ignorant that one of the four -persons before him was His Majesty—“I did indeed bid thee do so; but -verily I looked not for thine audacious approach before such eyes.” - -“And fat was Duncan MacErchar to mind fat other lord-bodies might be -standing by, when her father, the noble Sir Patrick Hepborne, and at -whose back she used to fight, was before her eyne?” replied the -Highlander, a little out of temper. “Uve, uve!—surely, surely, Sir -Patrick Hepborne, that did lead her on to the fechts, is mokell more to -her than ony lord o’ them a’—ay, than King Robert himsel, gin she were -here, as she’s in yon braw box yonder. Sure she did ken hersel the -bonny Earl John Dunbar there, right brave and worthy knight; and feggs -she kens that she’s not the noblemans that will scorn a poor man. And -as for that pretty gentleman, and that douce discreet auld carle in the -purple silken hauselines and the grey hose, they may be as good as him -peraunter, but surely, surely, they cannot be better. Na, troth, but -they must be mokell waur than him, an they would be for clapping their -hands on the mouth o’ a poor man’s gratitudes. But surely, surely,” -added he, “he be sorry sorry to have angered her honours.” - -“Thou dost altogether mistake in this matter, Duncan,” said Sir Patrick -the younger, much distressed to perceive the mutual misunderstanding -that existed—“thou dost altogether mistake; I am not offended.” - -“Hoot, toot—ay, ay—ou ay—sure,” replied Duncan, with a whimsical look -of good-natured sarcasm in his countenance. “Troth, she doth see that -she’s not, neither the one nor the others, the same mans here, on the -crowns o’ the causey o’ Aberdeen, that she was in the glen o’ the Dee -yonder. Hup up!—Troth, she did take a grup of her hands yonder, ay, and -she did moreover drink out of the same cup with her, and a proud mans -she did make Duncan MacErchar hersels. But, uve, uve!—she’s with her -neighbour lords and knights noo, and sike a ragged goat o’ the hills as -her nainsel is no to be noticed amang so many braw frisking sheep, with -fine woo on their backs. But sith that she did make Duncan proud, troth -she’ll show her pride. Fient a bit o’ her will force her nainsel to the -kens o’ mortal mans; so here’s her bonny sword and braw baudrick,” -continued he, as he tried to take them off, “here’s the sword and the -baudrick she bore so lightly, but the which hae grown of the sudden -over heavy for her backs. But the poor Sir Page’s bonny brooch—oh ay! -she’ll keep it right sickerly, as it was kindly and gratefully gi’en.” - -“Nay, Duncan, keep the sword and baldrick, I beseech thee, and seek for -mine esquire to-night,” said Hepborne, much annoyed. - -“Hoof, uve, no,” replied the Highlander testily. “Sith she careth not -to notice poor Duncan MacErchar before her father the ould mans (the -Virgin’s blessing be upon her!) and the good Earl of Moray, and that -pretty gentlemans, and yon discreet, well-natured, laughing auld carle -in the grey hose and the purple hauselines yonder, troth she’ll no seek -to trouble her esquire. So here’s her sword and baudrick, and she’s -yede her ways hame again.” - -“Nay, Duncan, I’ll none of them,” cried Hepborne, putting them back -with the back of his hand. “Thou art strangely mistaken here. Trust me, -mine is not the heart that can use an old friend, yea, and above all, -one that did save my very life, with the coldness that thou dost fancy. -But thou art now in the presence of——.” He stopped, and would have -added “of the King;” but at that moment His Majesty, who had richly -enjoyed the scene as far as it had already gone, gave him such a look -as at once showed him it was not his pleasure that it should be so -speedily terminated. He went on then differently. “But thou art now in -the presence of certain lords, with whom I am deeply engaged in -discussing divers matters of most grave and weighty import, and deeply -affecting the wellbeing of our country and the glory of our King; and -of a truth I well know that thou dost love both over much to suffer -thine own feelings to let, hinder, or do them prejudice in the smallest -jot. Thou canst not take offence that I did seem to neglect thee for -matters of such moment. By the honour of a knight I will take thee, -brave preserver of my life, by the hand,” continued he, seizing -MacErchar with great cordiality, “I will take thy hand, I say, in the -presence of the whole world, yea, an it were in the presence of King -Robert himself. And as for drinking from the same cup with thee, what, -have I not drank with thee of the sacred cup of thy hospitality, and -thinkest thou I would refuse to drink with thee again? By St. Andrew, -though rarely given to vinolence, I would rather swill gallons with -thee than that thou shouldst deem me deficient in the smallest -hair’s-breadth of gratitude to thee for the potent service thou didst -render me at the Shelter Stone of Loch Avon. Put on thy baldrick, man, -yea, and the sword also, and think not for a moment that I could have -been so base as to slight thee.” - -“Oich, oich!—oot, oot!—uve, uve!—fool she was—fool she was, surely,” -cried Duncan, at once completely subdued, and very much put out of -countenance by these unequivocal expressions of Hepborne’s honest and -sincere regard for him. “Oit, oit! troth she was foolish, foolish; na, -she’ll keep the sword, ay, and the bonny baudrick—ay, ay, ou ay, she’ll -keep them noo till she dies. Uve, uve, she’s sore foolish, sore -foolish. Oich, oich, will her honour Sir Patrick pardons her? Troth, -she’s sore ashamed.” - -“Pardon thee,” said Sir Patrick the younger, again shaking MacErchar -heartily by the hand—“pardon thee, saidst thou? By St. Baldrid, but I -do like thee the better, friend Duncan, for the proper pride and -feeling thou didst show. Thy pride is the pride of an honest heart, and -had I, in good verity, been the very paltry and ungenerous knight that -appearances did at first lead thee to imagine me to be, by the Rood, -but I should have right well merited thy sovereign despisal.” - -“Oich, oich,” said Duncan, his eyes running over with the stream of -kindly affections that now burst from his heart, and quite confused by -his powerful emotions, “she’s over goods—she’s over foolish—out fie, -surely, surely, she’s over goods. God bless her honour. But troth, -she’ll no be tarrying langer noo to disturb her honour’s honour more at -this times; and, ou ay, she’ll come surely to good Squire Mortimer’s at -night, to see if her honour’s leisure may serve for seeing her.” - -“Nay, nay,” said Hepborne, after consulting the King’s countenance by a -glance, to gather his pleasure, “thou shalt not go now. We had nearly -done with our parlance, and the renewal of it at this time mattereth -not a jot; so sith that thou art here, my brave defender, perdie, thou -shalt stay until I introduce thee to my father. Father,” continued he, -turning to Sir Patrick the elder, “this is a brave soldier who hath -fought for his King in many a stark stoure with thee. I do beseech thee -to permit him opportunity to speak to thee, and peraunter thou wilt all -the more readily do so, when I tell thee that he did save my life from -the murderous blows of an assassin, the which had well nigh amortised -me, by despatching the foul traitor with a single thrust of his spear.” - -“To hear that thou hast saved the life of my beloved son,” replied Sir -Patrick, advancing and taking MacErchar by the hand, “were in itself -enow to coart me to recognise thee as my benefactor, though I had never -seen thee before. But well do I remember thy brave deeds, my worthy -fellow-soldier.” - -“Oich, oich,” cried Duncan, dropping on his knees, and embracing those -of Sir Patrick, but altogether unable to express his feelings, “oich, -oich—surely, surely—fat can she say?—foolish, foolish—hoot, toot—ower -big rewards for her—ooch—ower good, surely—hoit, oit, Duncan will die -hersel for the good Sir Patrick—ay, or for ony flesh o’ -hers—och-hone—uve, uve, she cannot speak.” - -“Yet did I never hear mortal tongue more eloquent,” said Sir Patrick -Hepborne the elder, “sith that its very want of utterance doth show -forth the honest and kindly metal of the heart. But by St. Andrew, I do -know the heart to be bold as well as kind, seeing I forget not the -actions of this heroic mountaineer in the field. Where all are brave, -verily ’tis not an easy task to gain an overtopping height of glory; -and yet less is it easy in the lower ranks of war, where the -individuals stand thicker. Natheless, and maugre all these obstacles to -fame, did this man’s deeds in battle so tower above all others, that, -humble as he was, I often noted them—yea, and he should have been -rewarded too, had I not weaned that he was killed in doing the very -feat for the which I would have done him instant and signal honour. -What came of thee,” continued Sir Patrick, addressing MacErchar, who -had by this time risen to his legs, “what came of thee, my valiant -mountaineer, after thou didst so gallantly save those engineer-men and -their engine, when basely abandoned by the French auxiliaries, at the -siege of Roxburgh, whose retreat thou didst cover against a host of the -enemy by thy single targe and sword, until others were shamed into -their duty by thy glorious ensample?” - -“Oich, oich—he, he, he!—a bonny tuilzie that,” cried Duncan, laughing -heartily, “a bonny tuilzie; troth, she was but roughly handled yon -time. Of a truth, noble Sir Patrick, she did get sike an ill-favoured -clewer from a chield with a mokell mace, that she was laid sprawling on -the plain; and syne, poo! out ower her body did the English loons come -flying after our men, in sike wicked fashion, that the very breath was -trampled out o’ her bodys.” - -“But how didst thou ’scape with life after all?” demanded Sir Patrick -the elder. - -“Troth, after they had all trotted over her, the wind just came back -again into her bodys,” replied MacErchar; “and so she got up till her -legs, and shook hersel, and scratched her lugs, that were singing as -loud as twenty throstle-birds; when back came the villains, running -like furies before our men, and whirled her away wi’ them, or ever she -kend, into the town. There she lay prisoners for mony a days, till she -broke their jails, and made her way to the Highlands. But troth, she -took her spulzie wi’ her, for she had hidden that afore, and kend whare -to find it again.” - -“Of a truth, the deed was one of the most desperate I did ever behold,” -said Sir Patrick the elder, recurring to MacErchar’s action to which he -had alluded. “He planted himself against a host, and seemed doomed to -certain destruction. ’Tis a marvel that he is alive.” - -Whilst Sir Patrick Hepborne and the Earl of Moray, who also remembered -him, were holding some further conference with MacErchar, Sir Patrick -the younger approached the King, and privately begged a boon of his -Majesty, the particulars of which he specified to him. - -“’Tis granted, Sir Patrick,” whispered the King; “but let it be asked -of us aloud, that such part of the populace who may have been listening -to what hath passed, may have their minds filled also with the -wholesome ensample of their King rewarding virtue.” - -In obedience to Robert’s command, Hepborne knelt before him, and -addressed him in a loud and distinct voice. - -“My liege, I do humbly beg a boon at thy Royal hands.” - -“Speak forth thy volunde, Sir Patrick Hepborne,” replied the King; -“there are few names in our kingdom the which may call for more ready -attention from King Robert than that the which hath ever been heard -shouted in the front of his armies, and in the midst of the ranks of -his discomfited enemies.” - -“The boon I do earnestly crave of your Majesty is, that you will be -graciously pleased to bestow upon this gallant soldier, Duncan -MacErchar, a commission in thy Royal Guard.” - -“He hath it,” replied the King, “he hath it cheerfully at thy request, -Sir Patrick; and by the faith of a King, it doth right well pleasure us -thus to exercise the happiest part of our Royal power—I do mean that of -rewarding loyal bravery such as this man hath so proved himself to -possess; yea, and no time so fitting, methinks, for the exercise of -this power; for when war is beginning, we should show our people that -we do know to reward those who do well and truly serve us.” - -“Kneel down, kneel down, I say, before Robert King of Scotland,” said -the Earl of Moray, slapping the astonished MacErchar upon the back, as -he stood bereft of all sensation on discovering in whose presence he -had been standing and prating so much. He obeyed mechanically, whilst a -shout arose from that part of the crowd who had heard all that had -passed, and was caught up gradually by those farther off, who cheered -upon trust long ere the story could spread among them. The King moved -away; but still Duncan remained petrified upon his knees, with his -hands clasped, his eyes thrown up, and his mouth open, until Sir -Patrick the younger showed himself his best friend by awaking him from -his trance and leading him away, amidst the ceaseless shouts of the -mob. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LII. - - The Wolfe of Badenoch at Aberdeen—Father and Son. - - -Duncan MacErchar’s intellect was so much confused by the unexpected -discovery that he had been standing and talking before his King, a -being whom he had always conceived to be something more than man, and -whose image had floated like a spirit before his misty eyes, that it -was some time ere Sir Patrick Hepborne could make him comprehend the -good fortune that had befallen him. He then inquired eagerly into the -nature and advantages of the situation which had been so graciously -bestowed upon him by His Majesty; and finding that he was to be an -officer in that corps of stipendiaries who were always on Royal duty, -with the best possible pay and perquisites, and superb clothing, he -asked Hepborne, with some degree of earnestness, what became of the -corps during the time of war. - -“They never go to war, unless when the King appears in the field in -person,” replied Sir Patrick; “and of that I well wot there is but -little chance during this reign.” - -“Uve, uve,” cried MacErchar, with a look that showed he was but half -satisfied; “and is she never to see the English loons again? Sure, -sure, of what use will be the pay and the harness, an she must liggen -at home while tothers folks be at the wars? And is she never to have -the good luck to fight at the back of the good Sir Patrick again! Oich, -oich, she would like full weel to see her down, and ane Englishman -cleavin’ her skull, and her nainsel wi’ a pike in the body o’ the -chield—oich, hoich! it would be braw sport. Sure, she would rather -fight for Sir Patrick, yea, and albeit she got nothing but cuffs and -scarts for her pains, than sit wi’ her thumbs across serving a king -himsel, though she got goupins of gold for her idleness. Troth, she -would die for Sir Patrick.” - -“And wouldst thou sacrifice the honour, yea, and the weighty emolument -of a commission in the King’s Guards, with all the fair promise of -advancement the which it doth hold forth to thee, for the mere -gratification of a chivalric self-devotion to my father?” demanded -Hepborne, desirous to try him. - -“Out ay—surely, surely, she would do that; and little wonder o’ her, -too, she would think it,” replied MacErchar. - -“Wouldst thou, then, that I do resign thy commission to the King, and -that I do obtain for thee a lance among my father’s spears?” asked -Hepborne. - -“Oich, oich!” cried MacErchar, rubbing his hands, and with his eyes -sparkling with delight; “surely her honour is ower good—ower good, -surely. But if her honour will do that same, oich, oich! Duncan -MacErchar will be happy—oop, oop, happy. Troth, she will dance itsel -for joy. Oit, she may need look for no more till she dies; God be good -unto her soul then! Oich, will her honour do this for her?” demanded -Duncan eagerly of Hepborne, and in his more than usual keenness, taking -the knight’s hand, and squeezing it powerfully; “will her honour do but -this for her?” - -“Verily, I shall at least do for thee what I can,” replied Hepborne, -heartily shaking his hand; “albeit so honourable a gift from thy King -may not be lightly rejected. Yet will I do what I may for thee. Let me -find thee with mine esquire to-morrow morning; thou shalt then hear the -result of mine application to the King.” - -Hepborne was as good as his word. He craved an audience of the King, -and, being admitted to his couchee, the good monarch was pleased with -the singularly disinterested wish of the Highlander, and immediately -signified his gracious pleasure that MacErchar should retain the -commission in his Guards, whilst he should be permitted to follow the -banner of Sir Patrick Hepborne to the wars. The old knight, who -happened to be present, was much touched by Duncan’s devotion to him, -and very gladly admitted him among his followers, so that every wish of -MacErchar’s heart was more than gratified. - -As Sir Patrick Hepborne was quitting the Royal apartments, and as he -was passing through a small vestibule feebly illumined by a single -lamp, he was almost jostled by a tall figure, who, enveloped in an -ample mantle, was striding hastily forward towards the door of the room -whence he had issued, the metal of his harness clanging as he moved. - -“Ha! Sir Patrick Hepborne,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, for it was -he—“by the blessed bones of my grandfather, but thou art right far ben -already in the old man’s favour, that I do thus meet thee ishing forth -from his chamber at an hour like this; but thou art more welcome, -peraunter, than his son the Earl of Buchan—Is the King alone?” - -“By this time I do ween that he is, my Lord; for, as I left him, the -Earl of Fife, the Earl of Moray, and my father, who had been in -conference with him, were preparing to take their leave by another -door, and the King was about to retire into his bed-chamber, with the -gentlemen in waiting on his person.” - -“Ha!” said the Wolfe—“John Dunbar, Earl of Moray, saidst thou?—By my -word, but he seemeth to be eternally buzzing about the King, ay, and he -doth buzz in his ear too, I warrant me. Hast thou seen or heard aught -of the Bishop of Moray being here?” - -“The Bishop of Moray had an audience of His Majesty this very day, on -his arrival,” replied Hepborne; “and if I mistake not, he did take his -leave, and hath already departed on his homeward journey.” - -“Ha! ’tis well,” replied the Wolfe hoarsely, and gnashing his teeth as -he said so. “Good night, Sir Patrick, I may, or I may not, see thee in -Aberdeen at this time, for I know not whether I may, or may not, ride -hence again anon.” So saying, he passed hastily towards the door -leading to the King’s private chamber, to reach which he had several -apartments to pass through. - -The aged Robert, tired by the unusual fatigue he had that day -undergone, was alike glad to get rid of business and of his privy -councillors. Retiring into his bed-chamber, and laying aside the -dignity of his high estate, his two attendants assisted him to put on -his robe-de-chambre, and he immediately descended to the more humble -level of a mere man, to which even the greatest and most heroic -potentate is reduced by the operations of his valet. His legs had been -already relieved from those rolls of woollen which had been employed to -cherish and to support them during the day; and being seated in an easy -chair of large dimensions, among ample crimson cushions, his pale -countenance showed yet more wan and withered under the dark purple -velvet cap he wore, from beneath which his white hair curled over his -shoulders. Though his eyes were weak and bleared, their full and -undimmed pupils beamed mildly, like the stars of a summer twilight. He -had just inserted his limbs knee-deep into a warm foot-bath, which one -of his people had placed before his chair, when a loud tap was heard at -the door. - -“Ha!” said the King, starting, “get thee to the door, Vallance, and see -who may knock so late. By the sound, we should opine that either -rudeness or haste were there.” - -Vallance did as he was ordered, and, on opening the door, the Wolfe of -Badenoch stepped into the apartment, and made a hasty and careless -obeisance before his father. The old King’s feeble frame shook from -head to foot with nervous agitation when he beheld him. - -“Son Alexander, is it thou?” demanded Robert with astonishment. “We -looked not to have our sacred privacy disturbed at so unseemly an hour, -yea, and still less by thee, whose head, we did ween, was shrouded by -shame in the darkness of thine own disgrace, or rather buried, as we -had vainly hoped, amid the dust and ashes of ane humble repentance. -What bringeth thee hither?—what hath”——He stopped, for he remembered -that they were not alone. “Vallance, and you, Seyton, retire. Wait -without in the vestibule; we would be private. What hath brought thee -hither, son Alexander?” repeated he, after the door was shut upon them. -“I wot thou art but a rare guest at our Court, and methinks that, -infected as thou art at this present time, thou art but little fitted -for its air.” - -Naturally violent and ferocious as was the Wolfe of Badenoch, he now -stood before his father and his King, a presence in which he never -found himself without being in a certain degree subdued by the -combination of awe, early inspired into his mind by this twofold claim -on his respect, and to which he had been too long accustomed, to find -it easy to rid himself of it. The grim Earl moved forward some steps -towards the chair where His Majesty was seated, and again louting him -low, he repeated the obeisance which the venerable form of his parent -and Sovereign commanded. - -“My liege-father,” said he at length, “I do come to pay mine humble -duty to your grace, and——” - -“Nay, methinks thou shouldst have bethought thee of humbling thy fierce -pride before another throne than ours, ere thou didst adventure to wend -thee hither,” interrupted the King with indignation. “It would have -well become thee to have bowed in humble contrition before the -episcopal chair of our Right Reverend Bishop of Moray, yea, to have -licked the very dust before his feet. Then, with his absolution on thy -sinful head, mightest thou have approached the holy altar of God, and -the shrine of the Virgin, in penitence and prayer; and after these, and -all other purifications, we mought have been again well pleased to have -seen our reclaimed son mingling with the nobles of our Court.” - -“I do see that the Bishop of Moray hath outrode me,” said the Wolfe of -Badenoch, his eye kindling, and his cheek darkly reddening, the flame -of his internal ire being rendered more furious by the very exertions -he was making to keep down all external symptoms of it. “The Bishop -hath already effunded his tale in the Royal ear; but yet do I hope that -thou wilt hesitate to condemn me, yea, even on the Bishop’s saying, -without hearing what I may have to declare in mine own defence.” - -“Son Alexander,” said the old King mildly, and at the same time slowly -shaking his head as he spoke, “we do fear much that thou canst have but -little to tell that may undermine what the soothfast Bishop, Alexander -Barr, hath possessed us of.” - -“He hath been with thee, then, my liege-father?” said the Wolfe, in a -voice of eager inquiry, and at the same time biting his nether lip. - -“Yea, the godly Bishop of Moray hath been with us this very day,” -replied the King. “He hath harrowed up our soul with the doleful tale -of the brenning of our good burgh of Forres—of the great devastation of -men’s dwellings, goods, and mœubles, the which thy fury hath -created—the sacrilege of the which thou hast been guilty in reducing -God’s house and altar to ashes, as also the house of his minister—the -wicked and as yet unestimated sacrifice of the lives of our loving -subjects, the which thou hast occasioned.” - -“As God is my judge, my liege,” replied the Earl impatiently, “as God -is my judge, there was not a life lost—credit me, not one life. The -hour of the night was early when the deed was done; yea, it was done -openly enough, so that there was little chance of mortal tarrying to be -food for the devouring flames. Trust me, my liege-father, I did -secretly send to certify myself, as I can now truly do thee, on the -honour of a knight, that not a life was lost.” - -“Nay, in truth, it must be confessed that the Bishop spake only from -hearsay as to this head of charge against thee,” replied the King, -“and, of a truth, thou hast lightened our mind of a right grievous part -of its burden by thy solemn denial of this cruel part of the accusation -against thee. Verily, it was to my soul like the hair-shirt to the back -that hath been seamed by the lash of penance, to think that flesh of -ours could have done such wanton murder on innocent and inoffensive -burghers. But yet, what shall we say to thy brenning of God’s holy -house—of the gratification of thy blind and brutal thirst of vengeance -even by the destruction of his altars, and of the images of his -saints?” - -“Nay, mine intent was not against the Church,” replied the Wolfe, “but -rage reft me of reason, and I deny not that it was with mine own hand -that I did fire it; yet was it soon extinguished, and the choir only -hath suffered. But,” continued he, as he turned the subject with -increasing irritation, “but had not an excommunication gone forth so -rashly against me, yea, and poured out alswa by him who hath ever been -mine enemy, the flood of my vengeance had not flowed; and if it had -swept all before it, by the Rood, but Bishop Barr himself must bear the -coulpe of what evil it may have wrought.” - -“Speak not so horribly, son Alexander,” said the King, with emotion. -“Thine impious words do shock mine ear. Lay not blame to Bishop Barr -for at last hurling upon thee the tardy vengeance of the Episcopal -chair, which thine accumulated insults did loudly call for, long ere -his long-suffering temper did permit him to employ them. Didst thou not -outrageously and sacrilegiously ravish and usurp the lands of the -Church in Badenoch? and didst thou not refuse to restore them to the -righteous possession of our holy Mother when called on so to do?” - -“Yea,” replied the Wolfe of Badenoch, waxing more angry, and less -scrupulous in his manner of speaking, as well as in his choice of -terms, as his father thus began to approach nearer to the source of all -his heart-burnings with the Bishop—“yea, I did indeed seize these -lands, but, by the mass, it was not against the Church that I did war -in so doing, but against mine insidious enemy, Alexander Barr, who did -feed himself fat upon their revenues. And well I wot hath he worked for -my vengeance. Hath he not poisoned thine ear against me?—hath he not -been ever my torment?—hath he not been eternally meddling with my -domestic, with my most private affairs?—hath he not sported with my -most tender feelings?—hath he not done all that in him lay to rend the -ties of my dearest affections?” - -“Ah, there, there again hast thou touched a chord the which doth ever -vibrate to our shame,” replied the King, deeply distressed by the -remembrance of the subject which the Wolfe had awakened. “That -disgraceful connection with thy leman Mariota Athyn—’tis that which -hath poisoned the source of all thine actings, and that hath thereby -transmewed the sweet waters of our life into bitterness and gall. Did -we not write to thee with our own hand, urging thee to repentance, and -beseeching thee to dismiss thy sinful and impure mate, and cleave to -thy lawful wife, Euphame, Countess of Ross? and——” - -“Nay, my liege-father, I wot this is too old a wound to be ripped up -now,” interrupted the Wolfe of Badenoch, beginning to wax more and more -ireful; “ha! by the Rood, but ’tis sore to bear—cruelly sore. I did -come hither to complain of the evil usage, of the disgrace, of the -insults which this upstart priest hath thrown on me, hoping for a -father’s lenient interpretation of mine actings; yea, and that some -salve might have been put to the rankling sores this carrion hath -wrought on me; but the croaking raven hath been here before me—he hath -already sung his hoarse and evil-omened song in thine ear, and all that -I may now say cannot purge it of the poison with which it has been -filled. By my trusty burly-brand, but thou hast forgotten the mettle of -thy son Alexander.” - -“Oh dole, dole, dole!” cried the old King, clasping his hands in bitter -affliction at the obstinacy shown by his son; “what can be done with a -heart which beareth itself so proudly, which refuseth to listen to the -voice of reason, which despiseth a father’s counsels, and which -resolveth to abide in its wickedness.” - -“Wickedness!” replied the Wolfe fiercely, and enchafing more and more -as he went on; “by the holy Rood, but I do think that the word is ill -applied. Meseems that to throw her off who hath borne me five lusty -chields, and who hath stuck to me through sun and wete, would savour -more of wickedness than to continue her under the shadow of my -protection. Ha! by my beard, but the voice of reason—ha, ha, ha!—is -like to be as much with me in this case as against me. Thank God, I -have reason—yea, and excellent reason too—full, vigorous, and perfect -reason—whilst thou hast thine, old man, far upon the wane. Whatsoever -mountaunce of reason thou mayest have once had, by Heaven, thou dost -now begin to dote. Yet what was thy reason in like matters when it was -at the best? Didst thou not thyself live a like light life in thy -youthhood, and dost thou school me for having followed thine example?” - -“Oh, dole, dole!—oh, woe for my sins!” cried the old man, agonized by -his son’s intemperate accusation of him; “’tis bitter, I wot, to bear -the reproach of a wicked and undutiful son. O, alas for my sins! yet -sure, if I have had any, as the blessed Virgin knoweth, I do humbly -confess them, and may her holy influence cleanse me from them; if I -have had sins, surely I have dreed a right sore penance for them in -having thee as an everlasting scourge to my spirit. God, doubtless, -gave thee to me for the gracious purpose that thou mightest be as -bitter ligne-aloes to purge away the disease of my soul; and may He -sanctify the purposes of mine affliction! But what art thou, sinful -wretch that thou art, who wouldst thus cast blame on thy father, yea, -and ignominy on thyself? If I sinned in that matter, did I not awaken -from my sin and repent me? did I not do all that mortal could do to -salve the misery I had begotten? did I not——. But thou art a cruel and -barbarous wretch, a disgrace and infamy to thy father—a diseased, -polluted, and festering limb, the which should be cut off and buried -out of sight.” - -“Old dotard,” cried the Wolfe, his fury now getting completely the -better of him, “talk not thus—I—I—I—ha!—provoke me not—thou hadst -better——” - -“Get thee to thy home,” replied the King; “turn thy vile strumpet -forth, and, above all, humble thyself in penitence before the good -Bishop Barr, who, godly man, hath been unwearied in his pious -endeavours to reclaim thee from thy sinful and polluted life. Lick the -dust from the very shoes of the saintly Bishop of Moray; in his -Christian mercy he may forgive thee, and thou mayest then hope for -restoration to our Royal favour; but if thou dost not this, by the word -of a King, I will have thee thrown into prison, and there thou shalt -liggen until thou shalt have made reparation to God and man for all -thine impurities and all thine outrages and sacrileges.” - -“Ha!” cried the enraged Earl of Buchan, half drawing his dagger, and -then returning it violently into its sheath, and pressing it hard down, -as if to make it immovable there were the only security against his -using it; whilst, at the same time, he began to pace the apartment in a -furious manner; “ha! what! confine the eagle of the mountain to a -sparrow’s cage? chain down the Wolfe of Badenoch to some walthsome den? -threaten thy son so, and all for an accursed, prating, papelarde -priest? Old man,” said he, suddenly halting opposite to his father, and -putting a daring hand rudely on each shoulder of His Majesty, while his -eyes glared on him as if passion had altogether mastered his -reason—“old dotard carle that thou art, art thou not now within my -grasp? art not thine attendants beyond call? is not the puny spark of -life that feebly brens in that wintry frame now within the will of -these hands? What doth hinder that I should put thee beyond the power -of executing thy weak threats?—what doth hinder me to——” - -He stopped ere he had uttered this impious parricidal thought more -plainly. The old man blenched or quailed not; nay, even the agitation -which he had before exhibited—an agitation which had been the result of -anger and vexation, but not of fear—was calmed by the idea of -approaching death; and, pitying his son more than himself, he sat -immovable like some waxen figure, his mild eyes calmly and steadily -fixed upon the red and starting orbs of the Wolfe of Badenoch. The -group might have been copied for the subject of the martyrdom of a -saint. - -“’Tis the hand of God that hindereth thee, son Alexander,” said the -aged Monarch, slowly and distinctly. - -The ferocious Wolfe could not withstand the saint-like look of his -venerable father. The devil that had taken possession of Lord -Badenoch’s heart was expelled by the beam of Heaven that shot from the -eyes of the good King Robert. Those of his son fell abashed before -them, and the succeeding moment saw the hard, stern, and savage Earl on -his bended knees, yea, and weeping before the parent of whom his -ungovernable rage might have made him the murderer. There was a silence -of a minute. - -“Forgive me, forgive me, father. I knew not what I did; I was reft of -my reason,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, groaning with deep agony and -shame. - -“Son Alexander,” said the King firmly, yet as if struggling to keep -down these emotions of tenderness for his son which his sudden and -unexpected contrition had excited; “Son Alexander, albeit the -consideration that the outrage was done by the hand of a son against a -father doth rather aggravate the coulpe of the subject against the -King, yet as it doth regard our own Royal person alone, we may be -permitted to allow the indulgent affection of the parent to assuage the -otherwise rigorous justice of the Monarch. So far as this may go, then, -do we forgive thee.” - -The Wolfe remained on the ground, deeply affected, with his head buried -within his mantle. - -“But as for what the duty of a Sovereign doth demand of us,” continued -Robert, “in punishing these malfaitours who do flagrantly sin against -the laws of our realm, and those, above all, who do sacrilegious -outrage against our holy religion and Church, be assured that our hand -will be as strong and swift in its vengeance on thee as on any other; -nor shall these thy tears make more impression on us than thine -ungovernable fury did now appal us. Doubt not but thou shalt feel the -full weight of our Royal displeasure, yea, and thou shalt dree such -punishment as befits the crimes thou hast committed against God and -man, unless thou dost straightway seek the footstool of the injured -Bishop of Moray. Nay, start not away, but hear us; for thou shalt -suffer for thy crime, unless thou dost straightway seek the injured -Bishop’s footstool, and, bowing thy head in the dust before it, submit -thee to what penance he in his great mercy and wisdom may hold to be -sufficient expiation for thy wickedness.” - -The Wolfe of Badenoch started up and again began to pace the room in a -frenzy; and as Robert went on he became more and more agitated by -passion, gnashing his teeth from time to time, and setting them against -each other, as if afraid to permit himself the use of speech, and with -his arms rolled up tight into his mantle, as if he dreaded to trust -them at liberty. - -“Nay, never frown and fret, son Alexander,” continued the King. “By St. -Andrew, ’tis well for thee that thou didst come to us thus in secret, -for hadst thou but had the daring to appear before us when surrounded -by the Lords of our Court, verily our respect for justice must of -needscost have coarted us to order thee to be forthwith seized and -subjected to strict durance. As it is, thou mayest yede thee hence for -this time, that thou mayest yet have some space left thee to make thy -peace with the holy Bishop Barr; for without his pardon, trust me, thou -canst never have ours. And we do earnestly counsel thee to hasten to -avail thyself of this merciful delay of our Sovereign vengeance, for an -thou dost not speedily receive full absolution from the godly prelate -whom thou hast so grievously offended, by the word of a King I swear -that thou shalt liggen thee in prison till thou diest.” - -The Wolfe of Badenoch heard no more. He relieved his hands in a hurried -manner from the thraldom in which he had imprisoned them—halted in his -walk, and glared fiercely at the King—groped again at the handle of his -dagger—threw up his arms in the air with frenzied action—dashed his -clenched fists against his head—and then rushed from the Royal presence -with a fury which was rendered sufficiently evident by the clanging of -the various doors through which he retreated. - -The King folded his hands, groaned with deep agony, looked up to -Heaven, uttered a short petition to the Virgin to have mercy on the -disordered and polluted soul of his unhappy son, and to beseech her to -shed a holy and healing influence over it that might beget a sincere -repentance; and then giving way to all the feelings of a father, he -burst into tears, which he in vain attempted to hide from the -attendants, who soon afterwards appeared. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LIII. - - The English Lady’s Departure from Tarnawa Castle—The Crafty Son of - the Wolfe of Badenoch. - - -It was more than a week after the departure of the Earl of Moray and -his friends from Tarnawa that Rory Spears was ordered to attend the -Countess of Moray to receive her instructions for the duty his master -had left him at home to fulfil. He was called into the room, where the -lady in whose service he was to be employed was sitting veiled; but the -Countess had not more than time to open the matter to him when she was -interrupted by a message from her nephew, Sir Andrew Stewart, who, with -very opposite feelings to those of Rory, had found some plausible -excuse for not going with the Knights to Aberdeen, and now craved a -short audience of the Countess. The English lady arose and retired into -the recess of a window, where Katherine Spears was plying her needle, -and Sir Andrew was admitted. - -“My gracious aunt,” said he, “I crave thy pardon for pressing my -unbidden services; but, I beseech thee, let me not be deprived of the -highest privilege that belongs to knighthood; I mean that of being the -prop and stay of beauty in distress. Thou knowest that I have some half -dozen spears here. Be it my pleasing task, I entreat thee, to protect -the lady through those difficulties and dangers that may beset her -path. Trust me, she shall pass unscathed while I am with her.” - -“I am utterly astonished, nevoy,” replied the Countess; “how, I pray -thee, art thou possessed of the secret that any such emprise may be in -hand?” - -“Nay, it mattereth but little, I trow, how I know that, my noble aunt,” -replied Sir Andrew Stewart with a careless smile; “but, what may be to -thee some deal more strange, peraunter, I do know the lady too.—Madam,” -said he, gliding gently past his aunt, and going up to the window, “I -have only to tell thee that we have met at Lochyndorbe, to convince -thee that I do not err; yet be not alarmed at what I have said; trust -me, thou shalt find that I have over much delicacy and knightly -courtesy about me rudely to withdraw the veil in which thou hast been -pleased to shroud thyself. I come but to offer thee mine escort, and I -do fondly hope thou wilt not refuse me the gratification of shielding -and defending thee with this arm, amid the many perils that may environ -thee in thy travel between Tarnawa and Norham.” - -“’Tis gallantly spoken of thee, nevoy,” replied the Countess; “and -albeit I do hope that danger there may be none in this our own country -of Scotland, seeing, I have reason to believe, that the tide of war -hath already been turned from us; yet will it give me joy to be -certiorated of the safety of this sweet lady, who will doubtless most -cheerfully accept thy proffered courtesy.” - -The lady readily made her acknowledgements to Sir Andrew, and gladly -availed herself of his protection. Katherine Spears, who was to -accompany her as a female companion on the journey, was rejoiced, like -all young persons, at the prospect of so speedily seeing a little of -the world, especially as her father was to be with her, and she was -going in the service of a lady to whom she was already so much -attached. But old Rory, who had been standing aloof during the -conversation, showed by his countenance that he was ill satisfied with -the arrangement which had been made, as well as with every one about -him. He turned on his heel to leave the place, brandishing his -gaud-clip, and followed by a brace of large wolf-dogs in couples, and -began slowly descending the stairs, letting down first one-half of his -ponderous person and then the other in succession, each step he took -bringing out a humph, as a break to the continuity of his audible -grumble. - -“Ay, by St. Lowry, wha wad hae thought it, humph—wha wad hae thought -that Rory Spears, humph—the Yearl’s henchman, as a body mought say, -umph—that Rory Spears, that mought be ca’d as necessar till his back as -the hound to his heel, or the falcon to his wrist, humph—that Rory -Spears, I say, suld hae been left behind at sike a time as this, -umph—like a crazy old destrier, or ane crackit targe, humph—and to be -turned ower to be the plaything to a silly bit lassie, umph—and an -Englisher quean, too, mair’s the wonder, hugh!—Ay, and to make matters -better, she hirsels me off, too, like ane auld pair o’ boots, to put -faith in that kestrel, Sir Andrew Stewart, humph—a kite frae an ill -nest, umph—ay, and ane that she’ll aiblins find is no that ower mukel -to trust till, maugre a’ his havers, umph!—Weel, I maun e’en do the -Yearl’s wull, and his leddy’s wull; but, troth, I sall gie mysel no -unnecessar trouble wi’ the lass, umph—aboon a’, sith she hath chosen -her ain champion, hugh!—And that foolish glaikit thing Kate, too, -umph,—she’s smiling and smirking, when it wad better set her to be -greetin’, hugh!—Och sirs, sirs, it’s a queer warld this. Whiew, whiew, -Brand—whiew, whiew, Oscar,” cried he, whistling to his hounds, as he -gained the area of the Castle-yard; “come awa, my bairns, ye hae mair -sense than half o’ human fouk.” - -Next morning the beautiful milk-white palfrey, that had been the gift -of Sir Patrick Hepborne to his page Maurice de Grey, stood ready -caparisoned in the court-yard, along with those of the party who were -to form the escort. The lady recognised him as she descended from the -terrace, leaning on the arm of Sir Andrew Stewart, and her eyes ran -over at sight of the noble animal. She stopped to caress him silently -ere she mounted him, her heart being too full to permit her to trust -her voice in speaking to him. As Sir Andrew Stewart aided her to rise -into her saddle, the generous steed neighed a joyous acknowledgment of -the precious burden he was entrusted with. The lady waved her hand to -the Countess, who streamed her scarf from a window, in visible token of -the prayers she was putting up for her safety; and the cavalcade rode -slowly forth, the beauteous eyes of the Englishwoman so dimmed with -tears that she saw not aught that was around her. She felt as if, in -leaving Tarnawa, the last tie that had bound her heart to the object of -its tenderest affections were dissolved, and it seemed to wither within -her. She drew her mantle over her head and gave way to her feelings, so -that even Sir Andrew Stewart saw that, to break in upon her by -conversation, would have been an intrusion too displeasing to be risked -by him. He therefore continued to ride by her side in silence; and the -example of the knight and lady spreading its influence over the party, -not a word was heard among the riders. - -The lady at last felt that common courtesy required her to exert -herself to control her feelings, and with some difficulty she began to -enter into conversation with Sir Andrew Stewart, who rode at her side. -She was now able to reconnoitre her attendants, which she had not had -strength or spirits to do before. Before her rode the minstrel, Adam of -Gordon, who no sooner saw that the lady had given his tongue license by -breaking the silence she had maintained, than he began to employ the -innocent artillery of an old man’s gallantry on the dimpling charms of -the lovely Katherine Spears, who, by her merry replies, and her peals -of laughter, showed that she enjoyed the well-turned compliments and -high-flown speeches of the courteous and fair-spoken bard. Next came -the spearmen, and a couple of lacqueys, and one or two other -attendants; and last of all, wrapped up in a new fishing-garb of more -than ordinarily capacious dimensions, with an otter-skin cap on his -head, and his gaud-clip in his hand, rode Rory Spears, sulky and -silent, on a strong, active little horse, whose ragged coat, here -hanging down in shreds, and there pulled off bare to the skin, showed -that he had been just rescued from the briers, brambles, and black -thorns of the forest, which had been waging war against his sides for -many a day. Rory was followed by a single wolf-hound, and his whole -accoutrements were so far from being fitted for the important duty of -convoy, to which he had been appointed, that it almost seemed as if he -had purposely resolved it should be so from pure spite against his -employment. - -“Be’st thou for the hunts, Master Spears?” cried the wife of a -publican, one of the Earl’s dependants, whom curiosity hurried to her -door to gaze at the travellers as they passed. - -“Na, na, Meggy Muirhead,” cried Rory, checking his horse for an -instant. “The hunts, quotha! pretty hunts, truly. But hast thou e’er a -stoup o’ yill at hand? for thou must know I am bent on a lang and -tedisome journey—yea, and I do jalouse a right thirsty and -throat-guisening travel, gif I may guess from the dry husk that my -craig hath already been afflicted withal?” - -“Thou shanny want a drap o’ yill, Master Spears,” cried Maggy Muirhead, -who ran in and brought out a large wooden stoup, that, as she swung it -on her head, foamed over the brim with generous nut-brown, by which she -hoped to extract some information from Rory; “and where mayest thou be -ganging, I pray thee? to join the Yearl maybe at the wars, I’se -warrant?” - -“Wars,” cried Rory, “wars! Gie me the stoup, woman.” And dropping his -reins, and sticking the shaft of his gaud-clip into his enormous boot, -he stretched out both hands towards the double-handed stoup, and -relieving mine hostess’ head of the weight, he applied its laughing -brim to his lips, and slowly drained it so effectually that she had no -occasion to replace it there. “Haugh; wars, saidst thou, Mistress -Muirhead?” cried Rory again, as he held out the empty vessel, one -handle of which the hostess now easily received upon a couple of her -fingers, and kept swinging about as he was speaking—“wars! look at me, -am I girded for the wars, thinkest thou? Na, I’ve e’en taen on to be -tirewoman to yon black-e’ed Englisher leddy, and I’m to get a kirtle, -and a coif, and a trotcosy, ere long. What thinkest thou of that, -Mistress Muirhead?” - -“Preserve me, the Virgin have a care o’ us a’!” cried Mistress Muirhead -in wonder, as Rory rode away; “wha ever heard tell o’ sike a thing? The -man’s gaun clean wud, I rauckon.” - -Sir Andrew Stewart was unremitting in his attention to the lady, and -all his speeches and actions were so cunningly tempered with delicacy, -that she neither had the power nor the will to conceal her satisfaction -at his treatment of her. He inwardly congratulated himself on the -advance he supposed he was making in her good opinion, and with some -consummate art began to pave the way for a declaration of the violent -passion he had secretly cherished for her, and gradually drawing nearer -and nearer to her bridle rein as they rode, whispered the warm language -of love in her ear in sentences that grew more and more tender at every -step they advanced. Being occupied with her own thoughts, she had the -appearance without the reality of listening to all he said, and the -enamoured knight, interpreting her silence into a tacit approval, -seized the first favourable opportunity of addressing her in plainer -language. - -“Most angelic lady,” said he to her, as he sat beside her alone under -an oak, where they had halted for rest and refreshment, “why shouldst -thou undertake this tedious journey? Why shouldst thou leave Scotland, -where thou mightst be made happy? To permit beauty so divine, and -excellence so rare, to quit the Caledonian soil, would be a foul -disgrace to the gallantry of its chivalry. Deign, I beseech thee, to -listen to my ardent vows; let me be thy faithful knight. The love thou -hast kindled in this bosom is unquenchable. Oh, let me——” - -“Talk not thus besottedly, Sir Knight,” replied the lady, interrupting -him hastily and rather sternly; “I may not honestly listen to any such. -Gallantry may peraunter come with good grace enow from thy lips, but -permit not thyself license with me, whose heart doth already belong to -another, and who can allow these words of thine no harbour. I shall -ever be grateful to thee for this thy courteous convoy, but I can never -return thy love. Stir not then the idle theme again.” - -“Nay, loveliest of thy sex,” said the silky Sir Andrew Stewart with -strange ardour, “to keep thy heart for one who hath so vilely entreated -thee, and that after thou didst sacrifice all to yield thee to his -service, were neither just to thyself nor to me. Let me occupy that -place in thy heart, so unworthily filled by one whose very bearing -towards thee (rather that of a master than of a lover) did sufficiently -betray how much those matchless charms had ceased to please his palled -appetite. Let me then——” - -“Sir Andrew Stewart,” replied the lady with astonishment, mingled with -a dignified expression of resentment, “I know not what falsehood may -have conspired to conjure up so much unseemly boldness in thee; for I -cannot believe that thou, a knight of good report, couldst thus have -ventured to insult me, unless on some false credence. What though my -love hath been misplaced? My heart can never change. Urge not, then, -again a theme that must ever rouse my indignation.” - -A cloud passed across the smooth brow of Sir Andrew Stewart as he -received this resolute rejection of his passion, but it speedily -disappeared. - -“Forgive me, beauteous lady,” said he, after a pause, “mine unhappy -passion hath indeed mastered my better reason. Kill me not with thy -frowns, but lay my fault to the account of these thy stirring charms. -Sith that I dare not hope for more advancement, I shall still be the -humblest of thy slaves, for to cease to love thee were impossible.” - -After this decided repulse, Sir Andrew Stewart confined his attentions -to those of mere courtesy. Towards evening, they began to descend into -a narrow glen, watered by a clear river. The hills arose on both sides -lumpish and vast, and the dense fir forest that covered them rendered -the scene as gloomy as imagination could fancy. As they picked their -way down the steep paths of the forest, they caught occasional glimpses -of the lone tower of a little stronghold that stood on a small green -mound, washed by the river on one side, and divided from the abrupt -base of the mountain by a natural ravine, that bore the appearance of -having been rendered more defensible by art. - -“Behold the termination of our journey of this day,” said Sir Andrew -Stewart to his lady. “Thine accommodation, beauteous damsel, will be -but poor; yet, even such as thou mayest find it, it may be welcome -after the fatigue thou hast endured.” - -They reached the bottom, and, crossing the ravine by a frail wooden -bridge, climbed a short ascent that led them to the entrance of the -little fortalice, that wore the appearance of having been lately -demolished in some feudal broil; for the massive iron gate of the -court-yard lay upon its side, half buried among the weeds. Many of the -outhouses, too, were roofless, and bore recent marks of having been -partly consumed by fire. - -“Alister MacCraw,” said Sir Andrew Stewart to an old man who came -crawling forth from the low entrance at the sound of the bugle, “so -thine old dwelling yet standeth safe, I see. I trust it may afford us -some better harbour than those roofless barns and byres do show?” - -“In troth, not mokell better, Sir Andrew Stewart,” replied the old man; -“but stone vauts wunna brenn like thaken roof. Troth, ’tis mokell -wonders that the Yearl o’ Buchan wouldna gar mend them up, and put some -stout loons to guard them, sith he doth use to lodge here when he doth -travel between Buchan and Badenoch; an yon bit gavels were mended, an -yon bit breach in the wa’, yonder, and——” - -“Nay, Alister, spare thy counsel for my father’s ear,” replied Sir -Andrew Stewart impatiently, “and forthwith proceed to house us as best -thou mayest. Let us see how this lady may be bestowed.” - -“Thou knowest there be no great choice of chambers,” replied the old -man, with a certain leering chuckle, which the lady could not -understand. - -MacCraw had reason for what he said, for the simple plan of the -building was of three storeys. That on the ground floor contained one -large vaulted kitchen, occupied by the old man, with two small dark -chambers. A stair, ascending from a central passage, running directly -from the outer door, led to a room occupying the whole of the second -floor of the building, from a farther angle of which a small stair -wound up, within a hanging turret, to a single apartment in the -uppermost storey. - -The lady was ushered by Sir Andrew Stewart into the kitchen, where -MacCraw busied himself in renovating the embers on the hearth, and soon -afterwards in preparing some refreshment. The knight spoke little and -abstractedly, and rising at last, he mumbled something about orders he -had to give, and abruptly left the place. - -“Erick MacCormick,” said he to his esquire, “I would speak with thee -apart.” - -The esquire followed his master without the walls. “Erick,” said Sir -Andrew again, when he judged that they were beyond all risk of being -overheard, “I did try to move the lady to give ear to my love, but she -hath sternly rejected me, yea, and that with signs of no small -displeasure. I burn with shame for the blindness with which my passion -did hoodwink mine eyes.” - -“Hath she indeed refused thee, Sir Knight?” demanded the esquire. “By -the mass, but with such as she is I would use smaller ceremony, as a -preface to mine own gratification.” - -“Ay, if we could without detection, Erick,” replied Sir Andrew. - -“This is a fitting place, meseems,” said the esquire. - -“’Tis as thou sayest, a fitting place, good Erick,” replied Sir Andrew; -“but albeit I may put sicker trust in thee, yea, and peraunter in most -of mine own men, yet were it vain to hope that I might effect my -purpose without being detected by one of her followers.” - -“Fear not, Sir Knight,” said the esquire; “I trow we are strong enough -to eat them both up.” - -“Nay, nay—that is not what I mean,” replied Sir Andrew; “but thou -knowest, Erick, that I do put value on character and reputation. I have -hitherto passed as a miracle of virtue, as a rare exception in the -lawless family to the which I belong; nay, even in the ear of my -grandfather the King hath my praise been sounded, and my name standeth -in godly odour with the very Bishop of Moray himself. I must not -sillily wreck the vessel of my fortunes, while ’tis blown on by gales -so favouring.” - -“In sooth, it were vain to hope to have thine actions pass withouten -the remark of her followers,” replied the esquire. - -“Her followers!” said Sir Andrew. “I would not adventure aught with -her, unless I were secure that none but the most faithful of mine own -instruments should have cause even to guess at my share in the matter. -Were but that sly fox, Rory Spears, out of the way, methinks we might -contrive to throw dust in the eyes of the maid and the minstrel.” - -“If Spears be all the hindrance thou seest,” replied MacCormick, “I -beseech thee be not afraid of him. By St. Antony, but he cares not the -value of a cross-bow bolt for her of whom he hath charge. I have had -much talk with him by the way, and I will pledge my life that thou -shalt win him to thy purpose with as much ease as thou mayest lure thy -best reclaimed falcon. The old allounde is sore offended at being left -behind by his master the Earl, to attend upon a damsel; yea, and the -damosel herself, too, seemeth to have done little to have overcome the -disgust he hath taken at his employment. Trust me, Sir Knight, never -hungry trout was more ready to swallow baited hook than old Rory Spears -will be to pouch a good bribe, that may be the means of ridding him of -so troublesome and vexatious a duty.” - -“Art thou sicker in thy man?” demanded Sir Andrew Stewart, stopping -short, after taking a turn or two in silent thought, with his arms -folded across his breast. - -“Nay, he did so effunde his ill humour to me by the way, that I will -venture my life for him,” replied the squire. - -“Seek him out straightway, and bring him hither,” said the knight. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LIV. - - Sir Andrew’s Deep-laid Plot—An Unexpected Arrival. - - -MacCormick proceeded in quest of Spears, and Sir Andrew Stewart -continued to pace backwards and forwards upon the green sward outside -the rampart wall, pondering how he might best open the negotiation. It -was already dark; and, villain as he was, he felt thankful that it was -so, for he had ever been accustomed to set so much value on outward -reputation, that he was ashamed to lift the veil, even to him whom he -was about to make an accomplice in his crimes. Footsteps were at last -heard approaching softly, and Rory and MacCormick saluted him. - -“Master Spears,” said Sir Andrew Stewart, “this is a troublesome task -the Earl hath imposed on thee.” - -“Task!” replied Rory, in a gruff ill-humoured tone; “I carena mokell -how dour his tasks be, so he be present himsel for to see me fulfil -them; but to cast his trusty servant frae his back—me, wha used to be -tied, as I mought say, till his horse’s curpin, and to tak a parcel o’ -young loons to the wars wi’ him, is enew to break ane auld crazy heart -like mine.” - -“’Tis indeed a bitter reproach on thee, Rory,” said Sir Andrew, “and -but little amended by the service thou art put upon. But what doth -hinder thee to return? Surely I may save thee all this long and painful -journey. My protection, methinks, may suffice for the lady.” - -“Na, na,” replied Rory impatiently, being secretly nettled at the cheap -rate at which his services were apparently held by the man he despised; -“na, na—thy protection, Sir Andrew Stewart, that is to say, the -protection o’ thy stout lances yonder, may be a’ weel enew; but I maun -not at no rate be kend to slight the wull o’ my lord the Yearl; and to -leave the lass, and gang back afore the journey be weel begood—hoot, -that wadna do at a’.” - -“Thou sayest true, Rory,” replied Sir Andrew; “but thou knowest I have -ever been a friend to thee, and I would fain do thee a good turn on -this occasion. Methinks I have hit on a scheme for saving thee thy -pains and travel, preserving thy good character for fidelity to the -Earl, and, finally, putting a purse of gold into thy pouch.” - -“Ay!” replied Rory, in a tone of surprise. “By St. Lowry, an’ thou -canst make a’ that good, thou wilt work marvels, Sir Andrew.” - -“Nay, ’twill need no conjurer,” said Sir Andrew Stewart. “Keep thou but -out of the way this night, and see that thou dost keep the old minstrel -with thee. Thou canst not sleep in the lady’s chamber, thou knowest, -therefore it is but natural to leave the entire charge of her to me, -who am to spend the night in MacCraw’s kitchen. And then—d’ye mark -me—if the lady should chance to disappear during the night, no one -knowing how, the blame must of needscost fall on me alone. Thou mayest -then yede thee back with thy daughter to the Countess to-morrow to tell -the tale; nay, peraunter, I may go with thee to make all matters -smooth, by the confession of my careless watch; and so thou shalt hie -thee after the Earl, and may yet join his standard in the field. Dost -thou comprehend me now, friend Rory?” - -Rory stood silently pondering over the tempting proposal. Sir Andrew -Stewart drew forth the purse of gold, and the broad pieces chinked -against each other as he dangled it in his hand. Their music was most -seducing. - -“Give me the purse,” said Rory at length. - -“’Tis thine,” cried the overjoyed Sir Andrew Stewart; “I know thee to -be faithful, and I fear me not but that thou wilt earn it.” - -“I will do my best to deserve it,” replied Rory. - -“Quick, then, to thy duty,” said Sir Andrew Stewart. “Be it thine to -see that no one may approach the tower who might disturb our plans.” - -“The safety of my daughter Kate must be secured to me,” said Rory. - -“I am answerable for it,” replied Sir Andrew Stewart. “If I can so -arrange it, she shall be committed to thine own care; but if I should -be defeated in this matter, she shall sleep in the highest chamber, -where she may be out of the way. But, happen what will, her safety -shall be mine especial care.” - -The conference being thus ended, Sir Andrew Stewart returned to partake -of the meal which MacCraw had by this time prepared. A manifest change -had taken place in his manner. His conversation was gay and sprightly, -and he was so entertaining that the lady sat listening to him for some -time after supper. At length the fatigue she had undergone began to -overcome her, and she signified her wish to retire to rest. Katherine -Spears, who had been out and in more than once during the meal, now -lifted a lamp to light her mistress upstairs to the principal apartment -in the tower, which was destined to receive her. - -“Katherine,” said Sir Andrew Stewart, carelessly, after having paid his -parting evening compliments, “when thou hast done with thine attendance -on thy lady, MacCraw will show thee the way to where thy father is -lodged, where a bed hath been prepared for thee also.” - -“Nay, Sir Knight,” replied Katherine, with uncommon energy, “I will at -no rate quit the tower, though I should sit up all night by this fire.” - -“That as thou mayest list, my maiden,” said Sir Andrew Stewart, with -the same tone he had already spoken in; “I did but wish to give thee -the best harbour the place might yield. But now I think on’t, the high -chamber may do well enow for thee after all. Here—drink thy lady’s -health in the remnant of her wine-cup, ere thou goest.” - -Katherine did so, and then tripped up stairs before her mistress. She -no sooner found herself fairly within the door of the lady’s apartment, -than she shut it behind her, and began to look eagerly for the bolt, -and she exhibited no small dismay when she saw that it had been -recently removed. Trembling with agitation, she then conducted the lady -with a hurried step towards a pallet-bed, which had been prepared for -her in one corner of the place, and seating her on the blankets— - -“Oh, my lady, my lady,” whispered she, half breathless with alarm, “I -fear that some foul treachery may be designed against thee. Whilst thou -didst sit at thy meal I didst step me up hither to see thy couch -prepared, and as I returned through the lower passage, I overheard -certain voices in the little vault to the right—‘When is it to be -done?’ said one. ‘It must not be until late in the night,’ replied -another, ‘for we must be sure that she sleeps.’ ‘Ay, and her Abigail -alswa,’ said the first man. ‘Nay, I trust that she will be without the -tower, for she would spoil all,’ said the other. Just then as I was -listening, the outer door of the tower was slowly opened, and my -father’s head slowly appeared. He drew back when he saw me. I ran out -to him. ‘Help, help, father,’ said I to him in a whisper, ‘or the lady -will surely be the victim of treachery.’” - -“And thy father,” said the lady, stretching eagerly towards her -damsel—“what did thy father say?” - -“He laughed at me, lady,” replied Katherine, hesitating—“he laughed at -my fears.” - -“But what were his words?—give me his very words, I entreat thee,” -anxiously demanded the lady. - -“His words, lady,” replied Katherine—“his words were but those of a -bold man, who scorneth the fears of a weak woman. Trust me, he must be -faithful, lady.” - -“Ay, Katherine, but his words—what were his very words?” asked the -lady, with the same eagerness of manner. - -“Nay, indeed, they were naught, lady,” replied Katherine, “but thou -shalt have them as they did drop from his very mouth. ‘Tush! foolish -quean,’ said he in a tone of displeasure at what he did suppose to be -my silly apprehension; ‘where sould there be treachery, thinkest thou? -But an there sould, tell thy lady that Rory Spears is ane auld -fusionless doited dolt-head, as unfit for stoure and strife as for -war-stratagem. What did cause his being left behind his lord the Yearl, -but superannuation? The silly coof, Sir Andrew Stewart, guse though he -be, is mair to be lippened till than Rory Spears. But get thee in, -lass, and tend on thy mistress;’ and so saying he opened the door of -the tower, and shuffled me by the shoulder into the kitchen where thou -didst sit at supper. In vain did I try to catch thine eye after I -entered. But oh, sweet lady, believe not that my father can be traitor -to thee.” - -“His words have spoken him to be anything rather than my protector,” -replied the lady, pale with alarm at what her maid had told her. “But,” -added she, with a forced smile, “thou hast redeemed his sin by nobly -resolving to share my danger, when thou hadst the opportunity of -escaping from it. As it is, I must prepare me for the worst. I have -still a dagger, and weak as is mine arm, it shall do bloody work ere I -do yield to such villainy; yet, after all, thou mayest have mistaken -the words thou didst hear. Let us trust to God and the Holy Virgin, -then, and, above all things, let us put up special prayers for -protection from Her, who is purity itself.” - -The lady and her maiden knelt down together, and joined in earnest -devotion, that was only damped at times as fancy led them to imagine -they heard a soft tread on the stair, or a suppressed breathing at the -door of the chamber. When their orisons were ended, they sat silent for -some time. All was already quiet below, and an unaccountable and -perfectly uncontrollable sleep, that seemed to bid defiance even to -their apprehensions, was stealing insidiously upon them. Just at this -moment Katherine Spears uttered a short and faint scream, and had -nearly swooned away. The lady started up in a frenzy of alarm, and drew -her dagger, when, much to her astonishment as well as to her relief, -she perceived the large wolf-hound that had followed Rory Spears, -which, having unceremoniously put his cold nose into Katherine’s -well-known hand, had produced the damsel’s sudden panic. The lady and -her attendant viewed the unexpected appearance of this mute defender as -an especial interposition procured for them by their prayers. But the -scream, though scarcely audible, might have been heard below, and they -listened in quaking dread. All continued quiet underneath them. But, as -they still listened, they distinctly heard a heavy footstep cautiously -planted, but, to their utter amazement, it came from above downwards. -The lady grasped her dagger more firmly, and wound up her determination -to use it, if need should demand it. The steps still came stealing down -the turret stair that communicated with the uppermost apartment, and at -last the bulky form of Rory Spears, gaud-clip and all, appeared before -them. - -“Heaven be praised!” murmured Katherine, as she sprang to meet her -father. “By what miracle of Heaven’s mercy art thou here?” - -The lady stood aloof with her dagger clenched, still doubtful of his -errand. - -“And what for needs ye ask?” said Rory to his daughter, with a certain -archness of expression quite his own. “Hath not my Lord the Yearl o’ -Moray made a tirewoman o’ me? and was Rory Spears ever kend to be -backward at his Lord’s bidding? Verily, it behoveth me not to desert -mine occupation. So I am here to do my new mistress’s wark, I promise -thee.” - -“May Heaven grant that thou mayest not have something more cruel to do -to-night than attend on dames,” said Katherine Spears; “yet verily thy -coming is most providential, for assuredly we are sore beset with -treachery.” - -“Ay, ay, I ken a’ that,” replied Rory; “and troth it was the very -thoughts o’ a bicker that pat the pet out o’ me, and wiled me hither. -But stap ye baith yere ways up the stair there, and liggen ye down -quietly, and leave me here to deal with whomsoever may come.” - -“He is true to thee, after all, lady,” said Katherine with exultation. - -“I rejoice to see that he is faithful,” replied the lady; “may St. -Andrew reward him! Already are my fears banished, but irresistible -sleep oppresses me. I feel as if I had swallowed some potent drug. I -cannot keep my head up.” - -“Nay, Katherine nods too,” said Rory; “by the mass, some sleepy potion -must have been mingled with your wine. Let me help ye both upstairs; -ay, there ye may rest in quiet,” said he, as he set down the lamp and -was preparing to leave them, “and I’se leave Oscar with ye as a guard, -for the loon had nae business here, and wi’ me he might spoil sport;” -and saying so, he tied up the dog beside them, and ere he had done -which both were in a profound sleep. - -Having returned to the apartment below, Rory threw himself down on the -bed, and huddled himself up in the blankets, with his inseparable -companion the gaud-clip by his side, and there he lay patiently to -watch the event, until, the fire falling low on the hearth, the -darkness and his own drowsiness overcame his vigilance, and he fell -into deep oblivion. - -He had not lain long in this state when the door slowly opened, and the -head of Sir Andrew Stewart appeared. Over it there was a lamp, which he -held up in his hand, so as to throw a glimmer of light into the farther -corner of the place. He paused for a moment, and seeing the form of a -figure within the blankets, and observing that all was quiet, he -withdrew the lamp. - -“She sleeps,” whispered he to his esquire and the two men who were with -him; “the potion hath worked as it ought. Approach the bed, yet be -cautious; rude carelessness might break her slumbers. Let her not be -awakened while she is within earshot of those within the place; ye may -be less scrupulous anon. Approach and lift her up in the blanket; her -weight can be but as that of an infant in such hands.” - -“No sike infant, I wot,” muttered one of the men to the other, as they -strained to lift up the blanket with the enormous carcase of Rory -Spears in it. - -“By the mass, but she is a load for a wain,” said the other. - -“Be silent, ye profane clowns,” said Sir Andrew. - -“St. Roque, how she doth snore!” said the first, in a lower voice. - -“Silence, I say, villains,” said Sir Andrew, “silence, and bear her -this way.” - -“Hold, hold, Murdoch, the blanket is slipping,” said one; “keep up your -end, or we are done with her.” - -“Hout, she’s gone,” cried Murdoch, as his end of the blanket slipped -altogether, and Rory was rolled on the floor. - -Though Rory had slept, his mind had been so fully possessed with the -action he had prepared himself to expect, that he had dreamt of nothing -else. He was no sooner rudely awakened by the shock of his fall than -his mind became full of his duty. - -“Ha, villains,” cried he, starting to his legs in a moment, and roaring -to the full extent of his rough voice, as he flourished his gaud-clip -around him in the dark like a flail; “ha, caitiffs, have I caught ye? -What, would ye dare to lay impure hands on the tender form of a lady of -sike high degree? By St. Lowry, but I’ll settle ye, knaves.” - -All was now confusion. The knight and his instruments sought for the -door with a haste that almost defeated their object. Precedence was by -no means attended to; and Sir Andrew Stewart, being jostled aside, -received a chance blow from Rory’s gaud-clip that prostrated him -senseless on the floor. The squire and the two men rushed down stairs, -with Rory hard at their heels, and were making towards the door of the -tower when it suddenly opened, and a party of horsemen appeared -without. - -“Halt!” cried a voice like thunder, that instantly arrested the flight -of the fugitives, and sent them, crouching like chidden curs, into the -kitchen. The light that was there showed the terror and dismay of their -countenance, and it also explained the cause, for he who entered was -the Wolfe of Badenoch. - -“What rabble and uproar is this in the lone peel-tower of Duncriddel?” -demanded he. “Ha, Alister MacCraw, what guests be these thou hast got? -Ha, Erick MacCormick and my son Andrew’s people! What a murrain hath -brought thee here, Master Esquire? Ha—speak. Where is the worthy knight -thy master?” - -“My Lord—my master, Sir Andrew—my Lord—” replied MacCormick, hesitating -from very fear. - -“Ha! and Rory Spears too,” continued the Wolfe; “what dost thou make -here, old ottercap? Speak, and expound the cause of this uproar, if -thou canst.” - -“I will, my Lord,” said Rory, “and that in sike short speech as I well -ken thou lovest to have a tale dished up to thee. Sir Andrew Stewart, -thy son, did covenant wi’ my leddy the Countess o’ Moray, thy sister, -to convoy ane Englisher leddy safe frae Tarnawa to Norham, and sure -enew he brought her here, being sae muckle o’ the gate; but having no -fear o’ God or the Saunts afore his eyne, he did basely try to betray -her, just the noo, afore I cam doon the stairs there.” - -“Ha, hypocritical villain! cried the Wolfe. “By Saint Barnabas, but I -have long had a thought that his affected purity was but a cloak for -his incontinence.” - -“’Tis all a fabrication,” cried MacCormick, who had now recovered his -presence of mind so far as to endeavour to defend his master, though at -the expense of truth; “’tis fearful to hear sike wicked falsehoods -against thy son Sir Andrew Stewart.” - -“My Lord Yearl,” cried Rory, taking Sir Andrew’s purse of gold from his -pouch, “an thou believest that I do lie, here is a soothfast witness to -what I have uttered.” - -“Ha! my son Andrew’s purse, with his cipher on it,” cried the Wolfe, -casting a hasty glance at it. “How camest thou by this, Master Spears?” - -Rory quickly told the Wolfe of the attempt made by Sir Andrew Stewart -to bribe him from his duty, and shortly explained how he had watched -his opportunity to creep up stairs unobserved, and to secrete himself -in his daughter’s apartment, together with the result. - -“Foul shame on the sleeky viper,” cried the Wolfe indignantly, after he -had listened to Rory’s abridgement: “But where hath the reptile hidden -himself all this while? By my beard, but he shall be punished for this -coulpe.” And so saying he seized upon a lamp, and rushing up stairs in -a fury, beheld his son stretched on the pavement senseless, with a -stream of blood pouring from his temple and cheek, which bore the deep -impression of the hooked head of Rory Spears’ gaud-clip. - -“Hey, ha!” exclaimed the Wolfe, with a changed aspect, produced by the -spectacle which his son presented: “by’r Lady, but Andrew hath got it. -Fool that he was, he hath already been paid, I wot, for his wicked -device. Ha! the saints grant that he may not be past all leechcraft. -Would that thou hadst hit less hard, old man. Though he be but the -craven cock-chick of my brood, yet would I not choose to have his green -grave to walk over.” - -“So please thee, my Lord, it was dark, and I had no choice where to -strike,” said Rory, with much simplicity of manner. “But fear not,” -added he, after carelessly stooping down to examine the wound, “trust -me, ’tis no deadly blow; moreover, ’tis rare that ill weeds do perish -by the gateside. I’se warrant me he’ll come to; his breath is going -like a blacksmith’s bellows. But is’t not a marvel, after all, to -behold how clean I did put my seal upon his chafts, and it sae dark at -the time? I’se warrant he’ll bear the mark o’t till’s dying day. Here, -MacCormy, help me down the stair wi’ him. Thou and I will carry his -worship’s body wi’ mair ease than thou and thy loons wad hae carried -mine, I rauckon. But hear ye, lad; give not the lie again to any true -man like me, or that brain-pan of thine may lack clampering.” - -The Wolfe of Badenoch was relieved by discovering, on examination, that -there was good hope of his son’s recovery; and he employed himself and -his people in using every means to bring it about. The whole night was -spent in this way, but it was only towards morning that Sir Andrew -Stewart began to show less equivocal signs of returning life, and even -then he still remained in a state of unconsciousness as to what was -passing near him. The circumstance of the sleepy potion they had drank -accounted for the lady and her damsel having remained undisturbed amid -all the confusion that had prevailed. But the Wolfe of Badenoch, having -occupied the morning in superintending the preparation of a litter to -transport his wounded son to his Castle in Badenoch, when all was -ready, became impatient to depart, and desirous to see the lady ere he -did so. Rory Spears was accordingly despatched to awake her, and in a -short time she and Katherine appeared, with eyes still loaded with the -soporiferous drug they had swallowed. - -“Ha, what!” cried the Wolfe with astonishment, the moment the lady -appeared; “by the beard of my grandfather, but I am petrified. Who -could have dreamt that it was thou, my beauteous damosel? By’r Lady, -but it is strange, that whether thou dost appear in the hauqueton or in -the kirtle thou shouldst still be harnessed by importunate love-suit. -But,” continued he, courteously taking her hand and kissing it, “it -erketh me sore to think that wrong so foul should have been attempted -against thee by a son of mine. Thou hadst a claim for something better -at our hands, both for thine own sake and for that of Sir Patrick -Hepborne, a knight of whom the remembrance shall ever be grateful to -me. Trust me, it giveth me pleasure to behold lealty where tyrant -Church hath tied no bands. Thou hast been basely deceived by him who -undertook for thine honourable escort to Norham, and albeit I have -reasons to think that the proud Priest of Moray hath secretly obtained -a power of Royal troops to repossess him in his Badenoch lands, yet -shall not this knowledge hinder me from fulfilling for thee that -service which my traitor son hath so shamefully abused. I shall be -myself thy convoy. Let the croaking carrion-crow of Elgin come if he -dares; I have hardy heads, I trow, to meet him, who will fight whether -I am there or not. Ha! by my grandfather’s beard, an he had not flown -from Aberdeen with the wings of the raven, he mought have been e’en now -past giving me trouble.” - -“My noble Earl of Buchan, I do give thee thanks for thy kind courtesy,” -replied the lady; “but I may in no wise suffer it to lead thee to make -sacrifice so great. Trust me, I fear not for the journey whilst I have -this good man Rory Spears as mine escort. Under the guardance of one so -prudent, brave, and faithful as he has proved himself to be, I should -nothing dread to wander over the world.” - -“And I wad defend thee, my leddy, frae skaith, were it but frae the -tining o’ a single hair o’ thy bonny head, yea, to the last drap o’ -bluid in my auld veins,” cried Rory with great enthusiasm, being -delighted to observe that his worth was at last fairly appreciated. - -“Ha! by my troth, but ’tis bravely spoken in both,” cried the Wolfe. -“Depardieux, I shall not venture to interfere where there is so great -store of confidence on one side and fidelity on the other. But yet thou -must take some pairs of my lances with thee, Rory, for thou art but -slenderly backed, me thinks.” - -Even this much both the lady and Master Spears were disposed to refuse; -but on learning that the mountain range through which they must pass -was at that time more than ordinarily infested with wolves, Rory -changed his mind, and consented to take four able lances with him, to -be returned when he should consider their services no longer necessary. - -All being now arranged for the departure of the two parties, the Wolfe -of Badenoch became impatient. He courteously assisted the lady to mount -her palfrey, and, kissing her hand, bid her a kind adieu. He was about -to leap into his own saddle, when he was accosted by Rory Spears. - -“My Lord Yearl o’ Buchan, seeing that thy son Sir Andrew, i’ the litter -yonder, hath not yet gathered his senses anew to tak the charge o’ his -ain cunzie, I here deliver up to thee, his father, this purse o’ gowd -he did gi’e me, the which my conscience wull at no rate let me keep, -seeing that it wad in nowise let me do that the which was covenanted -for the yearning o’t.” - -“Nay, by St. Barnabas, honest Rory, but thou shalt keep the purse and -the coin,” cried the Wolfe, delighted with Rory’s honesty; “thou hast -rightly earned it by thy good service to thy lady. I will be answerable -to my son Andrew for this thy well-won guerdon, so make thyself easy on -that score.” - -“Thanks, most noble Yearl,” cried Rory as he pouched the purse, and -mounted his ragged nag to ride after the lady, his countenance shining -with glee. “By’r lackins, but this is as good as the plunder of a whole -campaign against the Englishers.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LV. - - Travelling through the Wild Forest—A Dreadful Spectacle—Arrival at - the River Tweed. - - -The English damsel and her attendants travelled slowly by a different -route through the wild forest scenery of those mountains with which the -reader is already sufficiently familiar. So much of the morning had -been expended ere they set out, that the length of their day’s journey -was considerably curtailed, and the heaviness that still hung on the -eyelids of the lady and Katherine, from the drugged draughts they had -swallowed, so overcame them, that they were well contented to look for -a place of rest at a much earlier hour in the evening than they would -have otherwise done. The information that Rory Spears had gathered -about the wolves made him also very ready to halt betimes, that he -might have sufficient leisure to fortify the party against any chance -of nocturnal attack from these ravenous animals, in a region where no -human dwelling was to be expected. - -It still wanted nearly two hours of sunset when the cavalcade was -winding gently up the narrow bottom of a wild pass, that, like a vast -rent or cut in the mountains, divided the chain from its very summit to -its base. From the close defile below, the eye could hardly ascend the -steep and even slope of the rocky precipices to half their height, so -closely did they approach on either hand. The pine forest, though still -continuous, began to grow thinner as they advanced, and Rory Spears, -like an able leader, was carefully scanning every point where he might -hope to discover a strong and convenient position for encampment. At -length one of the Earl of Buchan’s troopers, well acquainted with these -wilds, showed him the upright face of a tall projecting crag, at a -great height above, where there was a small natural cavern, and, -accordingly, thither it was resolved that they should ascend. - -The ascent was long and arduous, but when they did reach the spot, it -was discovered to be admirably fitted for their purpose. The rock rose -smooth and perpendicular as a wall, and in the centre of it was the -mouth of the cavern, opening from a little level spot of ground in -front. Rory began to take immediate measures for their security. Broken -wood was collected in abundance, and a semi-circular chain of fires -kindled, so as fully to embrace the level ground, and touch the rock on -either side of the cavern. Heather beds were prepared for the lady and -her damsel under the dry arch of the cliff; and their hasty meal being -despatched, they wrapped themselves up in their mantles, and prepared -themselves with good-will to sleep off the stupifying effects of the -narcotic. Rory meanwhile drew his cavalry within his defences, and -having posted and arranged his watches so as to ensure the keeping up -of the fires, he sat down with the rest to recreate himself with what -store of provisions they had carried along with them. - -The lady’s sleep was so very sound for some hours that it bid defiance -to all the merriment, the talking, and the music, that successively -prevailed without. But at last it yielded to the continued twanging of -the minstrel’s harp, and she awaked to hear him sing, with great -enthusiasm, the concluding stanzas of some tale, which he had been -rhyming to those around him: - - - If minstrel inspiration wells - From yonder star-besprinkled sky, - To which my heart so strangely swells, - As if it fain would thither fly; - - Then on those mountain tops that rise - Far, far above the fogs of earth, - Thicker and purer from the skies - Must fall that dew of heavenly birth. - - What marvel, then, my native land, - That heaves its breast to kiss high Heaven, - Hath fill’d my heart and nerved my hand, - And fresher inspiration given? - - Then if my heart a spell hath wove - More potent than of erst it threw, - And ye have wept its tale of love, - With rifer tears than once it drew, - - Think not thou mayest the song reward - With thine accustom’d dearth of praise, - It comes from no weak mortal bard— - ’Tis Scotland’s spirit claims the lays! - - -Perfectly refreshed by her slumber, and cheered by the harper’s -strains, the lady arose from her couch, and stepped forth from the -cavern to join her applause to the rudely-expressed approbation of Rory -and his comrades. The air was balmy and refreshing, and she staid to -hold converse with the good old minstrel. - -“’Tis a beautiful night, Adam,” said she; “see how the moonbeam sleeps -on the bosom of yonder little lake far up the pass. How dark do these -masses of pine appear when contrasted with the silver light that doth -play beyond them on those opposite steeps; how deep and impenetrable is -the shadow that hangeth over the bottom far below us, where all is -silent save the softened music of the stream murmuring among the rocks. -But hark, what yelling sounds are these that come borne on the breeze -as it sigheth up the pass?” - -“’Tis the distant howling of the wolves, lady,” cried the harper; -“methinks the rout cometh this way. An I mistake not, ’tis a ravenous -pack of famished beasts that do pursue a deer or some other helpless -tenant of the woods. Hark, the sound doth now come full up the bottom -of the pass. List, I pray thee, how it doth grow upon the ear.” - -“I do hear the galloping of a horse, methinks,” cried Rory Spears, who -stood by. - -“Holy Virgin, what dreadful screams were these?” cried the lady, -starting with affright. - -“St. Andrew defend us,” said the minstrel, shrinking at the thought; -“it may be some fiend o’ the forest that doth urge his hellish midnight -chase through these salvage wilds.” - -“Na, na, na,” replied Rory Spears, gravely; “troth, I hae mair fear -that it may be some wildered wanderer hunted by a rout o’ thae gaunt -and famished wolves. St. Lowry be wi’ us, is’t not awful?” - -“Holy St. Cuthbert protect us,” exclaimed the lady, after a pause, and -shuddering as she spoke; “that cry, oh, that cry was dreadful; ’twas a -shriek of terror unspeakable; fear of an instant, of a most cruel -death, could have alone awakened it. Gracious Heaven, have mercy on the -wretch who did give it utterance!” - -“Hear, hear; holy St. Giles, how he doth cry for help!” said Rory -Spears. “Hear again; ’tis awsome. St. Hubert be his aid, for weel I do -trow nae mortal man can help him.” - -“Oh, say not so,” cried the lady, with agonizing energy; “oh, fly, fly -to his rescue; there may yet be time. Fly—save him—save him, and all -the gold I possess shall be thine.” - -“Nay, lady,” replied Rory, “albeit the very attempt wad be risk enew, -yet wud I flee to obey thy wull withouten the bribe o’ thy gowd; and -the mair, that it wud be a merciful, a Christian, and a right joyful -wark to save a fellow-cretur frae sike ane awsome end. But man’s help -in this case is a’thegither vain. Dost thou no perceive that the -clatter o’ his horse’s heels is no longer to be heard? nay, even his -cries do already return but faintly from far up the pass? And noo, -listen—hush—hear hoo fast they do die away; and hark, hark—thou canst -hear them nae mair.” - -“He hath indeed spurred on with the desperate speed of despair,” said -the lady; “but oh, surely thou mayest yet stop or turn his fell -pursuers. Oh, fly to the attempt. Nay, I will myself go with thee. -Hark, all the echoes of the glen around us are now awakened by their -fearful howlings. Quick, quick; let us fly downwards—’tis but a mere -step of way.” - -“Alas, lady,” replied Rory, “to try to stop the accursed pack were now -hopeless as to think to gar the raging winds tarry on the mountain -side. These hideous howls do indeed arise from the shades beneath us; -but had we the legs and the feet o’ the raebuck, the ravening rout wad -be a mile ayont us ere we could reach the bottom. Hark, hoo they hae -already swept on. Already the cruel din frae their salvage throats doth -become weaker; and noo—hist, hist!—it is lost far up the bosom of the -mountains. May the Virgin and the good St. Lawrence defend the puir -sinner, for his speed maun be mair than mortal gif he ’scapeth frae the -jaws o’ thae gruesome and true-nosed hounds. By my troth, an we hadna -taken the due caution we might hae been a supper to them oursels at -this precious moment—the Virgin protect us!” - -“Oh, ’tis most horrible,” cried the lady, as she rushed into the -cavern, her mind distracted, and her feelings harrowed up with the -thoughts of the probable fate of the unhappy traveller. She sunk on her -knees to implore mercy for him from Heaven, after which she threw -herself on her couch; but her repose was unsettled; and when she did -sleep it was only to dream of the horrors her fancy had painted. - -By the time the sun had begun to gild the tops of the mountains, Rory -Spears was in action. The lady arose unrefreshed; and, after she and -her attendants had partaken of a slight repast, they were again in -motion. Descending by a steep and difficult, though slanting path, they -gradually regained the bottom of the pass, and proceeded to trace it -upwards in a southern direction. As they obtained a higher elevation -the pine trees became thinner, and at length they reached to a little -mossy plain, where they almost entirely disappeared. In the middle of -this was the small sheet of water which had been rendered so -resplendent in the eyes of the lady the night before by the moonbeams. -It was a deep inky-looking pool, surrounded by treacherous banks of -black turf. - -“Is this what distance and moonlight made so bewitchingly beautiful to -our eyes?” said the lady to the minstrel. - -“Thus it doth ever chance with all our worldly views, lady,” replied -the old man. “Hope doth gild that which is yet at a distance, but all -is dark and cheerless when the object is reached.” - -As they spoke the approach of the party disturbed a flight of kites and -ravens, which arose with hoarse screams and croakings from something -that lay extended amid the long heath near the water’s edge. It was the -skeleton of a horse. The flesh had been so completely eaten from the -bones by the wolves that but little was left for the birds of prey. The -furniture, half torn off, showed that the creature had had a rider. A -few yards farther on a single wolf started away from a broken part of -the bog. Rory Spears’ gaud-clip was launched after him with powerful -and unerring aim, and its iron head buried in the side of the animal, -while at the same moment the quick-eyed Oscar seized the caitiff by the -throat, and he was finally despatched by several lances plunged into -him at once. They sought the spot whence the gaunt animal had been -roused, and their blood was frozen by the horrid spectacle of the -half-consumed carcase of a man. - -It was of size gigantic; and although the limbs and body had been in a -great measure devoured, yet enough of evidence still remained in the -rent clothes and in the lacerated features of the face to establish -beyond a doubt to the lady and the minstrel, who had known him, that he -who had thus perished by so miserable a fate was the wizard Ancient -Haggerstone Fenwick. - -A leathern purse, with a few gold coins in it, was found in his pouch; -and, among other articles of no note, there was a small manuscript book -of necromancy, full of cabalistic signs. - -The spectacle was too horrible and revolting for the lady to bear. She -therefore besought her attendants to cover the wretched remains, and -with Katherine Spears retired to some distance until this duty was -performed and a huge monumental cairn of stones heaped over them, after -which they again proceeded on their way. - -The troopers belonging to the Wolfe of Badenoch were sent back as soon -as Rory Spears judged they might be spared with safety, and nothing -occurred during the remainder of the journey to make him regret having -so parted with them. As the party travelled through the fertile Merse -they found that which should have been a smiling scene converted into a -wilderness of desolation. The storm of England’s wrath had swept over -it, and the rifled and devastated fields, the blackened heaps of -half-consumed houses and cottages, around which some few human beings -were still creeping and shivering, like ghosts unwilling to leave the -earthly tenements to which they had been linked in life, brought the -horrors of war fresh before them. The aged man and the boy were the -only male figures that were mingled with those groups of wailing women -that appeared. All who could draw a sword or a bow, or wield a lance, -were already on their way to join the Scottish host, their bosoms -burning with a thirst of vengeance. - -As they were lamenting over the melancholy scene they were passing -through—for even the English damosel deplored the ravages committed by -her countrymen—their way was crossed by a troop of well-armed and -bravely-appointed horsemen, which halted, as if to wait until their -party should come up. Rory advanced to reconnoitre. - -“Ha, Sir Squire Oliver,” said he to the leader, whom he immediately -recognized as belonging to the Lord of Dirleton, “can that in very deed -be thee? Whither art thou bound in array so gallant?” - -“Master Rory Spears,” replied the squire with a look of surprise—“what, -art thou too bound for the host?” - -“Nay,” replied Rory, mournfully, “I hae other emprise on hand just at -this time. Goest thou thither?” - -“Yea,” replied the esquire, “I go with my Lord’s service of lances to -join the collected Scottish armies on their way to Jedworth. There will -be rare work anon, I ween. Some English horses have been dancing over -these fields, I see, but, by’r Lady, the riders shall pay for the sport -they have had.” - -“Ha, their backs shall be well paid, I warrant me,” cried Rory, -flourishing his gaud-clip around his head, while his eyes sparkled with -enthusiasm. - -“Nay, fear not,” replied the esquire; “the rogues shall feel the rod, -else I am no true man. But St. Andrew be with thee, good Master Rory, I -have no further time to bestow.” And as he said so he gave the word to -his men to move forward; the bugles sounded, their horses’ heels -spurned the ground, and their armour rang as they galloped briskly -away, to make up for the time lost in the halt. - -The lady and her attendants rode slowly on, but Rory lingered behind, -to follow the rapid movement of the warlike files with an anxious eye; -and when they wheeled from his view he heaved a sigh so deep that it -was heard by the foremost of his own party. - -“What aileth thee, Rory?” demanded Adam of Gordon. - -“Heard ye not their bugles as they went?” replied Rory to him. “Was not -the very routing o’them enew to rouse the spirit o’ a dead destrier, -and dost thou ask what aileth me? Is’t not hard to be sae near the -Yearl and yet to see as little o’ him or his men as gif they war in ane -ither warld? is’t not cruel for a man like me to be keepit back frae -the wark that best beseemeth him whan his very heart is in’t?” - -“And why shouldst thou be kept back from it, Rory, now that thy duty to -the lady is performed?” demanded the harper. - -“Dost thou no see Kate yonder?” replied Rory sullenly. “What is to be -done with the wench, think ye? Sure I maun e’en yede me back again to -convoy the puir lassie safely to her mother.” - -“If the care of Katherine be all thy difficulty, Rory,” said the lady -eagerly, “thou mayest easily provide for her safety by confiding her to -me, on whom thy doing so will moreover be conferring an especial -gratification. Let her, I pray thee, abide with me at Norham, whilst -thou goest to the wars; and when peace, yea, or truce doth happily come -again, thou mayest forthwith reclaim her of me. Let me entreat thee, -oppose not my wishes.” - -Rory’s rough but warm heart had been long ere this entirely gained by -the kindness, condescension, and beauty of the English damosel. He -could not have refused her request, whatever difficulties it might have -involved; but her present proposal was too congenial with his own -wishes, and her offer altogether too tempting to be resisted. - -“Troth, my leddy,” replied he, with a tear glistening in his eye, “when -we first forgathered at Tarnawa, and when the Yearl tell’d me that I -was to be buckled till thy tail, I maun e’en confess I was in a sair -cross tune at the news, for thou mayest see it’s no i’ my nature to be -governed by women-fouk, and gin the truth maun be tell’d, it was wi’ -sair ill-wull I cam wi’ thee. But noo, by St. Lowry, I wad follow thee -to the very warld’s end; troth, thou mayest e’en whirl me round and -round with thy pirlywinky; and so, though I am no just confidently -sicker that what I am doing is a’thegither that the which may be -approven by my good dame at hame yonder, yet will I yield me to thy -wishes and mine ain. Kate shall wi’ thee to Norham, and I’ll just tak a -bit stride after the Yearl to see what he and the lave are a-doing.” - -“But thou shalt thyself with me to Norham first, that I may thank thee -properly for the protection thou hast afforded me,” said the lady. - -“Nay, that may in nowise be, leddy,” replied Rory; “I shall see thee -safe to the northern bank of Tweed; but I wot nae Southern stronghold -shall see me within its bounds, save as ane enemy, to do it a’ the -skaith a foeman can, and that I would fain shun doing to ony place that -mought have thy good wishes.” - -After some farther travel the broad walls and massive towers of Norham -Castle appeared before them, glowing with the slanting rays of the -declining sun. A few steps more brought the Tweed in sight, and Rory -Spears instantly halted. - -“And noo I fear I maun leave thee, my leddy,” said he, with an -afflicted countenance, “for yonder’s the Tweed.” - -The lady approached him, and, kindly taking his horny hand, gave -utterance to the most gratifying expression of her strong sense of the -services he had rendered her, and at the same time attempted to force a -purse upon him. - -“Na, na, my leddy, I’se hae nae gowd frae thee,” said he; “besides, I -hae naething ado wi’ gowd whare I’m gaun; I’se get meat, drink, and -quarters withouten cunzie, an’ I’m no mista’en.—Na, na,” continued he, -as she pressed the purse upon him, “an ye wull hae it sae, keep it for -Kate yonder; she may want it, puir thing. May the blessed Virgin be thy -protection, my bonnie bit lassie,” said he to Katherine, as he turned -about to her and pressed her to his breast.—“Hoot toot, this ’ll no -do—ye maunna greet, bairn,” added he, as the tears were breaking over -his own eye-lids. “Fear ye na I’ll be back wi’ thee ere lang, an I be -spared. By St. Lowry, that’s true, my leddy, ye maun promise me that if -onything sould happen to hinder me frae coming back, ye’ll see that -somebody conveys her as safe to Tarnawa as I hae brought thee to -Norham.” - -Katherine sobbed bitterly at the idea which her father had awakened. -The lady readily promised him what he wished. Rory again pressed his -daughter to his bosom, and, striking the side of his garron two or -three successive blows with the shaft of his gaud-clip, he darted off, -and was out of sight in a moment. - -The lady, accompanied by Katherine Spears and the minstrel, slowly -sought the bank of the Tweed. A signal was made for the ferry-boat, and -they were wafted into England. At the gates of Norham Castle the lady -was speedily known, and its friendly walls received her and her two -companions. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LVI. - - Old Acquaintances at the Hostel of Norham Tower—Great Gathering at - Jedworth—The Council of War. - - -It was some days after the lady’s arrival that five horsemen knocked at -the gate of the hostel of the Norham Tower. They were clad rather as -pilgrims than as warriors, and, arriving by the English side of the -river, were judged to have come from the south. Matters had undergone a -change since we had last occasion to notice the hall of Norham. Old -Kyle had been gathered to his fathers, his buxom wife had wept her fair -number of days, and, beginning to recover her spirits by the reflection -that she was a well-looking and wealthy widow, her heart was already -besieged by numerous lovers. Though under a woman’s government, the -police of the Norham Tower was at this moment more strict than usual. -The war had made its mistress careful to rid it at an early hour every -night of all straggling topers. There were certain privileged -customers, indeed, to whom a more liberal license was granted, and of -this number was Mr. Thomas Turnberry, the squire equerry. - -As two of the strangers, of nobler mien than the rest, entered the -common room, they found the esquire in the act of rising from table, -with another man in whose company he had been drinking. - -“A-well,” said the latter; “I bid thee good e’en, Sir Squire. I’ll -warrant thou shalt not find better steeds between Tweed and Tyne than -the two I have sold thee.” - -“Ay, ay, Master Truckthwaite,” replied Turnberry with a sarcastic -smile, “thy word is all well; yet would I rather trust the half of mine -own eye than the whole of thy tongue in such matters. Good e’en, good -e’en. A precious knave, I wot,” added he, after the man was gone. - -“Doth that varlet sell thee good cattle, Sir Squire?” said one of the -strangers who had entered. - -“Nay, in truth, he is a proper cheat,” replied Turnberry. “But the -villain had to do with a man who hath lived all his life in a stable, -and one, moreover, who hath sober, steady, habits. Your drunkard hath -ever but poor chance in a bargain with your sober man.” - -“Most true,” replied the stranger. “Here, tapster; a flagon of Rhynwyn. -Wilt thou stay, Sir Squire, and help us to drain it?” - -“Rhynwyn!” exclaimed Turnberry; “by St. Cuthbert, but there is music in -the very clink of the word. Nay, Sir Pilgrim, I care not an I taste -with thee ere I go; I am but a poor drinker, yet hath honest Rhynwyn -its charms.” - -“Ha,” said Tom, after deeply returning the stranger’s pledge, “this is -right wholesome stuff, I promise ye, my masters. ’Tis another -guess-liquor than old Mother Rowlandson’s i’ the Castle.” - -“Thou art of the Castle, then?” said he who had always spoken. “I drink -to the health of thy gallant old captain, Sir Walter de Selby.” - -“Thank ye, thank ye,” replied Tom, taking the flagon. “Well, here’s to -old Wat. Many is the ride we have had over the Border together; and -many is the hard knock we have both ta’en and given, side by side. -Trust me, there breathes not a better man. His health, God wot, hath -been none of the best of late; so, with thy good leave, Sir Pilgrim, -I’ll drink to it again.” - -“Hath he not a daughter?” demanded the pilgrim. - -“Yea, that he hath,” replied Tom—“an only daughter, whose beauty hath -been the talk of all Northumberland.” - -“Let us drink to her health, then,” said the pilgrim. - -“Here’s to the Lady de Vere, then,” said Turnberry, lifting the flagon -to his head to do justice to the health. - -“The Lady de Vere!” said the pilgrim who had not yet spoken, betraying -an emotion that escaped Tom Turnberry, in the long draught he was -taking. - -“Ay, the Lady de Vere,” said Tom, taking the flagon from his head. “The -Lady Eleanore de Selby is now the Lady de Vere, as we have all heard at -the Castle since two or three days have gone by. Sir Walter would have -fain had her marry Sir Rafe Piersie, who courted her, but his -haughtiness sorted ill with her high and untameable spirit; so she was -contrarisome, and ran away with a love of her own choosing some time -ago.” - -“And who might the lover be who bore away so rich a prize?” demanded -the pilgrim. - -“Why, one of the Court lordlings, as we now learn, a Sir something de -Vere, a kinsman to the King’s favourite, the banished Duke of Ireland. -He is but lately come from abroad, it seems, for he is a foreign knight -born, and being suspected as coming on some secret mission to the King, -it is thought that he will rise high in his good graces. The poor ould -soul, Sir Walter, did live in grievous case until these few days -bygone, for he knew not until then what had befallen his daughter. But -now that he hath learned who his son-in-law is, he hath somewhat raised -his head. But fie on me,” added the squire, after a long draught, that -enabled him to see the bottom of the flagon, “I must hie me to the -Castle; and so good night, and many thanks, my civil masters. Trust me, -I shall right willingly bestow a can upon you when ye do come this way -again, if ye will but ask for old Thomas Turnberry, the esquire -equerry.” - -The dialogue between Tom Turnberry and the two strangers had been over -for a good hour, when another conversation took place a few steps from -the gate of the inn, between Mrs. Kyle and one who considered himself a -favourite lover. - -“These be plaguy cunning knaves,” said Mrs. Kyle; “they thinks, I’se -warrant me, that no one doth know ’em; yet—but I shall say nothing, not -I.” - -“I dare swear a man would need to be no fool who should strive to -deceive thee, Mrs. Kyle,” replied her companion, willing to draw her on -a little. - -“Me!” replied she; “trust me, the old Fiend himself would not cheat me; -for instance, now, that saucy Sang there did no sooner show his face -within the four walls o’ the Norham Tower than I did straightway know -him through all his disguises; and so, having once nosed him, I did -quickly smell out his fellow-esquire, and the two knights their -masters.” - -“That was clever in thee, i’ faith, Mrs. Kyle,” replied her companion. - -“Yea, but my name be not Margaret Kyle an I make no more out by my -cleverness,” said the dame. “But mum for that.” - -“Nay, thou knowest thou canst not be Margaret Kyle long, my bonny -dame,” replied the man. - -“Fie thee now,” replied she, “sure it will be long ere I do trust me to -men again, after honest Sylvester, my poor dear husband that was.” - -“And what didst thou say they were here for?” demanded her companion. - -“Ye may trow they are here for no good,” replied the dame. “I’ll -warrant me the seizing o’ them will be a right brave turn; but mum -again, for he who is to take them this night did say as how none should -ken nothing on’t till the stroke should be strucken; yea, and by the -same token he did gie me kisses enow to seal up my mouth.” - -“And when did Sir Miers tell thee this?” demanded the man. - -“Sir Miers!” replied Mrs. Kyle; “laucker-daisey, did I tell thee that -it was Sir Miers? St. Mary, I had nae will tae hae done that. Hoot, -toot, my lips hae no been half glued.” - -“And so thou dost say that Sir Miers is to surround the house to-night, -and to take these same strangers?” observed the man. - -“Yea, but of a truth I shouldna hae tell’d thee a’ that; may my tongue -be blistered for’t,” replied Mrs. Kyle; “for he bid me take especial -care, aboon a’ things, to let thee know nought on’t.” - -“Nay, Mrs. Kyle,” said the man, “but thou knowest thou dost love me -over much to hide anything from me.” - -“O ay, for a matter o’ that. I do love thee well enow,” replied Mrs. -Kyle; “but Sir Miers hath such pleasant ways with him.” - -“Hath he?” replied the man carelessly. “Thou didst say, I think, that -the attempt is to be made at midnight, and that thou art to be on the -watch to let them in?” - -“Nay, then,” said Mrs. Kyle, “I did verily say no sike thing, I wot. -What I did say was this, that Sir Miers is to be here an hour after -midnight, and that John Hosteler is to let them in.” - -“Ay, ay, I see I did mistake thy words,” replied the man. “Why, holy -St. Cuthbert, thou wilt get a power of money for thine information.” - -“So Sir Miers hath promised me,” replied Mrs. Kyle; “but what doth -chiefly season the matter to my stomach is the spicy revenge I shall -hae against that flouting knave Sang, and the very thought o’ this doth -keenly edge me to aid the gallant Sir Miers in his enterprise; yet, to -tell thee the truth, the handsome knight might rauckon on as much -service at my hands, yea, or more, when it mought please him bid me.” - -“So,” replied her companion; “but come, I will see thee into the house, -drink one cup of thine ale with thee, and so speed me to the other end -of the village to Sir Miers. Who knows but I may be wanted after all to -bear the brunt of this business.” - -By this time the two knights and their three attendants were the sole -tenants of the common room, and this circumstance, coupled with the -disguises they wore, led them to imagine that they ran no risk of -discovery. - -Robert Lindsay, who was the fifth man, took up a lamp, and sallied -forth to look at the horses ere he should seek repose. All was quiet in -the court-yard, as well as in the various buildings surrounding it. He -entered the stable, but, though there were wain horses enow there -belonging to the hostel, he saw, with utter dismay, that the five -steeds belonging to his party were gone. He turned to rush out of the -stable to tell the knights of this treacherous robbery, when the light -of the lamp in his hand flashed on the figure of a man, who was -determinedly posted in the doorway, as if resolved to oppose his -passage. - -“Ralpho Proudfoot!” exclaimed Lindsay in astonishment; and then -observing that he was fully armed, and that he carried a lance in his -hand, whilst he himself had not even his sword, he gave himself up for -lost; but resolving to sell his life as dearly as possible, he wrenched -a rung from one of the stalls, and planted himself in a posture of -defence. - -“Nay, thou needest look for no injury at my hands,” said Proudfoot; -“this haughty spirit of mine, the which did once make me thy determined -foe because thou wert promoted above me, doth now prompt me not to be -outdone by thee in a generous deed. I come to warn thee that an attempt -on the liberty, if not on the lives, of thee and those that be with -thee, is to be made, within less than an hour hence, by Sir Miers de -Willoughby and a strong force. The reward for taking prisoners of sike -note, together with the gold to be gotten for their ransom, is the -temptation to this enterprise. Lose not a moment then in rousing the -knights, and warning them of their danger.” - -“But what hath become of our horses?” demanded Lindsay, not yet -recovered from his surprise. - -“It was I who removed them,” replied Proudfoot. “I took them from the -stable, after leaving the hosteller to sleep off the heavy draughts of -ale I made him swallow; they stand ready caparisoned under the trees a -few yards behind the inn. Quick, bring me to the knights, that I may -show them their danger, and teach them how to avoid it; not a moment is -to be lost.” - -Without farther question, Lindsay led the way to the common room where -the knights were lying. They were soon roused, and listened to -Proudfoot’s account of the plot against them with considerable -surprise; but they hesitated to believe him, and were in doubt what to -do. - -“Nay, then, Sir Knights,” said Proudfoot, “an ye will hesitate, certain -captivity must befall ye. Captivity, did I say? yea, something worse; a -base and black thirst of vengeance doth move this treacherous knight -against thee, Sir John Assueton. I have reason to know that he hath -ever cherished it sith thy last encounter.” - -“’Twere better to plant ourselves here, and fight to the death with -what weapons we may have about us,” said Sir Patrick Hepborne. - -“Right, my friend,” said Sir John Assueton, “we at least know and can -be true to one another, and that of itself will give us victory.” - -“We shall be prepared for them,” said Mortimer Sang, “and we shall make -them fly before us by the very suddenness of our assault.” - -“How many De Willoughby spears are of them?” demanded the taciturn -Roger Riddel, with extreme composure. - -“Some two dozen at the least, I warrant me,” replied Proudfoot, “and -all fully appointed.” - -“Bring they Norham Castle on their backs?” demanded Riddel again. - -“Nay,” replied Proudfoot, “their leader hath kept his scheme to -himself, that he may have the greater share of booty and ransom money.” - -“But Norham Castle hath ears,” said Riddel again. - -“Thou sayest true, friend,” replied Proudfoot. “Were resistance to be -made, the din of arms and the noise of the assault would soon bring out -the garrison upon ye. Quickly resolve, Sir Knights, for the hour wanes, -and they will be here anon. What can ye fear of traiterie from me? -Could I not have left ye to fall easy victims to Sir Miers de -Willoughby’s snare?” - -“So please ye, gallant knights, I will answer with my life for the -truth of Ralpho Proudfoot in this matter,” said Lindsay confidently. - -“Nay, an ye fear me, ye shall all stand about me,” said Proudfoot; “and -if ye do find me a traitor, your five daggers may drink my blood at -once.” - -The minds of the two knights were at last made up, and they resolved to -trust themselves to the guidance of Ralpho Proudfoot. Armed with their -daggers alone, they stole silently out in the dark, and were so planted -by him behind the gate as to be prepared to rush out when the time for -doing so should come. Ralpho Proudfoot cautioned them to keep perfectly -quiet. To attempt to escape along the street of the village at that -moment would have subjected them to certain observation: they were -therefore to wait his signal, and to follow him. He placed himself, as -he had said, in the midst of them, and set himself to listen for a -sound from the outside. - -They had not been long posted, when footsteps were heard approaching -very gently. There was then some whispering, and a slight cough. -Proudfoot immediately answered it. - -“Art there, John?” said a voice in an under tone. - -“Yea,” replied Proudfoot, imitating the language of the hosteller, “but -they be’s still astir; so when the yate be opened, ye maun rush in like -fiends on them, for the hinge do creak, and they will start to their -arms wi’ the noise. Are ye a’ ready?” - -“We are,” replied the voice without. - -“Noo, then, in on them and at them,” cried Proudfoot, throwing the gate -wide open, so as to conceal himself and his companions behind it. - -In rushed Sir Miers de Willoughby, at the head of a large party of his -men; and out went Ralpho Proudfoot, with the two Scottish knights and -their attendants. The gate was hastily locked externally; the horses -were quickly gained, and mounted in the twinkling of an eye; and Ralpho -Proudfoot, who had taken the precaution to have his steed placed with -the rest, got to saddle along with them. As they rode past the gate of -the hostel of the Norham Tower, the loud voices, and the execrations of -Sir Miers de Willoughby and his people, and the shrill screams of Mrs. -Kyle, told them that the failure of the plot had been already -discovered by the actors in it. - -“So,” said Ralpho, in half soliloquy, as he guided the knights down the -village street at a canter—“so, thou didst cease to trust me, Sir -Miers, me who hath been faithful to thee to the peril of my salvation. -By St. Benedict, thou shalt now find that it would have been well for -thee to have trusted me still; yea and thou didst tamper with her whom -I would have espoused. By the bones of St. Baldrid, but thou mayest -mate thee with her now an thou listest, for I am done for ever with -her, with thee, and with England, except as a foeman.” - -The two knights made the best of their way until they had got beyond -the English march, and were fairly on what might be termed Scottish -ground. Armed men were still crowding in greater or lesser bodies to -Jedworth, where those who had by this time assembled formed a large -army. They were encamped on what was then called the High Forest; and -thither the two friends were hastening, and were already but a little -way from the position of the troops, when Sir Patrick Hepborne halted, -and thus addressed his companion— - -“Canst thou tell me, Assueton, what may cause the mingled crowd of -squires, lacqueys, grooms, and horses, that doth surround the gates of -yonder church? Meseems it some convocation, and those varlets do wait -the pleasure of some personages of greater note who are within.” - -“Thou art right,” replied Assueton; “for to-day was fixed for a council -of war to be held within that church, and it would seem that at least -some, if not all, of the nobles and knights of the host are already -met. Let us hasten thither, I beseech thee. I long to learn what is to -be the plan of our warfare.” - -“I shall at least meet my father there,” said Sir Patrick listlessly, -and as if he cared for little else. “Do thou follow us, Lindsay, to -take our horses, and then wait for us, with the esquires, under the -spreading oaks of yonder swelling knoll.” - -On entering the church the two knights learned that they had arrived -just in time for the opening of the business. The Earls of Fife, -Douglas, Dunbar, and Moray were there, and indeed all the leading -nobles and knights of Scottish chivalry; and the doors being closed, -the assembly were soon deeply engaged in the gravest deliberations. - -Whilst the council of war was so employed within the church, Mortimer -Sang was lying at the root of an aged oak, holding conversation to, -rather than with, Roger Riddel. Near them were the horses tethered and -feeding, under the eyes of Robert Lindsay, and his old, though -newly-recovered comrade, Ralpho Proudfoot, who were earnestly engaged -in talking over many a story of their boyhood. - -“What dost thou stare at so, friend Riddel?” demanded Sang, who -observed his comrade stretching his neck so as to throw his eyes up the -trough of a ravine down which stole a little rill, that murmured around -the knoll where they were sitting; “what dost thou see, I say, friend -Roger, that thou dost so stretch thy neck like a heron, when disturbed -in her solitary fishing?” - -Roger replied not, but nodded significantly, and pointed with his -finger. - -“Nay, I see nought,” replied Sang, “save, indeed, a swinking churl, who -doth untie and lead away a gallant and bravely caparisoned steed from -yonder willow that weepeth over the stream.” - -Roger looked grave, and nodded again, and looked as much as to say, -“A-well, and dost thou see nothing in that?” - -“Nay, now that the knave hath mounted,” said Sang, “he seemeth to ride -like one who would make his horse’s speed keep his neck from the -halter. By’r Lady, he’s gone already. Is the rogue a thief, thinkest -thou, Roger?” - -“Notour, I’ll warrant me,” replied Squire Riddel. - -“By St. Baldrid, had we but thought of that sooner, we might have -frayed the malfaitor, yea, or taken him in the very fact,” said Sang. -“But now we are too late to meddle in the matter.” - -“We are no thief-takers,” replied Roger Riddel, with great -indifference. - -“Nay, now I think on’t, he who would hang up his horse so in the -Borders may be his own thief-taker for me,” replied Sang; “but look ye, -friend Roger,” continued he, after a pause, “who may that stranger be -who cometh forth from the crowd armed and spurred, yea, as a squire -ought, yet who walketh away as if neither groom nor horse tarried for -him? Stay—methinks he cometh this way.” - -The stranger looked around him, after getting rid of the embarrassment -of the crowd about the church, and then moved quickly towards the knoll -where the two esquires were sitting, and, passing quietly under it, -without either looking at or speaking to them, made his way up the -ravine in the direction of the willow-trees, where the horse had been -tethered. The path he followed was so much lower than the ground whence -they had observed the actions of the man who took the horse, that the -stranger walked smartly on for more than a bow-shot, ere he came within -view of the willow-trees. Then it was that he began to betray great -confusion. He hastened to the spot whence the horse had been so lately -removed, and finding that he was irrecoverably gone, he clasped his -hands, looked up to heaven, and seemed to be lost in despair. - -“Dost thou mark yonder man who did walk by here alone?” demanded Sang -eagerly. “Behold how he doth show signs of distress, that would mark -him to be the master of the horse which the thief took. I ween he be no -Scottish squire, for he knew no one, and seemed to covet concealment as -he did pass us by. An I mistake not, he will prove better worth -catching than the thief would have done. Let’s after him, Roger, that -we may prove my saying.” - -Roger, though slow to speak, was quick to act. The two esquires seized -their steeds, and throwing themselves into their saddles, galloped at -full speed after the stranger. Startled by the sound of pursuit, he at -first made an effort to escape, but, seeing how hotly he was chased, he -lost spirit, and, shortening his pace, allowed them to come up with -him. - -“Whither wouldst thou, comrade? and whence hast thou come? and what -dost thou, a spurred esquire, without a horse?” demanded Sang, in a -string of interrogations. - -“I do but breathe the air here,” replied the man in great confusion. -“As for my horse, I do verily believe some villain hath stolen him from -those willow trees where I had tied him.” - -“But why didst thou tie thy horse in this lone place? and how comest -thou thus unattended?” demanded Sang again. “But, hey, holy St. -Baldrid, is it thou, my gentle Clerk-Squire Barton? When, I pray thee, -didst thou leave the peaceful following of the godly Bishop of Durham, -to mell thee with dangerous matters like these thou art now in? By the -blessed Rood, it had been well for thee, methinks, an thou couldst but -have aped somewhat of the loutish Scot in thy gait, peraunter thou -mightest have better escaped remark? So, thou hast become a spy on -these our Eastern Marches, hast thou? By the mass, but thou must with -us to the conclave. It doth erke me to speak it, mine excellent friend, -but, by’r Lady, I do fear me that thou mayest hang for it.” - -“Talk not so, Squire Sang,” replied Barton, with a face of alarm. -“Trust me, I have seen nought—I know nought. Thou knowest we did drink -together in good fellowship at Norham. Let me go, I do beseech thee, -and put not an innocent man’s life to peril, seeing that appearances do -happen to be so sore against me.” - -“Sore against thee, indeed, pot-companion,” said Roger Riddel, -portentously shaking his head. - -“Yea, appearances are sore against thee, Master Barton,” reechoed Sang. -“Verily, we did behold thee as thou didst come forth from yonder -church, where thou didst doubtless possess thyself of much important -matter that did there transpire, the which it will be by no means -convenient that thou shouldst carry in safety to those who may have -sent thee hither. Better that thou hadst chanted thirty trentals of -masses in the goodly pile of Durham for the soul of thy grandmother, -ay, and that fasting, too, than that thou shouldst have set thy foot -for a minute’s space of time within yonder church this day.” - -“Let me go, good gentlemen, I do beseech ye,” said Barton. “Squire -Riddel, hast thou no compassion for me?” - -“Much,” replied Roger. “Natheless, thou must with us, Squire Barton.” - -“Nay, in truth thou must with us without more ado,” said Sang; “yet -make thyself as easy as may be; for, in consideration of our meeting at -Norham, I shall do thee all the kindness I may consistent with duty, -both now and when thou shalt be sent to the fatal tree, to the which I -do fear thy passage will be short and speedy.” - -The English esquire shuddered, but he was compelled to submit; and he -was accordingly led by his captors to the church, where the council of -war was assembled. The news of his capture excited great interest and -commotion among the knights; and the Earl of Fife, who presided over -their deliberations, had no sooner learned the particulars of his -taking than he ordered him into his presence. Barton came, guarded by -Mortimer Sang and Roger Riddel. He had put on the best countenance he -could, but judging by the working of his features, all his resolution -was required to keep it up. - -“Bring forward the prisoner,” said the Earl of Fife. “What hast thou to -say for thyself, Sir Squire? Thou hast been taken in arms within the -Scottish bounds—thou hast been seen of several who did note thine -appearance at this our secret meeting—and there be knights here, as -well as those worthy esquires who took thee, who can speak to thy name -and country. Whence art thou come? and who did send thee hither to espy -out our force, and to possess thyself of our schemes?” - -“Trusting to the sacred office of my Lord the Bishop of Durham, I came -but as a pious traveller to visit certain shrines,” replied Barton. -“Being in these parts, I wot it was no marvel in me, the servant of a -churchman so dignified, to look into the church, and——” - -“Nay, nay—so flimsy a response as this will by no means serve,” -interrupted the Earl of Fife, who, though cool, calm, and soft in -manner, was in reality much more cruel of heart than his brother the -Wolfe of Badenoch himself, albeit devoid of the furious passion so -ungovernable in that Earl. “He doth but trifle with our patience. Let a -rack be instantly prepared, and let a tree be erected without loss of -time, whereon his tortured limbs, whilst their fibres shall yet have -hardly ceased to feel, may be hung as tender food for the ravens. His -throat shall be squeezed by the hangman’s rope, until all he hath -gained by his espial be disgorged or closed up for ever within it.” - -Barton shook from head to foot at this terrible sentence, uttered with -a mildness and composure that might have suited well with a homily. His -face grew deadly pale, despair grappled at his breath, and he gasped as -if already under the hands of the executioner. His eyes, restless and -protruded, seemed as if anxious to shun the picture of the horrible -death that so soon awaited him. His lips moved, but they were dry as -ashes, and they gave forth no sound. Sang and Roger Riddel almost -regretted that they had been instrumental in bringing the wretch there, -though by doing so they had so well served their country. They looked -at each other with horror; but in such a presence, and at such a time, -Sang was condemned to remain as dumb as Squire Riddel. The good Earl of -Moray had more liberty of speech, and he failed not to use it. - -“Be not too hasty with him, my Lord,” said he; “he may yet peraunter be -brought to give us tidings of the enemy. Let him but give us what -information he can, under promise, that if it be found soothfast, he -shall have no evil. Meanwhile, after he shall have effunded all that it -may concern us to know, let him be delivered into the custody of the -Constable of Jedworth, with him to liggen in strict durance, until we -shall have certiorated ourselves by our own experience, whether the -things which he may tell be true or false, with certification that his -life shall be the forfeit of the minutest breach of verity. If he doth -refuse these terms, then, in the name of St. Andrew, let him -incontinent lose his head.” - -A hum of approbation ran around the meeting, and the Earl of Fife, -though in secret half-chagrined that he had not had his own will, saw -that in this point he must give way to the general voice. - -“Thou dost hear thy destiny,” said he to the prisoner; “what is thine -election?” - -“My Lord, seeing that I have no alternative but to yield me to dire -necessity,” answered the English esquire, with an expression of -infinite relief in his countenance, “verily, I do most gladly accept -your terms. As God is my judge, I shall tell thee all I know, without -alteration, addition, or curtailment.” - -“Who sent thee hither, then?” demanded the Earl of Fife. - -“Being one to whom these Marches be well known, I was chosen by the -Lords of Northumberland, and sent hither to learn the state of your -enterprise; as alswa to gather which way ye do propose to draw.” - -“Where, then, be these English Lords?” demanded the Earl of Douglas. - -“Sirs,” replied the captive squire, “sith it behoveth me to say the -truth, ye shall surely have it. I be come straight hither from -Newcastle, where be Sir Henry Piersie, surnamed Hotspur, from his -frequent pricking; and his brother Sir Rafe Piersie, yea, and divers -other nobles and knights, flowers of English chivalry, all in readiness -to depart thence as soon as they may know that ye have set forward into -England; for, hearing of the strength of your host, they do not choose -to come to meet you.” - -“Why, what number do they repute us at?” demanded the Earl of Moray. - -“Sir,” replied the esquire, “it is said how ye be forty thousand men -and twelve hundred spears.” - -“What then may be their plan?” demanded the Earl of Fife. - -“This be their plan, my Lord,” replied the esquire: “If ye do invade -England by Carlisle, then will they straightway force a passage for -themselves by Dunbar to Edinburgh; and if ye do hold through -Northumberland, then will they enter Scotland by the Western Marches.” - -As the English esquire Barton was thus delivering himself, the Scottish -lords threw significant glances towards each other. Some further -questions of less moment were put to him, and after he had answered to -all with every appearance of perfect candour— - -“Let him be removed into the strict keeping of the Constable of -Jedworth,” said the Earl of Fife. “His life and liberty shall be safe, -provided his report shall in all things prove true, and for this I do -gage my word in name of myself and all these noble lords and knights -here present. Should he be found to have spoken falsely in the veriest -tittle, he knoweth his fate.” - -After the prisoner was withdrawn under the charge of a guard, the Earl -of Fife conveyed thanks to the two esquires for having so well -fulfilled their duty to Scotland. The assembled lords and knights were -overjoyed that the intent of their enemies should have been thus made -so surely known to them, and a buzz of congratulation arose. - -“This is all well, my Lords,” said the Earl of Fife, after having again -procured silence; “but let us now to council, I entreat you, that we -may straightway devise how best to avail ourselves of the tidings we -have gained. For mine own part I do opine that we should break our host -into two armies. Let the most part, together with all our carriage, go -by the Cumberland Marches and Carlisle, and let a smaller body draw -towards Newcastle-upon-Tyne, to fill up and occupy the attention of the -enemy assembled there. I speak under the correction of wiser heads,” -continued the Earl, bowing around him with great condescension, so as -to excite a burst of approbation from those weaker spirits whom he -daily flattered until he made them his staunch partisans—“I speak, I -say, under the correction of wiser heads; yet meseems, from those -unanimous applauses, my Lords, that you do honour my scheme of warfare -with your universal support; and such being the case, I may now say, -that whilst I do myself propose to lead the main army by the Western -Marches, I shall commit the command of the smaller body to the brave -Earls of Douglas, Dunbar, and Moray. For this last service, methinks, -three hundred lances, and three thousand crossbows and axemen, may well -enow suffice.” - -“By St. Andrew, but ’tis a fine thing to know how to keep one’s head -safe,” whispered Sir William de Dalzell ironically to Sir Patrick -Hepborne the younger; “what thinkest thou of him who shall shoulder ye -a catapult to crush a swarm of dung flies, whilst he doth send out -others to war on lions and bearded pards with a handful of hazel nuts. -Depardieux, he who goeth by Carlisle may march boldly from one end of -Cumberland to the other, with a single clump of spears at his back, ay, -and take the fattest spoil too; but he who shall march to Newcastle -will want all the hardy hearts and well-strung thewes and muscles he -can muster around him, and is like after all to get nought but a broken -head for his journey. Holy St. Giles, but ’tis well to take care of -one’s self.” - -By a little management, the opinion of the council of war was easily -brought perfectly to coincide with the views of the Earl of Fife. But -so great was the name of James Earl of Douglas, that it was in itself a -host. The two brothers, George Dunbar Earl of Dunbar and March, and -John Dunbar Earl of Moray, too, were so much beloved, that a puissant -band of knights voluntarily mustered under their banners. Among these -were Sir Patrick Hepborne, his son, and Sir John Assueton. Ere the -assembly dissolved, it was determined that the armies should divide, -and march on their respective routes early on the ensuing morning; and -all was bustle and preparation accordingly. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LVII. - - The Scots besieging Newcastle—The Fight on the Walls. - - -The smaller force, under the Douglas, broke up from Jedworth, and set -forward in high spirits, cheered by the good countenance and presence -of their renowned commander. Their parting shouts were re-echoed from -the sides of the surrounding hills, and were replied to with yet louder -bursts of acclamation by the large army of which they had been so -lately a portion. Their route lay through the wilderness of the forest -which at that time covered the country, and they soon lost even the -cheers of their departing comrades, that, mellowing by degrees, at last -died away among the hollow valleys. On entering Northumberland, the -Earl of Douglas allowed little time for pillaging the country, but -stretched forward with the utmost expedition, so that he might carry on -the war directly into the heart of the Bishoprick of Durham, before his -movements could be made known to the Earl of Northumberland, who was at -Alnwick, or to his two sons, who were at that moment patiently waiting -at Newcastle, with the other English lords, for the return of their -spy. - -The Douglas was by no means one who could endure to make a mere empty -show of invasion, for the purpose of creating a diversion that might -smooth the way of his politic brother-in-law the Earl of Fife. His -force was small indeed, but he resolved that it should do England as -much harm as he could effect with it. Passing the River Tyne, -therefore, at some distance above Newcastle, he spread his troops over -the fair County of Durham, and began taking an awful, nay, a tenfold -revenge, for the miseries which the Merse had so lately endured, at the -hands of the English, by carrying devastation far and wide. - -The news that the Scots were abroad at last reached Newcastle and -Durham, and their numbers being exaggerated, these towns were filled -with great consternation. They now learned the tale, indeed, from the -evidence of their senses, for the smoke of the continued conflagration, -creeping heavily over the country, and, carrying the smell of -combustion along with it, poisoned the very air of both these places. -Having reached the gates of Durham, the Douglas found them firmly -closed against him; so, after skirmishing there for some days, he -pushed on, destroying everything in his way, even to the very gates of -York, and leaving no town unburnt that was not sufficiently walled to -require a regular siege. - -Having thus more than made good a chivalric vow with which he had -started, that he should see Durham ere he returned, and having already -ventured farther into a hostile country than his small force warranted, -he returned towards Newcastle, industriously perfecting any destruction -that he had before left unfinished; and having re-crossed the Tyne, at -the same spot where he had passed it in his way southwards, he set -himself down before the town on the side lying towards Scotland. The -place was strongly garrisoned, and contained the flower of the chivalry -of the counties of York, Durham, and Northumberland; for as soon as it -was fully known that the Scots were abroad, and that they had already -passed onwards into Yorkshire, a general rising of the country took -place, under the influence of Harry Piersie, lately appointed Keeper of -the Northumbrian Marches; and orders were even despatched to the -governors of Berwick, Norham, and the other fortresses now in rear of -the enemy, to join the general muster with what force they could spare -without too much weakening their garrisons. - -Sir Rafe Piersie had long ceased to think of Eleanore de Selby. His -passion was like the summer-storm, violent in character, but short in -duration. His father, the haughty old Earl of Northumberland, had heard -of it, and had signified his unqualified displeasure that his son -should have even thought of a marriage with the daughter of a mere -soldier; while his elder brother, the lively and peppery Hotspur, had -laughed and railed at him till he became tired of the very name of De -Selby. Part of this feeling arose from an honourable cause. His -conscience told him that he had permitted his violent temper to make -him forget what was due to the courtesy of knighthood, and he now so -deeply repented him of his conduct at Norham, where he had so grossly -insulted his host, that the scene never occurred to his mind without -bringing the blush of shame to his cheek. He longed for an opportunity, -where, without debasing himself, he might prove these feelings to Sir -Walter; and the issuing of the order for the Border Captains to appear -at Newcastle being the first that presented itself, he immediately -availed himself of it. - -“Brother,” said he to Hotspur, “as for Sir Matthew Redman of Berwick, -he is a stout and able Captain, and in his own person a powerful aid. -But what wouldst thou, I pray thee, with bringing the old Captain of -Norham so far from home?” - -“Dost thou fear to meet him, Rafe?” cried Hotspur, with a sarcastic -smile; “or wouldst thou rather that I should send for his dark-eyed -daughter hither?” - -“Nay, nay, brother,” replied Sir Rafe; “but methinks he is of years -somewhat beyond the battle-field.” - -“Thou mayest do with him as thou listest, brother Rafe,” replied -Hotspur, who was too busy to waste time on such a matter; “but we must -have his men.” - -Armed with Sir Henry Piersie’s authority to do so, Sir Rafe despatched -an especial messenger to Sir Walter de Selby, to assure him that it -rejoiced him much to be the instrument of procuring his exemption from -personal attendance at Newcastle, which to one who had already seen so -many fields, must be rather irksome. The messenger found Sir Walter de -Selby lately recovered from his bodily malady; for the death of the -wizard Ancient and his villainy being now known to him, he again -enjoyed comparative peace of mind. But he was much enfeebled by the -shocks he had received. He heard the courier to an end; and the -moisture in his eye, with the nervous motion in his closed lips, showed -how much he was affected by it. - -“Am I then deemed to be so old and worthless?” said he, after a pause. -“The time was when the Marches, neither East nor West, could have -turned out a starker pricker; yet was it kind in Sir Rafe Piersie, -after what hath passed between us, and tell him, I beseech thee, that I -so felt and received his message. But it shall never be said that I am -behind when others are in the field; it shall never be said of old Sir -Walter de Selby, who hath worn the hauberk and morion from his cradle, -that he was afraid to die in knightly harness. No, no; let Tom -Turnberry prepare my war steed; I’ll lead mine own spears to Newcastle. -To thee, my good Lieutenant Oglethorpe, do I commit the keeping of old -Norham. It is King Richard’s now. See that it hath no other master when -I or King Richard demand it of thee.” - -With these words, the brave old warrior gave orders for his men to -assemble immediately, and mounting, with the aid of his esquires, he -rode from the court-yard at the head of his force, on a mettlesome -horse, the fiery paces of which but ill suited with his years; as he -went, he joined feebly in the parting cheer with which his brave bowmen -and lances took leave of their comrades. - -It was the daring spirit of chivalry, more than any great hope of -taking the town, that induced the gallant Douglas to tarry for two days -before Newcastle. The most powerful thirst of heroic adventure then -prevailed, and those within the town were as eager to rush beyond their -ramparts to meet the assailants, as the Scottish knights were to -assault them. Both days, therefore, were occupied in a succession of -skirmishes; and it was a remarkable feature of this warfare, that it -seemed to be more regulated by the courtesy of the tournament, than -guided by the brutal and remorseless rage of battle. No sooner did a -body of lances show itself from within the Scottish lines, than another -of equal numbers appeared from behind the barriers of the town, -prepared to give it a meeting. Spurring from opposite sides, the -combatants encountered each other midway, as if they had been in the -lists. A desperate shock took place, followed by a melée, in which -prodigious feats of arms were done, whilst the English from their -walls, and the Scottish troops from their temporary entrenchments, -alternately cheered their friends, as one or other side gained the -advantage. But, what was most wonderful, everything resembling atrocity -appeared to be banished from the field, and mercy and generosity so -tempered victory, that it was difficult to say whether the contest was -greatest for glory in the skirmish, or for superiority in clemency, and -every other noble feeling, after it was over. - -On the evening of the first day, the Lord Douglas, to give the troops a -breathing, ordered the place to be assaulted by means of scaling -ladders, with the hopes of perhaps surprising it by a coup-de-main. The -Scottish troops rushed to the walls with their usual hardihood, and Sir -Patrick Hepborne and Sir John Assueton were found in the very front of -the attack made by the Earl of Moray’s division. Although they were -provided with fascines and trusses of straw to throw into the ditch, -yet the ladders were in general found to be too short for surmounting -the walls. At one place, however, they were successfully applied; and -the two knights, followed by their esquires and some few others, -gallantly mounted in the teeth of the enemy, and fought their way into -the town, driving the English before them; but being unsupported, owing -to the failure of the escalade in other quarters, they were unwillingly -compelled to retreat, which they and their followers did, bravely -fighting with their faces to the enemy. Having gained the spot where -they had climbed, the two friends planted themselves side by side -firmly in front of it, to cover the retreat of those who were with -them, and gallantly kept a whole host of foes at bay, until all who had -entered the place with them had descended, except their trusty -esquires, and two other individuals whom they had not leisure to note. -The ladders had all been broken or thrown down in the confusion except -one, and the English so pressed upon the little knot of Scotchmen that -it appeared impossible for so many of them to escape. - -“One desperate charge at them, Assueton,” cried Hepborne. “Our safety -depends on driving them back for a brief space’s breathing. On them, -brave Scots!” - -The two knights raised a shout, in which they were joined by their -fellow-combatants, and with one accord rushed furiously against the -dense circle of English. The effect was tremendous. Many were -overthrown by the vigorous blows of the knights and their assistants, -but more by the press and confusion occasioned by the panic, excited by -the belief that they were backed by a fresh assault of troops from -without the walls. There was a momentary dispersion of them; but the -individuals of the Scottish party were also separated from each other, -and as Sir Patrick Hepborne returned to the rallying point, he was -grieved to discover his friend Assueton lying wounded and helpless on -the ground. He immediately stooped, to endeavour to set him on his -legs, but he was unable to support himself. - -“Leave me, dear Hepborne,” said Assueton faintly; “thine own safety -depends on thy doing so.” - -“Leave thee, Assueton!” cried Hepborne with energy; “nay, by St. -Baldrid, if I cannot bear thee hence, I will perish with thee. Clasp -thine arms round my neck, my friend,” added he, as he lifted him up -from the ground, and began carrying him towards the walls. “Be of good -cheer, and tighten thy grasp; thou dost thereby lighten my burden.” - -As he moved off, the English returned, shouting upon his heels, with -Sang sullenly retreating before them. - -“Succour, succour, my trusty esquire,” cried Hepborne; “I have a life -here to preserve dearer to me a thousand times than mine own.” - -Sang came up to him as he reached the top of the only remaining ladder. -To the esquire he hastily confided the care of Assueton, and, turning -on the foe, again drove them before him, so as to give Sang leisure to -descend with his burden; and then hastily returning to the spot where -the ladder was, he discovered that it was broken, and saw Sang in the -ditch beneath, endeavouring to extricate himself and the wounded knight -from the bundles of straw and fascines among which they had fallen. The -enemy were fast gathering behind, and he had no alternative. Selecting -a place where the heaps in the ditch were highest, he sprang from the -wall, and happily alighted almost uninjured. - -Whilst he and his squire were busily employed in lifting Sir John -Assueton from the ditch, their attention was attracted to the walls -above them, where a desperate struggle was going on between two figures -distinctly seen against the sky. But it was of short duration. - -“Uve, uve! an she wonnot let her go, by St. Giles, but she shall go wi’ -her,” cried Duncan MacErchar, who was one of them; and griping his -enemy fast, he sprang with him over the battlements. - -Duncan had by no means time to be so select in the choice of the spot -where he was to alight as Sir Patrick Hepborne had been. But he took -care to leap with his antagonist before him, and his doing so was the -saving of his life, his fall being broken by the body of the wretch who -participated in it, and who was crushed to death against the very -bottom of the ditch, whilst Duncan, though stunned, escaped with some -considerable bruises, and immediately regaining his legs, assisted Sir -Patrick and his esquire to carry off Sir John Assueton to the Scottish -camp. - -We have already apprised the reader that the brave knights were -supported by two other individuals besides their esquires. One of -these, it may be guessed, was the brave MacErchar. The other, when the -little party was dispersed after their bold onset, unfortunately missed -his way in attempting to return to the rallying point, and, being -assailed by a crowd of his foes, was compelled to retreat before them, -until he was stopped by a wall, under which he took shelter, and -prepared himself for a desperate resistance. - -“Yield thee, Scot,” cried some of the first who came up to him. “On -him—Seize him,” cried a dozen of them at once. - -“By St. Lowry, ’tis right well for ye Southrons to cry yield to ane -honest Scotchman. But troth, I’ll tell ye it’s easier to say so to ane -o’ my country than to gar him do it, and mair, when ye speak to the -henchman o’ the Yearl o’ Moray himsel’,” cried Rory Spears; for it was -he, no longer clad, indeed, in his fishing coat and otterskin cap, but -armed as became the Earl of Moray’s henchman, and wielding a long -pole-axe instead of his gaud-clip. - -“Take him alive,” cried an officer who was present; “let not his life -be taken, as you value your own. If he be of the Earl of Moray’s -household, we may be the better for knowing some of his secrets.” - -“Troth, ye’ll hae ill taking o’ me without taking my life too, my -lads,” said Rory, swinging his pole-axe so cleverly around him that no -one was disposed to risk approaching him. - -“In on him and take him, his ransom will be great,” cried the officer; -and thus encouraged, one or two of the hardiest did venture to attempt -to close on him, but they paid dearly for their daring, being -prostrated to right and left like so many nine-pins. The rest were so -scared that they scrupled to approach him; and he might have kept them -off long enough had not a man who had climbed on the wall behind him -suddenly dropped down on his shoulders à califourchon, and brought him -headlong to the ground. - -“Well done, Tom Turnberry,” cried a dozen voices at once, and in an -instant Rory was overpowered, and hastily dragged down a stair and -thrust into a dark dungeon under the ramparts, where he was left to his -own reflections. - -“Is there ony ither poor deevil like mysel’ here?” demanded Rory aloud, -after he had in some measure recovered his breath; but finding that no -one answered, he went to talk to himself. “Na—nae answer. A-weel, -Maister Spears, thou art here, art thou, amang the foundations o’ -Newcastle? This is seeing merry England wi’ a vengeance. Troth, after -a’, if this is to be the upshot, thou mightest as weel hae turned back -frae Norham yonder. Thou canst be of nae satisfaction to the Yearl -whiles thou art liggen here, I trow. And as to ony mair comfort or -consolation in the wars, thou mayest e’en bid them good day, for -thou’lt hae nae mair o’ them, I’ll promise thee. By my troth, an thou -hadst not seen this day’s fighting, thou mightest hae been as well -liggen on the rocks at the Ess. A-weel, a-weel—it is most surprising -how a man o’ sense wull gae wrang at times. Hadst thou no been a fool, -ye might hae let thae wud chields climb the wa’s o’ Newcastle -themlanes, that is, takin’ thy time o’ life into consideration. By holy -St. Mary, what wull become o’ poor Kate? Hoot, the Leddy o’ Norham wull -surely see her sent safe back to Tarnawa; though in conscience I had -rather been her guide mysel. I was a fool to leave the damosel. And -then, St. Lawrence protect me, how I wull be missed at hame.” The -thought of his daughter, of his wife, and of his home, grappled Rory by -the heart, so that he did nothing but sigh for some moments. “A-weel,” -continued he at length, “I maun say, after a’, that albeit there is a -great pleasure in fighting, it is but a fool-thing for God’s rational -creatures to be cutting ane anither’s throats as if they war wild cats -or wolf-beasts. What for sould I come a’ the gate frae Findhorn-side to -cleave the skull o’ some poor honest deevil o’ the Tyne here, against -whom, as I hope for mercy mysel, I hae no decent or wiselike cause o’ -quarrel? War is a fool-thing; but I wull say there is some pleasure -in’t, after a’.” - -“Ay!” said a long yawning voice from a deep recess in the dungeon. - -“St. Lowry defend us, wha’s that!” cried Rory. - -“One Roger Riddel,” replied the voice. - -“What hast thou been doing, that thou hast been so long silent?” -demanded Rory. - -“Sleeping,” answered Roger. - -“Thou art esquire to that brave knight Sir John Assueton, if I err -not?” said Rory. - -“Thou art right,” replied Roger. - -“And how, in the name of St. Andrew, camest thou here?” demanded Rory. - -“By being taken,” replied Roger. - -“Thou wert on the ramparts with us to the last,” said Rory. - -“I was,” replied Roger. - -“By St. Giles, but it was a noble escalade, comrade, an we had only -been well backed,” cried Spears with enthusiasm. - -“Noble,” cried Roger in the same tone. - -“Didst thou mark how the knaves fled afore sax o’ us?” cried Rory. “Sax -against twa hundred o’ them at least.” - -“Nay, three hundred, brother,” replied Roger. - -“Ay, faith, that may be,” said Rory; “I’ll no dispute as to that. There -might be three, ay, or four hundred o’ them, for I had no great leisure -to count them. But this I ken, neebour, that an it hadna been bigget -ground, thou and I souldna hae been here.” - -“No, that I’ll promise thee,” replied Roger. - -“Where art thou, comrade? Gi’es thy hand; we fought like brave chields -thegither,” cried Rory in great glee, and groping about for Squire -Riddel. “Thou art a prince of brave fellows.” - -“And thou art a very king,” replied Roger, shaking him heartily by the -hand. - -“’Tis a pleasure to meet thee, though it be in this dungeon,” cried -Rory. “Would we had but some yill to wet our friendship. St. Lowry -grant that we had but a wee sup yill.” - -“Ay, would indeed we had a drop of ale,” re-echoed Roger with a deep -sigh. - -At this moment steps were heard descending, a light glimmered faintly -for a moment through a chink beneath the door, and the key being -turned, the round, rosy visage of Master Thomas Turnberry, the squire -equerry of Norham, appeared within it. He entered, bearing a lamp in -his hand, and was followed by an attendant, who carried an enormous -pasty, that had been just broken upon, and a huge stoup of ale. - -“So!” said Master Turnberry; “put thee down these things, and let the -gentlemen eat and drink. Having put a man into captivity by mine own -hard riding, I do think it but consistent with charity to see that he -starveth not. Yea, and albeit I am but a soberish man myself, yet do I -know that there be others who love ale; and having mortal bowels of -compassion in me, I have pity for the frailties of my fellow-men.” - -“Sir,” said Rory, lifting the vessel with great readiness from the -ground, “an thou hadst been St. Lowry himsel, thou couldst not have -ministered to my present wants more cheeringly. I drink to thee from -the bottom o’ my soul——Hech!” cried he, after having swallowed half the -contents of the vessel, with the nicest measurement, and most -scrupulous justice to him who was to come after him; “hech, ’tis most -invigorating to the very spinal marrow. It must be allowed that ye do -brew most excellent nut-brown to the south o’ the Tweed.” - -“Excellent, indeed, judging by its good sale,” cried Roger Riddel, -looking into the flagon before he put it to his head; then nodding to -Master Turnberry, he drained it to the bottom. - -“By’r lackins, but ye have good go-downs, my masters,” cried Turnberry, -taking the flagon, and raising the bottom of it, so as to show that it -was empty, and at the same time betraying some disappointment. -“Methinks I could ha’e ta’en a drop of ale myself. But there be more -where this came from. See that the gentlemen lack for nothing,” said -he, turning to the attendant. “And so, good night, my merry masters.” - -It was about the middle of the ensuing day that Rory Spears was sitting -indulging in soliloquy, Roger Riddel having retired to the farther part -of the vault, where he had thrown himself down, and buried himself -among the straw, to sleep away the time. - -“I hae sat for days by mysel, as a relay to watch for the deer,” said -Rory—“ay, and I hae lien for weeks by my lane, watching the saumonts -loupin’, without hearing voice save the water-kelpy roarin’ in the -Ess—yet was I never sae tired as I am at this precious moment, sitting -in this hole, wi’ a bit chink yonder aboon just enew to let a poor -deevil ken that it’s daylight, and that he mought be happy thereout i’ -the sun. As for that chield, Roger Riddel there, my ain Oscar would be -mair companionable, I wot. He lies rucking and snorting there as -composed as if he were in the best hostel in a’ bonny Scotland. As St. -Lowry kens, I wad be content to be in its warst, rather than whaur I -am. Holy St. Mungo, the chield hath buried himsel like a very -mouldiwort; I can see nought but his nose. A-weel, an I could only gie -owre thinking o’ Alice, and Kate, and the Yearl o’ Moray, I mought -peraunter sleep mysel.” - -As he was stretching himself along the bench where he had been sitting, -with the resolution of trying the experiment, he was disturbed by a -coming step. The door opened, and an officer entered in great seeming -haste. - -“Thou art a body attendant of the Earl of Moray, art thou not?” said -he, glancing at Spears. - -“Yea, I am the noble Yearl’s henchman, as I mought say,” replied Rory. - -“Doubtless thou knowest well the person of the Lord Douglas?” said the -officer. - -“Ay, weel do I that,” replied Rory; “and mair, he hath a great -good-wull to me, for mony is the time we hae hunted thegither. Is he -not my master the Yearl’s brother-in-law?” - -“Follow me then without loss of time,” said the officer; “Sir Henry -Piersie would have conference with thee.” - -Rory said no more, but joyfully obeyed; and the officer, too much -occupied with his errand to investigate things closely, and having no -suspicion that the place contained two prisoners, tripped up the stair -that led from the dungeon, leaving the door open behind him. - -Master Roger Riddel was not asleep; he had only dosed, to save himself -the trouble of forming replies to the incessant talk which Rory had -carried on; on peeping out from his straw after the officer and his -fellow-prisoner had left him, and seeing the door of the dungeon wide -open, he slowly raised himself up, walked out of the place, and -ascended the short winding stair, from the top of which he quietly -emerged into the pure air. With the utmost composure, he then struck -into one of the lanes that led from the walls, and walked coolly down a -street, through crowds of anxious individuals, all of whom were too -busily occupied with anticipations of glory or defeat, to notice a man -in the attire of a squire, of whom there were many. Following a crowd -that was pressing forwards, he reached the gate. There was a muster at -the barriers. - -“Where are thy weapons, Sir Squire?” demanded a spearman as he passed -by. - -“Lend me thy lance, good fellow,” said Roger; “I am in haste—here be -money to get thee another.” - -The man gave him the spear, took the money, and thanked him; and Roger -went on. At the gate stood three horses held by a single groom. Roger -went boldly up to him. - -“Thou waitest thy master, friend?” said he in a tone of inquiry. - -“Yea; and what be that to thee?” replied the fellow surlily. - -“Because I have got an angel for thee, and I would know if thou be’st -the right man,” replied Riddel. - -“Give it me straight, then, good master,” said the man, eagerly. - -“Nay, that will I not, neither straight nor crooked,” replied Riddel; -“that is, not till I know thy master’s name from thee, that I may know -whether in very deed thou be’st the man I do look for.” - -“’Tis Sir Robert Ogill that be my master,” replied the man. - -“Then art thou the very good fellow I would speak with,” said Roger. -“Give me that roan as fast as may be, and this angel here is the token -thy master Sir Robert sent thee. I ride on business of his to the -barrier.” - -Without more ado, and without interruption from the groom, he leaped -into the saddle, and riding by the guards at a careless pace, got -beyond the barriers, and put his horse to speed for the Scottish camp. -A shout was raised among a party of spearmen who were forming without, -and some dozen or two of them spurred after him; but he had gained so -much start of them, and his horse was so good, that he escaped in spite -of all their exertions, and got fairly within the lines occupied by his -countrymen. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LVIII. - - Combat between Douglas and Hotspur—The Fight for the Pennon. - - -As the Earl of Douglas was sitting in his pavilion, in conversation -with his chaplain, Richard Lundie, on the second day of his being -before Newcastle, a squire in waiting announced to him that one of Lord -Moray’s men wished to have a private interview with him. - -“Give him entrance speedily,” said the Douglas, “his business may be of -moment. He seeth me in private when he seeth me alone with him who -knoweth mine inmost soul.” - -The squire bowed and retired, and immediately returned to -introduce—Rory Spears. - -“Rory Spears!” exclaimed the Douglas; “what hath brought thee hither, -and what hath my brother of Moray to tell my private ear through thy -mouth? Thou art not the messenger he is used to send between us for -such affairs. Were it a matter of wood or river craft, indeed, we might -both recognize thee as a right trusty and merry ambassador; but at this -time we have other game upon our hands. What hath Lord Moray to say?” - -“My Lord Yearl o’ Douglas, naebody kens whaur gowd lies till it be -howkit out,” replied Rory, with an obeisance. “Albeit that thou and the -Yearl o’ Moray, my noble master, have never yet discovered my talents -that way, it proveth not that I do lack them. He who is stranger to the -soil may chance to divine that, the which he who owneth it hath never -dreamt of; and he——” - -“What doth all this tend to, Rory Spears?” demanded the Earl of -Douglas, interrupting him rather impatiently. “Trust me, though I may -have trifled with thee at Tarnawa, this is no time for such idlesse.” - -“Bide a wee, my Lord Yearl, bide a wee,” said Rory, with great -composure; “call it not trifling till thou art possessed of the value -of what I have to effunde unto thee. I was going to tell thee that he -who doth own a man like me, ay, or a horse beast, for instance, may ken -less o’ his qualifications than he who doth see him but for a gliff.” - -“But what hath all this to do with thy message from Moray to me?” cried -the Douglas. - -“Nought at all, my Lord Yearl,” replied Rory, “for I hae no message -frae him. But,” added he, assuming an air of unusual importance, “it -hath much to do, I rauckon, with the embassage the which I am at this -moment charged with by the Hotspur.” - -“The Hotspur—thou charged with a message from the Hotspur!—How can that -be? Quick—try not my patience longer; where hast thou encountered the -Hotspur?” exclaimed the Douglas eagerly. - -Rory proceeded to give the Earl a sketch of the history of his capture, -as well as of his being sent for by Sir Harry Piersie. - -“He telled me, my Lord Yearl o’ Douglas,” continued he, “that he heard -I confessed mysel to be ane esquire o’ the Yearl o’ Moray’s. I didna -daur to contradick Hotspur, the mair because I am in a manner the -Yearl’s henchman. ‘I hae made yelection o’ thee,’ said he to me, ‘as -the fittest man for my job amang a’ the Scottish prisoners in -Newcastle. Thou art to bear a message of importance frae me to the -gallant Douglas. Tell him Hotspur hath had the renommie o’ his prowess -rung in his lugs till the din hath stirred up his inmost soul and made -his very heart yearn to encounter sae mokell bravery. Yet hath my evil -fortune so willed it,’ quoth he, ‘that though I have sought him -unceasing for these two days, yet have I never had the chance to meet -him hand to hand.’” - -“Nay, and God wot, I have not been wanting in my search after the noble -Hotspur,” replied Douglas with energy. “But what said he more?” - -“‘Get thee to the Douglas, Sir Squire,’ said he to me. ‘Tell him that I -do entreat him, for the love he bears to chivalry, that he may so order -his next assault that I may not fail to meet him in person. Be the -manner and terms of our encounter of his own fixing, and let him trust -to the word of a Piersie for their fulfilment on this side, as I shall -to the unbroken faith of a Douglas. Bear this to him, Sir Squire, and -take thy liberty and this golden chain for thy guerdon.’” - -“Bravo, Harry Hotspur!” cried the Douglas, rising from his seat, whilst -his eyes flashed fire from the joyous tumult of his heroic spirit; -“bravo, brave heart! trust me thou shalt not lack thy desire. Quick—let -me hasten to reply to the gallant Piersie’s challenge with that -promptness the which it doth so well merit. My most faithful and -attached Lundie,” continued he, addressing his chaplain,—“get thee to -the provost, if thou lovest me, and use thy good judgment to choose me -out from among our English prisoners one who may be best fitted for -being the bearer of mine answer. Let him be an esquire, for we would -rather surpass than fall short of Hotspur’s courtesy.” - -“Nay, an ye would surpass the courtesy of the gallant Hotspur,” said -Rory, who stood by, “ye maun e’en send him a knight, for he did send -thee ane esquire,—ay, and ane esquire with a golden chain round his -craig.” - -“Right,” cried the Douglas in the fulness of his joy—“right, Squire -Rory Spears; for esquire thou shalt hereafter be, sith it hath pleased -Harry Piersie to make thee so. And if a knight is not to be had, by St. -Andrew I’ll make one for the purpose of this embassage.” - -“Hear ye, Maister Ritchie Lundie,” cried Rory; “I take thee witness -that my Lord the Yearl o’ Douglas hath allowed me the rank the which -the noble Hotspur did confer on me when I did act as his ambassador. -Let not this escape thy memory”. - -“Fear thee not, Rory Spears,” said the Douglas; “I shall myself see -that thine honours shall be duly recognized.” - -Lundie soon returned with an English esquire, selected from among the -prisoners. The Earl of Douglas made Rory repeat over in his presence -the message of which he had been the bearer from Hotspur. - -“And now, Sir Squire,” said Douglas, “thou hast heard the wish of that -gallant leader, the noble Hotspur. Be thou the bearer of mine answer. -Tell Sir Harry Piersie that for a man to have oped his eyes at noon-day -without beholding the light of heaven would have been as easy as to -have had ears without their being filled with the renowned achievements -of the flower of English chivalry. The Douglas burns to meet him; and -that time may in no wise be lost, but each forthwith have his desire, -tell him that the Douglas will be on the field anon with fifty lances. -Let Sir Harry Piersie come forth with a like number at his back, and -let this be the understanding between the parties, that both escorts -halt within view of each other, and that both knights singly run a -career with grounden spears at the outrance, the knights to be left to -themselves. Be thou, I say, the bearer of these terms and conditions; -but ere thou goest vouchsafe me thy name.” - -“My name is Thomas Scrope, so please thee, my Lord,” replied the -esquire. - -“Within there,” said the Douglas; “call in my knights and officers. And -now, Sir Squire,” said he, after the pavilion was filled, and he had -given some necessary orders, “kneel down on this cushion, that before -this brilliant knot of Scottish chivalry I may do due honour to him who -is to bear my message to the Hotspur.” The English esquire obeyed. The -Douglas ordered a pair of golden spurs to be buckled on his heels by -the hands of the two eldest Scottish knights present. They then belted -him with a magnificent sword, a gift from the Earl, who immediately -bestowed on him the accolade, saying— - -“I dub thee Knight, in the name of God and St. Michael; be faithful, -bold, and fortunate. And now rise up, Sir Thomas Scrope.” - -Astounded and confused with this unlooked-for honour, the newly-created -knight but awkwardly received the congratulations which poured in on -him from those present. The Douglas himself conducted him to the door, -where a noble horse, fully caparisoned, awaited him. - -“Get thee to saddle, then, Sir Thomas Scrope,” cried he, “and tarry not -till thou hast possessed the Hotspur of our reply to his message. Say -more—that if he liketh not the terms let him name conditions of his -own, to the which I do hereby agree par avance; and let me have them -forthwith, for in an hour hence I shall be in the field in front of -these lines. God speed thee, Sir Thomas.” - -“Might it not have been better, my Lord,” said Richard Lundie, after -they were again alone, “might it not have been better to have taken a -new sun to gild so glorious a combat? The day is already far spent.” - -“Yea, it is so,” replied the Douglas; “but to-morrow we move hence from -this idle warfare, and I would not willingly go without proving the -metal of the gallant Hotspur, so ’tis as well that his impatience be -gratified.” - -The bruit of the coming encounter spread like wild-fire through the -camp, and the whole chivalry within its circuit pressed forward to be -admitted of the chosen band who were to witness the onset of the two -bravest knights in Christendom. Lord Douglas’s difficulty was how to -select so as to avoid giving offence, and he required all his judgment -to manage this. Sir Patrick Hepborne had the good fortune to be one of -those who were admitted into the honourable ranks. - -When the gay little cohort of mounted lances were drawn forth in array, -and the Douglas’s banner was displayed, the stout Earl sprang on a -powerful black war-horse, that had neighed and pranced whilst he was -held by two esquires, but that became quiet and gentle as a lamb when -backed by his heroic master. The whole Scottish line turned out to -gaze, and shouts of applause arose that re-echoed from the walls of -Newcastle. Immediately afterwards Sir Harry Piersie appeared before the -barriers of the town, mounted on a milk-white steed, and as Douglas, -even at that distance, could perceive that his escort was of similar -strength and description to his own, he had the satisfaction of -thinking that the terms he had proposed had been accepted. The -fortifications were soon covered by the garrison, who crowded to behold -the combat, and the Scottish cheers were loudly returned by the -English. A trumpet call from the Piersie band was instantly returned by -one from that of Lord Douglas, who immediately gave the word for his -knights to advance, whilst he rode forward so as to gain a position -about fifty yards in front of them, that he might be the better seen by -the opposite party. Having brought up his escort to a point -sufficiently near (as he judged) for the arrangement agreed on, he -halted them, and ordered them to remain steady, whilst he continued to -approach until he came within a due distance for running his course -against Hotspur, who had also come forward a considerable way before -his attendants. - -The trumpets from both bands sounded nearly at once, as if by mutual -consent—both knights couched their lances—their armed heels made the -blood spring from the sides of their coursers—and they flew like two -thunderbolts towards the shock. Anxious suspense hung on both sides as -they were stretching over the field, and the silence of the moment was -such that the full crash of the collision entered every listening ear, -however distant. Loud and exulting cheers from the Scottish lines, -which, though they came so far, altogether drowned the uncouth sounds -of dismay that ran along the walls of Newcastle, proclaimed the success -of the Douglas, whose resistless arm, nerved with a strength that few -men could boast, bore the no less gallant Hotspur clean out of his -saddle, though, owing to his adroitness in covering his person against -his adversary’s point, he was hardly if at all wounded. - -The band of English knights who attended him, forgetting the nature of -the combat, as well as the express orders they had received from -Piersie, saw their adored leader on the green sward, and thinking only -of the jeopardy he lay in, began shouting—“Hotspur, Hotspur, to the -rescue!” and ere the bold Douglas could well check the furious career -of his horse, he was in the midst of a phalanx of his advancing foes. -Abandoning his ponderous lance, he grasped the enormous mace that hung -at his saddle-bow, and bestirred himself with it so lustily that three -or four of the English chevaliers were in as many seconds dashed from -their seats to the earth, in plight so grievous that there was but -little chance of their ever filling them again. But the throng about -the hero was so great, and their blows rained so thickly and heavily -upon him, that his destruction must have been inevitable long ere his -own band could have reached him, had not the noble Hotspur, whom some -of his people were by this time carrying hurriedly away, called out to -the knights of his party in a voice of command that was rarely -disobeyed— - -“Touch not the Douglas—harm not a hair of his head, as ye would hope -for heaven. What, would ye assault at such odds the brave Douglas, who -hath relied on the word of a Piersie? Shame, shame on ye, gentlemen. -Your zeal for Hotspur’s safety came not well at this time for Hotspur’s -honour. Trust me, his life stood in no peril with so chivalric a foe.” - -Awed and ashamed by these chiding words, the English knights fell back -abashed, and made way for the valiant Douglas, who emerged from among -them like a hunted lion from among the pack of puny hounds who have -vainly baited him. - -“Halt! chevaliers,” cried he, rising in his saddle, and raising his -right arm, as he in his turn addressed his own band, who were pouring -furiously down on the English knights, shouting, “Douglas, Douglas, to -the rescue!” “Halt,” cried he again, “halt, in the name of St. Andrew! -Let the gallant Hotspur retreat in peace. I blame not him for this -small mistake of his trusty followers, the which, after all, was but an -excusable error of affection. And as for thee, Piersie, I thank thee -for thy courtesy. Depardieux, thou hast proved thyself to be brave as -honourable and honourable as brave. Can I say more? By the honour of -knighthood, thou hast proved thyself to be Harry Piersie, and in that -name all that is excellent in chivalry is centred. The chance hath been -mine now; it may be thine anon, if it do so please Heaven. Get thee to -refresh thyself then, for we shall forthwith beat up thy quarters with -a stiffer stoure than any thou hast yet endured.” - -“Douglas,” cried Piersie, who was by this time remounted, “Douglas, -thou art all, and more than all that minstrels have called thee. -Farewell, till we again meet, and may our meeting be speedy.” - -With these parting words, the two leaders wheeled off their respective -bands. - -Immediately after the Earl of Douglas had returned to the camp, a -council of war was held, and, after a short deliberation, preparations -were made for instantly assaulting and scaling the fortifications. The -army was drawn out from its entrenchments and was led to the attack -arranged in three divisions. The Earl of Douglas, attended by the -little chosen band of knights who had that day vowed him their special -service, led on the central body directly against the barriers. The -right and left wings, commanded by the Earls of Dunbar and Moray, -marched on steadily, to attempt the storm of the walls at two several -points on each side of the gates, in defiance of a heavy shower of -arrows from the English bowmen, mingled with some weightier missiles -from the balistæ, which sorely galled them, and which they could but -ill return with their cross-bows. Each of these flanking divisions -covered the approach of a number of wains, laden with hay and straw -collected from the neighbouring country; and so soon as they had come -near enough to the fortifications, a signal was given, the wains were -brought suddenly forward, and hurled one over another into the ditch, -so as in many places to fill it up, and admit of the ladders being -raised against the wall with great success. The Scottish soldiers rent -the air with their shouts, and wielding their destructive battle-axes, -rushed like furies to the escalade. But the English were so well -prepared, and defended themselves so manfully that they beat back the -assailants at every point, and soon succeeded in setting fire to the -combustible materials in the ditch, by throwing down lighted brands, so -that all hope of forcing an entrance in that way was soon at an end. - -Meanwhile the Douglas forcibly assaulted the wooden barriers that -defended the entrance to the town; and Piersie and his chivalry, who -were immediately within them, no sooner heard the war-cry of “Douglas, -Douglas! jamais arrière!” than, collecting themselves into one great -body, they rushed out on the Scottish forces with so resistless an -impetus, that nothing could withstand the fury of the stream. Douglas -and his troops were borne away like trees of the forest before some -bursting torrent. But no sooner had the English spread themselves out -upon the plain like exhausted waters, than the voice of the Scottish -hero was heard above all the clang of the battle, cheering his men to -the charge, and his superb figure, exalted on his black courser, was -seen towering onwards against the slackening foe, gathering the firmest -Scottish hearts around him as he went. - -The English now in their turn gave back; but Harry Piersie, recovered -from his stunning fall, mounted on a fresh roan, and, surrounded by the -brave knights by whom he was formerly attended, restored their courage -both by his voice and example. Shouts of “Piersie, Piersie!” and -“Douglas, Douglas!” arose from different parts of the field, and were -re-echoed from the walls. At length the two leaders caught a glimpse of -each other amid the volumes of smoke that, tinged by the setting sun, -were rolling along the ground from the blazing straw, which the -descending damps of evening now hardly permitted to rise into the air. - -“Ha, Douglas, have I found thee at last?” cried Piersie, turning -towards him. - -“Trust me, ’twas no fault of mine that we met not sooner, Harry -Piersie,” cried Douglas, spurring to encounter him with his mace, his -lance having been shivered in the melee. - -There was time for no more words. Piersie ran his lance at the Douglas -as he came on, who with wonderful dexterity turned it aside, and -catching it in his hand, endeavoured to wrench it from his owner. -Piersie’s embroidered pennon was waving from the spear head. Douglas -snatched at it, but his adversary disappointed him, by forcing up the -point, and each retaining his grasp, they were now drawn together into -close contact. The little silken trifle, utterly worthless in itself, -glittered like a child’s bauble over their heads; but if it had been a -kingdom they were contending for, they could not have been more eagerly -set on the contest. Each forgetful of the defence of his own life, put -forth all his strength and skill, the one to obtain what he considered -so glorious a prize, and the other to keep what he thought it would be -so disgraceful to lose, and what, moreover, he so much valued, for the -sake of her whose taper fingers had interwoven its golden threads. The -struggle was strong, but it was short in duration, for the iron hands -of Douglas snapt the slim ashen shaft in twain, and in an instant he -held up the broken lance, and waved the pennon triumphantly over his -head. - -“The Piersie’s pennon! recover the Piersie’s pennon!” was the instant -cry, and the English crowded to assist Hotspur, led on by Sir Rafe -Piersie. - -At that moment a body of Scottish lances, headed by Sir Patrick -Hepborne, came pouring down in tremendous charge, shouting “Douglas, -Douglas!” and dividing the two combatants as they swept onwards, they -bore away the Piersies and the English before them to the very -barriers, where the press of the combat was so hot, that they were soon -compelled to retreat within their palisadoes, and to close up their -defences. The partial breathing of an instant ensued, during which -Douglas looked eagerly for Hotspur, and at length having descried him -over the pales— - -“By St. Andrew,” he cried, rising in his stirrups, and again waving the -captured pennon high in the air, “I have good reason, Harry Piersie, to -be thankful for the glorious issue of this bicker. Trust me, I value -this pennon of thine above all the spoil of Newcastle, nay, or of an -hundred such towns. I shall bear it with me into Scotland, fair Sir, in -token of our encounter; and in remembrance of thy prowess, I do promise -thee it shall grace the proudest pinnacle of my Castle of Dalkeith.” - -“Be assured, Douglas,” replied Piersie courteously, though with -manifest signs of great vexation, “ye shall not bear it over the -Border; nay, ye shall not pass the bounds of this county till ye be met -withal in such wise that ye shall make none avaunte thereof.” - -“Well, brave Sir,” replied the Earl of Douglas, “it shall be set up -before my pavilion this night; so come thither to seek for thy pennon, -and take it thence if thou canst; till then, farewell.” - -The Lord Douglas turned away, proudly bearing his trophy; and the night -was now approaching, and all hopes of succeeding in the assault being -at an end, he ordered the retreat to be sounded, and collecting his -forces, he retired behind his trenches. - -The Scottish troops were no sooner withdrawn than Hotspur, smarting -under the stinging disgrace of the loss of his pennon, summoned a -council of war, in which he bravely proposed to lead on the English -troops to a night attack against the Scottish entrenchments. This -proposition was warmly supported by Sir Rafe Piersie, who participated -largely in his brother’s injured feelings; but an opinion prevailing -among the English knights that the Earl of Douglas’s party was but the -Scottish vanguard, and that the large army, of which they had heard so -much, was hovering at no great distance, ready to avail itself of any -imprudent step they might take, very generally opposed his wishes. - -“Sir,” said the prudent Seneschal of York, who was present, and who -seemed to speak as the organ of the rest, “there fortuneth in war -oftentimes many chances. Another day thou mayest gain greater advantage -of Earl Douglas than he hath this day won of thee. Let us not peril the -cause of England for a paltry pennon, when the power of Scotland is -abroad. Who knoweth but this empty skirmish of theirs may be a snare to -lure us out to destruction? Better is it to lose a pennon than two or -three hundred brave knights and squires, and to lay our country at the -mercy of these invading foemen.” - -Though some of the young and impetuous, and even the old Sir Walter de -Selby, showed symptoms of being disposed to support the plan proposed -by the Hotspur, yet this prudent counsel was so generally applauded, -that, though boiling inwardly with indignation at their apathy, he was -compelled to yield with the best face he could, while his lip was -visibly curled with a smile of ineffable contempt for what he -considered their pusillanimity. - -“What a hollow flock of craven pullets, brother Rafe!” said he, giving -way to a burst of passionate vexation after the council had broke up, -and they were left alone. “What, a paltry pennon, saidst thou, Sir -Seneschal? May thy tongue be blistered for the word! Depardieux, were -it not unwise to stir up evil blood among us at such a time, I would -make him eat it, old as he is, and difficult as he might find the -digestion of it. Oh, is’t not bitter penance, brother Rafe, for falcons -such as we are to be mewed up with such a set of grey geese? By Heaven, -it is enough to brutify the noble spirit we do inherit from our sires. -What will the Douglas, I pr’ythee, think of Harry Hotspur, now that -after all his vaunts he cometh not out to-night to give him the -camisado in his tent, and to pluck his pennon from the disgraceful soil -in the which it doth now grow so vilely? But, by St. George, though I -should be obliged to go with no more than our vassals, I will catch the -Douglas ere he quits Northumberland, and I will have my pennon again or -die in the taking of it.” - -The Douglas was well prepared to give Harry Piersie a welcome had -circumstances enabled him to have paid his visit to the Scottish camp -before they broke up from Newcastle. The sentinels were so stationed -that the whole army would have been alarmed and under arms in a few -minutes. His sleep was therefore as sound as if he had been in his own -Castle of Dalkeith, though he slept in his armour, that he might be -ready to meet the foe on the first rouse. - -“Well, my trusty esquires,” said he to Robert Hart and Simon -Glendinning, as they came to wait on him in the morning, “doth Harry -Piersie’s pennon still flutter where these hands did place it -yesternight?” - -“Yea, my good Lord,” replied Glendinning, “thy challenge hath gone -unheeded.” - -“Nay, then, we bide no longer for him here,” said Douglas; “an he will -have it now, he must come after us to take it. Are my Lords Moray and -Dunbar astir?” - -“They are, my Lord,” replied Hart. - -“Go to them, then, Robert, and tell them, that with their leave we -shall march anon. But, by St. Andrew, there shall be no appearance of -unseemly haste. Let the sun, that saw the Piersie’s pennon planted -yesternight ere he did go to bed, be suffered to look upon it for some -time after he be well risen again, so that we may not be accused of -being more dexterous in carrying off our prey than bold in defending -it.” - -The little Scottish army broke up from their encampment with as much -composure as if they had been in a friendly country, and marched -leisurely off with loud cheers. Harry Piersie was on the wall, and his -blood boiled at the very sound. - -“By the holy St. Cuthbert, they mock me,” cried he, his face flushing -with anger; “ay, an well may they too,” continued he, striking his -forehead. “Oh, I could leap over these walls from very despite. By the -mass, their numbers are naught; see how small their columns appear; -already the last of them are gone; oh, is it not enow to drive me to -madness!”—and, dashing his mailed foot to the ground, he turned away to -gnaw his nails with vexation. - -After taking two or three turns with his brother along the rampart, he -suddenly called for an esquire, and ordered him to procure some -intelligent scouts; to these he gave orders to follow the Scottish line -of march, and to bring him frequent and accurate intelligence of their -numbers, their route, and all their actions; and, having taken this -precaution, he and Sir Rafe Piersie continued to pace the walls by -themselves, giving vent, from time to time, to their indignation and -disappointment, in abrupt sentences addressed to each other. During -that day and the evening following it, large reinforcements of troops -poured into Newcastle, from different quarters of the circumjacent -country; and the stronger Hotspur found himself, the more impatient he -became to make use of his strength. - -“Ay, ay, see where they come; see where they come, brother Rafe,” said -he in a pettish tone. “But what come they for, an we have them not in -the field? Depardieux, from the careless guise and strutting gait of -some of these butter-headed burghers, and clod-pated churls, meseems as -if they came more to parade it in a fair than to fight.” - -“If we can but get them once into the field,” said Sir Rafe Piersie, -“by all that is good, we shall teach the knaves another bearing and -another step.” - -“Ay, marry, would that we but had them in the field, indeed,” replied -Hotspur; “the very smell of battle hath a marvellous virtue in it, and -doth oftentimes convert the veriest dolt into a hero. Of such fellows -as these men, one might make rare engines for recovering a lost pennon, -yea, as of finer clay. Would we but had them fit the proof. But a -plague upon these cautious seniors of the council, methinks my patience -was miraculous; nay, in truth, most miraculous, to hear that old -driveller talk of my paltry pennon, and not to dash my gauntlet in his -teeth for the word.” - -“Nay, I could hardly keep my hands down,” cried Sir Rafe Piersie. -“Methinks our blood must be cooling, or else even his age should have -been no protection.” - -“’Tis better as it is, Rafe,” replied Hotspur; “but why tarry these -scouts of mine? I shall fret me to death ere they return. Why are we -not blessed with the power of seeing what doth pass afar off? Had I -this faculty, how would mine eyes soar over the Douglas and my pennon!” - -In such talk as this the brothers wasted great part of the night. The -impatient Hotspur was kept in suspense until next morning, when, much -to his relief, the arrival of the wearied scouts was announced to him. -He ordered them instantly into his presence, and having closely -interrogated them, he soon gathered from them all the intelligence he -wanted. - -The Earl of Douglas had marched slowly and circumspectly, and although -his little army had sufficiently marked his course, by plundering and -burning whatever came in its way, the troops had not been suffered to -spread far to the right or left. They halted at Pontland, and took and -burnt the town and castle, making prisoner of Sir Aymer de Athele, who -defended it. Thence they marched to Otterbourne, where they encamped, -apparently with the intention of besieging the castle of that name next -day. The scouts also brought certain information that the Scots did not -amount to more than three thousand men-at-arms, and three or four -hundred lances, and that the main body of the army was nowhere in the -neighbourhood, but still lying indolently on the Western Marches. Full -of these particulars, Hotspur, with a bounding heart, again summoned -the council of war, and bringing in his scouts, he made them tell their -own story. - -“What say ye now, gentlemen?” cried he with a triumphant air; “was I -right, or not? By the Rood, I was at least wrong to listen to the cold -caution of some few frozen heads here; for, an I mistake not the -general voice of the council yesterday was with me. We mought have -spared these Scots many a weary mile of march, I ween. By St. George, -they were a mere handful for us, a mere handful; not a man of them -should have escaped us; ay, and such a price should they have paid for -the ruin they have wrought on these fine counties, that Scotland should -have quaked for a century at the very thought of setting foot across -the Border.” - -“Frozen heads, didst thou say, Sir Harry Piersie?” demanded the -Seneschal of York calmly; “methinks that thy meaning would be to accuse -those frozen heads of being leagued with frozen hearts; but let me tell -thee, Hotspur, where snow is shed on the poll we may look for a cool -judgment; and if a cool, then probably a wise judgment.” - -“Pshaw!” said Hotspur, half aside to his brother; “this fusty utterer -of worn-out saws and everyday wisdom goadeth me beyond all bearing; yet -must I temper mine answer. Trust me, I meant not to impeach thine -ordinary judgment, Sir Seneschal,” continued he aloud, “though I do -think that it did for once err grievously in our yesterday’s council. -But let us not talk of this. I am now here to tell ye, gentlemen, that, -by the faith I owe to God, and to my Lord my father, go who list with -me, I shall now go seek for my pennon, and give Lord Douglas the -camisado this night at Otterbourne; yea, by St. George, though I should -do it without other aid than that of my brother Rafe, and the faithful -vassals of the Piersie. What, am I to put up, think ye, with the loss -of my pennon, and the disgrace of our house and name? By heaven, though -it were but a hair’s-breadth of the hem of my Lady’s mantle, the -Douglas should not carry it into Scotland. But if disgrace doth attend -the losing of Hotspur’s pennon, depardieux, let it be borne by those -who, calling themselves his friends, will not yield him their help to -retake it; for Hotspur is resolved to wipe off shame from himself—he -will follow his pennon to the Orcades, yea, pluck it from their most -northern cape, or fall in the attempt. Disgrace shall never cleave to -Hotspur.” - -“No, nor to Rafe Piersie neither,” cried his brother. “Let those who -fear to follow stay at home. We shall on together, hand in hand, and -seize the pennon, though grim death held its shaft; yea, paltry as it -may be thought, it shall be the sun on whose beams our dying eyes shall -close. Let us on then.” - -The loud murmurs of applause which arose from among the younger knights -manifested how much they sympathized with the feelings of the Piersies. -But the old Seneschal of York again put in his word of prudence. - -“Gentlemen,” said he, “I see that, in speaking as I must do, I shall -have but few to agree with me, yet must I natheless freely speak my -mind, more especially as I do perceive that those knights who, like -myself, have seen more years of warfare than the rest, do seem disposed -to think with me. I must confess, that, albeit some potent reasons do -now cease to war with your opinion, mine is but little altered. Meseems -it still is an especial risk to move so far from garrison after an -uncertain enemy, for a mere shred of silk and gold.” - -“A shred of silk and gold!” exclaimed Sir Walter de Selby. “What, dost -thou not think that all England is disgraced by this triumph of the -Scottish Douglas over the Hotspur? And dost thou regard nought but the -shred of silk and gold? Talk not of the old ones, I pray thee, Sir -Seneschal of York. Trust me, old as is Sir Walter de Selby, he shall -never rest idle whilst gallant deeds are adoing to wipe off a foul -stain from the name of England. Be it death or victory, he shall have -his share on’t.” - -“Thy hand, my brave old soldier,” cried both the Piersies at once. - -“Thou shalt go with us,” exclaimed Hotspur; “though thine years might -have well excused thee leaving thine own Castle of Norham, yet hast -thou come hither; yea, and thou shalt now forward with us to the field, -were it but to show how the noble fire of a warlike soul may burn -through the thickest snows of age.” - -“Nay, then,” said the Seneschal of York, “thou shalt see, Sir Harry -Piersie, that albeit I do advise caution, yet shall I do my part as -well as others, when my words do cease to avail aught; yet would I fain -have thee tarry until thou art joined by the Bishop of Durham, who is -looked for with his force this night.” - -“What, while we can muster eight thousand good soldiers without him, -and six hundred gallant lances? Shall we wait for the Bishop, and so -permit the Scots to ’scape from our vengeance? Nay, nay, let’s to -horse, my brave friends; my heart swells at the thought of reaping so -glorious a field. Let’s to horse without delay, if your blood be -English.” - -Hotspur’s call was hailed with loud approval, and the brave though -cautious Seneschal, seeing that it was in vain to urge more, joined -heartily with the rest in getting the army under arms, and in hastening -the march. - -The Scots had begun to sound their bugles at an early hour that -morning, and to assault the Castle of Otterbourne, and they wasted the -whole of the day in unsuccessful attempts against it. A council of war -being held in the evening, it was found that there were cautious heads -among the Scotch as well as among the English knights. Some of those -who spoke were of opinion that they should abandon all further attempts -against the Castle, and march forward towards Scotland. But the Earl of -Douglas opposed this. - -“What, my brave Lords and Knights of Scotland,” cried he with energy, -“would ye give Harry Piersie cause to say that we have stolen this -pennon of his? Let us not creep away with it like thieves in the dark; -nay, rather let us show these Southerns that we do earnestly covet -their promised visit to us. Let us, I pray ye, tarry here for some two -or three days at least; we shall find occupation enough in beleaguering -and taking of this Castle hard by, the which is assuredly pregnable to -bold and persevering men, and will yield us the more honour that it be -strong. Then shall Hotspur have leisure to bethink himself how he may -best come to fetch his pennon; and if it should so list him to come, -depardieux, he may take my banner too, if he can.” - -The old and the cautious hardly in secret approved this counsel; but so -much was the heroic Douglas the idol of all, that his wishes were of -themselves enough to determine the resolution of those who heard him. -Measures were accordingly taken for securing the army against surprise, -and for rendering their camp as strong as circumstances would allow; -and seeing that they were to remain for so much longer a time than they -at first imagined, the soldiers hastily threw up huts, composed of sods -and branches of trees, to give them better shelter. The baggage-wains -and baggage, with the wainmen, sutlers, and other followers of the -army, were stationed so as to block up the approach to the camp; and -their position was so defended by morasses and woods, flanking it on -either side, as to render it almost unassailable. At some distance from -this, the troops were encamped on the slope of a hill, and the wooded -rising grounds on either hand contributed to form defences which left -it open to attack nowhere but in front, and even there only after the -outwork formed by the baggage at a distance in the meadow below should -be broken through. - -Earl Douglas said little to those around him, but made his various -dispositions with the cool and skilful eye of an expert commander. He -surveyed the ground with thoughtful attention, as the sun was setting -bright on the hill. It glanced upon Piersie’s pennon, that fluttered as -if idly impatient of its captivity beside the large banner of Scotland, -the heavy drapery of which, drooping to the ground in ample folds, hung -in silent and majestic dignity, unruffled by the gentle evening breeze. -He thought on the Hotspur and his threats—on the violence and impotence -of man’s passions—on the actual insignificance of the object which had -so stirred up himself and Harry Piersie, compared with the number and -value of the lives of those who might soon be called on to fight for it -to the death. He mused on the peaceful quiet that now hung over the -scene, and of the change that in a few short hours it might undergo; on -the change, above all, that might affect many of those brave hearts -which were now beating high with the pulses of life, eager to return to -their native soil, and to fulfil schemes of future happiness, never, -perhaps, to be realized. - -“There is something solemn and grand in the stillness of this lovely -evening,” said the Douglas at last to the Earl of Moray, who was with -him. “The parting radiance of day in yonder western sky might make us -fancy that the earth was yblent with heaven. Why might we not pass to -that long-wished-for country on those slanting rays of glory, without -intervening death, or the penitential pains of purgatory?” - -“’Tis a whimsical conceit, brother,” replied Moray with a smile; “but -why, I pray thee, are thy thoughts so employed at a time like this?” - -“I will tell thee,” said Douglas gravely. “I know not why it is, but my -memory hath been at this time visited by the recollection of a strange -dream I once had, and which, long forgotten, doth now arise to me -afresh with all its circumstances. Methought I was sitting on a hill -side, when, all at once, I beheld a furious battle on the plain of the -valley below. One side was led by a figure the which I was conscious -bore striking resemblance to mine own. He rushed to the fight, but was -quickly pierced with three lances at once, and fell dead on the field. -Dismay began to fasten on his army, and defeat appeared certain, when -the dead corpse of the knight arose, and, towering to a height ten-fold -greater than it had when alive, moved with the solemn step of the grave -towards the foe. The shout of victory arose from those who were about -to yield, and their enemies were dispersed like chaff before the wind, -when the giant figure and all vanished from my fancy’s eye.” - -“Strange!” cried Moray, his attention grappled by this singular -communication from the Douglas. - -“Thou canst never believe me to be a driveller, Moray,” continued -Douglas, without noticing his brother-in-law’s interruption, “far less -one whom the approach of death may affright. Death must succeed life, -as the night doth follow the day, and we who can know little how much -of our day is gone, must be prepared to couch as decently when and -where the night doth overtake us.” - -“Nay, Douglas,” said Moray, again interrupting him, “I well wot that -those grave sayings of thine are anything but the offspring of a -quailing heart; I know that they are begotten by thy dauntless and -well-grounded courage that doth accustom itself to survey death at all -times, in thought as well as in field, till thou has converted his grim -image into the familiar figure of a friend. Yet why should such -thoughts find harbour with thee now? Harry Piersie, if he do come at -all for his pennon, will hardly be here to-night.” - -“I think not of the Piersie,” said Douglas, taking Moray’s hand, and -warmly pressing it between his, while a tear glistened in his manly -eye, “I think not of the Piersie or his pennon; but promise me now, -when mine hour hath come, and I shall have gloriously fallen in battle, -as I well trust may be my fate, that thou wilt yield thine especial -protection, and thy love and cherisaunce, to my widowed Margaret. I -need not tell thee what she hath been to me. Our brother-in-law Fife is -cold, and calculating, and politic, yea, and heartless. He doth aim at -the Regency, and he will doubtless gain his end. Margaret is his -much-loved sister while she is the proud wife of Douglas; but trust me, -little of her brother’s sunshine will fall upon her widow’s weeds. Be -it thine, then, to be her prop and comfort. I well know that the warmth -of thy Margery’s love will go hand in hand with thee. I am a man, -Moray—we are both men—why should we be ashamed of a few tears shed at a -moment like this?” - -“Nay, but Douglas, why shouldst thou talk thus?” said Moray. “Fate may -call for my life first, and then thou wilt have those duties to perform -for Margery the which thou dost now claim from me for her sister.” - -“Nay,” replied Douglas, with ominous seriousness of aspect. “Yet be it -so,” said he, after a pause; “do thou but listen to my sad humour. Mine -attached Lundie doth well deserve thy care; see that he do meet with -that advancement his piety to God and his devotion to me hath so well -merited. And then as for my gallant Archibald, my brave esquires Hart -and Glendinning, and my faithful shield-bearer Hop Pringle, they have -already carved out a shining reputation for themselves; yet do thou -never let it be forgotten that they have been faithful followers of the -Douglas.” - -“Canst thou believe that the name of Douglas can ever lose its potent -charm?” exclaimed the Earl of Moray with energy, yet deeply affected; -“or canst thou doubt that to me thy will must ever be a sacred law? But -why should we now talk of matters so sad?” continued he, endeavouring -to rally his own spirits as well as those of Douglas; “the banquet doth -abide us in thy pavilion yonder, and the lords and knights of Scotland -do doubtless wait for thee there, in obedience to thine invitation.” - -“I had forgotten,” said Douglas, resuming his usual cheerful -countenance. “Let us then attune our spirits to mirth and joyous manly -converse, sith we have discussed these melancholy themes. Allons, let -us to the banquet—such banquet as the rude cookery of the field may -furnish.” - -It was at this time that Rory Spears, having collected a little knot of -friends about him, thus addressed them— - -“Captain MacErchar, and you most worthy esquires, Masters Mortimer Sang -and Roger Riddel, yea, and you, brave Robin Lindsay and Ralpho -Proudfoot, and the rest, who are nobly ettling to rise by your deeds as -others hae done afore ye—ahem—panting after that most honourable honour -and dignified dignity of an esquire, I do hereby invite ye all to go -down wi’ me to the baggage-camp and sutlerages, whaur we may find -comfortable and cozy houf in a braw new bigget sodden hostel, yereckit -for the accommodation o’ Dame Margaret MacCleareye’s yill-barrels and -yill-customers, and there, at my proper expense, to eat the bit supper -I bid her prepare as I came up the hill, and to drink till ye hae weel -wet the honours, the which, descending on mine unworthy head from the -gallant Hotspur (whose health we shall not fail to drink, albeit we may -yet hope to hae the cleaving o’ his skull), have been approven of by -our noble Lord of Douglas, and by mine especial dear Lord of Moray, for -both of whom we are not only bound to drink to the dead, but to fight -to the dead.” - -“Oich, hoich, Maister Spears, surely, surely—he, he, he!” cried -MacErchar. - -“Bravo, Master Spears, I shall willingly go with thy squireship,” cried -Sang; “nay, and never trust me an I do not my best honour to thine -entertainment.” - -“Squire Spears, I am thine,” cried Roger Riddel; and the rest all -heartily joining in ready acquiescence in his invitation, they followed -Rory joyously down the hill in a body. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LIX. - - The Battle at Otterbourne. - - -Rory Spears was presiding with joyous countenance over the supper to -which he had invited his friends—the more solid part of the -entertainment had been discussed—and the ale jug had already performed -several revolutions, to the great refreshment and restoration of the -strength of those who partook of it, when the jovial companions were -suddenly disturbed in their revelry by a very unusual cry from some of -the sentinels posted along the line of entrenchment that protected the -baggage-camp. The hilarious esquires and men-at-arms were silenced in -the midst of their mirth, and sat looking at one another with eyes of -inquiry. But they sat not long so, for the cry was repeated, and ran -rapidly along the chain of sentinels. - -“By St. Lowry, it’s the English, as I’m a Christian man!” cried Rory -Spears. “My troth, it was maist ceevil of the chields to wait till we -had souped; natheless, it erketh me to think that they carried not -their courtesy so far as to permit us to drink but ae ither can. Yet, -by the Rood, we shall have at it. Here, Mrs. MacCleareye—d’ye hear, -guidwife?” - -“Phut, tut!—oich, hoich!—fye, fye, let us awa, Maister Spears,” cried -Duncan MacErchar. “Troth, she’ll no wait for us, the Southron loons.” - -“Hark again,” cried Sang; “by all that is good, they will be in on us -in the twinkling of an eye.” - -“Let’s out on them, then, without further talk,” cried Rory, -brandishing his battle-axe. “Troth, I wad maybe hae had mair mercy on -them an they had gi’en us but time for ae ither stoup; but as it is, -let’s at them, my friends, and let them take care o’ their heads.” - -“Pay for the supper and yill, Master Spears,” cried Mrs. MacCleareye, -thrusting herself forward. - -“This is no time, woman, to settle sike affairs,” cried Rory. - -“Better now, I trow, than after thou art amortized by the sword o’ some -Southron thrust through thy stomach, Master Spears,” said Mrs. -MacCleareye. “Pay to-day, I pray thee, and have trust to-morrow.” - -“Nay, of a truth, we have no time to stand talking to thee, good -woman,” cried Rory impatiently; “had it been to drink mair yill, -indeed, I mought hae tholed it; but, holy St. Barnabas, an thou dost -keep us much longer there will be guests in thy hut who will drain thy -casks without filling thy pockets. Let me past: Rory Spears’ word, -though that of ane esquire only, is as sicker as that o’ the best -knight in the land. Thou shalt be paid after the scrimmage. Nay, I’ll -no die, woman, till thou be’st paid, so fear thee not—and stand out o’ -my gate, I tell thee.” - -With a turn of his wrist, Rory shoved Mrs. MacCleareye aside. She was -jostled by Sang, who followed; and her round and rolling person was -fairly run down by MacErchar, who was pressing hastily after them. The -rest sprang impetuously over her. The cries now came more distinctly -upon them, mingled with the clash of weapons. - -“The English, the English!—Piersie!—The English!” were the words now -distinguishable. - -“To the trenches, my friends; not a moment is to be lost,” cried -Mortimer Sang. - -“Blow, blow!” cried Roger Riddel; and Rory putting to his mouth an old -hunting bugle that hung from his shoulder, blew a shrill and potent -blast, that awakened the very echoes of the hills. - -“Let us disperse ourselves through the baggage-lines, and rouse up the -wainmen and varlets, and the other camp followers,” cried Rory Spears, -after taking the bugle from his mouth. - -“Thou art right, Rory,” said Sang; “we may do much to support the -guard. Let Riddel, and I, and some others, hasten to the entrenchments, -to keep up spirit among those who may now be fighting, with the hope of -speedy aid, and do thou and the rest quickly gather what force ye may, -and straightway bring them thither. The point of assault is narrow. If -we can keep back the foe, were it but until the main body of the army -be alarmed, should our lives be the forfeit, they would be bravely -spent, for we might be the saving of Scotland’s honour this night.” - -“Ralpho Proudfoot, companion of my youth,” cried Robert Lindsay, -kindly, “we have striven together for many a prize; now let our -struggle be for glory.” - -“Away, away,” cried Sang; and he and Riddel sprang off to the trenches, -followed by Lindsay and Proudfoot, whilst Rory hied him away at the -head of the others, all blowing their horns, and shouting loudly -through the lines, as if the whole Scottish array had been there, and -ready to turn out. The huts were soon deserted. Such as they met with -in their way they collected together, and armed as fast as they could -with whatever weapons lay nearest to hand; and in a very short time -these few intelligent and active heads had assembled a force, neither -very numerous nor very well appointed, it is true, but, when headed by -men so determined, amply sufficient to defend a narrow pass between -marches for a considerable time, especially against assailants who were -awed by the conviction, favoured by the darkness, that they were -attacking the camp where the whole Scottish army were lodged. - -While things were in this state in the baggage camp, the banquet in the -pavilion of Lord Douglas was going on with all that quiet and elegant -cheerfulness of demeanour beseeming a party chiefly composed of the -very flower of Scottish chivalry. The talk was of the love of the -ladies, and the glories of tilts and tournaments. Sir Patrick Hepborne -was seated between Sir John Halyburton and Sir William de Dalzel. With -the former of these knights he recalled some of the circumstances of -their friendly meeting at Tarnawa, and the Lady Jane de Vaux was not -forgotten between them. Sir William de Dalzel changed the theme to that -of the challenge which had passed between the Lord Welles and Sir David -Lindsay. Then Sir David Lindsay himself and several others joining in -the conversation, it gradually became general around the board. Sir -William de Keith, the Marischal of Scotland, displayed his consummate -learning on the subject of such challenges between knights; and Sir -John de Gordon, Lord of Strathbolgy; Sir John Montgomery; Sir Malcolm -Drummond, brother-in-law to the Douglas, as well as to the Scottish -champion, who was the person most concerned in the debate; Sir -Alexander Fraser of Cowie, and many others, spoke each of them ably as -to particular points. The Douglas himself then delivered his judgment -with clearness and precision, and the attention with which his words -were listened to showed how valuable they were esteemed by those who -heard them. After this topic was exhausted, the Earl was indefatigable -in ministering to the entertainment of his guests by ingeniously -drawing forth the powers of those around him; and his deportment was in -every respect so much more than ordinarily felicitous, and so perfectly -seasoned by graceful condescension, that all at table agreed he never -had charmed them more, and that, as he was the hardiest warrior of all -in the field, and the most resistless lance in the lists, so was he by -far the most accomplished and witty chevalier at the festive board. - -The rational happiness of the evening was approaching its height, and -the Douglas was occupying universal attention by something he was -saying, when, to the surprise of every one, he suddenly stopped in the -middle of his sentence, and turned up his ear to listen. - -“Methought I heard a bugle-blast from the baggage lines,” cried he, -with a flash in his eye that denoted the utter extinction of every -other thought but that of the enemy. - -“Perdie, I did hear it also,” cried the Earl of Moray; “nor was it -strange to me. Methought I did recognize it for one of Rory Spears’ -hunting-mots. He doth feast his friends to-night at the sutlerage, in -honour of his newly-acquired squireship; so, peraunter, he doth give -them music with their ale.” - -“Ha, heard ye that?” cried several of the knights at once. - -“Nay, there be more performers than one there,” cried the Douglas, -rising quickly to gain the outside of the pavilion, whilst the whole of -the knights crowded after him. - -“’Tis dark as a sightless pit,” cried some of them. - -“Yea,” cried the Earl of Douglas; “but dost thou see those lights that -hurry about yonder? Trust me, there is some stirring cause for the -quickness of their motions.” - -“Hark ye, I hear distant and repeated cries,” said the Earl of Dunbar. -“Hark, a horse comes galloping up the hill. Hear ye how he snorts and -blows? I’ll warrant the rider hath hot news to tell.” - -“The English!—the English in the baggage-camp!—Piersie and the -English!” cried the rough voice of a wainman, who made towards the -light in the pavilion, mounted on a bare-backed and unharnessed -wain-horse, that heaved its great sides as if it would have burst them. - -“Arm, arm, chevaliers,” cried the Douglas in a voice like thunder; “arm -ye in haste, and turn out your brave bands without a moment’s let. Mine -arms—mine arms, my faithful esquires. My horse, my horse!” - -All was now hurry, bustle, and jostling; cries, orders, oaths, and -execrations arose everywhere. Horses were neighing, and steel was -clashing, and every one tried to buckle on his armour as fast as he -could. Meanwhile Douglas, with Moray near him, stood calm and -undismayed, putting one question after another rapidly to the varlet -who brought the alarm, until he had gained all the information he could -expect from him. - -“By the Rood, but thy new esquire Rory Spears hath well demeaned -himself, brother Moray,” said Douglas. “He and those with him have done -that the which shall much avail us if we but bestir ourselves. Let us -arm then, and get the line formed. I did well mark the ground, my -friend. By skirting the woods upon our right, and if the moon will but -keep below the hill-tops long enow, we shall steal down unseen upon the -enemy, and pour out our vengeance on his defenceless flank. May St. -Andrew grant that thy gallant squire may but keep his own until then. -Haste, haste, Glendinning. Where is Robert Hop Pringle, my brave -shield-bearer? Haste thee, Hart, mine arms and my horse. Ha, -Archibald,” cried he to a young man of noble carriage who was passing -him at the moment; “get thee my standard, my son; thou shalt bear my -jamais arriere to-night. Part with it not for thy life; and bastard -though thou be’st, show thyself at least to be no counterfeit Douglas. -Quit it not even in death, boy.” - -From time to time the shouts of the combatants now came faintly up the -hill-side, and hurried those hands that were busily engaged in arming, -so that many a buckle was put awry, and many a tag was left to hang -loose. The Douglas staid not to complete his harnessing, but sprang -into his saddle ere he was half armed, while Lord Moray rode away to -his post without discovering that he had forgotten to put his helmet -on. - -The night still continued extremely dark, and had not Lord Douglas -taken accurate note of the ground below him whilst the light of the sun -had shone upon it, he must have found it almost impracticable to have -led his men on, notwithstanding that his ears were admonished by the -din of the distant skirmish, and the discordant braying of at least -five hundred bullocks’ horns, blown by the varlets and wainmen who were -not engaged; for such were in those days always carried by the Scottish -soldiers, and Rory Spears had taken care that all who could not fight -should at least blow, that the extent of their force might appear the -greater to the enemy. - -The Douglas conducted his little army with great silence and -circumspection through the skirting brushwood; and it so happened, that -just as he approached the place of action, the full-orbed moon arose to -run her peaceful and majestic course through a clear and cloudless sky, -throwing a mimic day over the scene. Loud shouts arose from the -powerful army of the English, for now they began to comprehend the -actual situation of their affairs; and making one bold and determined -charge, they burst at once through the whole breadth of the -entrenchments, overwhelming all who attempted to stand before them. Now -it was that the Scottish Earl gave the word to his men, and just as the -English were pushing rapidly on towards the slope of the high ground -where the Scottish camp hung glittering in the moonbeam, driving a -handful of brave men before them, who were still fighting as they -retired, the shout of -“Douglas!—Douglas!—Scotland!—Scotland!—Douglas!—Jamais arriere?” -ascended to Heaven, and the determined Scots poured from their covert -out upon the open plain, and rushed against the troops of Piersie. - -Confounded by this unexpected charge from an enemy whom they expected -to find asleep in their tents, the English army was driven back in -considerable dismay. Then might Harry Piersie and his brother Sir Rafe -have been seen flying from standard to standard vainly endeavouring to -rally their men; but it was not until they had been driven into the -open ground that they could succeed in stopping what almost amounted to -a flight. - -“What, Englishmen—is this your mettle?” cried Hotspur with vehemence. -“Fly, then, cowards, and leave Harry Piersie to die. He may not outlive -this disgrace on the standards of St. George.” - -These upbraiding words had the effect of checking their panic, and gave -them time to observe the comparatively small body to whom they were so -basely yielding. The two brothers quickly restored the battle by their -daring example. Deafening cheers arose, shouts of “Piersie” and “St. -George” being loudly mingled with them; and a fresh and very impetuous -onset was made, that drove the Scottish troops entirely through their -entrenchments. The struggle was now tremendous, and the clash of the -Scottish axes was terrific; but, although the success of the English -wavered a little now and then, yet the weight of their mass was so very -superior, that the Scottish army lost ground inch by inch, till, after -a long contest, the Piersie found himself almost at the Scottish tents. - -“Piersie!—Piersie!—The pennon of the Piersie!” cried he, shrieking with -the wildest joy, and sanguine with the hope of success; while backed by -a band of his choicest warriors, he made a bold dash towards the -standard of Scotland, that stood before the pavilion of Douglas, with -the pennon beside it. The Douglas was at that time fighting in another -part of the field, where the press against his men was greatest. The -Earls of Moray and Dunbar were bravely striving to withstand the -numbers that came against the respective wings they commanded, -supported by Montgomery, Keith, Fraser, and many others. Assueton, -though but half recovered from the bruise he had received at Newcastle, -and Halyburton, Lindsay, and some others were doing their best to -resist the tide of the English in those parts of the battle where -fortune had thrown them. Sir William de Dalzel had been carried to his -tent grievously wounded to the loss of an eye; and already had the -brave Sir Malcolm Drummond, and the gallant Sir John de Gordon, Lord of -Strathbolgy, fallen, covered by glorious wounds. Yet was not the -standard of Scotland, nor the Piersie’s captive pennon, left altogether -undefended; for before them stood the dauntless Sir Patrick Hepborne of -Hailes the elder, with his son by his side, backed by a small but -resolute band of their own immediate dependents. - -“My brave boy,” cried the elder knight, “trust me there is nowhere in -the field a more honourable spot of earth to die on than that where we -do now stand.” - -“Then we quit it not with life, my father, save to drive the Piersie -before us,” cried his son. - -“Piersie—Piersie!—Piersie’s pennon!—Hotspur’s pennon!” cried those who -came furiously on to attack them. - -The father and the son, with their little phalanx, remained immovable, -and, receiving them on the point of their lances, an obstinate and -bloody contest took place. Harry Piersie and his brother fought for the -fame of their proud house, and their eager shouts were heard over all -the other battle cries, as well as above the clashing of the weapons -and the shrieking of the agonized wounded, as they were trodden under -foot and crushed to death by the press; but the bulwark of lion hearts -that defended the standard was too impregnable to be broken through. -Piersie’s men already began to slacken in their attack, and to present -a looser and wider circle to the Scottish band; and now the elder Sir -Patrick Hepborne, seeing his time, and eager to catch his advantage, -brandished a battle-axe, and his son following his example, they joined -in the cry of “A Hepborne, a Hepborne!” and charged the enemy so -furiously at the head of their men, that Piersie and his followers were -driven down the slope with immense slaughter. The axes of the bold -knight and his son never fell without the sacrifice of an English life. -“A Hepborne, a Hepborne!” they cried from time to time, and “A -Hepborne, a Hepborne!” was returned to them from those who ran together -to their banner; and yet more and more of the English line gave way -before the accumulating aid that crowded after Sir Patrick and his son, -who went on gradually recovering the lost ground, by working prodigies -of valour. - -Whilst the Hepbornes were so manfully exerting their prowess in one -part of the field, the Douglas was toiling to support the battle where -it was most hopeless. The great force of the enemy had been -accidentally directed to the point where he fought, although they knew -not against whom they were moving. The dense body opposed to him so -encumbered him, that his men were unable to stand before it, and defeat -seemed to be inevitable. Finding himself hampered on horseback, he -retired a little back, and leaping from his horse, and summoning up his -gigantic strength, he seized an iron mace, so ponderous, that even to -have lifted it would have been a toil for almost any other individual -in the field, and, swinging it round his head, he threw himself amidst -the thickest of the foe, bearing ruin and death along with him. At -every stroke of the tremendous engine he whirled whole ranks of the -English were levelled before him, like grass by the scythe of the -mower; and he strode over the dead and dying, down a broad lane cleared -through the densest battalions that were opposed to him. Terror seized -upon the English, and they began to give back before him. On he rushed -after their receding steps, reaping a wide and terrible harvest of -death, and strewing the plain with the victims of his matchless courage -and Herculean strength. From time to time he was hardily opposed for a -few minutes by small bodies of the enemy, that closed together to meet -the coming storm, unconscious of its tremendous nature. But his -resistless arm bore away all before it, until, encountering a column of -great depth and impenetrability, the hero was transfixed by no less -than three spears at once. - -One entered his shoulder between the plates of his epaulière; another, -striking on his breast-plate, glanced downwards, and pierced his belly; -and the third easily penetrated his thigh, which in his haste had been -left without the cuisse. For a moment did the wounded Douglas writhe -desperately on the lance shafts, to rid himself of their iron heads, -which had so suddenly arrested his destructive progress. But fate had -decreed that his glorious career should be terminated. He received a -severe blow on the head; his muscles, so lately full of strength and -energy of volition, now refused to obey his will, and he sank to the -ground borne down by those who had wounded him, and who knew not how -noble and how precious that life’s blood was, to which they had opened -so many yawning passages of escape. - -His brother-in-law, Sir David Lindsay, and John and Walter -Saintclaires, ever the tried friends of the Douglas, and a few others -who had been fighting along with him before he thus plunged from their -sight into the midst of his foes, took advantage of the terror which -his onset had occasioned, and followed bravely in his course, until -accident led them to fall in with the stream of victorious Scots who -were pouring onwards under the triumphant Hepbornes. Recognizing each -other, and joining together with loud cheers they swept away all that -ventured to oppose them. They had cleared the plain ground of the enemy -for several bowshots before them; the English battalions had been -thinned and dispersed over the ground, and the Scottish troops were -urging after them without order, when Sir Patrick Hepborne the younger, -with Lindsay and the Saintclaires, who were pushing forward together, -saw before them the brave and good Richard Lundie, sorely wounded, yet -boldly bestriding the body of a warrior, and dealing death with a -battle-axe to every Englishman who ventured to approach within his -circle. Those who still contended with him quickly fled at their -approach, and then, to their great grief, they discovered that it was -the noble Douglas that lay weltering in his blood. He had not fallen -alone, for his faithful esquires, Simon Glendinning and Robert Hart, -lay near him both covered with mortal wounds, and already lifeless, -surrounded by heaps of the slaughtered foe. His gallant natural son, -too, the handsome Archibald Douglas, faithful to the trust reposed in -him, though severely wounded, and bleeding helplessly on the grass, -still held his banner with the grasp of death. - -“How fares it with thee, Lord Douglas?” cried Sir John Saintclaire, -overwhelmed with grief at the sad spectacle before him, and hastening -to assist the others in raising him up. - -“Well, right well, I trow, my good friends,” replied Douglas feebly, -“seeing that I die thus, like all my ancestors, in the field of fame. -But let not the death of Douglas be known, for ‘a dead man shall yet -gain a glorious field.’ Hide me, then, I pray thee, in yonder brake; -let some one rear my standard, the jamais arriere of the Douglas, and -let my war-cry be set up, and I promise that ye shall well revenge my -death.” - -By this time the English, who had been driven for several bowshots -beyond that part of the field where the Earl of Douglas had fallen, -were now rallying under the heroic efforts of the Hotspur, who, aided -by his brother, was again cheering them on to the charge. The Scottish -troops began again to give ground before their superior force, and were -already retreating in numbers past the group who were occupied about -the dying hero. They saw the immediate necessity of conveying him away -while the ground was yet clear of the enemy, and Lundie, Lindsay, and -the two Saintclaires hastened to obey his injunctions. He uttered not a -word of complaint to tell of the agonizing tortures he felt whilst they -were removing him. They laid him on a mossy bank among the long ferns, -in the closest part of the thicket. Then he took their hands in -succession, squeezing them with affection, and when he had thus taken -leave of Lindsay and the two Saintclaires— - -“Go,” said he faintly to them, “ye have done all for the Douglas that -humanity or friendship might require of ye; go, for Scotland lacketh -the aid of your arms. Leave me with Lundie; ’tis meeter for his hand to -close the eyes of his dying lord.” - -The brave knights looked their last upon him, covered their eyes and -stole silently away from a scene that entirely unmanned them. Lundie -took out a silver crucifix, and, bending over the Douglas, held it up -under a stream of moonlight that broke downwards through an opening in -the thick foliage above them. - -“I see it, Lundie,” said Douglas; “I see the image of my blessed -Redeemer. My sins have been many, but thou art already possessed of -them all. My soul doth fix herself on Him, in sincere repentance, and -in the strong hope of mercy through His merits.” - -The affectionate Lundie knelt by the Earl’s side, and whilst his own -wounds bled copiously, his tears were dropping fast on his dying -master. - -“I know thine inmost heart, Lord Douglas,” said he in a voice oppressed -by his grief; “thy hopes of Heaven may indeed be strong. Hast thou -aught of worldly import to command me?” - -“Margaret,” said Douglas in a voice scarcely audible, “my dearest -Margaret! Tell Moray to forget not our last private converse; and do -thou—do thou tell my wife that my last thought, my last word -was—Margaret!” - -His countenance began to change as Lundie gazed intently on it under -the moonbeam. The weeping chaplain hastily pronounced the absolution, -administered the consecrated wafer from a casket in his pocket, and -performed the last religious duties bestowed upon the dying, and the -heroic spirit of the Douglas took its flight to Heaven. - -The grief of Lindsay and the Saintclaires subdued them only whilst they -beheld the noble Douglas dying. No sooner had they left the thicket -where he lay, than, burning with impatience to revenge his death, they -hurried to the field. The younger Sir Patrick Hepborne had already -reared his fallen standard, and shouts of “Douglas! Douglas! Jamais -arriere!—A Douglas! a Douglas!” cleft the very skies. At this moment -the English were gaining ground upon the Scottish centre, but this -animating cry not only checked their retreat, but brought aid to them -from all quarters. Believing that the Douglas was still fighting in -person, down came the Earl of Moray, with Montgomery, Keith, the Lord -Saltoun, Sir Thomas Erskine, Sir John Sandilands, and many others, and -the shouts of “Douglas, Douglas!” being repeated with tenfold -enthusiasm, the charge against the English was so resistless that they -yielded before Scotland in every direction. Bravely was the banner of -Douglas borne by the gallant Hepborne, who took care that it should be -always seen among the thickest of the foes, well aware that the respect -that was paid to it would always ensure it the close attendance of a -glorious band of knights as its defenders. As he was pressing furiously -on, he suddenly encountered an English knight, on whom his vigorous -arm, heated by indiscriminate slaughter, was about to descend. The -knight had lost his casque in the battle; the moon shed its radiance -over a head of snow-white hair, and an accidental demivolt of his horse -bringing his countenance suddenly into view, he beheld Sir Walter de -Selby. - -“I thank God and the Virgin that thou art saved, old man,” cried -Hepborne, dropping his battle-axe “oh, why art thou here? Had I been -the innocent cause of thy death——” - -He would have said more, and he would moreover have staid to see him in -safety. But the press came thick at the moment, and they were torn -asunder; so that Hepborne, losing all sight of him in the melée, was -compelled to look to himself. - -And now, “A Douglas, a Douglas!” continued to run through the field, -and the English, thrown into complete confusion, were driven through -the baggage-camp at the place they had first entered, flying before the -Scottish forces. Hotspur alone stood to defend his brother, who was -lying on the ground grievously wounded. Harry Piersie had abandoned his -horse, and was standing over Sir Rafe, fighting bravely against a crowd -of Scottish men-at-arms, when Sir Hugh Montgomery, Sir John Maxwell, -and Sir William de Keith came up. - -“Yield thee,” said Sir Hugh Montgomery, “yield thee, noble Hotspur. God -wot, it were bitter grief to see so brave a heart made cold.” - -“And who art thou who would have the Hotspur yield?” cried Piersie. - -“I trust, Sir Harry Piersie, that to yield thee to Sir Hugh Montgomery -will do thee as little dishonour as may be,” replied the Scottish -Knight; “yield thee, then, rescue or no rescue.” - -“I do so yield to thee and fate, Sir Hugh Montgomery,” said Hotspur; -“but let my brother Rafe here have quick attendance, his wounds do well -out sorely, and his steel boots run over with his blood.” - -“Let him be prisoner to these gentlemen,” said Sir Hugh, turning to -Keith and Maxwell, “and let us straightway convoy him to the Scottish -camp.” - -The flying English were now driven far and wide, and day began to break -ere the pursuit slackened. Among those who followed the chase most -vehemently was Sir David Lindsay. Infuriated by the loss of the hero to -whom he was so devoted, he seemed to be insatiable in his vengeance. -Whilst he was galloping after the flying foe at sunrise, the rays, as -they shot over the eastern hill, were sent back with dazzling splendour -from the gold-embossed armour of a knight who had stopped at some -distance before him to slake his thirst at a fountain. He was in the -act of springing into the saddle as Lindsay approached; but the -Scottish warrior believing, from the richness of his armour, that he -was some one of noble blood, pushed after him so hard, and gained so -much upon him, that he was nearly within reach of him with his -lance-point. - -“Turn, Sir Knight,” cried Lindsay. “It is a shame thus to flee. I am -Sir David Lindsay. By St. Andrew, an thou turn not, I must strike thee -through with my lance.” - -But the English knight halted not; on the contrary, he only pricked on -the more furiously, and Lindsay’s keenness being but the more excited, -he followed him at full gallop for more than a league, until at last -the English knight’s horse, which had shot considerably ahead of his, -suddenly foundered under him. The rider instantly sprang to his legs, -and drew out his sword to defend himself. - -“I scorn to take unfair vantage of thee, Sir Knight,” said Lindsay, -dismounting from his horse, when he came up to him, and throwing down -his lance and seizing a small battle-axe that hung at his sadle-bow, he -ran at the English knight, and a well-contested single combat ensued -between them. But the weight of Lindsay’s weapon was too much for the -sword of the Englishman; and after their strokes had rung on each -other’s arms for a time, and that the Scot had bestowed some blows so -heavy that the plates of the mail began to give way under them— - -“I yield me, Sir David Lindsay,” cried the English knight, breathless -and ready to sink with fatigue; “I yield me, rescue or no rescue.” - -“Ha,” replied Lindsay, “’tis well. And whom, I pray thee, mayest thou -be who has cost me so long a chase, and contest so tough, ere I could -master thee?” - -“I am Sir Matthew Redman, Governor of Berwick,” replied the English -knight. - -“Gramercy, Sir Governor,” said Sir David Lindsay; “sit thee down, then, -with me on this bank, and let us talk a while. We seem to be both of us -somewhat toil-spent with this encounter, yea, and thy grey destrier and -my roan do seem to have had enow on’t as well as their masters. Behold -how they feed most peaceably together.” - -“Let us then imitate their example, good Sir Knight of Scotland,” said -Sir Matthew Redman. “I have a small wallet here, with some neat’s -tongue, and some delicate white bread; and this leathern bottle, though -it be small, hath a cordial in it that would put life into a dead man.” - -The two foes, who had so lately endeavoured to work each other’s death, -sat down quietly together and silently partook of the refreshment, and -then alternately applying the little leathern flask to their lips, they -talked in friendly guise of the result of the battle. - -“And now, Sir David of Lindsay,” said Redman, “I am thy prisoner, and -bound to obey thy will. But I have ever heard thee named as a courteous -knight, the which doth embolden me to make thee a proposal. I have a -certain lady at Newcastle, whom I do much love, and would fain see. If -thy generosity may extend so far, I shall be much beholden to thee if -thou wilt suffer me to go thither, to assure her of my safety, and to -bid her adieu; on which I do swear to thee, on the word of a knight, -that I will render myself to thee in Scotland within fifteen days -hence.” - -“Nay, now I do see, Sir Matthew,” said Lindsay archly—“now I do see -right well why thou didst ride so hard from the field; but I am content -to grant thee thy request; nay, if thou dost promise me, on the faith -of a knight, to present thyself to me at Edinburgh within three weeks -from the present time, it is enow.” - -“I do so promise,” replied Redman. And so shaking hands together, each -took his horse and mounted to pursue his own way. - -By this time a thick morning mist had settled down on the face of the -country, and Lindsay had hardly well parted from the prisoner ere he -perceived that he had lost his way. As he was considering how he should -recover it, he beheld a considerable body of horsemen approaching, and -believing them to be some of the Scottish army who had pushed on thus -far in the pursuit, he rode up to them with very great joy; but what -was his surprise when he found himself in the midst of some three or -four hundred English lances! - -“Who art thou, Sir Knight?” cried the leader, who, though clad in -armour, yet wore certain Episcopal badges about him that mightily -puzzled the Scottish knight. - -“I am Sir David Lindsay,” replied he; “but whom mayest thou be, I pray -thee?” - -“I am the Bishop of Durham,” replied the other; “thus far am I come to -give mine aid to the Piersie.” - -“Thine aid cometh rather of the latest, Sir Bishop,” replied Lindsay; -“for, certes, his army is routed with great slaughter, and he and his -brother Sir Rafe are prisoners in the Scottish camp.” - -“I have heard as much already from some of those who fled,” replied the -Bishop: “Quæ utilitas in sanguine meo? what good would my being killed -do my cousins the Piersie? Now I do haste me back again to Newcastle; -but thou must bear me company, Sir David.” - -“Sith thou dost say so, my sacred Lord,” replied Sir David, “I must of -needscost obey thee, for, backed as thou art, I dare not say thee nay. -Such is the strange fortune of war.” - -Sir David now rode towards Newcastle with the Bishop, and soon overtook -the large army which he commanded that was now returning thither. After -being fairly lodged within the walls of the town, the Bishop treated -him with the utmost kindness and hospitality, and left him to wander -about at his own discretion, rather like a guest than a prisoner. The -place was filled with mourning and lamentation, and every now and then -fresh stragglers, who had fled from the field of Otterbourne, were -dropping in to tell new tales of the grievous loss and mortifying -disgrace which had befallen the English arms. Murmurs began to rise -against the Bishop because he had not proceeded against the Scots, and -attempted the rescue of the Piersies. At all events, he might have -revenged their loss. The Bishop himself, too, began to be somewhat -ashamed that he should have retired so easily, and without so much as -looking on the Scottish army. At last he consented to summon a council -of war, and in it he was persuaded, by the importunity of the knights -and esquires who were present, to order immediate proclamation for the -assembling of his army, consisting of ten thousand men, to march long -before sunrise. - -“Verily, our foes shall be consumed,” said the Bishop, his courage -rising. “Si consistent adversum me castra non timebit cor meum. Let the -whole Scottish force be there, yet will my heart be bold for the -encounter.” - -After the council of war, the Bishop introduced Sir David Lindsay to -the guests who filled his house. The Scottish knight, so closely -connected with the Douglas, was courteously received by the English -chevaliers, who, though much cast down in reality by the failure of the -Piersies’ attempt, did their best to assume an air of gaiety before -him. They vied with one another who should show him greatest kindness. -Many were the questions put to him about the fate of the Douglas, but -he was too cautious to say anything that could lead them to believe -that he had fallen. - -The ladies crowded around him to satisfy their curiosity about the -particulars of the battle, and he answered them with becoming -gallantry. Among those who so addressed him was a lady in a veil, who -hung pensively on the arm of the Bishop, and whose figure bespoke her -young and handsome. After some general conversation with him, during -which she endeavoured to ascertain from him all that he knew as to what -English knights had been killed or taken— - -“Sir Knight,” said she, with a half-suppressed sigh, “I have heard of a -certain brave chevalier of Scotland who did distinguish himself in -France, Sir Patrick Hepborne, the younger of that name. Was he in the -bloody field? and hath he escaped unhurt, I pray thee?” - -“I do well know him, lady,” replied Sir David Lindsay. “To him, and to -his gallant father, was chiefly due the gaining of the glorious victory -the Scots did yesternight achieve over the bravest army that did ever -take the field. I saw him safe ere I left the fight. Proud might he be, -I ween, to be so inquired after by one so lovely as thou art.” - -“Nay,” said the lady, in some confusion, “I do but inquire to satisfy -the curiosity of a friend.” And so saying, she retreated towards the -protection of the Bishop of Durham, who seemed to take an especial -charge of her. - -Sir David Lindsay, for his part, to avoid being annoyed by further -questions, retired within the deep recess of a Gothic window, where he -sat brooding over the untimely fate of the Douglas, and weeping -inwardly at the blow that Scotland had sustained by his loss. He was -awakened from his reverie by a friendly tap on the shoulder. - -“Ha, Sir Matthew Redman!” said Lindsay, looking up with surprise. - -“Sir David de Lindsay!” cried Redman, with signs of still greater -astonishment; “what, in the name of the holy St. Cuthbert, dost thou -make here at Newcastle? Hath my cordial bottle bewildered thy brain so, -that thou hast fancied that it was I who took thee, not thou who took -me? Did I not promise thee, on the word of a knight, to go to thee at -Edinburgh? and thinkest thou that I would not have kept my word?” - -“Yea, Sir Matthew,” replied Lindsay, “I have full faith in thine -honour; but I believe there may now be little need that thou shouldst -journey so far, or make to me any fynaunce; for no sooner hadst thou -parted from me than I did fall into the hands of His Grace the Lord -Bishop of Durham, who hath brought me hither as his prisoner; and if ye -be so content, I do rather think we shall make an exchange, one for the -other, if it may so please the Bishop.” - -“God wot how gladly I shall do so,” replied Redman, shaking him -cordially by the hand; “but, by my troth, thou shalt not go hence until -thou hast partaken of my hospitality; so thou shalt dine with me -to-day, yea, and to-morrow alswa; and then we shall talk anon with the -Bishop, after which thou shalt have good safe-conduct for Scotland; -nay, I shall myself be thy guard over the Marches, yea, and moreover, -give thee hearty cheer in mine own good town of Berwick as thou dost -pass thither.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LX. - - The Bishop’s Army—Sorrow for the Fate of the Heroic Douglas. - - -The two brothers, the Earls of Dunbar and Moray, were now left to -command the Scottish army after the afflicting death of the Earl of -Douglas. Deeply as they grieved for him, they had but little leisure -for mourning, since every succeeding moment brought them in harassing -rumours that the Bishop of Durham was coming against them with a great -army. During the whole of the day succeeding the battle, and of the -night which followed it, they were so kept on the alert that they could -even do but little to succour the wounded or bury the dead. The -prisoners, however, among whom were many renowned knights, besides the -two Piersies, were treated with all that chivalric courtesy and -hospitality for which the age was so remarkable. Sir Rafe was -immediately despatched in a litter to Alnwick, that he might have the -benefit of such careful treatment as might be most likely to cure the -many and severe wounds he had received. - -After various false alarms, the second morning after the battle brought -back the scouts, who had been sent to follow the flying enemy, and to -gather what intelligence they might in the neighbourhood of Newcastle. -By these men they were informed of the proclamation which had been made -in the town, and of the proposed march of the Bishop of Durham’s large -army. A council of war was immediately held, and the opinion was -unanimous that they should remain where they were to receive the Bishop -in their present position, which they had already proved to be so -favourable for successful defence against superior numbers, rather than -march harassed as they were with a number of wounded and prisoners, and -with the risk of being overtaken in unfavourable ground. They -accordingly hastened to strengthen themselves in the best way they -could; and, as they had but little time for a choice of plans, they -piled up an abattis, formed of the dead bodies of the slain, on the top -of the broken rampart that stretched across between the flanking -marches, and defended the entrance to their position. - -Before the enemy appeared, a very serious question arose for the -consideration of the leaders. Their prisoners amounted to above a -thousand, and what was to be done with them? To have put them to death -would have been so barbarous that such an idea could not be entertained -for a moment in such times; yet, as their number was nearly equal to -half their little army, the danger they ran from their breaking loose -upon them during the fight, and even turning the tide of battle against -them, was sufficiently apparent to every one. At length, after much -debate and deliberation, it was generally resolved to trust them. They -were accordingly drawn up in the centre of the camp, and an oath -administered to them that they should not stir from the spot during the -ensuing battle, and that, be the result what it might, they should -still consider themselves as prisoners to Scotland. After this -solemnity, they left them slenderly guarded by some of the varlets and -wainmen, with perfect confidence that they would keep their oath. - -Then it was that the Earl of Dunbar thus encouraged his soldiers, after -having drawn them up behind their lines. - -“My brave Scots,” said he, “ye who have hardly yet well breathed sith -that ye did conquer the renowned Piersies of Northumberland, can have -little fear, I trow, to encounter a mitred priest. Verily, though his -host be great, it will be but two strokes when both shepherd and sheep -will be dispersed, and we shall teach this pastoral knight that it were -better for him to be a scourger of schoolboy urchins with birchen rods -than to essay thus, with the sword, to do battle against bearded -soldiers.” - -This speech was received with shouts by the little army to which it was -addressed, and, “Douglas, Douglas! revenge our brave, our beloved -Douglas!” was heard to break from every part of the line. The two Earls -had hardly completed their preparations, when the approach of the -Bishop of Durham’s army was announced. Orders were immediately issued -for each soldier to blow the horn he carried, and the loud and -discordant sound of these rude and variously-toned instruments being -re-echoed and multiplied from the hills, was distinctly audible at -several miles’ distance. It rung in the ears of the Bishop, and very -much appalled him. Had it not been for a spice of shame he felt, he -would have been disposed to have gone no farther; but the knights and -esquires who were with him were still sanguine in their hopes of -successfully attacking, with so large a force, the small army of the -Scots, wasted as it was by the recent bloody engagement. - -“Verily, it is a sinful thing to trust in the arm of flesh,” said the -Bishop, growing paler and paler. “Who knoweth what may be the issue of -the battle? Trust not in numbers. Non salvatur rex per multam virtutem; -even the bravery of a Bishop shall not always win the fight. Gigas non -salvabitur in multitudine virtutis suæ; even the courage of the -greatest of Churchmen shall not always prevail. Fallax equus ad -salutem; a horse is counted but a vain thing to save a man. St. -Cuthbert grant,” ejaculated he in a lower tone—“St. Cuthbert grant that -our steeds may be preserved.” - -The Bishop, however, dissembling his feelings as well as he could, -continued to advance in good order until he came within sight of the -Scots; when, beholding the strength of their position, and the horrible -bulwark of defence they had constructed with the heaps of the dead -bodies of the English whom they had already sacrificed, and listening -to their wild shrieks of defiance, mingled with the increased sound of -their horns, his blood froze within him, and he halted to reason with -those who had been so prone to attack the foe. But opinions had been -mightily changed in the course of a mile’s march. The knights and -esquires, who had been lately so bold, now listened with becoming -patience to the prudent arguments of their reverend leader; and when, -after a considerable halt, and holding a communication with the Castle -of Otterbourne, the Bishop did at last give the word for his army to -retreat, there was not a single voice lifted in condemnation of the -movement. - -When it was fully ascertained in the Scottish army that the retrograde -march of the English was no manœuvre, but a genuine retreat, a strong -guard of observation was planted, and orders were given to proceed with -the sad duty, already too long neglected, of collecting such of the -wounded as had lain miserably on the plain, without food or attention, -ever since they had fallen. Parties were also appointed to bury the -dead. - -The body of the heroic Douglas had never been deserted by the -affectionate Lundie, who, though himself grievously wounded, sat -watching it by the thicket where he died, until the termination of the -battle and the break of day enabled the Saintclaires, the Earl of -Moray, and the Hepbornes, to come to his aid. Then was his honoured -corpse carried to the camp; but it was not till after the departure of -the Bishop of Durham, that the Earls of Moray and Dunbar, accompanied -by the whole chivalry of the Scottish army, met together at night in -the pavilion of the Douglas. There—sad contrast to the happy night -which they had so lately spent in the same place, under the cheering -influence of his large, mild, and benignant eye!—they came to behold -his body laid out in state. It was attended, even in death, by those -who had never abandoned him in life. By the side of his bier lay his -brave son Archibald, who had so well fulfilled his last injunctions. At -his feet were stretched his two faithful esquires, who had so nobly -perished with their master. Near them stood Robert Hop Pringle, leaning -on the Douglas’s shield, who, having been separated from him in the -thickest press, had fought like a lion, vainly searching for him -through the field, and who now looked with an eye of mingled grief and -envy on his comrades. Richard Lundie too was there, wounded as he was, -to perform a solemn service for that soul with which he had long held -the closest and dearest converse. The place was dimly illuminated by -the red glare of numerous torches, held by some hardy soldiers, who, -though formed of the coarsest human clay, were yet unable to look -towards the bier where lay the body of their brave commander, whose -fearless heart had so often led them on to glory, without the big tears -running down the furrows of their weather-beaten cheeks. Those who were -tempered of finer mould, and whose rank had brought them into closer -contact with the Douglas, and, above all, those whom strict friendship -had bound to him, though they struggled hard to bear up like men, were -forced to yield to the feelings that oppressed them. So overpowering -indeed was the scene that Harry Piersie himself, who had craved -permission to be present, wept tears of unfeigned sorrow over the -remains of him who had been so lately his noble rival in the field of -fame. “Douglas,” said he with a quivering lip that marked the intensity -of his feelings, “what would I not give to see that lofty brow of thine -again illumined with the radiant sunshine of thy godlike soul? Accursed -be my folly—accursed be my foolish pride! Would that the curtailment of -half the future life of Hotspur could be given to restore and eke out -thine! God wot how joyously he would now make the willing sacrifice. -Thou hast not left thy peer in chivalry, and even Hotspur’s glory must -wane for lack of thee to contend with.” - -This generous speech of the noble Piersie deeply affected all present. -Sir Patrick Hepborne stole silently out of the tent to give way to his -emotions in private, and to breathe the invigorating breeze of the -evening, that sported among the dewy furze and the wild thyme that grew -on the side of the hill. The moon was by this time up. Hepborne looked -over the lower ground, that was now widely lighted up by her beams, -where the furious and deadly strife had so lately raged, and where all -was now comparatively still. The only signs of human life—and they -spoke volumes for its folly, its frailty, and its insignificance—were -the few torches that were here and there seen straggling about, carried -by those who were creeping silently to and fro, over the field of the -dead, looking for the bodies of their friends. - -Hepborne’s heart was already sufficiently attuned to sadness; and it -led him to descend the slope before him, that he might be a spectator -of the melancholy scene. As he wandered about from one busy group to -another, he met his esquire, Mortimer Sang, who, so actively engaged at -the beginning of the battle, had fortunately escaped, covered indeed -with wounds of little importance in themselves. His friend Roger -Riddel, who had been a good deal hurt, but who had been also fortunate -enough to survive an attack where it appeared almost impossible that a -mouse could have escaped with life, was with him. They were employed in -the pious duty of looking for some of their friends who had not -appeared. After they had turned over many an unknown and nameless -corpse, and many a body whose face had been familiar to them, on each -of whom Roger Riddel had some short and pithy remark to bestow, they at -last discovered the well-set form of Ralpho Proudfoot. - -“Good fellow, thy pride is laid low, I well wot,” cried Roger Riddel, -as he held up the head of the dead man to the light of the torch, and -discovered who he was. - -The same haughty expression that always characterised him still sat -upon his forehead in death; his eyebrows were fiercely knit and his lip -curled. His battle-axe was firmly grasped with both his hands, and a -heap of English dead lay around him. He had fallen across the body of a -Scottish man-at-arms, and on turning him up, Hepborne was shocked to -behold the features of Robert Lindsay. - -“Ah me!” cried Roger Riddel; “what will become of thine ould father, -Robin.” - -“Robert Lindsay!” said Sang—“Blessed Virgin!—no—it cannot be—ay—there -is indeed that open countenance of truth the which was never moved with -human wrath or wickedness. This is indeed a bitter blow to us all; and -as for his poor father, as thou sayest, Roger, Heaven indeed knows how -the old man may stand it, for poor Robert here was the only hope and -comfort of his life. Let me but clip a lock of his hair, and take from -his person such little trinkets as may peraunter prove soothing, though -sad memorials, to the afflicted Gabriel.” - -“Alas, poor Robert Lindsay!—alas for poor Gabriel!” was all that -Hepborne’s full heart could utter, as recollections of home, and of his -boyish days, crowded upon him until his eyes ran over. - -The position in which their bodies were found sufficiently explained -that Lindsay and Proudfoot had been fighting side by side in the midst -of a cloud of foes. Lindsay had fallen first, and Proudfoot had stood -over him, defending his dying friend, until, overpowered by numbers, he -had been stretched across him, covered with mortal wounds. Near him lay -the body of an English knight, and some of those who knew him declared -him to be Sir Miers de Willoughby. - -Hepborne saw that a grave was dug to contain the bodies of Lindsay and -Proudfoot, and he himself assisted the esquires in depositing them in -the earth, locked in each other’s embrace. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LXI. - - The Field of Otterbourne after the Fight. - - -After Sir Patrick Hepborne had assisted to perform the last sad duties -to the remains of Robert Lindsay and Ralpho Proudfoot, his attention -was caught by the appearance of a solitary cluster of lights on the -distant part of the field, where the slaughter of the English had been -greatest. Curiosity led him to approach, when he perceived that they -were borne by a party who followed a bier, that was slowly carried in -the direction of Otterbourne Castle. Advancing to a point which they -must necessarily pass, he saw, as the procession drew nearer, that the -bier was supported by some English spearmen, and that it was followed -by a group of women. - -Hepborne’s attention was particularly attracted by a lady in the midst -of them, who walked with her head veiled in the folds of her mantle, -and seemed to be deeply affected by that grief in which the others only -sympathised. She took her mantle from her head, and threw her eyes -upwards as if in inward ejaculation. Sir Patrick started, for he beheld -that very countenance the charms of which, though seen but by glimpses -at Norham, had made too deep an impression upon his heart ever to be -forgotten; but now they seemed to be more than ever familiar to him, as -he was disposed to believe, from their frequent presence to the eye of -his imagination. He gazed in silent rapture. The strong resemblance -between his page Maurice de Grey and the lady now struck him the more -powerfully, that he had a full opportunity of perusing every trait; he -was confounded; the mantle dropped over the alabaster forehead, and the -countenance was again shrouded from his eyes. The procession moved on, -and he followed, almost doubting whether it was not composed of -phantoms, until it approached the gate of the Castle of Otterbourne, -where the captain of the place, attended by his garrison, appeared to -receive it. Still Hepborne had difficulty in convincing himself that -the whole was not a waking vision—a belief warranted by the -superstition of his country. It slowly entered the gateway. The lady in -whom he felt so deep an interest was about to disappear. He could bear -suspense no longer. - -“Lady Eleanore de Selby—Lady de Vere,” cried he, in a frantic voice. - -The lady started at the sound of it, threw back the mantle from her -head, and cast her eyes around in strong agitation, until they glanced -on Hepborne’s face, when she uttered a faint scream, and fell back -senseless into the arms of her attendants, who crowded around her, and -hastily bore her within the gateway of the Castle, the defences of -which being immediately closed, she was shut from his straining sight. - -Hepborne stood for some time in a state of stupefaction ere he could -muster sufficient self-command to return to his tent. The abrupt -termination of the scene, which still remained fresh on his mind, -almost convinced him of the accuracy of his conjecture as to its having -been some strange supernatural appearance he had beheld. He slowly -found his way to his friends, his soul vexed by a thousand contending -conjectures and perplexities, which he found it impossible to satisfy -or reconcile. - -Meanwhile Mortimer Sang, who had been earnestly searching for the body -of Rory Spears, of whose death he had begun to entertain great -apprehensions, was surprised by the appearance of a damsel, whom he saw -bearing a torch and bitterly weeping. - -“Holy St. Andrew!” exclaimed he; “Katherine Spears, can it be thee in -very body—or is it thy wraith I behold? Speak, if thou be’st flesh and -blood—for the love of the Holy Virgin, speak.” - -“Oh, dear Master Sang,” cried Katherine, running to him and proving by -the gripe that she took of his arm, that she was indeed something -corporeal, “the blessed St. Mary be praised that I have met with thee; -thank Heaven, thou art safe at least. But, oh, tell me, tell me, hast -thou seen aught of my dear father? Hath he ’scaped this dreadful field -of death?” - -“Thy father, I trust, is well,” replied Sang, much perplexed; “but how, -in the name of all that is wonderful, didst thou come here?” - -“I came with an English lady, who is now at the Castle of Otterbourne,” -replied Katherine evasively. “But, oh, tell me, tell me, I entreat -thee,” said the poor girl, earnestly seizing his hand, “tell me, hast -thou seen my father sith the fight was over?” - -“He hath not appeared since the battle,” said Sang in a half-choked -voice, and with considerable hesitation; “but we trust he may be -prisoner with the English, for as yet we have searched for him in vain -among the slain scattered over the field. Yes,” continued he, in a -firmer and more assured tone, as he observed the alarm that was taking -possession of her; “yes, he hath not been found—and as he hath not been -found, dear Katherine, it is clear that he must be a -prisoner—so—and—and so thou wilt soon see him again; for as there must -be a truce, the few prisoners ta’en by the English must speedily be -sent home again.” - -“Nay, but do they seek him still, Sir Squire?” cried Katherine, but -little satisfied with this attempt of Sang’s to soothe her -apprehension. “Alas, I must seek for him.” - -“Nay, this is no scene for thee, dear Katherine,” replied Sang; “return -I pray thee to the Castle, and I will search, and thou shalt quickly -know all.” - -“Try not to hinder me, Sir Squire,” replied Katherine; “I will go seek -for my father. I have already seen enow of those grim and ghastly faces -not to fear in such a cause.” - -“Then shall I go with thee, Katherine,” cried Sang, seeing her -determination. “Here, lean upon mine arm.” - -When they came into the thickest part of the field of slaughter, -Katherine shuddered and shrank as they moved aside, from time to time, -to shun the heaps of slain. Sang looked everywhere for his comrade -Roger Riddel, and at last happily met him; but, alas! Riddel could give -no intelligence of him they sought for. By this time they had -approached the abattis of dead bodies which had been so hastily piled -up for defence against the expected attack of the Bishop of Durham. - -“Come not this way, Katherine,” cried Sang; “this rampart of the dead -is horrible.” - -Katherine’s heart was faint within her at the sight; she stopped and -turned away, when, just at that moment, her ear caught the whining of a -dog at a little distance. - -“That voice was Oscar’s,” cried she eagerly. “Oh, let us hasten, my -father may be there.” - -They followed her steps with the lights, and there she beheld her -father lying on the ground, grievously wounded, and half dead with want -and loss of blood. Luckily for him, poor Oscar had been accidentally -let out at the time that Sang and Riddel went forth to search among the -slain, and having sought more industriously for his master than all the -rest, he had discovered the unhappy Rory Spears built into the wall of -the dead. Rory had fallen before the tremendous charge made by the -English, when they burst through the line of entrenchment, where he had -fought like a lion himself, and inspired a something more than human -courage into those around him. Having lost his basinet, he had received -a severe cut on the head, besides many other wounds, which affected him -not. But the thrust of a lance through his thigh was that which brought -him to the ground; after which, he was nearly trampled to death by the -rush of English foot and horsemen that poured over him. During the time -that had passed since he was laid low, he had fainted repeatedly, and -had been for hours insensible to his sufferings. Whilst lying in one of -his mimic fits of death, he had been taken up by some of those who were -employed in heaping the slain into a rampart, and who, having little -leisure for minute examination, had made use of him as part of its -materials. Fortunately his head was placed outwards, so that when he -recovered he was enabled to breathe, and consequently was saved from -suffocation. Oscar had no sooner found him than, seizing the neck of -his haqueton with his teeth, he pulled him gently out upon the plain. - -“My father, my dear father!” cried Katherine Spears, running to support -him, and much affected by the sight of his wan visage, the paleness of -which, together with his sunken eye, showed more ghastly from the blood -that had run down in such profusion from his wound, that the very -colour of his beard was changed, and the hairs of it matted together by -it. - -“What dost thou here, Kate?” demanded Rory, in a firmer voice than his -appearance would have authorized the bystanders to have expected from -him; “sure this be no place for a silly maiden like thee.” - -“Oh, father, father,” cried Katherine, embracing him, and doing her -best to assist Sang in raising him up by the shoulders; “the holy -Virgin be praised that thou art yet alive.” - -“Alive!” answered Rory; “troth, I’m weel aware that I’m leevin, for -albeit that the agony o’ my head wad gi’e me peace enow to let me -believe that I had really depairted in real yearnest, the very hunger -that ruggeth so cruelly at my inside wad be enew to keep me in mind -that I was still belonging to this warld. For the sake o’ the gude -Saint Lawrence, Maister Sang, gar ane o’ them chields rin and see gif -Mrs. Margaret MacCleareye can gi’e me a bit o’ cauld mutton or sike -like, and a wee soup yill. Tell the woman I’ll pay her for the score o’ -yestreen and a’ thegither. But, aboon a’ thing, see that they mak -haste, or I’ll die ere they come back. What sould I hae done an it -hadna been for the gude wife’s wee bit supper afore we fell to!” - -Sang immediately despatched one of the camp followers who was standing -by, and who quickly returned with the melancholy intelligence that Mrs. -MacCleareye’s frail hut had been levelled with the earth by the -press—that her provender had been scattered and pillaged—that her ale -barrels had been rolled away and emptied—and that she herself had also -disappeared. - -“Hech me,” cried Rory, altogether forgetful of his own craving stomach; -“poor woman, I’m sorry for her loss; aboon a’, it erketh me sair that I -paid her not her dues yestreen. But, an a’ live, she or her heirs shall -hae it, as I’m a true esquire. But, och, I’m faunt!” - -“Take some of this, Master Spears,” cried Mortimer Sang, holding a -leathern bottle to Rory’s mouth, and pouring a few drops of a cordial -into it. - -“Oich, Maister Sang, that is reveeving!” said Rory. “A wee drap mair, -for the love o’ St. Lowry. Mercy me! Weel, it’s an evil thing after a’ -to be killed in battle (as I may be allowed to judge, I rauckon, wha -has been half killed), was it no for the glory that is to be gotten by -it. But to be cut down and then travelled ower like a mercat-causey, -and then to be biggit up like a lump o’ whinstane intil a dyke—ay, and -that, too, for the intent o’ haudin out the yenemy, and saving the -craven carcages o’ ither fouk, and a’ to keep the dastard sauls in -chields that ane is far frae liking as weel as ane’s sell—troth, -there’s onything but honour or pleasure in’t to my fancy.” - -“Uve, uve! sore foolish speech, Maister Spears,” said a voice from the -heap of dead bodies. “Great pleasures and high honours in troth, sure, -sure.” - -“Captain MacErchar!” cried Sang. “Run, Roger, and yield him relief.” - -Squire Riddel hastened to the assistance of MacErchar, and drew forth -his great body from the place it had occupied in the bottom of the -fortification, where the skilful architect had, with much judgment, -made use of him as a substantial foundation. His history had been -something similar to that of Rory Spears, and he had not suffered less -from wounds. He was brought forward and placed on a bank beside Rory, -and a portion of Squire Sang’s life-inspiring bottle was given to him -with the happiest effect. - -“Hech me,” cried Spears, looking round with great compassion on his -companion in glory and misfortune—“hech me, Captain MacErchar, wha -sould hae thought that thou wert sae near? Had we but kenn’d we mought -hae had a crack thegither, albeit hardly sae cosy as in Mrs. -MacCleareye’s. Troth, I was sair weary and lonesome wi’ lying, and even -the converse o’ the sagaciousome brute there was a comfort to me. This -is but ane evil way o’ weeting a squireship. We sould hae done it in -ane ither gate, I rauckon, had the English chields but defaured a wee. -But I trust that neither have you disgraced your captaincy nor I my -squireship. I saw you fighting like a very incarnate deevil, ay, and -sending the Southrons back frae the rampyre like raquet ba’s frae a -wa’, though it may be premeesed that nane o’ them ever stotted again.” - -“Ouch ay, troth ay,” replied MacErchar, “it was a bonnie tuilzie, -Maister Spears. She did her pairts both—both, both. Ou ay; it was a -great pleasures, in troth, to see her chap the chields on the crown.” - -“Poor Oscar, poor man,” said Rory, patting his dog’s head as he put his -nose towards his face to claim his share of his master’s attention; -“troth, I maun say that thou didst do me a good turn this blessed -night. I was just thinking as I lay here that as I must now bear the -proper armorial device of ane esquire, I sould take the effigy of ane -allounde couchant beside his master sejant, with this motto, ‘Fair fa’ -the snout that pu’d me out.’” - -“How couldst thou think of such things, my dear father, whilst thou -didst lie in plight so pitiful!” cried Katherine Spears. - -“Troth, I had naething else to think o’, ye silly maiden, but that or -hunger,” said Rory; “and that last, I’ll promise thee, was a sair sharp -thought. And, by St. Lowry, it doth sore sting me at this precious -moment.” - -“Uve, uve! sore hungry—sore hungry,” cried MacErchar. - -“Nay, then, let us hasten to carry both of them to camp without further -let,” cried Sang. - -“Come, bestir ye, varlets,” said he to a crowd of camp-followers who -were standing near; “lend us your aid.” - -“Nay,” said Katherine, “my father must be carried to Otterbourne -Castle.” - -“Otterbourne Castle!” cried Rory; “what mean ye, silly quean?” - -Katherine bent over him, and put her mouth to his ear to whisper him. - -“Ay—aweel—poor thing!—very right—an it maun be sae, it just maun,” said -he, after hearing what she had to say. “Aweel, Maister Sang, ye maun -just tell the Yearl that as I can be o’ nae mair service in fighting at -this present time, I may as weel gae till the Castle o’ Otterbourne as -ony ither gate to be leeched, mair especially as it is my belief that -kitchen physic will be the best physic for me. Tell him that I’m gaun -there wi’ my dochter Kate till a friend of his, and that he sall ken a’ -about it afterhend.” - -Rory was accordingly carried straight to Otterbourne Castle, whither -the gallant Mortimer Sang accompanied Katherine. Their parting at the -gate was tender—but he could wring nothing from her that could -elucidate the mystery of her present conduct. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LXII. - - Withdrawal of the Scots Army—Obsequies of the Gallant Dead—The - Mystery solved. - - -Although the morning sun rose bright and cheerful upon Otterbourne, yet -were its rays incapable of giving gladness to those in the Scottish -camp. The little army of heroes had gained a great and glorious -victory, but they had dearly paid for it in the single death of -Douglas. There was, therefore, more of condolence than of exultation -among them, as they gave each other good morrow. They broke up their -encampment with silence and sorrow, and marched off towards Scotland, -under the united command of the Earls of Moray and Dunbar, with the -solemn pace and fixed eyes of men who followed some funeral pageant; -indeed, it was so in fact; for at the head of the main body of the army -was the car that carried the coffin of the Douglas. Before it was borne -his banner, that “Jamais Arriere” which, in the hands of Sir Patrick -Hepborne the younger, had so happily turned the fate of the battle; -and, in compliment to the gallant young knight, it was his esquire, -Mortimer Sang, to whom the honour of carrying it was assigned. Behind -it came the fatal pennon of Piersie, which had been the cause of so -much waste of human life, and around the machine were clustered all -those brave knights who had lately looked up to the hero for the -direction of their every movement—at whose least nod or sign they would -have spurred to achieve the most difficult and dangerous undertakings, -and whose applause was ever considered by them as their highest reward. -The life and soul of the army seemed now to have departed. They hung -their heads, and marched on, rarely breaking the silence that -prevailed, except to utter some sad remark calculated to heighten the -very sorrow that gave rise to it. - -The last of their columns disappeared from the ground, and when -Katherine Spears and the lady on whom she attended cast their eyes over -it from the window of the tower in the Castle of Otterbourne, it was -again as much a scene of peace as if no such fierce warfare had ever -disturbed it. Huge heaps, and long lines, indeed, marked the places -under which hundreds of those who had merrily marched thither now -reposed, Scot and Englishman, in amity together. The ruined huts and -broken-down entrenchments too were still visible; but the daisies and -the other little flowers that enamelled the field, refreshed by the -morning dew, had again raised their crushed heads, and the timid flocks -and herds which had been scared by the din of arms, had again ventured -forth from the covert whither they had been driven, and were innocently -pasturing on the very spot where heroes had been so lately contending -in the mortal strife. The lady, however, suffered her attention to be -occupied with these objects for a brief space only ere she returned to -perform her melancholy task of watching by those beloved remains she -had so piously rescued from the promiscuous heaps of slaughter that -covered the battle-field. She again sought the Chapel of the Castle, -where lay the brave old knight Sir Walter de Selby, for it was he who, -having met with some less merciful foe than Sir Patrick Hepborne, had -been cut down in the melée. The mortal wound now gaped wide on his -venerable head, and the beauty of his silver hair was disfigured with -clotted gore. The tears of her who now seated herself by his bier fell -fast and silently, as she bent over that benignant countenance now no -longer animated by its generous spirit. Now it was she recalled all -that affection so largely exhibited towards her from her very -childhood. His faults had at this moment disappeared from her memory, -and as the more remarkable instances of his kindness arose in -succession, she gave way to that feeling natural to sensitive minds on -such occasions, and bitterly accused herself of having but ill requited -them. - -The body of Sir Walter remained in the Castle of Otterbourne for -several days, until proper preparations were made there and at Norham -for doing it the honours due to the remains of so gallant a knight, and -one who had enjoyed so important a command. After the escort was ready, -the lady parted with much sorrow from Katherine Spears, whose father -was yet unable to bear the motion of a journey. She commended both to -the especial protection of the Captain of the Castle, and then hastily -seating herself in her horse-litter to hide her grief from observation, -the funeral procession moved away. - -It was long after the sunset of the second day, that the troops of the -garrison of Norham, under the Lieutenant Oglethorpe, marched out in sad -array to meet the corpse of their late governor. Clad in all the -insignia of woe, and each soldier bearing a torch in his hand, they -halted on the high ground over the village, and rested in mute and -sorrowful expectation of the approach of the funeral train. Lights -appeared slowly advancing from a distance, and the dull chanting of -voices and the heavy measured tread of men were heard. The coffin had -already been removed from the car in which it had hitherto been -carried, and four priests who had gone to meet it, one of them bearing -a crucifix aloft, now appeared walking bareheaded before it, and -chanting a hymn. The coffin itself was sustained on the shoulders of a -band of men-at-arms, who accompanied it from Otterbourne; and after it -came the horse litter of the lady, attended by a train of horsemen who -rode with their lances reversed. Among these, alas! no man belonging to -the deceased was to be seen, for all had perished with him in the -field. - -When the procession had reached the spot where the troops from Norham -were drawn up to receive it, those who formed it halted, and the -bearers, resigning their burden to the chief officers of the garrison, -fell back to join their fellows. One-half of the soldiers of the Castle -then moved on before the body, whilst the other half filed in behind -the lady’s litter, and the men of Otterbourne were left to close up the -rear of the pageant. - -As they descended the hill, the inhabitants of the village turned out -to gaze on the imposing spectacle; and after it had passed by, they -followed to witness the last obsequies of one whose military pomp had -often delighted their eyes, and the hardy deeds of whose prime were -even now in every man’s mouth. - -Having reached the entrance to the church, the soldiers formed a double -line up to the great door, each man leaning upon his lance, in grief -that required no acting. The lady descended from her litter. With her -head veiled, and her person enveloped in black drapery, she leaned upon -the arm of Lieutenant Oglethorpe, and followed the body with tottering -steps and streaming eyes into the holy fane. The church was soon filled -by the Norham soldiery, ranked up thickly around it, the blaze of the -torches pierced into the darkest nook of its Gothic interior, and the -solemn ceremony proceeded. - -The lady had wound up her resolution to the utmost, that she might -undergo the trying scene without flinching. She stood wonderfully -composed, with her eyes cast upon the ground, endeavouring to fix her -thoughts on the service for the dead, which the priests were chanting; -when, chancing to look up, her attention was suddenly caught by the -figure of a Franciscan monk, who, elevated on the steps of the altar, -stood leaning earnestly forward from behind a Gothic pillar that half -concealed him, his keen eyes fixed upon her with a marked intensity of -gaze. Her heart was frozen within her by his very look, and, uttering a -faint scream, she swooned away, and would have fallen on the pavement -but for the timely aid of Oglethorpe and those who were present. Dismay -and confusion followed. The ceremonial was interrupted; and the -bystanders believing that her feelings had been too deeply affected by -the so sad and solemn spectacle, hastened to remove her from the scene, -so that she was quickly conveyed to her litter, and escorted to the -Castle. - -The funeral rites were hurried over, and the body was committed to the -silent vault, with no other witnesses than the officiating priests, the -populace, and such of the officers and soldiers as had been bound to -the deceased by some strong individual feeling of affection, and who -now pressed around the coffin, to have the melancholy satisfaction of -assisting in its descent. - -While the remains of Sir Walter de Selby were conveying from -Otterbourne Castle, the Scottish Nobles and Knights who had accompanied -the body of the Douglas were engaged in assisting at the obsequies of -that heroic Earl at Melrose. All that military or religious pomp could -devise or execute was done to honour his remains, and many a mass for -the peace of his soul was sung by the pious monks of its abbey. The -brave Scottish Knights surrounded his tomb in silence and sorrow, all -forgetting that they had gained a victory, and each feeling that he had -lost a private friend in him whose body they had consigned to the -grave. - -It was only that morning that Sir Patrick Hepborne had heard -accidentally from his esquire the particulars of his unexpected meeting -with Katherine Spears; and this information, added to those -circumstances which had so strangely occurred to himself, determined -him to proceed to Norham the very next day, where he hoped to unravel -the mystery that had been gradually thickening around him. The truce -that had been already proclaimed ensured his safety, so that he entered -the court-yard of the Norham Tower Hostel with perfect confidence. -Although Hepborne and his esquire came after it was dark, the quick eye -of Mrs. Kyle immediately recognized them; and, conscious of the share -she had had in the treachery so lately attempted against them, she took -refuge in the innermost recesses of the kitchen part of the building. -But Sang was determined not to spare her, and, after searching -everywhere, he at last detected her in her concealment, from which he -led her forth in considerable confusion. - -“So, beautiful Mrs. Kyle,” said he, “so thou wert minded to have done -our two noble knights and their humbler esquires a handsome favour, -truly, the last time they did honour thy house? By St. Andrew, we -should have made a pretty knot dangling from the ramparts of Norham.” - -“Nay, talk not so, Sir Squire,” replied the hostess in a whining tone; -“it was the wicked Sir Miers de Willoughby who did bribe me to put ye -all in his power. And then he did never talk of aught else but the -ransom for thy liberty; and in truth, love did so blind me that I -thought no more of the matter. But I trow I am well enow punished for -my folly; for here he came, and by his blazons and blandishments, he -did so overmatch me that he hath ta’en from me, by way of borrow (a -borrow, I wis, that will never come laughing home again), many a -handful of the bonny broad pieces my poor husband Sylvester, that is -gone, did leave me. Yet natheless have I enow left to make any man -rich; and when Ralpho Proudfoot doth return frae the wars——” - -“Poor Ralpho Proudfoot will never return,” said Sang, interrupting her, -in a melancholy tone; “these hands did help to lay him in the earth.” - -“Poor Ralpho,” cried Mrs. Kyle, lifting her apron to a dry eye, “poor -Proudfoot! He was indeed a proper pretty man. But verily,” added she, -with a deep sigh, whilst at the same time she threw a half-reproachful, -half-loving glance at Sang, “verily, ’twere better, perhaps, for a poor -weak woman to think no more of man, seeing all are deceivers alike. -Wilt thou step this gate, Sir Squire, and taste my Malvoisie? Or wilt -thou—” - -“What tramp of many feet is that I hear in the village?” demanded Sang, -interrupting her. - -“’Tis nought but the burying o’ our auld Captain o’ Norham,” replied -Mrs. Kyle; “I trust that we sall have some right gay and jolly knight -to fill his boots. Auld de Selby was grown useless, I wot. Gi’e me some -young rattling blade that will take pleasure in chatting to a bonny -buxom quean when she comes in his way. I haena had a word frae the auld -man for this I kenna how lang, but a rebuke now and then for the -deboshing o’ his men-at-arms, the which was more the fault o’ my good -ale than o’ me. But where are ye running till, Master Sang?—Fye on him, -he’s away.” - -Sang did indeed hasten to tell his master of the passing funeral -procession, and Hepborne ran out to follow it. It had already reached -the church, and by the time he got to the door the interior was so -filled that it was only by immense bodily exertion that he squeezed -himself in at a small side door. His eyes immediately caught the figure -of the lady, and there they rested, unconscious of all else. The moment -she lifted her head he recognized the features of Maurice de Grey and -of her whom he had seen on the battle-field of Otterbourne. But her -fainting allowed him not a moment for thought. The crowd of men-at-arms -between him and the object of his solicitude bid defiance to all his -efforts to reach her, and ere he could regain the open air her litter -was already almost out of sight. - -“Poor soul,” said a compassionate billman, who had been looking -anxiously after it, “thou hast indeed good cause to be afflicted. -Verily, thou hast lost thy best friend.” - -“Of whom dost thou speak, old man?” demanded Hepborne eagerly. - -“Of the poor Lady Beatrice, who was carried to the Castle but now,” -replied the man. - -“What saidst thou?” demanded Hepborne; “Lady Beatrice! Was not that the -daughter of thy deceased governor? was not that the Lady Eleanore de -Selby, now the Lady de Vere?” - -“Nay, Sir Knight, that she be not,” replied the man, “nouther the one -nor the other, I wot; and if I might adventure to speak it, I would say -that there be those who do think that the Lady Eleanore de Selby, now -the Lady de Vere, hath no small spice of the devil in her composition, -whilst the Lady Beatrice is well known to all to be an angel upon -earth.” - -“Who is she, and what is her history, my good fellow?” demanded -Hepborne, slipping money into his hand. - -“Meseems thou art a stranger, Sir Knight, that thou knowest not the -Lady Beatrice,” said the man; “but I can well satisfy thy curiosity, -seeing I was with good Sir Walter in that very Border raid during which -she did become his. Our men had driven the herds and flocks from a hill -on the side of one of the streams of Lammermoor, when, as we passed by -the cottage of the shepherd who had fed them, his wife, with an infant -in her arms, and two or three other children around her, came furiously -out to attack Sir Walter with her tongue, as he rode at the head of his -lances. ‘My curse upon ye, ye English loons!’ cried she bitterly; ‘no -content wi’ the sweep o’ our master’s hill, ye hae ta’en the bit cow -that did feed my poor bairns. Better take my wee anes too, for what can -I do wi’ them?’ A soldier was about to quiet her evil tongue by a -stroke of his axe. ‘Fye on thee,’ said Sir Walter; ‘what, wouldst thou -murder the poor woman? Her rage is but natural. Verily, our prey is -large enow without her wretched cow.’ And then, turning to her with a -good-natured smile on his face, ‘My good dame, thou shalt have thy -cow.’ And the beast was restored to her accordingly. ‘The Virgin’s -blessing be on thee, Sir Knight,’ said the woman. ‘And now,’ said Sir -Walter, ‘by’r Lady, I warrant me thou wouldst have ill brooked my -taking thee at thy word. Marry, I promise thee,’ continued he, pointing -to a beautiful girl of five years, apparently her eldest child, ‘marry, -I’ll warrant me thou wouldst have grudged mightily to have parted with -that bonny face?’ ‘Nay, I do indeed love Beatrice almost as well as she -were mine own child, albeit I did only nurse her,’ replied the dame; -‘but of a’ the bairns, she, I wot, is the only one that I could part -with.’ ‘Is she not thy child, then?’ said Sir Walter; ‘whose, I -pr’ythee, may she be?’ ‘That is what I canna tell thee, Sir Knight,’ -replied the woman. ‘It is now about four years and a-half sith that a -young lordling came riding down the glen. He was looking for a nurse, -and the folk did airt him to me, who had then lost my first-born babe. -He put this bairn, whom he called Beatrice, into my arms, and a purse -into my lap, and away he flew again, saying that he would soon be back -to see how the bairn throve. The baby was richly clad, so methought it -must be some fair lady’s stolen love-pledge. But I hae never seen him -sithence, nor need I ever look for him now. And troth, Robby and I hae -enew o’ hungry mouths to feed withouten hers, poor thing—ay, and maybe -a chance o’ mair.’ ‘Wilt thou part with the child to me, then?’ said -Sir Walter; ‘I have but one daughter, who is of her age, and I would -willingly take this beauteous Beatrice to be her companion.’ The poor -woman had many scruples, but her husband, who now ventured to show -himself, had none; and, insisting on his wife’s compliance, Beatrice -was brought home with us to Norham, adopted by the good Sir Walter, and -has ever been treated by him sithence as a second daughter. What -marvel, then, Sir Knight, that she should swoon at his burying?” - -Light now broke in at once on Sir Patrick Hepborne. As we have seen in -the opening chapter of our story, he was struck, even in the twilight, -by the superior manner and attractions of the lady who had lost her -hawk, and whose gentle demeanour had led him to conclude that she was -the Lady Eleanore de Selby, of whose charms he had heard so much. -Having been thus mistaken at first, he naturally went on, from all he -heard and saw afterwards, and especially in the interviews he had at -Norham, with her who now turned out to have been the companion of the -Lady Eleanore de Selby, to mislead himself more and more. He returned -to his inn to ruminate on this strange discovery; but be the beautiful -Beatrice whom she might, he had loved her, and her alone, and he felt -that his passion now became stronger than ever. His mind ran hastily -over past events; he at once suspected that his inconsiderate jealousy -had been, in fact, awakened by accidentally beholding an interview -between the real Eleanore de Selby and her lover, and he cursed his -haste that had so foolishly hurried him away from Norham; he remembered -the fair hand that had waved the white scarf as he was crossing the -Tweed; he recalled the countenance, the behaviour, and the conversation -of his page, Maurice de Grey; he kissed the emerald ring which he wore -on his finger; and his heart was drowned in a rushing tide of wild -sensations, where hope and joy rose predominant. His generous soul -swelled with transport at the thought of being the protector of her -whom he now adored, and whom he now found, at the very moment she was -left, as he believed, in a state of utter destitution. His impatience -made him deplore that decency forbade his visiting the Lady Beatrice -that night, but he resolved to seek for an audience of her early the -next morning. - -At such hour, then, as a lady could be approached with propriety, he -despatched his esquire on an embassy to the Castle. He had little fear -of the result, from what had already passed between them; but what was -his mortification to learn that the Lady Beatrice had been gone from -Norham for above five or six hours, having set out during the night on -some distant journey, whither no one in the Castle could divine. - -It is impossible to paint the misery of Sir Patrick Hepborne. Hope had -been wound up to the highest pitch, and the most grievous -disappointment was the issue. He was so much beside himself that he was -little master of his actions, and Mortimer Sang was obliged to remind -him of the necessity of returning immediately to Melrose, to join his -father, who, with the other Scottish nobles and knights, had resolved -to stay there for the space of three days ere they should separate. - -The warriors parted, with solemn vows uttered over the grave of the -Douglas; and Sir Patrick Hepborne and his son, accompanied by the Earl -of Moray, Assueton, Halyburton, and a number of other knights, set out -for Hailes Castle. The Lady Isabelle was ready to receive them on their -arrival. She sprang into the court-yard to clasp her father and her -brother to her bosom; and although modesty and maiden bashfulness -checked those manifestations of love towards her knight with which her -heart overflowed, yet, as he kissed her hand, her cheeks flushed, and -her eyes sparkled with a delight that could not be mistaken. - -Among those who came out to welcome the war-like party was old Gabriel -Lindsay. Leaning on his staff on the threshold, he eagerly scanned each -face that came near him with his dim eyes. - -“Where is my gallant boy?” cried he. “I trow he need seldom fear to -show his head where valorous deads hae been adoing; he hath had his -share o’ fame, I warrant me. Ha, Master Sang, welcome home. Where -loitereth my gallant boy Robin? he useth not to be so laggard in -meeting his old father, I wot. A plague on these burnt-out eyes of -mine, I canna see him nowhere.” - -“Who can undertake the task of breaking poor Robert’s death to the old -man?” cried Sang, turning aside from him in the greatest distress. -“Sure I am that I would rather face the fierce phalanx of foes that did -work his brave son’s death than tell him of the doleful tidings.” - -“Where hast thou left Robin, Master Sang?” said the doting old man -again. “Ah, there he is; nay, fye on my blindness, that be’s Richie -Morton. Sure, sure my boy was never wont to be laggard last; ’twas but -the last time he came home with Sir John Assueton that he had his arms -round my ould neck or ever I wist he was at hand; he thought, forsooth, -I would not have ken’d him: but, ah, ha, Robin, says I to him——” - -“My worthy old friend,” said Sang, quite unable any longer to stand his -innocent garrulity, so ill befitting the reception of the bitter news -he had to tell him, and taking his withered arm to assist him into the -Castle, and leading him gently to his chamber—“my worthy friend, come -this way, and I will tell thee of thy son—we shall be better here in -private. Robert Lindsay’s wonted valour shone forth with sun-like glory -in the bloody field of Otterbourne; but——” - -“Ah, full well did I know that he would bravely support the gallant -name of Lindsay,” cried the old man, interrupting him with a smile of -exultation. “Trust me, the boy hath ever showed that he hath some -slender streams of gentle blood in his veins; we are come of good kind, -Master Sang, and maybe my boy Robin shall yet win wealth and honours to -prove it. My great-great-grandfather—nay, my grandfather’s -great-great——” - -“But, Robert,” said Sang, wishing to bring old Gabriel back to the sad -subject he was about to open. - -“Ay, Robert, Master Sang,” replied the old man, “where tarrieth he?” - -“At Otterbourne,” replied Sang, deeply affected. “Thy son, thy gallant -son, fell gloriously, whilst nobly withstanding the whole force of the -English line as they burst into our camp.” - -“What sayest thou, Master Sang?” said the infirm old man, who perfectly -comprehended the speaker, but was so stunned by his fatal intelligence -that his feeble intellect was confused by the blow—“what sayest thou, -Master Sang?” - -“Thy heroic son was slain,” replied Sang, half choked with his -emotions. “This lock of Robert Lindsay’s hair, and these trinkets taken -from his person ere we committed his body to the earth, are all that -thou canst ever see of him now, old man.” - -The esquire sat down, covered his face with his hands, and wept; and -then endeavouring to command himself, he looked upward in the face of -Gabriel Lindsay, who was standing before him like the decayed trunk of -some mighty oak. The time-worn countenance of the old man was unmoved, -and his dull eyes were fixed as in vacancy. The wandering so common to -wasted age had come over his mind at that moment, sent, as it were, in -mercy by Providence to blunt his perception of the dire affliction that -had befallen him. Fitful smiles flashed at intervals across his -face—his lips moved without sound—and at last he spoke— - -“And so thou sayest my boy will be here to-night, Master Sang, and that -this is a lock of his bride’s hair? It is golden like his own; my -blessing be on him, and that of St. Baldrid. But why feared he to bring -her to me attence? Ha, doubtless he thought that the joyful surprise -mought hae made my blood dance till it brast my ould heart. But no, -Master Sang, joy shall never do for me what sorrow hath failed to work. -I lost his mother—lost her in a’ her youth and beauty, and yet I bore -it, and humbled myself before Him who giveth and taketh away, and was -comforted; and shall I sink beneath the weight of joy? Nay, even had he -died in the midst of his glory, I trust I am soldier enow, though I -be’s ould, to have borne the news of my son having fallen with honour -to Scotland, and to the name of Lindsay; but doth he think that his -ould father may not be told, without risk, how he hath fought -bravely—how he was noticed by the gallant Douglas—and, aboon a’, how he -is coming hame in triumph with a bonny gentle bride? And didst thou say -they would be here to-night, Sir Squire? Fye, I must gang and tell Sir -Patrick—and the brave young knight—and my Lady Isabelle; they will all -rejoice in Gabriel’s glad tidings. A bonny bride, thou sayest, Master -Sang; and shall I yet have a babe o’ Robin’s on my knee ere I die? But -I must away to Sir Patrick.” - -He made an effort to go. Sang rose gently to detain him. He -stopped—looked around him wildly—fastened his eyes vacantly for some -moments on the ceiling—reason and recollection returned to him, and his -dream of bliss passed away. - -“Oh, merciful God!” he cried, clasping his hands together in agony of -woe. “Oh, my boy, my brave, my virtuous boy, and shall I never see thee -more?” - -Nature with him was already spent; his failure was instantaneous; his -limbs yielded beneath him, and he sank down into the arms of the -esquire, who hastily laid him on the bed and ran for assistance. Sir -Patrick Hepborne, his son, and the Lady Isabelle, as well as many of -the domestics, quickly appeared in great consternation; but they came -only to weep over the good old Seneschal—He was gone for ever. - -The death of this old and faithful domestic threw a gloom over the -Castle, so that Assueton felt that he could hardly press on his -marriage-day. At last, however, it was fixed. The preparations were -such as became the house of Hepborne; and the ceremony was performed in -presence of some of the first nobles and knights of Scotland. - -The Countess of Moray had come from Tarnawa to meet her Lord. Sir -Patrick Hepborne, the younger, eagerly sought an opportunity of having -private conversation with her, hoping to have some explanation of the -strange disappearance of his page. But the noble lady, maintaining the -same distance towards him she had so mysteriously used, seemed rather -disposed to shun the subject; and it was not until Hepborne had -prefaced his inquiry with a full exposition of all he suspected, and -all he knew, regarding the Lady Eleanore de Selby and the Lady -Beatrice, and that she really saw where his heart was sincerely fixed, -that she would consent to betray the secret she possessed. Hepborne was -then assured that his page Maurice de Grey was no other than the Lady -Beatrice. - -Believing that Hepborne loved her, she had looked with joy to other -meetings with him; she had been filled with anxiety when she heard of -the encounter between him and Sir Rafe Piersie; and she was exulting in -his triumph over that knight at the very moment they came to tell her -of his departure. She hastened to a window overlooking the Tweed, where -she beheld the boat that was wafting him to Scotland. It was then, when -she thought herself deserted, that she really felt that she loved. -Almost unconscious of what she did, she waved her scarf. He replied not -to the signal. Again and again she waved, and in vain she stretched her -eyeballs to catch a return of the sign. The boat touched the strand; he -sprang on shore, and leaped into his saddle. Again in despair she -waved; the signal was returned, and that faint sign from the Scottish -shore was to her as the twig of hope. So intense had been her feelings -that she sank down overpowered by them. Recovering herself, she again -gazed from the window. The ferry-boat had returned, and was again -moored on the English side. She cast her eyes across to the spot where -she had last beheld Sir Patrick. The animating figures were now -gone—some yellow gravel, a green bank, a few furze bushes, and a -solitary willow, its slender melancholy spray waving in the breeze, -were all that appeared, and her chilled and forsaken heart was left as -desolate as the scene. - -It was at this time that she was called on by friendship to dismiss her -own griefs, that she might actively assist the high-spirited Eleanore -de Selby. By the result of Sir Rafe Piersie’s visit, that lady was -relieved from his addresses; but they were immediately succeeded by the -strange proposals of her infatuated father, when deluded by the -machinations of the Wizard Ancient. All her tears and all her eloquence -were thrown away, and so perfect was Sir Walter’s subjection to the -will of the impostor that even his temper was changed, and his -affection for his daughter swallowed up, by his anxiety to avert the -fate that threatened. Such coercion to a union so disgusting might have -roused the spirit of resistance in the most timid female bosom; but -Eleanore de Selby, who was high and hot tempered, resolved at once to -fly from such persecution; and, taking a solemn vow of secrecy from the -Lady Beatrice, she made her the confidant of a recent attachment which -had arisen between her and a certain knight whom she had met at a -tilting match held at Newcastle a short time before, when she was on a -visit to an aunt who resided there. The Lady Eleanore informed her -friend that her lover was Sir Hans de Vere, a knight of Zealand, -kinsman to the King’s banished favourite the Duke of Ireland, who had -lately come from abroad, and who looked to gain the same high place in -King Richard’s affections which the Duke himself had filled. From him -she had received a visit unknown to her father, and it was the parting -of the lovers after that meeting which had so filled Hepborne with -jealousy. In the urgency of her affairs she implored her friend to aid -her schemes, which were immediately carried into effect by means of the -Minstrel. - -Having thus been gradually, though unwillingly, drawn to be an -accomplice in the Lady Eleanore’s plans, Beatrice felt that she could -not stay behind to expose herself to the rage of the bereft father. -Having assisted her friend, therefore, to escape, she accompanied her, -in male attire, to the place where her lover waited for her at some -distance from Norham. There she parted, with many tears, from the -companion of her youth, having received from her the emerald ring which -Sir Patrick Hepborne afterwards became possessed of. Her own depression -of spirits, occasioned by Sir Patrick’s unaccountable desertion of her, -had determined her to seek out some convent, where she might find a -temporary, if not a permanent retreat. Under the protection of old Adam -of Gordon, therefore, she crossed the Tweed into Scotland. There he -procured her a Scottish guide to conduct her to North Berwick, where he -had a relation among the Cistertian nuns, and thither she was -proceeding at the time she met Hepborne in the grove by the side of the -Tyne. - -When Sir Patrick addressed her she felt so much fluttered that it was -some time before she could invent a plausible account of herself; and -when he proposed to her to become his page, love triumphed over her -better judgment, and she could not resist the temptation of an offer -that held out so fair an opportunity of knowing more of him, and of -trying the state of his heart. As to the latter she became convinced, -by some of those conversations we have detailed, that she had been -cruelly deceived, and that she had in reality no share in it. She heard -him passionately declare his inextinguishable love for the Lady -Eleanore de Selby, and when he said that he had seen too much of her -for his peace of mind, she naturally enough concluded that they had met -together on some former occasion. She became unhappy at her own -imprudence in so rashly joining his party, and was anxious to avail -herself of the first opportunity of escaping from one whose heart never -could be hers. The Countess of Moray’s kindness to her as Maurice de -Grey induced her to discover herself to that lady. She earnestly -entreated that she might remain concealed, and that Sir Patrick might -not be informed. It was the Lady Jane de Vaux who laid the plan for -deceiving him about the departure of his page, and she and the Countess -of Moray could not resist indulging in tormenting one whom they -believed to have wantonly sported with the affections of the Lady -Beatrice, and who had consequently suffered deeply in the good opinion -of both. - -The Minstrel, who, to do away suspicion, had returned to Norham -immediately after the escape of the ladies, no sooner learned from the -guide the change which had taken place in Beatrice’s plans, and that -she had gone to Tarnawa, than he determined to follow her thither, -under pretence of going to the tournament. Having learned from him that -her benefactor, Sir Walter de Selby, had been overwhelmed with -affliction for the loss of his daughter, of whose fate he was yet -ignorant, and that he had also grievously complained of her own -desertion of him, she was filled with remorse, and determined to return -to him immediately, and to brave all his reproaches; but indisposition, -arising from the trying fatigue of body and the mental misery she had -undergone, prevented her setting out until several days after the -departure of the Earl of Moray and his knights for Aberdeen. Hepborne -could now no longer doubt of the attachment of the Lady Beatrice. The -thought that he had ignorantly thrown away a heart so valuable as that -which his intercourse with his page had given him ample opportunity to -know, was a source of bitter distress to him. His spirits fled, he -loathed society, and he industriously shunned the huntings, hawkings, -dancings, and masquings that were going merrily forward in honour of -his friend’s nuptials with his sister the Lady Isabelle. - -But Assueton was not so selfishly occupied in his own joys as not to be -struck with the change in his beloved Hepborne. He besought him to -unbosom the secret sorrow that was so evidently preying on his mind, -and Sir Patrick, who had hitherto generously concealed it, that he -might not poison the happiness in which he could not participate, at -last yielded to the entreaty, and told him all. Sir John had but little -of comfort to offer: the subject was one that hardly admitted of any. -He saw that the only way in which friendship could be useful was by -rousing him to do something that might actively divert his melancholy. - -Sir David de Lindsay having returned from his captivity in England, had -lately arrived at Hailes, where Sir William de Dalzel and Sir John -Halyburton had remained, to witness Assueton’s marriage. They were now -about to proceed to London, to make good the pledge given to Lord -Welles. Hepborne would have fain excused himself from the engagement he -had so cheerfully made with them at Tarnawa, but Assueton contrived to -pique his chivalric spirit, and at length succeeded in inducing him to -become one of the party. Sir John even offered to accompany his friend, -but Hepborne would by no means permit him to leave his newly-married -Lady. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LXIII. - - The Scottish Knights at the English Court—The wealthy London - Merchant—Combat on London Bridge. - - -Everything that art could achieve, by means of steel, gold, embossing, -embroidery, and emblazoning, was done to give splendour to the array of -Sir David Lindsay, and his companions and attendants, that Scotland -should, if possible, be in no whit behind England upon this occasion. A -safe-conduct was readily granted them by the English court, and they -departed, all high in spirits, save Hepborne alone, who seemed to -suffer the journey rather than to enjoy it. They travelled very -leisurely, and frequently halted by the way, that their horses might -not be oppressed; and they were everywhere received with marked -respect. - -It was towards the end of the third week that they found themselves -crossing a wide glade among those immense forests which then covered -the country, lying immediately to the north of the English metropolis, -when they were attracted by an encampment of gay pavilions, pitched -among the thin skirting trees. A strong guard of archers and -well-mounted lances, that patrolled around the place, proved that there -was some one there of no mean consequence. Within the circle was a vast -and motley crowd of people, moving about in all the rich and varied -costumes which then prevailed. There could be descried many nobles, -knights, and esquires, some equipt in fanciful hunting-garbs, and -others in all the foppery of golden circlets, flowing robes, -party-coloured hose, and long-pointed shoes, attached to knee-chains of -gold and silver; and these were mingled with groups of huntsmen, -falconers, pages, grooms, lacqueys, and even hosts of cooks and -scullions. Many were on horseback, and whole rows of beautiful horses -were picketted in different places, and their neighing mingled cheerily -with the baying of tied-up hounds and the hum of many merry voices. - -It was a spectacle well calculated to arrest the attention of the -Scottish knights, and accordingly they halted to enjoy it, and to -listen to the trumpets and timbrels that now began to sound. In a -little time they observed a party of horsemen leave the encampment, and -they were soon aware that it came to meet them. At the head was a -knight clad in a white hunting-coif richly flowered with gold, and a -sky-blue gippon of the most costly materials, thickly wrought with -embroidery, while the toes of his tawny boots, being released from -their knee-chains, hung down nearly a yard from his stirrup-irons. On -his wrist sat a falcon, the badge of a knight. He rode a superb horse, -and his housings corresponded in grandeur with everything else -belonging to him. - -“Ha!” exclaimed he, as he reined up his steed affectedly in front of -the group, raised himself in his high-peaked saddle, and, standing in -his stirrups, put his bridle-hand to his side, as if selecting the -attitude best calculated to show off his uncommonly handsome person; -“ha! so I see that my divination doth prove to have been true to most -miraculous exactitude. My Lord of Welles must forfeit an hundred -pieces, in compliment to my superior accuracy of vision and of -judgment. Sir David de Lindsay, I knew thy banner. I do give thee -welcome to England, beausir; nay, I may add, welcome to London too, -seeing thou art barely two leagues from its walls, and that the very -spirit of its greatness is here in these sylvan solitudes, in the -person of the Royal Richard, attended as he is by his chivalrous -Court.” - -“Sir Piers Courtenay,” exclaimed Sir David de Lindsay, “perdie, it doth -rejoice me to behold thee, strangers as we are, in these parts.” - -“Trust me, ye shall be strangers no longer, gentle sir,” replied Sir -Piers, with a condescending inclination of body, that he now deigned to -continue round, with his eyes directed to the other knights severally, -whom he had not noticed until now. “When I, with singularly fortunate -instinct, did assert that it was thee and thy bandon we beheld, the -Lord Welles did wager me an hundred pieces that I did err in sagacity; -but as I parted from him to ride hither, to bring mine accuracy to the -proof, he charged me, if I were right, to invite thee and thy company -to the Royal camp.” - -“Travel-worn and dust-begrimed as we are,” said Sir William de Dalzel, -“meseems we shall be but sorry sights for the eyes of Royalty, -especially amid a crowd of gallants so glittering as the sample thou -hast brought us in thine own sweet and perfumed person, beausir.” - -“Nay, nay,” replied Sir Piers Courtenay, glancing with contempt at -Dalzel’s war-worn surcoat, and taking his ironical remark as an actual -compliment, “we are but accoutred, as thou seest, for rustic sport; we -are shorn of our beams among the shades of these forests. But let us -not tarry, I pray thee; the sports of the morning are already over; the -sylvan meal is about to be spread in the grand pavilion, and rude -though it be, it may not come amiss to those who have already travelled -since dawn. Let us hasten thither, then, for the King doth return to -London after feeding.” - -Under the guidance of this pink of fashion, the Scottish knights -advanced towards the Royal hunting-encampment; and long ere they -reached it, the Lord Welles, who already saw that he had lost his -wager, came forth to meet them, and received them with all that warmth -of hospitality which characterized the English people of all ranks even -in those early days, and for which they were already famed among -foreign nations. He led them through a mass of guards, who, though they -appeared but to form a part of the pageantry of the Royal sports, were -yet so completely armed, both men and horses, that it was manifest -security from sudden surprise was the chief object of their being -placed there. - -Sir David Lindsay and his companions, after quitting their saddles, -were led by the Lord Welles to his own tent, where they soon rendered -themselves fit to appear before Royal eyes. They were then conducted to -the King’s pavilion, which they found surrounded by a strong body of -archers, and they had no sooner entered the outer part of it than they -were introduced to the Earls of Kent and Huntingdon, half-brothers to -the King, who were in waiting. These were now Richard’s chief -favourites since the late banishment of De Vere, Duke of Ireland, and -others. By these noblemen they were immediately introduced into the -Royal presence. - -The young Richard was not deficient in that manly beauty possessed by -his heroic father, the nation’s idol, Edward the Black Prince, but his -countenance was softened by many of those delicate traits which gave to -his lovely mother the appellation of the Fair Maid of Kent. His eyes, -though fine and full, were of unsteady expression, frequently -displaying a certain confidence in self-opinion, that suddenly gave way -to doubt and hesitation. Though the dress he had on was of the same -shape as that worn by his courtiers, being that generally used by -noblemen of the period when hunting, yet, costly as was the attire of -those around him, his was most conspicuous among them all, by the rich -nature of the materials of which it was composed, as well as by the -massive and glittering ornaments he wore. The gorgeous furniture of his -temporary residence too, with the endless numbers of splendidly habited -domestics who waited, might have been enough of themselves to have -explained to the Scottish knights whence that dissatisfaction arose -among his subjects, who were compelled to contribute to expenditure so -profuse. - -The King’s natural disposition to be familiar with all who approached -him would of itself have secured a gracious reception to Sir David de -Lindsay and his companions, but the cause of their visit made them -doubly welcome. Their coming ensured him an idle show and an empty -pageant which would furnish him with an apology for making fresh -draughts on his already over-drained people. Every honour, therefore, -was paid them, as if they had been public ambassadors from the nation -to which they belonged, and the most conspicuous places were assigned -them at that luxurious board where the Royal collation was spread, and -where, much as they had seen, their eyes were utterly confounded by the -profusion of rarities that appeared. - -The King had been hunting for nearly a week in these suburban wilds, -and he was now about to return to his palace in the Tower, which he at -this time preferred as a residence to that of Westminster. But the -pleasures of the table, seasoned by dissolute conversation with the -profligate knights and loose ladies, who were most encouraged at his -Court, together with that indolence into which he was so apt to sink, -had at all times too great charms for him to permit him easily to move -from them. He therefore allowed the hours to pass in epicurean -indulgence, whilst he gazed on the wanton attitudes of the women who -danced before him, or on the feats of jugglers and tumblers. - -At length the camp was ordered to be broken up, and then the whole -Royal attention became occupied in the arrangement of the cavalcade, so -that it might produce the most imposing effect, and the humblest -individuals were not considered as unworthy of a King’s notice on so -important an occasion. All were soon put into the wished-for order, and -Richard himself figured most prominently of all, proudly mounted on a -magnificently-caparisoned horse, having housings that swept the ground. -A canopy was borne over him by twelve esquires, and he was surrounded -by his archers. Sir David de Lindsay and his companions formed a part -of this pageant, which they failed not to remark was carefully defended -on all sides by well-armed horsemen. - -From the summit of an eminence the Scottish knights caught their first -view of London, then clustered into a small space within its confined -walls. It seemed to be tied like a knot, as it were, on the winding -thread of the majestic Thames, which, after washing the walls of the -Palace of Westminster, flowed thence gently along its banks, fringed by -the gardens and scattered country-dwellings of the nobility and richer -citizens, until it was lost for a time amid the smoke arising from the -dusky mass of the city, to appear farther down with yet greater -brilliancy. The sun was already getting low, and was shooting its rays -aslant through the thick atmosphere that hung over the town. They -caught on its most prominent points, and brought fully into notice the -venerable tower and spire of the then Gothic St. Paul’s, and the -steeples of the few churches and monasteries which the city contained, -together with its turreted walls and its castles. All between the -partially wooded slope they stood on and the gates, was one wild -pasture, partly covered with heath, interspersed with thickets, and -partly by swamps, and a large lake. - -As they drew nearer to the city, they passed by crowds of young -citizens engaged in athletic exercises. Some were wrestling; others, -mounted on spirited horses and armed with lances, were tilting at the -quintaine, or jousting with wooden points against each other. In one -place they were shooting with bows at a mark; and in another, groups of -young men and damsels were seen dancing under the shade of trees, to -the gratification of many a father and mother who looked on. Besides -these, the ground was peopled by vendors of refreshments; and, in -diverse corners, jugglers and posture-masters were busy with their -tricks before knots of wondering mechanics. So keenly were all engaged, -that the Royal hunting party, carefully as the order of its march had -been prepared, passed by unheeded, or, if noticed at all, it was by a -secret curse from some of the disaffected, who grudged to see that -Richard had been hunting in that part of the forest which it was more -particularly the privilege of the citizens of London to use. Nor did -the haughty courtiers regard these humbler people, except to indulge in -many a cutting jest at their expense, which Richard’s ready laugh of -approbation showed they were thoroughly licensed to do. - -“We have seen some such jousting as this before,” said Courtenay, with -a sly toss of his head, immediately after an awkward exhibition that -had accidentally attracted notice. - -“Yea, so have I too,” observed Dalzel calmly; “I did once see ane -English knight tilt so on the Mead of St. John’s.” - -Crossing the broad ditch of the city by a drawbridge, they made their -entry between the towers of Cripplegate, having its name from the -swarms of beggars by which it was generally infested, and they -immediately found themselves in narrow streets of wooden houses, -uncouthly projecting as they rose upwards, and detached shops, which -were already shut up for the day. Here and there the windows were -decorated with coloured cloth or carpets, and some few idle vagabonds -ran after the cavalcade crying out, “Long live King Richard!” looking -to be recompensed for their mercenary loyalty by liberal largess. But -the respectable citizens were already enjoying their own recreation in -the Moorfields, those who did remain having little inclination to join -in the cry where the Monarch was so unpopular; and many a sturdy black -muzzled mechanic went scowling off the street to hide in some dark lane -as he saw the procession approaching, bestowing his malediction on that -heartless prodigality and luxury which robbed him and his infants to -supply its diseased appetite. Hepborne and Halyburton, who rode -together, could not help remarking this want of loyal feeling towards -the young English Monarch; and, calling to mind the enthusiasm with -which they had seen the aged King Robert of Scotland, in his grey -woollen hose, greeted by his people, they began to suspect that there -must be faults of no trifling sort in a Prince to whom nature had given -so pleasing an exterior. - -Having got within the fortifications of the Tower, the Scottish knights -were astonished with the immense army of the minions of luxury who -filled its courts. The King himself signified his pleasure to Sir David -Lindsay and his friends that they should enter the Royal apartments, -where they partook of wine and spices, handed about in rich golden -cups; after which a banquet followed in a style of magnificence -calculated to make everything they had before seen to be altogether -forgotten in comparison with it. The King honoured them with his -peculiar attention, and even deigned to attend to making provision for -their proper accommodation. For this purpose, he called for the Lord -Welles, and gave him a list of those persons who were to be honoured -with the expense of lodging and entertaining these strangers and their -people. With singular contradiction to his own wish that they should be -treated with exemplary hospitality, he chose to select as their hosts -certain persons who had offended him, and whom he had a desire to -punish, by thus exposing them to great expense; and so the strangers -were thrown into situations where anything but voluntary kindness might -be looked for. - -When the King gave them their leave, they found their esquires in -waiting for them. Mortimer Sang led Hepborne into the Vintry, to the -house of a certain Lawrence Ratcliffe, a wine merchant. His dwelling -was within a gateway and courtyard, on each side of which there were -long rows of warehouses and vaults extending nearly quite down to the -river wall. - -It was dark when Sir Patrick entered the court-yard, and as he passed -onwards to where he saw a lamp burning within the doorway of the -dwelling house, he heard the voice of a man issuing from an -outbuilding. - -“Jehan Petit,” said the person, who spoke to some one who followed him, -“see that thou dost give out no wine to this Scot but of that cargo, -the which did ship the sea water, and that tastes brackish. An the King -will make us maintain all his strange cattle, by St. Paul, but as far -as I have to do with them they shall content themselves with such -feeding as it may please me to bestow. Let the esquire and the other -trash have sour ale, ’tis good enow for the knaves; and I promise thee -it will well enow match the rest of their fare, and the herborow they -shall have. Alas, poor England! ay, and above all, alas, poor London! -for an we have not a change soon, we shall be eaten up by the King’s -cormorants—a plague rot ’em!” - -By this time Hepborne and his landlord met in the stream of light that -issued from the open doorway. Hepborne made a courteous though -dignified obeisance to Master Ratcliffe, a stout elderly man, whose -face showed that he had not been at all negligent during his life in -tasting, that he might have personal knowledge of what was really good -before he ventured to give it to his friends. The wine merchant was -taken somewhat unawares. He had made up his mind to be as cross and as -rude as he well could to the guest that had been thus forced upon him. -But Hepborne’s polite deportment commanded a return from a man who had -been in France, and he bent to the stranger with a much better grace -than he could have wished to have bestowed on him. - -“I do address myself to Master Lawrence Ratcliffe, if I err not?” said -Hepborne, in a civil tone. - -“Yea, I am that man,” replied the other, recovering something of his -sulky humour. - -“Master Ratcliffe,” said Hepborne, with great civility of manner, “I -understand that His Majesty the King of England’s hospitality to -strangers hath been the cause of throwing me to thy lot. But I cannot -suffer his kindness to a Scottish knight to do injury to a worthy -citizen of his own good city of London. To keep me and my people in thy -house, would run thee into much trouble, not to talk of the expense, -the which no man of trade can well bear. I come, therefore, to entreat -thee to permit me to rid thee and thy house of unbidden guests, who -cannot choose but give thee great annoy, and to crave thine advice as -to what inn or hostel I should find it most convenient to remove to. By -granting me this, thou wilt make me much beholden to thee.” - -Master Lawrence Ratcliffe looked at Hepborne with no small -astonishment. This was a sort of behaviour to which he had been but -little used, and for which he was by no means prepared. - -“Nay, by St. Stephen, Sir Knight, thou shalt not move,” said he at -last; “by all the blessed saints, thou shalt have the best bed and the -best food that London can furnish; yea, and wine, too, the which let me -tell thee, the King himself cannot command. Go, get the key of the trap -cellar, Jehan Petit,” said he, turning briskly to his attendant; “bring -up some flasks of the right Bourdeaux and Malvoisie. Thou dost well -know their marks, I wot.” - -“Nay, send him not for wine, I pray thee, good Master Ratcliffe,” cried -Hepborne; “I trow I have already drank as much as may be seemly for -this night.” - -“Chut,” cried the wine merchant, with a face of glee, “all that may be; -yet shall we drain a flask to our better acquaintance. Fly, sirrah -Jehan! This way, Sir Knight. Would that Heaven mought send us a flight -of such rare birds as thou art; thine ensample mought peraunter work a -change on these all-devouring vultures of King Richard’s Court. This -way, Sir Knight. Have a care, there be an evil step there.” - -Master Lawrence Ratcliffe ushered Hepborne into a very handsomely -furnished apartment, the walls of which were hung round with costly -cloths. It was largely supplied with velvet and silk covered chairs, -and with many an ancient cabinet, and it was lighted by a small silver -lamp. They were hardly seated, when a lacquey brought in a silver -basket of sweetmeats and dried fruits, and soon afterwards Jehan Petit -appeared with the venerable flasks for which Master Ratcliffe had -despatched him. It was with some difficulty that Hepborne could prevent -the liberal Englishman from ordering a sumptuous banquet to be -prepared, by declaring that repose, not food, was what he now required; -but he made up for this check on his hospitality by giving ample -directions for the comfort of all the members of Hepborne’s retinue, -quadrupeds as well as bipeds. The wine was nectar, yet Hepborne drank -but little of it; but Master Ratcliffe did ample duty for both. - -“I fear, Sir Knight, that thy people were but scurvily treated ere thou -camest,” said he to Hepborne; “but, in good verity, I have too much of -this free quartering thrust upon me by the Court. I promise thee, King -Richard is not always content with his two tuns out of each of my wine -ships. By’r Lady, he doth often help himself to ten tuns at a time from -these cellars of mine, and that, too, as if he were doing me high -honour all the while. It did so happen lately that he lacked some -hundred of broad pieces for his immediate necessities. Down came my -Lord of Huntingdon with his bows and fair words. ‘Master Lawrence -Ratcliffe,’ said he, ‘it is His Majesty’s Royal pleasure to do thee an -especial honour.’ ‘What,’ cried I, ‘my Lord of Huntingdon, doth the -King purpose to make an Earl of me?’ ‘Nay, not quite that,’ replied his -Lordship, somewhat offended at my boldness, ‘not quite that, Master -Ratcliffe, but, knowing that thou art one of the richest merchants of -his good city of London, he hath resolved to prefer thee to be his -creditor rather than any other. Lend him, therefore, five hundred -pieces for a present necessity. And seeing it was I who did bring this -high honour upon thy shoulders, by frequently enlarging to the King of -thy princely wealth, thou mayest at same time lend me fifty pieces from -thine endless hoards, for mine own private use.’ ‘My Lord,’ replied I, -‘seeing that thou thyself hast been altogether misinformed as to my -wealth, thou mayest hie thee back speedily to undeceive the King, else -may the Royal wrath peradventure be poured out upon thee, for filling -his ear with that which lacketh foundation. I have no money hoards to -play the Jew withal.’ ‘Nay, then,’ replied Huntingdon, with a -threatening aspect, ‘thou mayest look for the King’s wrath falling on -thine own head, not on mine. By St. Paul, thou shalt repent thee of -this thy discourteous conduct to the King.’ The profligate Earl was -hardly gone when I felt that I had permitted my indignation to carry me -too far, and that it would have been wiser to have paid five times the -demand, and I soon had proof of this. I judged it best to pay the -money; yet hardly hath a week elapsed sithence that I have not been -tormented in a thousand ways by orders from the Court. But, by’r Lady, -such a state of things may not last,” said he, after a pause; and then -starting, as if he thought he had perhaps said too much, “for what poor -merchant’s coffers may stand out against such drafts as these? And now, -Sir Knight, thou mayest judge why I was resolved to receive thee so -vilely. But thou mayest thank thine own courtesy for so speedily -disarming my resolution.” - -On the ensuing morning the Lord Welles came, by the King’s order, to -wait on Sir David Lindsay, and to invite him and his companions to a -Royal banquet, to be given that day at the Palace of Westminster, -whither they were to go in grand procession by land, and to return by -water to the Tower at night. The Scottish knights, therefore, joined -the Royal party, and leaving the city by Ludgate, descended into the -beautiful country which bordered the Thames, their eyes delighted, as -they rode along, by the appearance of the suburban palaces and gardens -which lay scattered along the river’s bank. Passing through the village -of Charing, they approached the venerable Abbey and Palace of -Westminster, and were received within the fortified walls of the -latter. The entertainment given in the magnificent hall was on a scale -of extravagance perfectly appalling, both as to number of dishes and -rarity of the viands; and the aquatic pageant of painted boats was no -less wonderful. It was impossible for the poor commons to behold the -money wrenched from their industry thus scattered in a useless luxury -that but little nourished their trade or manufactures, or at least -could not appear to their ignorance to have such a tendency, without -their becoming disaffected; and, accordingly, every new pageant of this -kind only added to the mass of the malcontents. - -The handsome Courtenay had this day outshone all his former splendour -of attire. - -“Didst thou mark that popinjay Sir Piers Courtenay?” demanded Sir -William de Dalzel, as they were returning in the boat; “didst thou mark -the bragging device on his azure silk surcoat?” - -“I did note it,” replied Halyburton; “a falcon embroidered in divers -silks, that did cunningly ape the natural colours of the bird.” - -“Yea, but didst thou note the legend, too?” continued Sir William de -Dalzel. “It ran thus, methinks— - - - I bear a falcon fairest of flight: - Whoso pinches at her his death is dight, - In graith.” - - -“Ha,” said Hepborne, “by St. Andrew, a fair challenge to us all; the -more, too, that it doth come after the many taunts he did slyly throw -out against Scottish chivalry at Tarnawa. But he shall not lack a hand -to pinch at his falcon, for I shall do it this night, lest the braggart -shall change his attire.” - -“Nay, nay, leave him to me, I entreat thee,” said Sir William de -Dalzel. “He is mine by right, seeing I did first note his arrogant -motto. Trust me, I shall not leave London without bringing down this -empty peacock, so that he shall be the laughing-stock of his own -companions.” - -On the plea of giving sufficient repose to the Scottish champion, -Richard ordained that yet three more days should pass ere the joust -should take place between Sir David Lindsay and the Lord Welles; and -the time was spent in divers amusements, and in balls, masquings, and -feastings. - -At length the day of the tilting arrived, and everything had been done -to make the exhibition a splendid one. Triumphal arches had been -erected in several parts of Thames Street; and the inhabitants were -compelled by Royal proclamation to garnish their windows with flowers -and boughs, and to hang out cloths and carpets; while many of those who -had houses on London Bridge were forced by an edict to vacate their -dwellings, for the use of the King and such of his courtiers and -attendants as he chose to carry thither with him. These houses were -wretched enough in themselves, being frail wooden tenements, arising -from each side of the Bridge, partly founded on it, so as to narrow its -street to about twenty-three feet, and partly resting on posts driven -in to the bed of the stream, so that they hung half over the water, and -were, in some cases, only saved from falling backwards into it by -strong wooden arches that crossed the street from one house to another, -and bound them together. - -The Royal procession was to be arranged in the Tower-yard, and in -obedience to the commands of King Richard, the Scottish knights -repaired thither to take their place in it. The banner of Sir David -Lindsay, bearing gules, a fess cheque argent and azure, with his crest -an ostrich proper, holding in his beak a key or, appeared conspicuous; -and his whole party, esquires as well as knights, were mounted and -armed in a style that was by no means disgraceful to poor Scotland, -though in costliness of material and external glitter they were much -eclipsed by the English knights. Of these Sir Piers Courtenay, who was -to perform the part of second to the Lord Welles, seemed resolved to be -second to none in outward show. His tilting-helmet was surmounted by a -plume that was perfectly matchless, and there the falcon, which on this -occasion he had chosen as his crest, was proudly nestled. His coat of -mail was covered with azure silk. The belt for his shield, and the -girdle-stead for his sword, were of crimson velvet, richly ornamented -with golden studs and precious stones. The roundels on his shoulders -and elbows were, or at least appeared to be, of gold. His mamillieres -were of wrought gold ornamented with gems, and heavy golden chains, of -sufficient length not to impede his full action when using the weapon, -depended from them, so as to attach the hilt of his sword to his right -breast, and the scabbard of it to his left. His sword and his dagger -were exquisite both as to materials and workmanship; but what most -attracted attention was the azure silken surcoat embroidered with the -falcon upon it, and the vaunting motto— - - - I bear a falcon fairest of flight: - Whoso pinches at her his death is dight, - In graith. - - -Courtenay rode about, making his horse perform many a fanciful curvet, -full of self-approbation, and throwing many a significant glance -towards the Scottish party, as he capered by them, evidently with the -desire of provoking some one among them to accept the mute and general -challenge he gave, and winking to his friends at the same time, as if -he believed that there was little chance of its being noticed. The -sagacious Sir John Constable and some others said all they could to -check his impertinent foolery, but their friendly advices were thrown -away on the coxcomb. - -All being prepared, King Richard was becoming impatient to move off, -when it was signified to him that Sir William de Dalzel, who was to be -second to Sir David de Lindsay, had not yet appeared. The King ordered -an esquire to hasten to his lodgings to tell him he was waited for, -when just at that moment a knight appeared attired in a style of -splendour that was only to be equalled by Sir Piers Courtenay himself; -but what was more wonderful, he seemed to be in every respect the very -double of that magnificent cavalier. All eyes were directed towards -him, and when he came nearer, the King himself gave way to immoderate -fits of laughter, in which he was heartily joined by every one in the -court-yard, down to the lowest groom; in short, by all save one, and -that was Sir Piers Courtenay. - -This second edition of the English exquisite was Sir William de Dalzel, -who, having found out beforehand what Courtenay was to appear in, had -contrived, with great exertion, pains, and expense, to fit himself with -a surcoat and appendages exactly resembling those of the coxcomb; with -this difference only, that his azure silk surcoat had on it a magpie, -embroidered with divers coloured threads, with this motto— - - - I bear a pyet pykkand at ane piece: - Whasa pykes at her I sall pyke at his nese, - In faith. - - -The laugh continued, whilst the square-built Dalzel rode about with his -vizor up, wearing a well-dissembled air of astonishment, as if he could -by no means divine what it was that gave rise to so much merriment. But -Courtenay could bear it no longer. He even forgot the Royal presence of -Richard, which, however, was but seldom wont to throw much awe over -those with whom he was in the habit of being familiar. - -“By the body of Saint George,” exclaimed Courtenay, riding up to -Dalzel, “thou hast attired thyself, Sir Scot, but in mockery of me. By -the Holy St. Erkenwold, thou shalt speedily answer for thine unknightly -rudeness.” - -“Nay, by the body of St. Andrew, Sir Englishman, the which I do take to -be an oath that ought to match thine,” said Dalzel, with great -coolness, seasoned with an air of waggery, “I do in nowise insult thee -by mine attire more than thine attire doth insult me. Perdie, on the -contrarie, I do but give thee infinite honour, in the strict observance -of thine excellent fashion. Didst thou not, with great condescension, -bestow upon the Scottish chivauncie at Tarnawa, myself being one, full -many a wise saw on the supereminent judgment of English knights, or -rather of thyself, the cream of all English knighthood, in matters of -dress and arming? Didst thou not discuss it, buckle by buckle? Hither -then am I come, in all my clownishness, to profit by thy wisdom; and -such being mine errand, how, I pray thee, can I do better than copy -thee to the nail—thou, I say, who canst so well teach me to put on a -brave golden outside, where peradventure the inner metal may be but -leaden?” - -“By the rood of St. Paul,” cried Courtenay, “thine evil chosen -attirement was but small offence, compared to that thou hast now heaped -on me by thy sarcastic commentary on it. I will hear no more. There!” -said he, dashing down his gauntlet on the pavement. “With permission of -the Royal presence, in which I now am, I do hereby challenge thee to -combat of outrance, to be fought after the tilting-match.” - -“Nay, sith that thou wilt fly thy fair falcon at my poor pie,” said -Dalzel, “and run his head into my very talons with thy eagerness, by -the blessed bones of St. Dunstan, I will pinch her as well as ever the -monk did the beak of the Evil One;” and saying so, he leaped from his -saddle, and taking up the gauntlet stuck it in his helmet. - -The procession being now formed, moved off in order and with sound of -trumpet by the Tower-gate, and so along Thames Street, towards the -bridge, where the Royal party were accommodated in the balconies and -windows of the central houses, close to where the shock of the -encounter was expected to take place. The bridge was then cleared of -all obstacles, and the gates at either end were shut so as to act as -barriers to keep out all but the combatants or those who waited on -them. - -The scene was now very imposing. The antique wooden fronts of the -houses, of different projections and altitudes, approaching nearer and -nearer to each other, as they rose storey above storey, till they came -so close at top as to leave but a mere riband’s breadth of sky visible; -the endless variety of windows and balconies, decorated with webs of -various-coloured cloths, tapestry, and painted emblazonments; the -arches that crossed from one side of the way to the other, hung with -pennons and streamers of every possible shade; the Gothic tower that -rose from one part of the bridge, where the banner of England waved -from a flag-staff set among the grizzly heads of many a victim of -tyranny, as well as many a traitor, among which last that of Wat Tyler -was then conspicuous; and these, contrasted with the crowds of gay -knights and ladies who shone within the lattices and balconies, the -gorgeous band of heralds, the grotesque trumpeters, and musicians of -all kinds, and the whimsical attire of the numerous attendants on the -lists were objects singularly romantic in themselves, and the effect of -them was heightened by the courtly-subdued whisper that murmured along -on both sides, mingling with the deafened sound of the river dashing -against the sterlings of the bridge underneath. - -It being signified to the King that the knights were ready, he ordered -the speaker of the lists to give the word, “Hors, chevaliers!” and the -heralds’ trumpets blew. The barriers at both ends of the bridge were -then opened, and Sir David Lindsay entered from the north, attended by -Sir William de Dalzel. The Lord Welles and Sir Piers Courtenay, who had -purposely crossed into what is now Southwark, appeared from that -direction. The trumpets then sounded from both ends of the lists, and -the challenge was proclaimed by one herald on the part of the Lord -Welles, and accepted by another on the part of Sir David de Lindsay, -while the articles of agreement as to the terms of combat, which had -been regularly drawn up and signed by both parties at Tarnawa, were -read from the balcony of the heralds. The combatants then rode slowly -from each end until they met and measured lances, when their arms were -examined by the marshal, and their persons searched to ascertain that -neither carried charms or enchantments about him. The knights then -crossed each other, and each attended by his companion and one esquire, -rode slowly along to the opposite end of the bridge, and then returned -each to his own place, by this means showing themselves fully to the -spectators. The Lord Welles was mounted on a bright bay horse, and Sir -David Lindsay rode a chestnut, both of great powers. But the figures, -and still more the colours, of the noble animals, were hid beneath -their barbed chamfronts and their sweeping silken housings. - -The King now gave his Royal signal for the joust to begin by the usual -words, “Laissez les aller,” and the heralds having repeated them aloud, -the trumpets sounded, and they flew towards each other with furious -impetus, the fire flashing from the stones as they came on. An anxious -murmur rushed along the line of spectators, eagerly were their heads -thrust forward to watch the result. The combatants met, and both lances -were shivered. That of Sir David Lindsay took his opponent in the -shield, and had nearly unseated him, whilst he received the point of -the Lord Welles’ right in the midst of his ostrich-crested casque; but -although the concussion was so great as to make both horses reel -backwards, yet the Scottish knight sat firm as a rock. The seconds now -came up, and new lances being given to the combatants, each rode slowly -away to his own barrier to await the signal for the next course. - -It was given, and again the two knights rushed to the encounter, and -again were the lances shivered with a similar result. Sir David Lindsay -received his adversary’s point full in the bars of his vizor, yet he -sat unmoved as if he had been but the human half of a Centaur. A murmur -ran along among the spectators; with some it was applause for his -steadiness of seat, but with by far the greater number it was -dissatisfaction. It grew in strength, and at length loud murmurs arose. - -“He is tied to his saddle—Sir David de Lindsay is tied to his saddle. -Never had mortal man a seat so firm without the aid of trick or fallas. -Prove him, prove him—let him dismount if he can!” - -Sir David Lindsay soon satisfied them. He sprung to the ground, making -the bridge ring again with the weight of his harness, and walking up -opposite to the balcony where the King sat, he made his obeisance to -Majesty. His well-managed horse followed him like a dog, and the -knight, after thus satisfying the Monarch and every one of the -falsehood of the charge that had been made against him, leaped again -into his saddle, armed as he was. Hitherto the choice breeding of those -who were present had confined the applause to the mere courtly clapping -of hands. But now they forgot that they were nobles, knights, and -ladies of high degree, and the continued shout that arose might have -done honour to the most plebeian lungs. - -The combatants now again returned each to his barrier. The trumpets -again sounded, and again the generous steeds sprang to their full -speed. But now it was manifest that Sir David Lindsay was in earnest, -and that he had hardly been so before, was proved by the tremendous -violence of the shock with which his blunt lance head came in contact -with the neck-piece of the Lord Welles, who was lifted as it were from -his saddle, and tossed some yards beyond his horse. So terrific was the -effect of Sir David Lindsay’s weapon that the operation of the lance -borne by the Lord Welles was so absolutely overlooked that no one could -tell what it had been, and so admirably was Lindsay’s skill and -strength displayed by this sudden and terrible overthrow of his -opponent, that the spectators, with all the honest impartiality of -Englishmen and Englishwomen, shouted as loudly as if the triumph had -been with their own champion, when the trumpets proclaimed the victory -of the Scottish Knight. - -The gallant Lindsay leaped from his horse, and, altogether unheeding -the praises that were showering upon him, ran to lift up his opponent, -who lay without motion. With the assistance of the seconds and -esquires, he raised him, and his helmet being unlaced, he was -discovered to be in a swoon, and it was judged that he was severely -bruised. A litter was immediately brought, and the discomfited knight -speedily carried off to his lodgings in the Tower. Meanwhile Lindsay’s -attention was called by the voice of the King. - -“Sir David de Lindsay,” said he, addressing him from his balcony, “we -do heartily give thee joy of thy victory. Thou hast acquitted thyself -like a true and valiant knight. Come up hither that we may bestow our -Royal guerdon on thee.” - -Lindsay ran up stairs to the balcony where the King sat, and kneeling -on one knee before him— - -“Accept this gemmed golden chain, in token of Richard’s approbation of -thy prowess,” said the Monarch, throwing the chain over his neck; “and -now thou hast full leave to return to thine own country when thou -mayest be pleased so to do, bearing with thee safe-conduct through the -realm of England.” - -“Most Royal Sir,” said Lindsay, “I shall bear this thy gift as my -proudest badge; but may I crave thy gracious leave to tarry at thy -Court until I do see that the Lord Welles is restored to health by the -leeches? Verily, I should return but sadly into Scotland did I believe -that I had caused aught of serious evil to so brave a lord.” - -“Nay, that at thy discretion, Sir Knight,” replied Richard; “our Court -shall be but the prouder while graced by such a flower of chivalry as -thyself.” - -Lindsay bowed his thanks, and then retreated from the applauses which -rang in his ears, that he might hasten to follow the Lord Welles to his -lodgings, where he took his place by his bed-side, and began to execute -the duties of a nurse, rarely quitting him for many days, that is, -until his cure was perfected. - -Lindsay was no sooner gone than the gay Sir Piers Courtenay, who had by -this time mounted, and who had been all along writhing under the -ridicule which Sir William de Dalzel had thrown upon him, now prepared -to give his challenge in form. Bringing his horse’s head round to front -the Royal balcony, and backing him with the most perfect skill, he rose -in his stirrups, and made a most graceful obeisance to his King. - -“What wouldst thou with us, Courtenay?” said Richard, with a smile -playing about his mouth. - -“My liege,” replied Courtenay, bowing again with peculiar grace, “I -have to ask a boon of your Royal favour.” - -“Speak, then, we give thee license,” replied the King. - -“So please your Majesty, I do conceive myself grossly insulted by a -Scottish knight; in such wise, indeed, that the blood of one of us must -wash out the stain. May we then have thy Royal leave to fight before -thee even now, to the outrance?” - -“Name the Scottish knight of whom thou dost so complain,” said the -King, with difficulty composing his features; “thou hast our full -license to give him thy darreigne.” - -“’Tis he who now rideth this way,” replied Courtenay, “Sir William de -Dalzel.” - -“Ha! what wouldst thou with me, most puissant Sir Piers?” said Dalzel, -who just then returned from riding slowly along the whole length of the -bridge, with his vizor up, a grave face, and a burlesque attitude, so -as to show his pie off to the greatest advantage, bringing a roar of -laughter along with him from the balconies and open lattices on both -sides of the way, and who now approached Courtenay with a bow so -ridiculous, that it entirely upset the small portion of gravity that -the young King was blessed with; “what wouldst thou with me, I say, -most potent paragon of knighthood?” - -“I would that thou shouldst redeem thy pledge,” replied Courtenay, with -very unusual brevity. - -“What, then, Sir Piers,” replied Dalzel, “must it then be pie against -popinjay? Nay, cry you mercy, I forgot. Thy bird, I do believe, is -called a falcon, though, by St. Luke, an ’twere not for the legend, -few, I wis, would take it for aught but an owl, being that it is of -portraiture so villanous.” - -“By the blessed St. Erkenwold, but thy bantering doth pass all -bearing,” cried Courtenay impatiently, and perhaps more nettled at this -attack on the merits of his embroidery than he had been with anything -that had yet passed. “Depardieux, my falcon was the admiration of the -Westminster feast. By the holy St. Paul, it was the work of the most -eminent artists the metropolis can boast.” - -“Perdie, I am right glad to hear thy character of them,” replied -Dalzel, “for my pie is here by the same hands; nay, and now I look at -it again, ’tis most marvellously fashioned. By the Rood, but it pecks -an ’twere alive.” - -“Thou hast contrived to turn all eyes upon me by thy clownish mockery,” -cried Courtenay, getting still more angry, as the laugh rose higher at -every word uttered by his adversary. - -“Nay, then,” replied Dalzel, with affected gravity, “methinks thou -shouldst give me good store of thanks, Sir Knight, for having brought -so many bright and so many brave eyes to look upon the high perfections -of thee and thy buzzard.” - -“My liege,” replied Courtenay, no longer able to stand the laugh that -ran around from window to window at his expense, “am I to have thy -Royal license?” - -“Go, then, without further let,” said the King; “let the heralds of the -lists proclaim the challenge.” - -The usual ceremonies were now gone through, and Sir Piers Courtenay -rode off to the barrier lately tenanted by the Lord Welles. Dalzel sat -looking after him for some seconds, until he was master of his -attitude, and then turning his horse, cantered off to his own barrier, -so perfectly caricaturing the proud and indignant seat of the raging -Courtenay, that he carried a peal of laughter along with him. But the -universal merriment was much increased when the banner of the falcon -was contrasted with that of the pie, which was raised in opposition to -it. It was silenced, however, by the trumpets of warning, that now -brayed loudly from either side of the bridge. - -A second and a third time they sounded, and Courtenay flew against his -opponent with a fury equal to the rage he felt. Even the serious nature -of the combat could not tame the waggery of the roguish Dalzel, who, -though he failed not to give due attention to the manner in which he -bore his shield, as well as to the firmness of his seat, rode his -career in a manner so ludicrous as altogether to overcome that solemn -silence of expectation that generally awaited the issue of a combat -where death might ensue. The spectators, indeed, were made to forget -the probability of such a consequence, and Courtenay’s ears continued -to be mortified by the loud laugh which, though it followed his -adversary, fell with all its blistering effect upon him. Though much -disconcerted, the English knight bore his lance’s point bravely and -truly against Dalzel’s helmet; but the cunning Scot had left it -unlaced, so that it gave way as it was touched, and fell back on his -shoulders without his feeling the shock; whilst his own lance passed -high over the head of his antagonist. - -This appeared to be the result of accident, and they prepared to run -again. The signal was given, the encounter came, Dalzel’s helmet gave -way a second time, whilst he with great adroitness pierced the silken -wreath supporting the falcon that soared over Courtenay’s casque, and -bore it off in triumph. - -“Ha!” exclaimed he, “by St. Andrew, but I have the popinjay!” And so -saying, he waited not for further talk, but rode off along the bridge -with pompous air, and returned bearing it on high, to the great -mortification of Courtenay, and the no small amusement of the -spectators. - -Courtenay’s ire was now excited to the utmost. The trumpet sounded for -the third career, and he ran to Dalzel with the fullest determination -to unhorse him; but again the treacherous helmet defeated him, while he -received the point of his adversary’s lance so rudely on the bars of -the vizor, that they gave way before it. - -“Come hither, come hither quickly,” cried Courtenay to his esquire. “By -the blessed St. George, I have suffered most fatal damage, the which -the clownish life of that caitiff Scot would but poorly compensate.” - -All eyes were now turned towards him; and his esquire having released -him from his helmet, showed his mouth bleeding so profusely, that those -who were near him began seriously to fear that he had really suffered -some fatal injury. - -“As I am a true knight, my liege, I shall never lift my head again,” -said Courtenay. “I have lost the most precious ornaments of my face, -two pearls from my upper jaw—see here they are,” said he, holding them -out, “fresh, oriental, and shaped by nature with an elegance so -surprisingly and scrupulously accurate, that they were the admiration -of all who saw them. What shall I do without them?” - -“Nay, in truth, thou must even make war on thy food with the wings of -thine army, instead of nibbling at it with the centre, as I did remark -thou were wont to do,” said Sir William Dalzel, looking over his -shoulder. - -“Dost thou sit there, my liege, to see one of thy native knights made a -mock of? Had not the traitor’s helmet been left unclosed, by the holy -shrine of St. Erkenwold, but he should have bit the dust ere now. I -demand justice.” - -“Nay, of a truth I did greatly err, most valiant sir,” said Sir William -Dalzel, with mock penitence. “It was that hawk-shaped nese of thine -that my pie would have pyked at.” - -“Give me but one course all fair, and thou mayest pick as it may please -thee,” replied Courtenay. - -“Nay, I am willing to pleasure thee with six courses, if thou wouldst -have them, good Sir Knight of the Howlet,” replied Dalzel; “but then, -mark me, it must be on equal terms. Hitherto thou hast fought me with a -secret vantage on thy side.” - -“Vantage!” cried Courtenay with indignation; “nay, methinks the vantage -hath been all thine own, Sir Scot.” - -“In truth, it must be owned I have had the best of it, Sir Englishman,” -said Dalzel with a sarcastic leer; “natheless, ’tis thou who hast had -the secret vantage.” - -“Let us be judged then by the Royal Richard,” said Courtenay. - -“Agreed,” said Dalzel. “But let each of us first pledge in the Royal -hands two hundred pieces of gold, to be incontinently forfaulted by him -who shall be found to have borne the secret vantage.” - -“Agreed,” cried Courtenay confidently. - -A murmur of highly-excited curiosity now ran along the lists, and the -knights despatched their esquires for the money. Dalzel gave a private -hint to his as he went. In a short time the two esquires returned, each -carrying a purse on a pole, both of which were put up in the balcony -where the King sat. But what surprised every one was the appearance of -a farrier, who followed Dalzel’s squire, bearing a burning brand in his -hand. - -“And now,” said Dalzel aloud, “I do boldly accuse Sir Piers Courtenay, -the knight of the How——, nay, he of the Falcon, I mean, of having -fought against me with two eyes, whilst one of mine was scooped out at -Otterbourne, doubtless by one of the hot-spurring sons of -Northumberland’s Earl. I do therefore claim his forfaulted purse. But -as I do fully admit the bravery of the said Sir Piers, the goodness of -whose metal is sufficiently apparent, though it be besprent with so -much vain tinsel, I am willing to do further battle with him, yea, for -as many as six courses, or sixty times six, if he be so inclined, but -this on condition that he doth resign that unfair vantage the which he -hath hitherto had of me, and cheerfully submit to have one of his eyes -extinguished by the brand of this sooty operator.” - -“Sir Piers Courtenay,” said Richard, laughing heartily at a joke so -well suited to the times, and which had renewed the convulsions of -laughter so severely felt by Dalzel’s antagonist, “art thou prepared to -agree to this so reasonable proposal?” - -But Sir Piers Courtenay was so chagrined that he wanted words. He hung -his head, and was silent. - -“Then must we of needscost forbid all further duel, and forthwith -decide incontinently against thee. The purses are thine, Sir William de -Dalzel, for, sooth to say, thou hast well earned them by thy merry -wit.” - -“Nay, then, Sir Piers Courtenay,” said Dalzel, riding up to his -opponent, “let not this waggery of mine cause me to tyne thy good will. -Trust me, I will have none of thy money; but if thou art disposed to -confess that thou hast no longer that contempt for Scottish knights the -which thou hast been hitherto so much inclined to manifest, let it be -laid out in some merry masquing party of entertainment, the which shall -be thine only penance. When all else, from the Royal Richard downwards, -have been so hospitable, why should we have to complain of the despisal -of one English knight? Let us shake hands, then, I pray thee.” - -“Sir William de Dalzel, though thou hast worked me a grievous loss, the -which can never be made good,” replied Courtenay, laying his hand on -his mouth, “verily I do bear thee no unchristian ill-will; and sith -that his Majesty hath absolved us of our duel, I do hereby cheerfully -give thee the right hand of good fellowship.” - -“’Tis well,” said Dalzel. “Instead of fighting thee, I will strive with -thee in that for the which neither eyes nor teeth may be much needed. I -will dance a bargaret with thee, yea, or a fandango, if that may please -thee better, and there I shall ask for no favour.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LXIV. - - Lady de Vere and her Lovely Guest. Innocence and Purity endangered. - The King’s Confessor and the Franciscan Friar. - - -After the spectacle was over, and whilst the homeward procession was -forming, Sir Patrick Hepborne was surprised by the wave of a fair hand, -accompanied by a smiling bow of acknowledgment from a very beautiful -woman in one of the balconies close to that of the King. From the -richness of her attire, and the place that had been allotted to her, -she was evidently a lady of some consequence. He returned the -compliment, but, whilst he did so, he felt unconscious of having ever -spoken to her, although, upon re-perusing her face, he remembered her -as one whom he had seen at the King’s banquets, where he had observed -that she was particularly noticed by the Sovereign. Turning to Sir -Miles Stapleton, who stood by him, he besought him to tell her name. - -“What,” exclaimed Sir Miles in reply, “hast thou been at our English -Court for so many days, Sir Patrick, and yet knowest thou not the Lady -de Vere? Depardieux, it doth much surprise me that she hath not sooner -sought thine acquaintance, for, by the Rood, she is a merry madam, and -fond of variety. She hath been married but a short space, yet she -already changeth her lovers as she doth her fancy robes.” - -“Is it possible?” cried Hepborne, in astonishment. - -“Possible, Sir Patrick!” returned the English knight; “perdie, I am -surprised at thy seeming wonder. Are Scottish ladies then so constant -to their lords that thou shouldst think this fickleness so great a -marvel in the Lady de Vere? She hath been for some time an especial -favourite of Majesty; that is, I would have thee to understand me, in -friendship, not par amours, though there be evil tongues that do say as -much.” - -“Indeed?” cried Hepborne. - -“Yea, they scruple not to say so,” continued Sir Miles; “but I, who -better know the King, do verily believe that, albeit he is much given -to idle dalliance with these free ladies of this licentious Court, -there be but little else to accuse him of. Thou needst have no fear, -therefore, Sir Patrick, that the dread of Majesty will interfere with -thy happiness, if it be her will to receive thee as a lover; so I wish -thee joy of thy conquest. Trust me, I do more envy thee than I do the -brave conqueror of the Lord Welles, much glory as he hath gained.” - -Sir Patrick turned away, at once confounded and disgusted. What! the -Lady Eleanore de Selby, of whose excellence he had heard so much, the -friend of the Lady Beatrice—was it possible that the contamination of a -Court could have already rendered her a person of character so loose? -He was shocked at the thought. He turned again to watch her motions, -when he observed the King himself advance towards her as she was -preparing to get into her saddle, and a private conversation pass -between them, that drew the eyes of all the courtiers upon them; but -Sir Patrick being called away to join the Scottish party, lost the -opportunity of observing the conclusion of their conference. - -Whilst the procession was dispersing in the court-yard of the Tower, -the Lady de Vere entered, riding on a piebald palfry, richly -caparisoned. She was surrounded by a group of gay chevaliers, with whom -she was talking and laughing loudly; but she no sooner espied Hepborne -than she broke from among them and advanced to meet him. - -“Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said she, smiling, “it erketh me that mine evil -fortune hath hitherto yielded me no better than public opportunity to -know him, who, by consent of all, is acknowledged to be the flower of -Scottish chivalry. Trust me, my private apartments shall be ever open -to so peerless a knight.” - -“Nay, Lady,” replied Sir Patrick, “the title thou hast been pleased to -bestow on me belongeth not to me but to Sir David Lindsay and Sir -William Dalzel, who have this day so nobly supported the honour of -Scotland.” - -“They are brave knights, ’tis true,” replied the lady; “yet be there -other qualifications in knighthood than mere brute strength or brute -courage. That thou hast enow of both of these to the full as well as -they, we who have heard of Otterbourne do well know. But in the graces -of knightly deportment there be few who admit them to be thine equal, -and of that few I do confess myself not to be one.” - -Hepborne bowed; but, disgusted alike with her freedom and flattery, he -gave token of approval neither by manner nor words. - -“These are my apartments, Sir Knight,” continued the lady, pointing to -a range of windows in a wing of the palace. “If thou canst quit the -banquet to spend some merry hours with me this evening, trust me, thou -shalt meet with no cold reception from the Lady de Vere.” - -This invitation was seasoned by some warm glances, that spoke even more -than her words; but Sir Patrick received both the one and the other -with a silent and formal obeisance. The lady turned towards a flight of -steps, and being assisted to dismount by an esquire, she tripped up -stairs and along a covered terrace. A door opened at its farther -extremity, and a lady appeared for a moment. It was the Lady Beatrice; -he could not be mistaken; her image was now too deeply engraven on his -heart. The blood bounded for a moment within his bosom, rushed through -each artery with the heat and velocity of lightning, and then, as the -thought of the Lady de Vere’s character arose within his mind, it -returned cold as ice to its fountain-head, and froze up every warm -feeling there. He felt faint, and his head grew giddy. He looked -towards the door where the ladies were saluting each other with every -mark of kindness, and his eyes grew dim as they vanished within the -entrance. - -Almost unconscious of what he was doing, Sir Patrick turned his horse -to go to his lodgings. As he recovered from the stunning effect of the -spectacle he beheld, his mind began to be agonized by the most -distressing thoughts. It was impossible that the Lady Beatrice, whom he -believed to be so pure, could be the willing guest of so vile a woman, -knowing her to be such. Yet, though such was his impression, he knew -not well what to think. It was most strange that the Lady de Vere -should have thus urged him to visit her while Beatrice was with her; -unless, indeed, the latter were privy to it, and that it was on her -account. But be this as it might, he liked not the complexion of -matters; and, in a state of great perplexity and unhappiness, he -reached the wine merchant’s, where, having given his horse to a groom, -he slowly sought his chamber, unwillingly to prepare for the banquet. - -In going along the passage which led to his apartments, thinking of -what so much occupied him, he, in a fit of absence, opened a door, -believing it to be his own; and, to his great surprise, he found -himself in a room, where some dozen or twenty persons were seated at a -long table, on which lay some papers. His host was there among the -rest, and the appearance of the knight threw the whole party into -dismay and confusion. Hepborne drew back with an apology, and hastily -shut the door; but he had hardly reached his own, when he heard the -steps of his host coming hurrying after him. - -“Sir Knight,” said Master Ratcliffe, “’twas but some of those with whom -I have had money dealings, come to settle interest with me.” - -As Hepborne looked in his face, he was surprised to notice that it had -exchanged its generous ruby red for a deadly paleness; the wine -merchant was evidently disturbed; but neither this observation, nor the -confusion he had occasioned among the party whom he had seen -surrounding the table, could then find room in his mind for a moment’s -thought. He therefore hastily explained that the interruption had been -quite accidental on his part, and the wine merchant left him apparently -satisfied. It will be easily believed that Sir Patrick Hepborne was but -ill attuned for the revelry of the Royal banquet. He sat silent and -abstracted, ruminating on the monstrous and afflicting conjunction he -had that day witnessed, and perplexing himself with inventing -explanations of the cruel doubts that were perpetually arising in his -mind. The King broke up the feast at an earlier hour than usual, and -Sir Patrick, glad to escape from the crowd, stole away by himself. - -As he was leaving the palace, he turned his eyes towards the casements -of the Lady de Vere. They were eminently conspicuous, for they were -open, and lighted up with great brilliancy, while the sound of the harp -came from them. He thought of the invitation he had received, and hung -about for some time, weighing circumstances, and hesitating whether he -should immediately avail himself of it, that he might ascertain the -truth, or whether he should, in the first place, endeavour to gather it -by some other means. Passion argued for the first, as the most decided -step, and prudence urged the second as the wisest plan; but whilst he -was tossed between them, he was gradually drawn towards the windows by -the unseen magnet within. As he got nearer, he ascertained that it was -a man’s voice that sung the melody and words, to which the instrument -was an accompaniment; and by the time he reached the bottom of the -flight of steps, he could catch the remaining verses of a ballad, part -of which had been already sung. They were nearly as follows:— - - - “And wilt thou break thy faith with me, - And dare our vows to rend?” - “Hence!” cried the angry sire; “with thee - My Eda ne’er shall wend. - - “Her name doth prouder match demand; - Lord Henry comes to-night; - He comes to take her promised hand, - And claim a husband’s right. - - “Then hence!”—The knight, in woful guise, - Turned from the perjured gate; - The maiden heard her lover’s sighs, - All weeping where she sate. - - “Now up and run, my bonnie page, - Fly with the falcon’s wing, - Fly swiftly to Sir Armitage, - And give to him this ring. - - “And tell him, when the rippling ford - Shall catch the moonbeams light, - I’ll leave the hated bridal board, - To meet him there to-night.” - - The boy he found Sir Armitage - In greenwood all so sad; - But when he spied his lady’s page, - His weeping eyne grew glad. - - And up leaped he for very joy, - And kissed his lady’s ring, - And much he praised the bonny boy - Who did such message bring. - - “I’ll meet my lady by the stream, - So, boy, now hie thee home; - I’ll meet her when the moon’s broad beam - Comes dancing over the foam.” - - And now to grace the wedding-feast - The demoiselles prepare; - There were the bridegroom, sire, and priest, - But Eda was not there. - - She left her tyrant father’s tower, - To seek her own true knight; - She met him at the trysted hour, - Prepared to aid her flight. - - “Sir Armitage, with thee I’ll ride - Through flood, o’er fell so steep; - Though destined for another’s bride, - My vow to thee I’ll keep.” - - “Oh bless thee, bless thee, lady mine, - That true thy heart doth prove; - Before yon moon hath ceased to shine, - The priest shall bless our love.” - - He raised her on his gallant steed, - And sprang him to his selle; - “Keep, keep thy seat, my love, with heed, - And grasp my baldrick well.” - - Beneath the moon the wavelets flash’d, - Struck by the courser’s heel, - And through the ford he boldly dash’d, - Spurr’d by the pointed steel. - - High up his sides the surges rose, - And washed the blood away; - They lav’d fair Eda’s bridal-clothes, - And fill’d her with dismay. - - “Alas, the stream is strong,” she cried. - “Fear not, my love,” said he; - “’Tis here the waters deepest glide, - Anon we shall be free.” - - Behind them rung a wild alarm, - And torches gleam’d on high; - Forth from the Castle came a swarm, - With yells that rent the sky. - - Again the knight his iron heel - Dash’d in his courser’s side. - He plung’d—his powerful limbs did reel— - He yielded to the tide. - - Down went both mailed horse and knight; - The maid was borne away, - And flash’d the moonbeam’s silver light - Amid the sparkling spray. - - His daughter’s shriek the father heard, - Far on the moonlit wave; - A moment Eda’s form appear’d, - Then sunk in watery grave. - - Peace never blest the sire again; - He curst ambitious pride, - That made him hold his promise vain, - And sacred oaths deride. - - Still in his eye his sinking child, - Her shriek still in his ear, - Reft of his mind, he wanders wild - Midst rocks and forests drear. - - But where that cross in yonder shade - Oft bends the pilgrim’s knee, - There sleep the gentle knight and maid - Beneath their trysting tree. - - -When the musician had finished, Sir Patrick Hepborne still continued to -loiter with his arm on the balustrade of the stair, when the door -opened, and he heard a feeble step on the terrace above. He looked -upwards, and the light of a lamp that was burning in a niche fell on -the aged countenance of a man who was descending. It was Adam of -Gordon. - -“Adam of Gordon!” exclaimed Sir Patrick. - -“And who is he, I pray, who doth know Adam of Gordon so far from home?” -demanded the minstrel. “Ah, Sir Patrick Hepborne; holy St. Cuthbert, I -do rejoice to see thee. Trust me, the ready help thou didst yield me at -Forres hath not been forgotten; though thou didst sorely mar my verses -by thine interruption. Full many sithes have I tried to awaken that -noble subject, but the witchery of inspiration is past, and——” - -“But how camest thou here?” demanded Hepborne, impatiently interrupting -him. - -“Sir Knight, I came hither with a lady from the Borders,” said Adam, -hesitatingly; “a lady that——” - -“Nay, speak not so mystically, old man,” replied Hepborne; “I am -already well aware of the story of the Lady Beatrice, and heartily do I -curse mine own folly for permitting jealousy so to hoodwink mine eyes -as to make me run blindly away from mine own happiness. I already guess -that it was she whom thou didst accompany hither, and I know that she -is now an inmate of those apartments, with the Lady de Vere, the -daughter of the late Sir Walter de Selby.” - -“Nay, nay, so far thou art wrong, Sir Knight,” replied the Minstrel. -“She to whom these apartments do belong is not the daughter of Sir -Walter de Selby. True it is, indeed, that when the Lady Eleanore did -leave Norham Castle, she did call the companion of her flight by the -name of Sir Hans de Vere, a Zealand knight, kinsman to the Duke of -Ireland; but some strange mystery doth yet hang over this affair, for -he who doth own these gay lodgings, and who is the husband of this gay -madam, is the identical Sir Hans de Vere I have just described, and yet -he knoweth nought of the Lady Eleanore de Selby.” - -“Thy speech is one continued riddle, good Adam,” said Hepborne; “canst -thou not explain to me?” - -“Nay, of a truth, Sir Knight, thou dost know as much as I do,” said the -minstrel. “What hath become of the Lady Eleanore de Selby no one can -tell. If he that she married be indeed a De Vere, he is at least no kin -to the Duke of Ireland, as he or she would have us believe. There have -been De Veres enow about the English Court since this King Richard -began his reign, albeit that the day may be gone by with many of them, -sith that their chief, the Duke of Ireland, hath been forced to flee -into Zealand, where his race had its origin. But of all the De Veres, -none doth answer the description of him whom the Lady Beatrice and I -did see carry off the Lady Eleanore de Selby from Norham.” - -“Strange, most strange,” said Sir Patrick Hepborne; “but knowest thou -aught of this Lady de Vere? Men’s tongues do talk but lightly of her.” - -“Nay, in good truth, I have begun to entertain strange notions of her -myself,” replied Adam. “By’r Lady, she would have had me sing some -virelays to-night that were light and warm enow, I promise thee, had I -not feigned that I knew them not; and, by my troth, she spared not to -chide me for my sober minstrelsy, the which she did tauntingly compare -to the chanting of monks. My Lady, quoth I, consider I am but a rude -Border——” - -“But say, old man,” cried Hepborne, impatiently interrupting him, “how -did the Lady Beatrice seek shelter with such a woman? Quick, tell me, I -beseech thee, for I must hasten to rescue the poor and spotless dove -from the clutch of this foul howlet.” - -“In the name of the Virgin, then, let us lose no time in thinking how -it may best be done,” said Adam of Gordon earnestly; “St. Andrew be -praised that thou, Sir Knight, art so willing to become the protector -of an angel, who——Yet I dare not say how much thou art beloved. But, -hush! we may be overheard here in the open air. Let us retreat to my -garret yonder, where I will tell thee all I can, and then we may, with -secrecy and expedition, concert what steps thou hadst best take.” - -Hepborne readily followed the minstrel to his small chamber, and there -he learned the following particulars. - -The Lady Beatrice had no sooner recovered from the swoon into which she -had been thrown by the appearance of the Franciscan at Sir Walter de -Selby’s funeral, than she sent for the Minstrel, of whose attachment -and fidelity she had already had many a proof, and imparted to him her -design of quitting Norham Castle immediately. Without communicating her -intention to any one else, she mounted that milk-white palfrey which -had been the gift of Hepborne, and travelled with all speed to -Newcastle, where she sought shelter in the house of a widowed sister of -Sir Walter de Selby. There she lived for a short time in retirement, -until at last she adopted the resolution of visiting London in search -of her friend the Lady Eleanore, whom she believed now to be the Lady -de Vere, that she might communicate to her the death of her father, if -she had not already heard of that event, and entreat from her a -continuance of that protection which she had so long afforded her. She -and the Minstrel, therefore, went on board a ship sailing for the -Thames; but having been tossed about by contrary winds, and even -compelled to seek safety more than once in harbours by the way, they -had only arrived in the metropolis three days before that of which we -are now speaking. - -The Minstrel was immediately employed by the Lady Beatrice to make -inquiry for the Lady de Vere, and he was readily directed to the -lodgings of the lady of that name in the Tower. But he was no sooner -introduced into her presence and that of her husband, Sir Hans de Vere, -than he discovered that there was some strange mistake. To exculpate -himself for his seeming intrusion on a knight and lady to whom he was -an utter stranger, he explained the cause of his coming, and told whom -he sought for, when, to his great dismay, he learned that no such -persons as those he described were known about the Court. Filled with -chagrin, he returned to the Lady Beatrice, whose vexation may be more -easily conceived than described. She was a stranger in London, in a -wretched hostel, without a friend but old Adam to advise her, and -severed for ever, as she feared, from the only human being on whom she -could say that she had the least claim for protection. Despair came -upon her, and hiding her face in her hands, she gave full way to her -grief. - -Whilst she sat in this wretched situation, in which Adam in vain -exerted himself to comfort her, a page arrived, with a kind message -from Sir Hans and Lady de Vere, in which they offered her their house -as a home, until she should have time to determine as to her future -conduct. So friendly, so seasonable a proposal, was not to be rejected -in her circumstances, even coming as it did from strangers, and the -Lady Beatrice gladly became the guest of the Lady de Vere. - -So far went the Minstrel’s knowledge; but leaving Sir Patrick to -question him as he pleases, we shall ourselves more deeply investigate -the circumstances, as well as the secret springs of action which -produced this event. It happened that just after the Minstrel’s -interview with the Lady de Vere, King Richard came to idle an hour with -her as he was often wont to do to gather the gossip of the Court. The -lady told him what had passed, and the Monarch joined with her in the -laugh it occasioned. The Lady de Vere had extracted enough of -Beatrice’s history from the Minstrel to be able to answer the King’s -questions. - -“And who may this Beatrice be?” demanded Richard. - -“A damsel, I believe, whom old De Selby picked up at the door of a -Scottish peasant, and whom he fancied to educate as a companion to his -daughter Eleanore,” replied Lady de Vere; “doubtless, now that he is -dead, she seeks to hang herself about the neck of the heiress of her -patron.” - -“And sith that she hath so come, might we not find some other neck for -her to hang about?” said the King laughing. “Pr’ythee, send for her -hither; we should be well contented to see this stray bird.” - -The Lady de Vere well knew her advantage in humouring all the wild -fancies that entered the King’s head, and accordingly gave immediate -obedience to his wishes, by sending to Beatrice the message we have -already noticed. Fatigued to death by her voyage, Beatrice had no -sooner complied with the invitation she had received, than she was -compelled to retire to the apartment the Lady de Vere had prepared for -her; and she continued so long indisposed that she was unable to be -present at the tilting. - -Towards the evening of that day, however, she was so far recovered as -to quit her room; and, accordingly, when the procession returned from -London Bridge, she hastened to pour out her gratitude to the Lady de -Vere for the hospitable reception she had given her. - -Sir Hans went to the King’s banquet, but his lady remained with -Beatrice; and the Minstrel was sent for to amuse them with his ballads. -There was something free and bold in the manner of the Lady de Vere -that was by no means agreeable to Beatrice; but believing that there -was nothing worse in it than an unfortunate manner, she endeavoured to -reconcile herself to it, in one who had shown her so much apparent -friendship. - -They were seated in a luxuriously-furnished apartment, hung with -tapestry of the richest hues, and lighted up by silver lamps, when the -door opened, and Sir Hans de Vere entered, ushering in a young man, -whom he introduced as the Earl of Westminster. The Lady de Vere smiled -on the young nobleman, and Beatrice, though she had never heard of such -a title, was aware that new lords were created so frequently, that -there was little wonder she should be ignorant of it. The young Earl, -who was very handsome, seemed to be on habits of great intimacy with -Sir Hans de Vere and his lady. He seated himself by the Lady Beatrice, -and began to trifle pleasantly with her, mixing up a thousand courtly -compliments with the agreeable nothings that he uttered. Spiced wine -and sweetmeats were handed round, and soon afterwards a small, but very -tasteful and exquisitely cooked supper appeared, with wines of the -richest flavour. The Lady Beatrice ate little, and refused to touch -wine. The night wore apace. The young Earl of Westminster became more -and more earnest in his endeavours to make himself agreeable to -Beatrice, who began to find considerable amusement in his conversation, -and insensibly permitted him to absorb her whole attention. Suddenly he -began, in a sort of half-serious manner, to address her in a strain of -tenderness that by no means pleased her. She prepared to shift her -place; but what was her astonishment, when, on looking up, she saw that -she and the young Earl were alone. Sir Hans de Vere and his lady had -stolen unnoticed from the apartment. Beatrice started up to follow -them. - -“Nay, stay to hear me, lovely Beatrice,” cried the Earl, endeavouring -to detain her. - -“Unhand me, my Lord,” cried she boldly, and at the same time tearing -herself from him. - -“Hear me, only hear me,” cried the Earl, springing to the door, so as -to cut off her retreat. - -This action still more alarmed her. She screamed aloud for help, and -flying to the casement, threw it open; but the Earl dragged her from it -by gentle force, and having shut it, he was vainly endeavouring to -compose her, when the chamber door was burst open by a furious kick, -and Sir Patrick Hepborne appeared, with his drawn sword in his hand. - -“King Richard!” cried the knight, starting back with astonishment: -“Doth England’s King so far forget the duty of the high office he doth -hold, as to become the destroyer instead of the protector of innocence? -Yet, by St. Andrew, wert thou fifty times a king, thou shouldst answer -to me for thine insult to that lady. Defend thyself.” - -The cool presence of mind exhibited by Richard whilst yet a stripling, -on the memorable occasion of Wat Tyler being struck down by Walworth -the Lord Mayor, showed that he was not constitutionally deficient in -courage; but in this, as in everything else, he was wavering and -uncertain, and no one was more liable than he to yield to sudden panic. -Seeing Hepborne about to spring on him, he darted into an inner room, -the door of which stood ajar. - -“Sir Patrick Hepborne!” cried the Lady Beatrice, her lovely face -flushing with the mingled emotions of surprise, joy, gratitude, and -love. - -“Yes,” cried the knight, throwing himself on one knee before her, “yes, -Lady Beatrice, he who may now dare to call himself thine own faithful -and true knight—he who hath now had his eyes cleared from the errors -which blinded him—he who, whilst deeply smitten by those matchless -charms, believed that in his adoration of them he was worshipping the -Lady Eleanore de Selby—he who thus believing himself to be deceived and -rejected, did yet continue to nourish the pure and enduring flame in -his bosom after all hope had fled, and who now feels it glow with -tenfold warmth, sith that hope’s gentle gales have again sprung up to -fan it—he who will——But whither is my passion leading me?” cried he, -starting up, and taking Beatrice’s hand; “this is no time for indulging -myself in such a theme, dear as it may be to me. Lady, thou art -betrayed. This is no fit place of sojournance for spotless virtue such -as thine. The false Lady de Vere is one who doth foully minister to the -King’s pleasures. Lose not a moment, I beseech you. I have seen Adam of -Gordon, who waits for us without. Fly then,” cried he, leading her -towards the door, “fly with me; I will be thy protector. Let us haste -from the impure den of this wicked woman, who would have——” - -Sir Patrick threw open the door as he pronounced these words, and in an -instant he was prostrated on the floor by the blow of a halbert. - -“Seize him and drag him to a dungeon,” cried the Lady de Vere, with -eyes flashing like those of an enraged tigress; “I accuse him of a -treasonable attack on the sacred person of the King of England. He -shall die the death of traitor.” The guards obeyed her, and lifting up -the inanimate body of the knight, bore him away. - -“So,” cried the fury, “so perish those who shall dare to insult the -love of the Lady de Vere; and as for thee, minion,” she said, turning -round, “thou art a prisoner there during my pleasure.” And saying so, -she pushed Beatrice into the room, and locked and bolted the door on -the wretched damsel, who fell from her violence, and instantly swooned -away. - -When the Lady Beatrice recovered, and began to recollect what had -passed, she arose in a tremor, and tottering to a seat, rested herself -for some moments, throwing her eyes fearfully around the apartment. -Everything in it remained as it was. No one seemed to have entered -since. The lamps had begun to burn so faintly, that they appeared to -tell of the approach of midnight, and this idea was strengthened by the -silence that prevailed everywhere both without and within the palace. -She tried the bolts of the door, but, to her great horror, she found -them fast. A faint hope of escape arose, when she remembered that the -King had disappeared by the inner apartment, whence there might be a -passage leading to other chambers. She snatched up an expiring hand -lamp, and hastened to explore it. But there was no visible mode of exit -from the room, and she now became convinced that the King must have -returned through the apartment whilst she lay insensible, and that some -one had liberated him from without. The recollection of the cruel -wound, which she almost feared might have been Sir Patrick’s death -blow, together with the certainty of his captivity, and the probable -issue of it, now filled her mind with horror; and this, added to the -perplexity of her present situation, so overcame her, that she sat down -and wept bitterly. - -The lamps now, one after another, expired, until she was left in total -darkness. She groped her way into the inner apartment, and, having -fastened the door within, threw herself upon the couch, and abandoned -herself to all her wretchedness. - -Whilst the Lady Beatrice was lying in this distressing situation, she -was startled by a noise. Suddenly a glare of light flashed upon her -eyes; she rubbed them, and looked towards the spot whence it proceeded. -A man in a friar’s habit stood near the wall; he held a lamp high, that -its light might the better fill the room. Immediately behind him was an -opening in the tapestry, the folds of which being held aside by a hand -and arm, admitted the entrance of another shaven crowned head. To the -terror of the Lady Beatrice, she recognized in this second monk the -piercing eyes and powerful features of the very Franciscan whose dagger -had so alarmed her at Lochyndorbe, and the sight of whom had so -affected her at Sir Walter de Selby’s funeral. She attempted to scream, -but fear so overcame her, that, like one who labours under a nightmare, -her lips moved, but her tongue refused to do its office, and she lay -with her eyes wide open, staring on the object of her dread, in mute -expectation of immediate murder. - -“Is she there, Friar Rushak?” said he whom we have known by the name of -the Franciscan. - -“She is here,” said the first monk, who bore the lamp; “all is quiet -too—thou mayest safely enter.” - -The Franciscan who followed now stepped into the apartment, and came -stealing forward with soft, barefooted tread. - -“Give me the light, Friar Rushak, that there may be no mistake,” said -he, taking the lamp from his companion. - -The blood grew chill in the Lady Beatrice’s veins as the Franciscan -approached the couch where she lay. He held the lamp so as to throw its -light strongly upon her face. - -“It is she indeed,” said he, in a muttering voice, while his features -were lighted up by a grim smile of satisfaction, which gradually faded -away, leaving a severe expression in his lightning eye. - -“She trembles,” said Friar Rushak, advancing towards the couch with a -terrible look; “conscious of her own depravity, she is guilt-stricken.” - -“Ay, she may well be guilt-stricken,” said the Franciscan. - -“Alas, of what am I accused, mysterious man?” cried the Lady Beatrice, -clasping her hands together, and throwing herself on her knees before -them. “Murder me not—murder me not. Let not the holy garments you wear -be stained with the blood of innocence.” - -“Innocence!” cried Friar Rushak, “talk not thou of innocence! Why art -thou in these apartments if thou be’st innocent?” - -“So help me the pure and immaculate Virgin, I am not here by mine own -consent,” said the unhappy lady. “Murder me not without inquiry—I am a -prisoner here—I was eager to escape—I should have escaped with Sir -Patrick Hepborne, had not——” - -“Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said the Franciscan, with a ferocious look. -“Ay, so! The curse of St. Francis be upon him!” - -“Nay, nay, curse him not—oh, curse him not!” cried Beatrice, embracing -the Franciscan’s knees. “Murder me if thou wilt, but, oh, curse not -him, who at peril of his noble life would have rescued me from these -hated walls.” - -“Yea, again I do say, may he be accursed,” cried the Franciscan, with -increased energy and ferocity of aspect. “Full well do we know thy love -for this infamous knight—full well do we know why he would have -liberated thee.” - -“But to find thee here as a toil spread by the Devil to catch the -tottering virtue of King Richard!” cried Friar Rushak. - -“Yea,” said the Franciscan, striking his forehead with the semblance of -intense inward feeling, “to find thee a monster so utterly depraved, is -indeed even more than my worst suspicions.” - -“What couldst thou hope, minion!” said Friar Rushak sternly; “what -couldst thou hope from fixing thine impure affections on the Royal -Richard.” - -“Blessed Virgin,” cried the tortured Beatrice, clasping her hands and -throwing her eyes solemnly upwards, “Holy Mother of God, thou who art -truth itself, and who canst well search out the truth in others, if I -do speak aught else than truth now, let thy just indignation strike me -down an inanimate corpse. I am here as an innocent victim to the -treachery of the Lady de Vere. She it was who inveigled me into these -apartments by pretended friendship, that she might make a sacrifice of -me. I knew not even the person of King Richard; and had it not been for -Sir Patrick Hepborne, who so bravely rescued me from his hand——” - -“Um,” said Friar Rushak, somewhat moved by what she had uttered; “thine -appeal is so solemn, and it must be confessed that the evidence of -those who did accuse thee of plotting against the King’s heart is -indeed but questionable. It may be—But, be it as it may, it mattereth -not, for thou shalt soon be put beyond the reach of weaving snares for -Richard. Yet shall we try thee anon, for thou shalt see the King, and -if by word or look thou dost betray thyself, this dagger shall search -thy heart, yea, even in the presence of Richard himself.” - -“King Richard!” cried Beatrice, with distraction in her looks. “Take me -not before the King; let me not again behold the King. Where have they -carried Sir Patrick Hepborne? In charity let me fly to him; he may now -want that aid which I am bound to yield him.” - -“Nay, thou shalt never see him more.” said the Franciscan. - -“Oh, say not so, say not so—tell me not that he is dead,” cried the -Lady Beatrice, forgetting everything else in her apprehension for Sir -Patrick; “oh, if a spark of charity burns within your bosoms, let me -hasten to him. I saw him bleeding, and on the ground—I heard him -cruelly condemned to a dungeon—oh, let me be the companion of his -captivity—let me watch by his pillow—let me soothe his sorrows—let me -be his physician. If my warm life’s-blood were a healing balm, this -gushing heart would yield it all for his minutest wound.” Her feelings -overcame her, and she fell back, half fainting, on the floor. - -“Raise her head,” said Friar Rushak to the Franciscan, who was bending -over her with some anxiety; and he applied to her nostrils a small -golden box, containing some refreshing odour, which speedily began to -revive her. - -“Alas!” said the Franciscan, “however innocently she may be here, as -affects the King, her abandoned love for her seducer hath been too -clearly confessed.” - -“She reviveth,” said Friar Rushak; “raise her to her feet. And now let -us hasten, brother; the moments fly fast, and we have yet to effect our -perilous passage through the——” - -“Is there no other way?” demanded the Franciscan. - -“None,” replied the Friar Rushak; “and if the King should——” - -“The King!” repeated Beatrice, with a thrill of dread. - -“Ay, Lady, the King,” replied the Friar Rushak, with a strong emphasis -and a desperate expression; “but thou must wear this disguise to -conceal thee,” continued he, opening out a bundle containing a -Franciscan’s habit. “Draw the cowl over thy head and face; follow me -with caution; and whatever thou mayest see, utter no word, or give no -sign, else——Nay, let not thy breath he heard, or——Come on.” - -The Friar Rushak now led the way with the lamp, and the Lady Beatrice, -shaking from a dread that even her loose disguise could not conceal, -stepped after him through a spring door behind the tapestry, that led -into a passage in the centre of the wall. The Franciscan followed, and -shut the door behind him. The passage was so narrow, that one person -only could advance at a time. It was strangely crooked also, frequently -bending at right angles, so as to defy all Beatrice’s speculation as to -where they might be leading her. A dead silence was preserved by both -her attendants, and they moved with a caution that allowed not a step -to be heard. Friar Rushak halted suddenly, and turned round; the lamp -flashed upon his face, and showed his angry eye; the Lady Beatrice fell -back in terror into the arms of the Franciscan behind her. Friar Rushak -put his finger to his open mouth, and then told her, in a whisper, to -suppress the high breathing which her fears had created. The Lady -Beatrice endeavoured to obey. Friar Rushak motioned to her and the -Franciscan to remain where they were; he advanced three or four paces -with great caution, and, slowly opening a concealed door, listened for -a moment; then gently pushing aside the tapestry within, he thrust -forward his head, and again withdrawing it, motioned to Beatrice and -the Franciscan to advance. - -“They sleep,” whispered he. “Follow me—but no word, sign, or breath, as -thou dost value thy life.” - -Friar Rushak entered within the tapestry, and the Lady Beatrice -followed him into a magnificent chamber, lighted by a single lamp. A -gorgeous bed occupied one end of the apartment. Over it, attached to -the heavy Gothic ceiling, was a gilded crown, whence descended a -crimson drapery, richly emblazoned with the Royal Arms of England, -under which lay a young man, his head only appearing above the -bed-clothes. She hastily glanced at his features, which the lamp but -dimly illuminated. It was King Richard. His dark eye-lashes were -closed, but she trembled lest he should awaken. Around the room were -several couches, where his pages ought to have watched, but where they -lay as sound as their Royal master. - -They had hardly stepped into the room, when a little dog came growling -from under the King’s bed. The Lady Beatrice had nearly sunk on the -floor, but the little favourite of the monarch instantly recognized -Friar Rushak as a well-known friend, and quietly retreated to his place -of repose. The pages showed no symptom of alarm, but the King turned in -bed, and exposed his head more fully to view. The Lady Beatrice shook -from head to foot as she looked towards him; but her apprehension was -excited yet more immediately, when she beheld Friar Rushak at her side, -with a menacing eye, and a dagger in his grasp. A sign at once conveyed -to her that it was silence he wanted; and though she ventured not to -breathe, her heart beat so against her side as she stood, that she felt -as if the very sound of its pulsations would break the slumbers of all -around her. Again the King was quiet, and Friar Rushak moved on towards -the opposite door. The Lady Beatrice drew the cowl more over her face, -and, without daring to repeat her glance at the King, followed with as -much caution as her sinking knees would permit her to use. - -The door was opened by Friar Rushak with the utmost gentleness, and -they found themselves at one extremity of a suite of apartments, the -long perspective of which was seen running onwards from one to another, -and where they could perceive groups of dozing domestics lying on -chairs, and stretched on benches, in every possible position. Through -one of these rooms they passed, and then retreated by a side-door into -a narrow circular stair, by which they descended to the hall of -entrance, where they found about a dozen archers sitting slumbering by -a great fire. These men roused themselves on their approach, and, -starting up, sprang forward to bar their passage with their halberts. -The Lady Beatrice became alarmed, and, in the trepidation that seized -her, dropped the friar’s habit that had hitherto concealed her. - -“Ha!” exclaimed one of the soldiers, “a woman and two monks! Who may -that considerate lord have been who hath thus taken the shrift with the -sin?” - -“Silence, Barnaby,” cried another man; “that is the holy Father Rushak, -the King’s Confessor.” - -“Let me pass, knaves,” cried Rushak. - -“Ay, ay, let him pass,” said another man; “he hath right of entrance -and outgoing at all hours. I would not have thee try to stop him, an -thou wouldst sleep in a whole skin to-morrow night.” - -The passage was cleared in a moment. The Lady Beatrice, overpowered -with apprehension, was supported by the Franciscan. - -“Come on, brother,” cried Friar Rushak. - -“She faints,” cried the Franciscan. - -“Lift her in thine arms, then,” cried Rushak. - -The Franciscan raised her from the ground, and carried her half -senseless to the door. At that moment a man entered, and brushed by -them in breathless haste. He looked behind him at the group. - -“The Lady Beatrice!” cried he. “Ha, whither do ye carry her, villains?” - -“Answer him not, but run,” said Rushak, flying off at full speed across -the court, followed by the sturdy Franciscan, who carried his fair -burden as if he felt not her weight. The steps of many people were -heard following them. All at once the noise of a desperate scuffle -ensued behind them, and the two monks, who stayed not to inquire the -nature of it, pressed on towards a low archway that ran under the -river-wall. The air blew fresh from the river on Beatrice’s cheek. She -revived, and found that he who carried her was standing near an iron -gate of ponderous strength, which Friar Rushak was making vain attempts -to open. - -“Holy St. Francis assist us!” cried he, “I fear that my hands have -erred, and that I have unluckily possessed myself of the wrong key.” - -“Hush,” said the Franciscan, “and keep close. The step of the sentinel -on the wall above falls louder. He cometh this way.” - -They drew themselves closer to the wall. The sentinel’s step passed -onward to the extremity of his walk, and then slowly returning, it -again moved by, and the sound of it sank along the wall. - -“Try the key again, brother,” said the Franciscan; “the man is beyond -hearing.” - -Friar Rushak again applied the key; the great bolt yielded before it; -the gate creaked upon its hinges, and the Franciscan deposited his -trembling burden, more dead than alive, in a little skiff that lay in -the creek of the river running under the vault. - -“Thanks, kind brother,” said the Franciscan in a low tone of voice, to -Friar Rushak; “a thousand thanks for thy friendly aid.” - -“Hush! the sentinel comes again,” whispered Friar Rushak. - -They remained perfectly still until the man had completed his turn, and -was gone beyond hearing. - -“Now thou mayest venture to depart,” said Friar Rushak—“away, and St. -Francis be with thee!” And so saying, he waved his hand, shut the gate, -and quickly disappeared. - -The Franciscan got into the boat. A little crooked man, who had -hitherto lain like a bundle of clothes in the bottom of it, started up, -and began pushing it along by putting his hands against the side-walls -until he got beyond the vault. Then he sat down and pulled the oars. - -“Who goes there?” cried the sentinel, “who goes there?—Answer me, an -thou wouldst not have a quarrel-bolt in thy brain.” - -The Franciscan minded not, and the little figure went on, pulling with -all his might. Beatrice sat trembling with affright. It was dark, but -she heard the sentinel’s step running along the wall, as if following -the sound of the oars. He halted; the click of the spring of his -arbaleste reached her ear, and the bolt that it gave wings to had -nearly reached her too, for it struck with great force on the inside of -the boat that was opposite to the man who shot it. The rower pulled off -farther into the stream. The sentinel’s cry for raising the guard was -heard; but the tide was now running down, and it bore the little boat -on its bosom with so much swiftness that they soon lost all sound of -the alarm. - -“Tell me, oh, tell me who art thou, and whither dost thou carry me?” -cried Beatrice, her heart sinking with alarm as she beheld the walls of -the city left behind them. - -“Daughter, this is neither the time nor the place for the explanation -thou dost lack,” replied the Franciscan; “methinks I do hear the sound -of oars behind us. Let me aid thee, Bobbin,” cried he, taking one of -the oars, and beginning to pull desperately. - -The united strength of the two rowers now made the little boat fly like -an arrow, and in a short time the eyes of the Lady Beatrice were -attracted by five lights that burned bright in the middle of the river, -and hung in the form of St. Andrew’s cross. - -“St. Francis be praised,” cried the Franciscan; “we are now near the -bark that is to give us safety. Pull, Bobbin, my brave heart.” - -The lights grew in magnitude in the Lady Beatrice’s eyes, and the water -beneath the shadowy hull blazed with the bright reflection. - -“Hoy, the skiff!” cried a stern voice in a north-country accent. - -“St. Andrew!” replied the Franciscan. - -“Welcome, St. Andrew,” said the voice from the vessel. “Hast thou sped, -holy father?” - -“Yea, by the blessing of St. Francis and the Virgin,” replied the -Franciscan. - -The lights, which were suspended to a frame attached to the round top -of the short thick mast, were at once extinguished. The skiff came -alongside, and the Lady Beatrice was lifted, unresisting, into the -vessel, and carried directly into the cabin, and in a few minutes the -anchor was weighed. - -“So, my brave men,” cried the master to his sailors, after they had got -the anchor on board, “now, hoise up the mainsail. Take the helm, -Bobbin; we shall drop slowly down till daylight doth appear.” - -“Art thou sure of shaping thy course safely through all these intricate -windings?” demanded the Franciscan. - -“Yea,” replied the commander, “as sure as thou hast thyself seen me -when running between the Bass and the May. What, dost thou think that I -have been herrying these English loons so long without gathering -sea-craft as well as plunder? And then, have I not crooked Bobbin here -as my pilot, who was bred and born in this serpent of a river? By St. -Rule, but he knoweth every sweep and turn, yea, and every sand and -shoal bank, blindfold. Had I not had some such hands on board, how dost -thou think I could have carried off that spice-ship so cunningly, -having to steer her through so many villainous eel-knots?” - -“I see thou art not a whit less daring than thy sire,” said the -Franciscan. - -“Nay, an I were, I should ill deserve the gallant name of Mercer,” -replied the other. “Thou didst witness enow of his exploits, I ween, -the while that thou wert aboard of him, to remember thee well that he -did neither want head to conceive, boldness to dare, nor coolness to -execute. Trust me, I lack not my father’s spirit; and though I have not -the fortune to sail with a fleet of stout barks at my back, as he was -wont to do, yet, while the timbers of the tough old Trueman do hold -together beneath me, I shall work these Southrons some cruel evil, to -revenge the loss of my father and his ships. Haul from the land, -Bobbin; haul off, to weather that point. Climb the forecastle and look -out there, he who hath the watch.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LXV. - - In the Dungeons of the Tower of London. - - -Let us now return to Sir Patrick Hepborne, and inquire into his fate, -as well as endeavour to explain how he was enabled to render so speedy -aid to the Lady Beatrice. - -After having heard everything from the Minstrel, he resolved to avail -himself of the invitation he had received from the Lady de Vere; by -doing which immediately, he hoped to have some happy accidental -opportunity of seeing and conversing with the Lady Beatrice. He had no -sooner presented himself at the door of her apartments, than a page, -who seemed to have been on the watch for him, sprang forward, and -ushered him into a small chamber, voluptuously furnished, and -moderately lighted by a single lamp. In his way thither he heard voices -and laughing in another place. The page left him, and in a very short -time he heard the light trip of a woman’s foot. The door opened, and -the Lady de Vere entered alone. She accosted him with an easy gaiety of -manner, and, ordering her page to bring in spiced wine, she began to -assail his heart with all the allurements of which she was mistress. -Sir Patrick, still hoping for an opportunity of seeing her whom he so -much loved, mustered up all his ingenuity to keep the lady in play, but -his mind was so much employed in thinking of the Lady Beatrice, that he -ministered but awkwardly to the coquetry of the Lady de Vere, and met -her warm advances so coldly, that she began to think in her own mind -that this phœnix of Scottish chivalry was little better than a frigid -fool. - -It was whilst he was engaged in playing this truly difficult game that -the shrieks of the Lady Beatrice reached his ear. He started up at once -from the Lady de Vere’s side, and, drawing his sword, made his way with -the speed of lightning towards the chamber whence the screams -proceeded, and, with the force of a thunderbolt centred in his foot, -burst open the door as we have already seen. The Lady de Vere, boiling -with indignation at being so abandoned by him, called for some of the -King’s guards, and, arriving with them just in time to hear the -language in which he was talking of her to Beatrice, her rage knew no -bounds, and the reader is already aware to what a cruel extremity it -carried her against the hapless lovers. - -The blow which Sir Patrick received, though it effectually stunned him, -was by no means fatal. When he recovered from the swoon into which it -had thrown him, he found himself stretched on a heap of straw, on the -floor of a dungeon. The grey twilight that peeped through a small -grated window placed high in the wall, told him that morning was -approaching. He arose, with a head giddy from the blow it had received, -and found that the axe-wound in his scalp had bled so profusely as to -have deluged his hair, and so clotted it together that it had of itself -stopped the effusion. The knight then began to examine the place of his -confinement, when, to his surprise, he beheld another prisoner in the -vault, who seemed to sleep soundly. Sir Patrick approached to look upon -him, and he was not a little astonished to discover that it was no -other than his landlord, Master Lawrence Ratcliffe. He hesitated for a -time to disturb so sound a repose; but at length curiosity to know how -he came there got the better of everything else, and he gently shook -him from his slumbers. The wine merchant started up—rubbed his eyes, -and betrayed, by his look of terror, that he was awakened to a full -recollection of his situation, and that he feared he was called to meet -his doom; till, seeing that it was his Scottish guest whose countenance -he beheld, his expression changed. - -“So thou hast come to look upon the victim of thy traiterie,” said he, -with a reproachful tone. - -“What meanest thou, my good friend?” replied Hepborne; “I am a prisoner -here, as well as thyself.” - -“Ha, ha! So then, whilst they listened to thy tale, they did begin to -suspect thee of having had some share in the treason,” said Ratcliffe. - -“What treason?” demanded Hepborne; “I protest, on the honour of a -knight, that I am altogether ignorant of what thou dost mean. Believe -me, I am here for no matter connected with aught that thou mayest have -done. My crime is the having dared to rescue a virtuous demoiselle from -the wicked assault of King Richard. I was on the eve of springing -forward to punish him on the spot for his villainy, when he fled. I was -suddenly rendered senseless by a blow from the halberd of one of his -guards, and I recovered not from my swoon until I found myself on -yonder straw. But what, I pr’ythee, hath made thee the tenant of this -gloomy dungeon?” - -“And art thou really innocent of betraying me then?” demanded -Ratcliffe, with a strong remnant of doubt in his countenance. - -“I have already declared, on the faith of knighthood, that I know not -what I could have betrayed thee in,” replied Hepborne, a little -displeased that his truth should be thus questioned; “Depardieux, I am -not wont to be thus interrogated and suspected.” - -“Nay, pardon me, good Sir Knight,” cried Master Ratcliffe, starting up, -and stretching out his hand to Hepborne; “by St. Paul, I do now most -readily believe thee, and I am heartily ashamed of having ever doubted -thee for a moment. But thou camest in on us so strangely, as we were in -secret conclave assembled, that when my arrest came at midnight, I -could not but believe that thou hadst betrayed me.” - -“What could I have betrayed thee in?” said Sir Patrick. “I came in on -thee and thy friends by an accident, and I neither did know, nor did I -seek to know, the subject of your deliberation.” - -“Nay, trust me, it was matter of no weight, Sir Knight,” cried -Ratcliffe eagerly; “simple traffic, I promise thee. Yet men’s most -innocent dealings be cruelly perverted in these slippery times; and -some one, I trow, hath sorely misrepresented mine, else had I not been -here. But right glad am I to find that thou art free from such -suspicion; for verily the disappointment I felt in discovering that -thou wert, as I did then think, a traitor, was even more bitter to me -than the effect of the traiterie of the which I did suppose thee -guilty. But tell me, Sir Knight,” said he, rapidly changing the -subject, and speaking with an air of eagerness, “tell me how did King -Richard escape thine arm? Methought that arm of thine mought have -crushed him like a gnat. Ha! trust me, thou needst have no fear that -England should have lacked a monarch, if thou hadst chanced to have rid -her of him who now reigns. But, blessed St. Erkenwold, what noise is -that I hear? Holy St. Mary, grant that there be not spies about us!” - -The door of the dungeon opened, a man entered, and the guards who -brought him retreated, after again locking the door. - -“Mortimer Sang!” cried Sir Patrick Hepborne; “what, I pray thee, hath -brought thee hither? There was at least some spark of kindness in their -thus admitting thee to visit thy master.” - -“Nay, not a whit, Sir Knight,” replied Sang; “for albeit I am right -glad to have the good fortune thus to share thy captivity, by St. -Baldrid, I came thither as no matter of favour, seeing I am a prisoner -like thyself.” - -“A prisoner!” cried Hepborne; “and what canst thou have done to merit -imprisonment?” - -“I sat up for thee yesternight, until I did become alarmed for thy -safety, Sir Knight,” replied Sang; “and knowing those who had the guard -at the Tower gate, I made my way in, and was in the act of entering the -Palace to inquire about thee, when, as I crossed the threshold, I was -met by two friars, one of whom bore a lady in his arms. She was -disguised in a monk’s habit; but my recollection of Maurice de Grey, -together with what your worship hath told me, made me recognize her at -once as the Lady Beatrice. The Franciscan who carried her——” - -“Franciscan!” cried Hepborne. “What! he who came to Lochyndorbe to -denounce the Bishop of Moray’s threatened excommunication against Lord -Badenoch?” - -“The same,” replied Sang. - -“Then,” cried Hepborne in distraction, “then hath the hapless lady’s -murder been made the consummation of their guilt. That friar was an -assassin. He did once attempt her life at midnight. Ah, would I could -break through these walls, to sacrifice him who hath been the author of -a deed so foul; would I were led forth to death, for that alone can now -give relief to my misery. But,” continued he, turning reproachfully to -his esquire, “how couldst thou behold her whom my soul adores thus -borne to her death, and not strike one blow for her deliverance?” - -“Nay, verily I did rush to her rescue, Sir Knight,” replied Sang; “but -ere I could reach her, I was beset by some dozen of the guards from the -Palace, and, ere I wist, I was beaten to the earth, captured, and -thrown into a vault, where I lay for the remainder of the night, and -whence I have been this moment brought hither, being accused of -treason, in attempting to enter the Royal Palace at midnight, with -intent to kill the King.” - -Hepborne threw himself down on his straw, and yielded himself up to the -full flood of the affliction that came on him with the thought of the -Lady Beatrice’s fate. He reproached himself in a thousand ways for not -having prevented that over which he could have had no control; and -neither his esquire nor Master Lawrence Ratcliffe could succeed in -giving him the smallest consolation. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LXVI. - - A Ship of Olden Times—Tempest Tossed—Arrival at the Maison Dieu in - Elgin. - - -The bark which we left threading its way down the mazes of the Thames -made a tedious and difficult passage northwards along the coast of -England. It was sometimes borne on by favouring breezes, but it often -encountered furious contrary blasts that compelled the dauntless -Mercer, its commander, to yield before them, and to submit to be driven -back for many a league. We must not forget that naval architecture and -nautical science were then, comparatively speaking, in their infancy. -The hull of this Scottish privateer, or pirate, as she was called by -the English, was awkwardly encumbered by two enormous erections. One of -these, over the stern, is still recognized in some degree in the poop -of our larger ships. Of the other, called the forecastle, although -nothing now remains but the name, it was then in reality a tower of -considerable height, manned during an engagement by cross-bow men, who -were enabled to gall the enemy very severely from that elevated -position. The masts were three, one rising from the middle of the -vessel, and the others from the two extremities, each formed of one -thick short tree, the mainmast being the largest. At the upper end of -each mast was fixed a circular stage, walled strongly in with wood; -these were called the round-tops, and were large enough to admit of -several warriors being stationed in them. Each mast had but one sail -hanging from its yard, and that attached to the mainmast was the only -sheet of magnitude. - -“Ha! what sayest thou now, Barnard?” exclaimed Mercer, slapping on the -shoulder his steersman, an old sailor, who had served him and his -father before him for some fifty years in the same capacity, and whose -back was bent by his constant position at the helm; “methinks this is -the only breeze that hath promised to be steady during these fourteen -days of our wearisome voyage. An it do but last for some good hour or -twain, we may hope to see the other side of St. Abb’s yonder.” - -“Ay,” replied Barnard, casting his eye over his left shoulder, “but I -like not yonder wide-flaming cloud that doth heave itself up so i’ the -sou’-west, Master Mercer. I’m no sailor an it be not big with something -worse than aught we have had yet to deal with.” - -“Come, come, no evil-omened croaking, Master Barnard,” replied Mercer; -“should the breeze freshen, we shall speed but the faster.” - -“Nay, but I do tell thee, there is some cruel ill-nature yonder,” said -Barnard, sticking testily to his point. - -“By St. Rule, but it doth look somewhat angry,” replied Mercer. “We -must get more under the lee of the land ere the mischief cometh.” - -“By St. Paul, but it doth come already,” cried Barnard; “seest thou not -yonder white-topped waves tripping after us?” - -“By the mass, but it doth come indeed,” cried Mercer, jumping forward. -“Ha, there goeth the foresail flying through the air like a sea-mew. -Down with the mainsail. Come, stir ye, stir ye, my hearts. Out with -your long-sweeps, my brave spirits—put her head to the land, Barnard. -Pull yarely now, my gallants. There is a lull yonder beneath the -rocks.” - -“’Tis a lull thou wilt never reach, I’ll promise thee, Master Mercer, -pull as thou wilt,” said old Barnard gruffly. “Better let her drive to -the open sea before the storm. See how angry yonder sinking sun doth -look. Trust me, no human power may force her against the tempest. But -thou art ever for working impossibilities.” - -“Tush, old man,” cried Mercer; “time enow to give in when we shall have -tried and failed. I have no fancy for a run to Norway, if by any means -we may reach the bonny Frith o’ Forth. So put her head more to the -land, I say.” - -In obedience to the command of his resolute master, the old helmsman, -grumbling like a bear, put the bark into the course he had ordered, and -the mariners, aided by the pike and cross-bow men, put their hands -steadily to the long oars. The brave Mercer moved actively about, -giving life and spirit to their exertions. The storm rapidly increased, -and he climbed the forecastle to look out ahead. - -“Mercy on us,” cried old Barnard, “there burneth a blue flame at the -foremast head. ’Tis gone. Some one is near his end, I trow. Run, boy, -and tell the master to come down. He is, as it were, mine own son, and -I like not to see him yonder after that dismal warning.” - -The ship-boy carried the steersman’s message, but Mercer laughed and -heeded it not. - -“Here, Peter Patullo, do thou take the helm a bit,” cried the old man, -becoming anxious. “He is so wilful, I must go to him myself.” - -Barnard had hardly spoken, when a tremendous wave came rolling on -against the head of the ship, and striking the forecastle, a dreadful -crash followed, the huge timber tower being swept away like a cobweb. - -“Holy Mother of God, he is gone,” cried Barnard. “My master—Oh! the boy -I nursed, as I may say. Ha, see’st thou nought of Him?” cried the -distracted old man, running to the lee-side of the ship, which was -drifting broadside on, from the sudden cessation of the panic-struck -rowers. “Ha, he’s there; I see him; I saw him as he was heaved up on -the bosom of the billow. I’ll save him, or I’ll perish with him.” - -“Stop him,” cried the Franciscan, who had rushed from the cabin on -hearing the confused cry; “stop him, he plunges to certain -destruction.” - -But old Barnard was too alert for them all. He was overboard ere any of -them could reach him. - -“Madman,” cried the Franciscan, hastily picking up a rope; and as the -sea lifted up the bulky form of the old skipper, who hung for some -moments poised as it were on the crest of the wave, he, with great -dexterity, threw a coil over him, and Barnard was dragged most -miraculously on board, being unwillingly saved from his rash, though -generous, but utterly hopeless attempt. - -Meanwhile the brave Mercer was borne away, seemingly to certain -destruction. Everything was done by the active Franciscan to bring the -bark near him. He was seen, now tossed on the high top of a mountainous -surge, and now far down in the gulf out of which it had swelled itself. -Sometimes he was thrown violently towards them, and again he was -whirled far away with the velocity of thought; yet amidst all the -horrors of the apparently inevitable death that surrounded him, he -struggled with a calmness that showed his undaunted soul, and seemed -determined to husband his strength as long as hope remained. A rope -with a noose upon it was thrown to him. He had watched the endeavours -his friends were making to save him, and he now exerted all his -strength and skill to aid them. After many an unsuccessful effort, he -at last caught the rope, and, with great adroitness, passed the noose -over his head and arms. The Franciscan and the half-frantic helmsman, -aided by some of the crew, began to pull him gently towards the vessel. -A long rolling wave came and dashed him against the ship’s side. He was -hastily pulled up—but life was for ever extinct. - -The deepest grief fell upon the crew when they beheld their beloved -commander thus stretched inanimate before them; and they forgot their -own safety and that of the vessel in their affliction for his loss. -Poor old Barnard hung over the dripping corpse of his master, and -seemed to be utterly unconscious of all that was passing around him. - -“Alas!” he cried, looking in his face, and putting back his drenched -locks with his rough hand as he said so, “would I had but sunk ere I -had beheld thee so. I had never the blessing of wife or of children, -but I did esteem thy father as my son; yea, and thou wert as the -grandchild of mine old age. Thou didst grow to be a man under mine own -especial nurture. I had pride and pleasure in thy gallantry and in thy -success. Right cheerfully did I work for thee; ay, and would have -worked for thee whiles my old timbers did hang together; but now, sith -thou art gone, I have but little tie to this world. I care not how soon -I weigh anchor for the land of souls; for what have I, a poor old -lonesome man, to do here without thee? Let fresher hands take the -watch, for—I—I—” his feelings overcame his hardy nature for a moment, -but he recovered himself. “Take care no harm comes over his corpse,” -cried he, looking sternly round upon his shipmates. “Let it be laid -decently out in his own berth—and—and——” His voice again became -choked—he coughed—he put his hands to his eyes—and turning hastily -away, disappeared into the hole that was his usual place of repose, to -bury his emotions in darkness and silence. - -After the loss of Mercer, there was an utter confusion and want of -system among the under officers and crew, until the Franciscan monk -boldly assumed the command. Many of those on board had sailed with him -in the days of old Mercer, and being well acquainted with his resolute -mind, as well as with his nautical knowledge, they scrupled not to obey -him. He was indefatigable in his exertions; but nothing he could do -availed, and he was compelled to allow the bark, crazed as she was, to -drift before the wind with every fear of her foundering. - -Dreadful was the night that ensued, and anxiously did every soul on -board long for morning, but when it came it was like a mimic night. The -clouds hung darkly over the sea, as if about to mingle with it. -Torrents of rain fell; and the waves arose like peaked mountains, their -whitened tops piercing the black vault of the clouds. The tempestuous -wind seemed to shift from one point to another; and they were so tossed -to and fro that they became bewildered, and could not even avail -themselves of the imperfect needle then in use. Land they could see -none; and when the second night fell upon them, each man gave his soul -to the care of the Virgin or his patron saint, persuaded that there was -but little chance of ever seeing another sun. - -Meanwhile the hardy Franciscan never quailed, nor did he ever leave the -deck. Little could be done to aid the ship, but he ceased not to -encourage the mariners, both by his voice and his example. - -At last the tempest seemed to yield. The wind became hushed, and -although the swell of the sea continued for some hours, yet it -diminished every moment, and went on gradually moderating until -daybreak. By this time the sky had cleared itself of the clouds that -had hitherto obscured it, the sun rose above the horizon in full -splendour, and a faint hope arose with it that the vessel might yet be -saved. But no land was yet visible. The needle was consulted, and it -was determined to hoist the mainsail, and to avail themselves of an -eastern breeze, to steer in that direction where they knew the British -coast must lie; and two men, who were placed in the round-top to look -out a-head, soon cheered them with the intelligence that the land was -visible; upon which they gave thanks to Heaven, and, as they scudded -gently before the breeze, the blue mountains began to appear in the -distant haze, and were swelling every moment upon their sight. - -Now it was that some of the older men in the ship came to inform the -Franciscan that it had been the wish of Mercer, repeatedly expressed -during his life, that wherever he might die, he should, if possible, be -buried at sea; and, since the cessation of the storm permitted them to -have some leisure, the monk gave directions accordingly to prepare for -the solemn rite. Old Barnard had never appeared since the moment he -left the deck after the catastrophe that befel Mercer, and the struggle -the crew had been maintaining ever since with the angry elements had -hindered any one from visiting him where he had retreated. He was now -sent for; but the sailor who went for him speedily returned with a face -of alarm, to report that he could get no answer from him. The -Franciscan then lighted a lamp, and went below, followed by several -anxious faces. There lay the old man, wrapped up in a blanket, in his -berth. His head was turned from them. The Franciscan shook him gently, -but he stirred not. He then turned him round, and the light of the lamp -fell upon his face. It was ghastly—the eyes were glazed, and the rough -features fixed in death. He seemed to have died soon after he had lain -down; but whether he had suffered some fatal injury in his noble -attempt to save Mercer, or whether he had died of a broken heart for -the loss of the brave young man, to whom he was so much attached, it -was impossible to say. - -Preparations were made for bestowing upon old Barnard the same funeral -rites as were contemplated for his master. The religious duties were -performed over both by the Franciscan, and both were consigned together -to the deep amidst the tears that fell from many a weather-beaten face. - -The breeze continued, and the distant mountains grew every moment more -and more distinct; but long ere they had approached the land -sufficiently near to enable them to determine what part of the coast -they were borne towards, a thick fog arose, and put an end to every -speculation on the subject, by shutting it entirely from their eyes. -The vessel laboured exceedingly, from her shattered condition, and -there was no hope of safety left for them but to avail themselves to -the utmost of the favourable breeze that still continued to blow. It -lasted them bravely, and earned them cheerily on until sunset, but then -it fell calm; and the mist clearing away, the moon arose, and showed -them a bold coast some miles to the south. Farther on the land became -lower, and thither the Franciscan made the crew pull with all their -might. As they neared the land, the Lady Beatrice was brought out, -half-dead, upon the deck, to be prepared for disembarking immediately, -the frail vessel beginning every moment to show more alarming symptoms -of the shattered state to which the continued storm had reduced it. -They now beheld the lights in some fishermen’s huts on shore, and the -distant murmur of the waves, breaking gently on the beach, was the -cheering music of hope to them. All at once the vessel struck upon some -sunken rock or sand, and instantly began to fill. The confusion was -dreadful. The Franciscan approached Beatrice, and quickly made her -sensible of her danger. The boat was got out, but it was instantly -overloaded—sunk—and all were in the water. - -“Hold fast by my cowl, and fear not,” cried the Franciscan, who had the -wisdom to stick to the vessel, and who now committed himself to the -waves, as it went down under them. Where all were men accustomed to the -sea, all were necessarily swimmers, and all made lustily for the shore. -Thither also did the bold monk press his way, the Lady Beatrice hanging -with the gripe of fate to his cowl; and the distance being but short, -and the sea smooth, she was soon placed in safety upon the beach, -whence he quickly carried her to the fishermen’s cottages. - -The poor inhabitants of the fishing hamlet did all in their power to -cherish the unfortunate people who were thus shipwrecked amongst them, -but it was little they could do; and the comfort of a large fire was -the utmost that any of the hovels could furnish. The Franciscan eagerly -inquired what part of the coast they had been thrown on; and he -declared that, since it had pleased the saints to deny them an entrance -into the Frith of Forth, where lay their destination, he had reason to -rejoice that they had taken land on the eastern coast of Moray. The -Lady Beatrice, who had never held up her head during the tempestuous -voyage, was grievously weakened by sickness. She sank down exhausted on -the wretched pallet that was provided for her, and, eager as was the -Franciscan to proceed with her to Elgin, the following day was far -spent before she could gather strength enough to undertake even so -short a ride. Horses were then procured, and they arrived at the gates -of the Hospital of the Maison Dieu, where they were kindly received by -the pious brethren and the sisterhood, who administered the -hospitalities of the institutions to pilgrims and strangers of the -better sort, as well as its charities to the poor. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LXVII. - - The Wolfe of Badenoch again—The Burning of Elgin Cathedral. - - -The Franciscan left the Lady Beatrice with the nuns of the -establishment, and hastened to present himself before the Bishop of -Moray, who was then at his Palace of Spynie, at some distance from the -town. He found the good man in deep conference with some of his canons, -and he received him joyfully. - -“Blessed be St. Francis that thou art arrived, Friar John,” said the -Bishop aloud, after they had whispered together apart. “Thou comest -right seasonably, seeing we do discuss the endless theme of the Wolfe -of Badenoch.” - -“What! my Lord Bishop of Moray,” cried the Franciscan, “hath that -destroying angel been again let loose, to invade the holy territory of -the Church?—to burn and to devastate?” - -“Nay, nay, Friar John,” replied the Bishop, “for this time the news we -have to tell thee are good. The King hath sent a body of troops to -dispossess his sacrilegious son from our Badenoch lands, and they are -now again in the hands of the tenants of the Church. What sayest thou -to this?” - -“Um,” replied the Franciscan, doubtfully shaking his head—“and do the -King’s troops tarry in Badenoch, to guard the possessions of the -Church?” - -“Nay, that I do not believe,” replied the Bishop, “but methinks he will -hardly try so daring an attempt again.” - -“Hast thou brought down his proud spirit, then, to entreat on his knees -for the removal of thine anathema?” demanded the Friar. - -“Nay, as well hope to make the eagle stoop to the earth, and quail -before me,” replied the Bishop. - -“In truth, then, my Lord Bishop,” said the Franciscan, “thou mayest as -well hope to reclaim the eagle, so that he shall sit on thy wrist like -a falcon, as look for a peace from the Wolfe of Badenoch.” - -“Dost thou indeed think so?” demanded the Bishop. “Methought that after -his Royal father’s reproof, and this his late signal interference -against him, we might have looked for peace. Something must be tried, -then. To thee, Friar John, we shall look for counsel, and the sooner we -do have it the better. So shall we straightway ride with thee to Elgin, -and summon a Chapter, that we may consider of this weighty matter.” - -The Franciscan accordingly returned to the town with the Bishop and his -attendants, and such of the canons as were within call were immediately -summoned. The Bishop then occupied his stall within the Chapter-House, -supported by his Dean, Archdean, Chancellor, and Chanter; and the other -members having taken their places, they remained some hours in council. -When the Chapter broke up, the Bishop held some private conference with -the Franciscan, and then permitted him to go to his lodging in the -Maison Dieu, whither he was happy to retire, being overpowered by -exhaustion from his late fatigues, and glad to be at last allowed to -seek the needful refreshment of a few hours’ rest. - -The vesper hymn had died away through the lengthened aisles of the -venerable Cathedral; every note of labour or of mirth was silenced -within the town. The weary burghers were sunk in sleep, and even the -members of the various holy fraternities had retired to their repose. -No eye was awake, save those of a few individuals among the religious, -who, having habits of more than ordinary severity of discipline, had -doomed themselves to wear the hard pavement with their bare knees, and -the hours in endless repetition of penitential prayers before the -shrine of the Virgin, or the image of some favourite saint. Not even a -dog was heard to stir in the streets. They were as dark, too, as they -were silent; for, with the exception of a feeble lamp or two, that -burned in niches, before the little figures set up here and there for -Popish worship, there was nothing to interrupt the deep obscurity that -prevailed. - -Suddenly the sound of a large body of horsemen was heard entering the -town from the west. The dreams of the burghers were broken, and they -were roused from their slumbers; the casements were opened, one after -another, as the band passed along, and many a curious head was thrust -out. They moved on alertly, without talking; but although they uttered -no sounds, and were but dimly seen, the clank of their weapons, and of -their steel harness, told well enough that they were no band of vulgar, -peace-loving merchants, but a troop of stirring men-at-arms; and many -was the cheek that blenched, and many was the ejaculation that escaped -the shuddering lips of the timid burghers, as they shrunk within their -houses at the alarming conviction. They crossed and blessed themselves -after the warriors had passed by, and each again sought his bed. - -But the repose of the inhabitants was for that night doomed to be -short. Distant shrieks of despair, mingled with shouts of exultation, -began to arise in the neighbourhood of the Cathedral and the College, -in which all the houses of the canons were clustered; and soon the town -was alarmed from its centre to its suburbs by the confused cries of -half-naked fugitives, who hurried along into the country, as if rushing -from some dreadful danger. - -“Fire, fire!—murder!—fire, fire!—the Wolfe of Badenoch!” - -The terrible name of the fell Earl of Buchan was enough, of itself, to -have spread universal panic through the town, even in the midst of -broad sunshine. But darkness now magnified their fears. Every one -hastened to huddle on what garments might be at hand, and to seize what -things were most valuable and portable; and all, without exception—men, -women, and children—hurried out into the streets, to seek immediate -safety in flight. As the crowd pressed onwards, scarcely daring to look -behind them, they beheld the intense darkness of the night invaded by -flames that began to shoot upwards in fitful jets. The screams and the -shouts rang in their ears, and they quickened their trembling speed; -their voices subdued by fear, as they went, into indistinct whispers of -horror. No one dared to stop; but, urging on his own steps, he dragged -after him those of his feeble parents, or tottering wife, or helpless -children. - -Those who were most timorous, halted not until they had hid themselves -in the neighbouring woods; but those whose curiosity was in some degree -an equipoise to their fears, stopped to look behind them whenever a -view of the town could be obtained, that they might judge of, and -lament over, the devastation that was going forward. Already they could -see that the College, the Church of St. Giles, and the Hospital of the -Maison Dieu, were burning; but these were all forgotten, as they beheld -the dire spectacle of the Cathedral, illuminated throughout all the -rich tracery of its Gothic windows by a furious fire, that was already -raging high within it. Groans and lamentations burst from their hearts, -and loud curses were poured out on the impious heads of those whose -fury had led them to destroy so glorious a fabric, an edifice which -they had been taught to venerate from their earliest infancy, and to -which they were attached by every association, divine and human, that -could possibly bind the heart of man. In the midst of their wailings, -the pitchy vault of heaven began to be reddened by the glare of the -spreading conflagration; and the loud and triumphant shouts that now -arose, unmingled with those cries of terror which had at first blended -with them, too plainly told that the power of the destroyer was -resistless. - -As the Lady Beatrice and the Franciscan were the last comers among the -crowd of pilgrims and travellers who that night filled the charitable -caravansera of the Maison Dieu, they had been put to lodge in the very -uppermost storey of the antique and straggling building. The lady -occupied a chamber at the extremity of a long passage, running through -one wing that was dedicated to the use of the few sisters who inhabited -the Hospital, and their female guests. The Franciscan was thrust into a -little turret room that hung from one angle of a gable at the very -opposite end of the edifice, being connected with the garrets that lay -over that wing occupied by the preaching brethren and the guests of -their own sex. There was no direct communication between the opposite -parts of the building where the lady and the friar were lodged. The -main stair, that opened from the doorway of the Hospital, arose within -the body of the house, and several narrow passages branched off from -it, having separate stairs leading to the different parts of the higher -regions. - -The brethren and sisters of the institution, as well as the numerous -temporary inmates of its various chambers, were alarmed by the shrieks -that arose when the firebrands were at first applied to the Cathedral, -and the houses of the clergy connected with it. Neither the permanent -nor the accidental tenants of the house had much personal property to -remove, and what they had was instantly carried out by a general rush -into the courtyard, whence they hastily escaped, each prompted by a -desire of self-preservation. Not so the Lady Beatrice and the -Franciscan. Both of them had suffered so much from want of natural -rest, and the monk especially had undergone fatigue of body so -lengthened and so severe during the protracted storm they had lately -had to struggle with, that they lay as unconscious of the noise as if -their senses had been locked up by the influence of some powerful -opiate. The Lady Beatrice, indeed, was half awakened by the din -occasioned by the escape of those who were in the house. But she had -been dreaming of the ship and of the sea, and the hurry of the -retreating steps and the confused voice of alarm having speedily -subsided within the Hospital, she turned again to enjoy a more profound -repose, believing it was her fancy that had made her imagine she had -heard the sound of the waves and the winds, and the bustling tread of -the mariners. - -Again a noise came that increased and jarred in her ears, and a vivid -light arose that flickered through the casement into the place where -she lay, and falling strongly on her face, her silken eyelashes were -gradually opened, and, terror seizing upon her, she sprang at once from -her couch to the window. Then it was that she beheld the court of the -Hospital below filled with mounted men-at-arms, together with numbers -on foot, who seemed to be active agents in kindling combustibles, by -the employment of which the whole main body of the building was already -in flames—as she could easily guess from the suffocating smoke that -arose, and the red glare that was thrown over the features of those -who, with their faces turned upwards, were watching the progress of the -devouring element with a fiendish expression of satisfaction. - -Half-dead with fear, the Lady Beatrice began to hurry on her garments, -doubtful, in the state of distraction she was thrown into, whether she -might or ought to hope to escape from the fire, since she could not -possibly do so without exposing herself to the fury of a savage band, -whose present occupation was enough to proclaim them enemies of the -most reckless description. She was bewildered, and knew not what to do. -The towers and spires of the Cathedral were blazing like gigantic -torches. The darkness of night seemed to be put to flight, and distant -yells arising from time to time, proclaimed the multitude who were -actors in this scene of ruin. - -But the more pressing danger brought her at last to recollection, and -she rushed from her chamber to make an effort to escape. Already were -the narrow passages filled with a stifling smoke, which she made some -faint efforts to penetrate; but finding it impossible to proceed, she -returned to her chamber, and, throwing herself upon her knees, grew -faint from despair. Recovering herself in some degree, she grasped her -croslet, and began offering up her prayers for that mercy in the next -world of which she believed she had now no hope in this; and, as she -was so employed, she thought she felt the very boards heating beneath -her. She sprang to her feet, and again approached the open casement, -that she might breathe more freely. At that moment a loud murmur, -rather than a cry, arose in the court below. - -“He cometh—’tis he—’tis he himself.—The Earl—the Earl of Buchan—the -Wolfe of Badenoch!—Hush!”—And their clamour was instantly silenced. - -“Out o’ my way,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, as, armed cap-a-pie, and -with his vizor up, he came galloping furiously in at the Gothic -gateway, followed by his four younger sons, and some forty or fifty -mounted spearmen and axemen. The pavement rattled under the clatter of -their iron shod hooves, and their polished mail flashed back the blaze -of the flaming edifice. - -“Ha, ha, ha! by all the fiends, but the mischief doth work well here -too,” shouted he laughing wildly as he reined up his steed, with a -check that threw him backwards on his haunches; “yet this is but baby’s -work compared to the blazing towers yonder—ha, ha, ha! The haughty pile -on the which the pride of that scurvy Priest-Bishop hath heretofore -been so loftily perched, will soon be prostrate amidst its own dust and -ashes. Ha! by the beard of my grandfather, but it is a glorious -vengeance. What was the brenning of Forres to this?—ha, ha, ha! Not a -hole shall these corbies have to hide their heads in. Every nest -polluted by these stinking carrions shall be levelled. Such be the fate -of those who dare to contend with the Wolfe of Badenoch! But have all -escaped from this burning house? I would not have the hair of a human -head singed—not a hair of a head, I tell ye. Didst thou see all escape -them hence?” - -“I did, my noble Lord,” replied one of his esquires, who had -superintended the execution of this part of his commands; “with our own -eyes did we see them, as we arrived, scour from the walls, like an army -of mice from a hollow cheese.” - -“Ha! by my faith, but thou liest, villain,” cried the Wolfe, turning -hastily round, and levelling the speaker to the earth with one blow of -his truncheon; “thou dost lie black as hell. By all that is unlucky, I -did even now behold a female form at yonder window. Nay, now the smoke -doth hide it; but—see, see—ha! why hath it been so, knaves? Did I not -warn ye all that not a life should be tint?” - -“Help, help, Lord Badenoch,” cried the Lady Beatrice—“help, help, or I -perish! The boards burn.—Help, help, for the love of mercy—for the love -of the blessed Virgin, save me, save me!” - -“By the holy mass, I should know that voice,” cried the Wolfe of -Badenoch; “nay, ’tis she indeed, or ’tis her wraith I do behold.” - -“’Tis some evil spirit, father,” said Sir Andrew Stewart, who had -accompanied his father in this expedition, not willingly, but because -the Wolfe of Badenoch had resolved that he should have a share in it. - -“Evil spirit!” cried the Wolfe, turning angrily around on him; “ha! -’tis thou who art the evil spirit, son Andrew. Thou darest not to look -on her whom thou wouldst have injured. But, by this hand, thou shalt. -The damsel shall not perish, if I can help her. I will go rescue her, -and thou, son Andrew, shalt follow me.” - -“Nay, try not anything so rash, father,” exclaimed Sir Andrew Stewart, -dreadfully alarmed to find that he was expected to participate in an -attempt so desperate; “the whole body of the house is in flames.” - -“What, villain,” cried the Wolfe indignantly; “so, thou couldst love -the damsel to do her violence, and yet art base enow to shrink from the -glorious achievement of saving her life, or perishing in the attempt. -Unworthy whelp of the Wolfe of Badenoch! Dastard, dismount and in with -me, or, by the blood of the Bruce, the spears of my men-at-arms shall -goad thee to it.” And saying so, he sprang from his horse, while Sir -Andrew Stewart, though half-dead with fear, was compelled to follow him -with all the alertness that might have befitted a hero well stomached -for the desperate undertaking. - -“What, Andrew going thither!” cried Walter Stewart, leaping from his -horse; “by this hand, but I shall in too, then.” - -“And so shall I,” cried James, following his brother’s example. - -“And by my beard that is to grow,” cried the boy Duncan, “but I shall -not be left behind.” - -“Nay, stay, Sir Duncan,” cried an esquire. “By the mass, but he is in -after the others; and what will my Lord say if anything doth befall -him? He loveth the boy more than all the rest put together. I’ll in -after him.” Upon which the man rushed in, followed by a crowd of the -others, who were equally afraid of the rage that might fall upon their -heads for having permitted the boy to escape from them. - -And now a terrible scene ensued. The crowd who entered soon wedged -themselves in the narrow passages just within the doorway, so that they -could neither advance nor retreat. The smoke accumulated about them -from the stoppage of its vent. They struggled and crushed, and poured -out half-choked curses. Some fell, and were trampled under foot; and at -length the voice of the Wolfe was heard from within— - -“Ha! clear the passage, or I am suffocated; clear the passage, -villains, or I will murder ye all.” - -The fear of their violent master did for them what they could not -before accomplish. An unusual exertion on the part of those who were -outermost extricated them from the doorway, and the passage being now -less wedged, the force from within sent them all out headlong into the -court, and out rushed the Wolfe, nearly spent by the continued -suffocation he had endured. - -“By all that is miraculous, I do believe that it was a spirit after -all,” said the Wolfe, half in soliloquy, as soon as he had gathered -breath to speak; “I did make my way to the chamber where she did -appear, and she was not there; nor was she anywhere else to be seen. -Such tricks of fancy are often played by sprites. And how, after all, -could she have been there—she who must be even now in Norham? But, ha!” -cried he aloud, “what figure is that I do now behold in yonder hanging -towernet that doth blaze so fiercely?” - -All eyes were now directed towards the spot he had indicated, and -there, to the astonishment of every one, appeared the form of the -Franciscan, brightly illumined by the jets of flame that surrounded it. - -“Holy Virgin!” cried his followers, crossing themselves, “’tis a -sprite—’tis a devil. Mercy on us, ’tis no monk, but something unholy,” -cried half-a-dozen voices. - -The teeth of the stern Wolfe himself were heard to chatter as he gazed -on his old enemy, of the reality of whose present appearance he almost -doubted. The keen eyes and strongly expressive countenance of the Friar -were now wildly distorted by the alarm which had seized him, on -suddenly awaking from the deep sleep he had been plunged in, and -finding himself surrounded by all the horrors of the most dreadful of -deaths. A red and unearthly light was thrown on his features, and -broadly illumined his tonsure, giving him a most terrific and ghastly -look. It was, therefore, little to be wondered that even the -hardy-minded Wolfe of Badenoch should have for an instant believed that -it was the Devil he beheld. - -“By all the fiends of hell, ’tis wonderful!” cried he, as he stood -fixed in a kind of stupor. - -“Help, help!” cried the Franciscan. - -“Ha!” cried the Wolfe, recovering himself, “if thou be’st in very deed -the chough Friar, bren, bren, and welcome. But if thou be’st the Devil, -thou mayest well enow help thyself.” - -“Help, in mercy help!” cried the Franciscan; “a ladder, a ladder.” - -“A ladder!” cried the Wolfe, now sufficiently reassured, and becoming -convinced that it really was the very Franciscan in true flesh who had -so bearded him at Lochyndorbe, and no phantom nor demon. “Ha! prating -chough, is it thee, in troth? A ladder, saidst thou? Thou couldst have -lacked a ladder but for thy hanging, and now thou needst it not, seeing -thou art in the way of dying a better death.” - -“Help, help!” cried the unfortunate wretch, who seemed hardly to have -yet gained a knowledge of those who were below. - -“Help!” repeated the Wolfe; “by my trusty burlybrand, but I shall hew -down the first villain who doth but move to give thee help. What, did I -say that no hair of life should be touched? By the blessed bones of -mine ancestors, but there lacked only this accident to make my revenge -complete. Ha, ha, ha! did I not swear, thou grey-hooded crow, that as -thou didst escape from the pit of water, thou shouldst be tried next by -the fire? By my head, I did little imagine that I should thus so soon -see thee bren before mine eyes; and bren thou shalt, for no man of mine -shall risk the singeing of his beard to pluck thee from the destruction -thine atrocious tongue has so well merited.” - -The monk disappeared for some moments, and soon afterwards, to the -astonishment of all, was seen making his way along the roof through -volumes of flame and smoke. Every eye in the court below was turned -towards him. It seemed impossible that anything but a demon could have -clambered where he went. Again he was lost to their eyes, and anon he -appeared in the very room which had been lately occupied by the Lady -Beatrice. He shrieked out her name; was again invisible; and then, -again, was seen in all the upper apartments, one after another. At last -they saw him no longer. - -“He is either the Devil himself, or he is brent by this time,” -whispered some of the awe-stricken followers of the Wolfe. - -In an instant he again appeared on the top of the turret in which he -had been first seen; the flames arose everywhere around him; terrible -was his aspect, and an involuntary shudder crept through the silent -crowd. - -“Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan, and Lord of Badenoch,” cried he -with an appalling voice, whilst he threw his arms abroad, in an -attitude befitting the denunciation he was about to pour out—“the red -hand of thine iniquity hath again lifted the firebrand of destruction, -but as thou hast kindled these holy piles dedicated to God, so shall -the wrath of the Almighty be kindled against thee. The measure of thine -iniquity is now full, and yonder flaming heavens do bear witness to thy -crimes. Seest thou yonder fiery cloud that doth now float over thy -devoted head? There sitteth the Angel of Vengeance, ready to descend on -thee and thine. Prepare—for instant and direful punishment doth await -thee.” - -The monk again disappeared. The Wolfe of Badenoch looked upwards to the -sky, and beheld the fiery cloud that hung as it were over him. Fancy -depicted in it a countenance that looked down upon him in terrible ire. -He gnashed his teeth, and his features blackened. At that moment -shrieks arose from the higher chambers of the building. - -“Ha, ha, ha, ha!—let him die,” cried the Wolfe, clenching his fists and -laughing wildly; “let the villain die, I say.” - -The shrieks came again, and louder. - -“Ha! what voice was that?” exclaimed the Wolfe, in an altered tone, and -in considerable agitation. - -“Help, help!” cried a voice, and a figure appeared at an upper window, -in the midst of the flames. - -“Oh God!” cried the Wolfe, in an agony, “my son, my son!—my dearest -boy, Duncan? Save him, save him—save my child!” - -With the fury of a maniac he rushed fearlessly towards the burning -building. His people sprang after him. He had already reached the -doorway, when the central stair fell with a tremendous crash within; -and had not his followers dragged him back the instant before, he must -have been crushed beneath the descending ruin. - -“Father, father!” cried a piteous voice from the ground. - -“Walter,” cried the unhappy Wolfe of Badenoch, running to lift up his -son, “what hath befallen thee?—Speak.” - -“I was knocked down and crushed by the men-at-arms as they rushed -outwards,” said the youth faintly; “I do feel as if I had tane some -sore inward bruises.” - -“Merciful God!” cried the miserable father, removing his son farther -from the danger. “But where is James?” demanded he, looking wildly -about him. - -“He also fell near me,” said Walter. - -The attendants now ran forward, and amongst several wounded people who -lay on the pavement they found and raised James Stewart, who was only -known to be alive by his quick breathing. But the distracted father had -little leisure to attend to either of these his wounded sons, and in an -instant they were abandoned to the care of those about him; for the boy -Duncan, his youngest and his darling child, the pride of his heart, was -again heard to shriek from an upper window. The flames were rioting -triumphantly within, and every possible approach to him was cut off. - -“Ladders, ladders!” cried he, in a frenzy; and his people set off in a -hopeless search of what he called for. - -“Ladders!” cried the Franciscan, with a voice like thunder, as he -unexpectedly appeared behind the boy; “ladders! how dost thou dare to -call for that help which thou didst refuse to yield to others? Now doth -thy fiendish joy begin to be transmewed into mourning, thou accursed -instrument in the hands of an incensed God. Already do two of thy -lawless brood lie on that pavement, to be carried home with thee to -linger and die; and now this child, thy youngest and dearest, shall be -lost to thee by a more speedy fate.” He caught up the boy in his sinewy -arms with a savage laugh of triumph, and held him aloft with a gripe so -powerful, that his puny efforts to escape were utterly hopeless. “Ha, -ha, ha! now may I laugh in my turn,” cried the Franciscan, with a yell -that struck to the heart of the Wolfe of Badenoch, and subdued him at -once. - -“Mercy!” cried he, clasping his hands and wringing them together, and -his breath came thick and laborious, so that he could hardly find -utterance, as he looked up with stretched eyeballs, expecting every -instant to behold the horrible spectacle of his best beloved son’s -destruction. “Mercy!—fiend!—ha!—Ladders, ladders!—Oh, mercy, mercy!—Oh, -spare my boy!—Oh, mercy, mercy—mercy on my boy!” He sank down on his -knees, his broad chest heaving to his very cuirass with its labouring -respiration, and his lips moving, even after all power of utterance was -denied him. - -“Ha! mercy, saidst thou?” cried the Franciscan, with a contemptuous -smile and a glaring eye; “what, mercy to thee—to thee, who hath no -mercy!—mercy to thee, who hath incurred God’s highest wrath!—mercy to -thee, who hath wrapped all these holy buildings, and these dwellings of -God’s peaceful servants and people, in impious flames!—thou, who wert -but now revelling in the hellish joy of thy daring sacrilege—mercy to -thee!—mercy meanly begged, too, from him whom thou didst but this -moment doom to the most cruel death! Ha, ha, ha! But my life or death -is not in thy weak power to withhold. My life will be preserved by Him -who gave it, that it may yet fulfil the purpose for which He did bestow -it. Thy fate doth hang in my grasp, and the gripe which I do now hold -of this frail fragment of thyself,” continued he, lifting up the -trembling boy in a terrific manner, “is but a symbol of the power which -God hath given me over thee to force thee to repentance.” - -“Oh, spare, spare, spare!” cried the miserable Lord of Badenoch, bereft -of all thought but of his son’s fate. - -The boy screamed for help, but the ruthless Franciscan laughed -savagely, and then sprang backwards with him through the flames. - -The wretched Lord of Badenoch remained fixed on his knees, his face -still turned upwards, and his eyes fastened on the casement so lately -occupied by the figures of the Franciscan and his lost boy. It was now -filled by a sheet of brilliant flame. His lips muttered, and “Mercy—oh, -mercy!” were still the only words that escaped them. His followers -crowded around him in dismay, the whole group being broadly illuminated -by the fire, which had now gained complete mastery over the interior of -the building. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LXVIII. - - The Bishop’s Palace at Spynie—The Wolfe gets a Surprise. - - -The wretched Wolfe of Badenoch was slowly raised by those who were -about him; and he submitted, as if altogether unconscious of what they -were doing. His features were immoveable, and his eyes vacant, until -they rested on his two sons, Walter and James, who lay wounded in the -arms of his servants. - -“Where is my son Andrew?” cried he, suddenly recovering the use of -speech. - -The attendants muttered to one another, but no one answered him. - -“Speak, ye knaves,” cried he, grinding his teeth, and at the same time -springing on them, and seizing one of them in each hand by the throat; -“villains, I will choke ye both with my grasp if ye answer me not.” - -“My noble Lord,” cried the men, terrified by his rage and his threats, -“we saw him enter the burning building with thee, but none of us saw -him issue thence.” - -“Villains, villains, tell me not so!” cried the Wolfe, shaking the two -men from him, and sending them reeling away with such force that both -were prostrated on the earth. “What, hath he too perished?—And it was I -who did myself compel him thither!” and, saying so, he struck his -breast, and moved about rapidly through the court, giving vent to a -frenzy of self accusation. - -“Ha!” cried he, halting suddenly, as he heard the clang of horses’ -heels approaching; “who comes there?—Alexander—my son—thou art all that -is left to me now;” and springing forward, he clasped the knees of Sir -Alexander Stewart, who at that moment appeared, followed by the whole -of his force. - -“Why tarriest thou here, father?” demanded his son; “depardieux, but I -have sought thee around all the glorious fires we have kindled. Little -did I think to find thee here in this by-corner, looking on so paltry a -glede as this, when the towers of the Cathedral do shoot out flames -that pierce the heavens, and proclaim thy red vengeance on the Bishop -of Moray, yea, even to his brother-mitred priest of Ross, even across -the broad friths that do sunder them.—Come with me, I pray, and ride -triumphant through the flaming streets, that our shouts may ring -terribly in the craven corbie’s ears, and reach him even where he doth -hide him in his Palace of Spynie.—But what aileth thee, father, that -thou seemest so unmanned.” - -“Alexander,” cried the afflicted father, embracing his son, who stooped -over him, “thy brethren have perished; Walter and James are there dying -from their bruises, and Andrew and Duncan—my beloved boy Duncan—have -perished in these flames.” - -“How, what! how hath this happened?” cried Sir Alexander, leaping from -his horse and running to question the attendants who supported his two -wounded brothers. From them he gathered a brief account of the events -that had occurred, and for some moments gave way to the sorrow that -afflicted his father. - -“But why grieve we here, my Lord?” cried he suddenly; “of a truth, -whatever woe hath befallen us, hath but come by reason of that -ill-starred enemy of our house, Bishop Barr, who has driven us to the -desperation out of which all these evils have arisen. He and his -accursed flock of ill-omened crows have flown to the refuge of his -Palace of Spynie. Rouse, my noble father, and let us gallop thither and -seek a sweet revenge by pulling the choughs from their nests.” - -“Right, son Alexander,” cried the Wolfe, his native temper being so far -roused for the moment by this speech that he shook off the torpor that -had come upon him, and sprang into his saddle; “by this beard, but thou -dost say right. ’Tis indeed that accursed Priest-Bishop who hath -embittered the whole stream of my life, and hath now been the cause of -hurling all this misery upon me. Alas, my poor boys!—But, by the blood -of the Bruce, they shall be avenged.—I shall take thy counsel, my -son—My son, said I?—Alas, Alexander, thou wilt soon, I fear, be mine -only son.—Dost hear, Sir Squire?” said he, turning fiercely to one of -his attendants, “See that thou dost take care of my wounded boys. Take -people enow with thee, and see that they be promptly and tenderly -carried on men’s shoulders to Lochyndorbe—Dost thou mark me?—Thy head -shall pay the forfeit of thy neglect of the smallest tittle of thy -duty.” - -“Ay,” cried Sir Alexander Stewart, “our business, I trow, will soon be -sped, and we shall overtake them before they shall have gone many miles -of the way.” - -“Come, then, Alexander, let’s to Spynie,” cried the Wolfe; and then -turning again to the esquire—“But take care of my boys, and see that -they be gently borne.” - -“On, brave spears,” cried Sir Alexander; “ye shall have work peraunter -to do anon.” - -Out dashed the Wolfe of Badenoch, gnashing his teeth, as if to wind -himself up to desperation, yet rather led than followed by Sir -Alexander Stewart, and away rattled about two hundred well-armed and -well-mounted men-at-arms at their backs, leaving behind them a -sufficient force to escort the wounded youths homeward in safety. There -were but few among the troops that would not have willingly stayed -behind. They liked not this ungodly warfare, and although they -witnessed the execution of the Wolfe of Badenoch’s fell fury on the -holy edifices, done by a few of the less scrupulous ministers of his -vengeance, they felt conscience-stricken at the sight, and this feeling -had not been diminished by the denunciations of the Franciscan, the -direful fate of the boy Duncan Stewart, and of his brother Sir Andrew, -and that which had befallen the youths Walter and James, of whose -recovery there seemed to be but little hope. - -The Palace of Spynie offered them but a wretched defence against any -assailant who might choose to attack it, for it was not till the -following century that it was so strengthened as to enable Bishop David -Stuart [1] to defy the proud Earl of Huntly. The buildings, indeed, -were surrounded by a wall; but, trusting to that awe which the sacred -dignity of the possessor was calculated to inspire, the wooden gate was -left unprotected by any portcullis of iron. It therefore promised to be -easily assailable by the sledge-hammers which had been found so useful -in furthering the work of destruction they had already accomplished. - -The Wolfe of Badenoch, hurried on by his son, swept over the gentle -eminence lying between the town and the palace, and as the distance was -but a mile, his excitement had had hardly time to expend itself ere he -found himself approaching the walls. The lurid red vault of the sky -reflected a dim light, which might have been sufficient to enable them -to discover the building before them. But, independently of this, the -summit of the outer walls was lined by a number of torches, which began -to flit about hastily, as soon as the thundering sound of the horses’ -feet reached those who carried them. - -“The place doth seem to be already alarmed,” cried the Wolfe of -Badenoch, as they advanced, his resolute soul shaken by his recent -calamities. “These lights are not wont to appear on the grass-grown -walls of these mass-ensconced priests. Thou shalt halt here, son -Alexander, and let me advance alone to reconnoitre. I cannot, I wis, -afford to peril the life of thee, whom my fears do tell me I may now -call mine only son.” - -“Peril my life?” cried Sir Alexander indignantly; “what, talkest thou -of peril, when we have but these carrion crows to deal with? I trow -there be garrison enow of them, sith that all their rookeries, grey, -black, and hooded, have doubtless gathered there to-night. By my -knighthood, but it doth almost shame me to attack them with harness on -my back, or men-at-arms at my heels. And see, the lights have -disappeared. Never trust me, but those who did flourish them have fled -into the deepest cellar of the place, at the very tramp of our -war-steeds.” - -“Nay, but, son Alexander,” repeated the Wolfe, “I do command thee to -halt; thou shalt not advance until I shall have first——Where hath he -vanished?” cried the Wolfe, losing sight of him for a moment in the -dark. “Ha! there he speeds him to the gate,” and, leaping from his -saddle, he launched himself after his son. Sir Alexander had snatched a -sledge-hammer from some one near him, and was already raising it to -strike the first blow at the gate, when his right arm fell shattered -and nerveless by his side, and he was crushed to the earth by some -unseen power. The Wolfe of Badenoch reached his son but to raise him up -in his arms. At that moment a broad blaze arose on the top of the wall, -immediately over the gateway, in front of which the Wolfe of Badenoch -stood appalled by the apparition it illumined, and he grew deadly pale -when he beheld the figure of the Franciscan, of that very friar whom he -believed nothing but superhuman power could have saved from the flames -of the Maison Dieu, again presented before his eyes. The attitude of -the monk was fearfully commanding. He reared a large crucifix in his -left hand, whilst the other was stretched out before him. The light by -which he was encircled shot around him to a great distance, showing the -walls thickly manned with crossbow-men prepared to shoot upon the -assailants, and exhibiting these assailants themselves with their faces -turned to what they believed to be a miraculous vision, which filled -them with a terror that no merely human array could have awakened. - -“Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan, and Lord of Badenoch,” cried the -Franciscan, in his wonted clear but solemn voice, “have I not told thee -that the Omnipotent hath resigned thee and thine into my grasp for -penance or for punishment? Go, take thy wounded son with thee, sith -that thou hast sought this fresh affliction. His life and the lives of -those who are now borne to thy den hang on thy repentance.” - -A hissing sound was heard—a dense vapour arose—and all was again dark -as before. Some of the Wolfe of Badenoch’s terrified attendants -ventured to approach the gate to assist him. They carried Sir Alexander -away; and the ferocious Earl, again subdued from the high wrath to -which his son’s sudden excitation had for a moment raised his native -temper, relapsed into that apathetical stupor from which he had been -roused. He seemed to know not what he was doing, or where he was; but, -mechanically mounting his horse, he retired from the walls of Spynie, -and took his way slowly homewards. As the distant conflagration flashed -from time to time on his face, he started and looked towards it with -wild expression—and then elevated his eye towards his son, who was -carried on a bier formed of crossed lances, by some men on foot; but -excepting when he was so moved, his features were like those of the -stone effigy which now lies stretched upon his tomb. - -The Bishop and the dignitaries of the Cathedral who composed his -Chapter, had assembled in fear and trembling in the Chapel of the -Palace, where they offered up prayers for deliverance from their -scourge; and the Wolfe of Badenoch and his formidable party were no -sooner ascertained to have permanently withdrawn, than they issued -forth, bearing some of the most holy of their images, with the most -precious relics of saints, which had been hastily snatched from their -shrines on the first alarm of the enemy’s approach, and began to move -in melancholy procession towards Elgin, guarded by the armed vassals of -the Church, who had been summoned to man the Palace walls. As they rose -over the hill, they beheld the flames still raging in all their fury. -The sun was by this time rising over the horizon, but his rays added -little to the artificial day that already possessed the scene. The -smiling morning, indeed, served to show the extent of the devastation -which the flames had already occasioned; but the cheerful matin song of -the birds accorded ill with the wailings that burst from those who -beheld this dismal spectacle. The pride of the Bishop, if the good man -ever had any, was indeed effectually humbled. As he rode on his palfrey -at the head of the sad procession, the reins held by two attendants, -one of whom walked on each side of him, he wept when he came within -view of the town; and, ordering them to halt, he crossed his hands -meekly over his breast, and looked up in silent ejaculation to Heaven. - -“O speculum patriæ et decus regni,” cried he, turning his eyes again -towards the Cathedral, whilst the tears rolled over his cheeks. “Oh, -glory and honour of Scotland—thou holy fane, which we, poor wretched -mortals, did fondly believe to be a habitation worthy of the omnipotent -and mysterious Trinity, to whom thou wast dedicated—behold thee, for -the sins of us the guilty servants of a just God, behold thee yielded -up a prey to the destroyer! Oh, holy Father, and do thou, blessed -Virgin Mother, cause our prayers to find acceptance at the Almighty -throne, through the merits of thy beloved Son—may we, thy sinful -creatures, be humbled before this thine avenging arm; and may the -fasts, penances, and mortifications we shall impose be the means of -bringing us down, both body and soul, unto the dust, that thy just -wrath against us may be assuaged; for surely some great sin hath beset -us, seeing it hath pleased thee to destroy thine own holy temple, that -our evil condition might be made manifest to us.” - -Those who formed the procession bent reverently to the ground as the -venerable prelate uttered these words. - -“And now, my sons,” said he with a sigh, “let us hasten onwards, and do -what we can to preserve what may yet have escaped from the general -destruction.” - -The first care of the good Bishop was to collect the scattered -townsmen, who had already begun to cluster in the streets; and every -exertion was immediately used to put a stop to the conflagration. The -Franciscan was there, but his attention was occupied with something -very different from that which so painfully interested every one else. -The Lady Beatrice—was she safe? At the risk of his life he had -clambered over the blazing roof of the Maison Dieu to seek her in her -chamber. She was gone from thence. He had searched anxiously through -all the upper apartments of the building, and yet he had seen no trace -of her. Full of alarm, he had been compelled to rest on the hope that -she might have escaped with others from the flames; and, with an -unspeakable anxiety to have that hope confirmed, he went about -inquiring impatiently of every one he met, whether any damsel, -answering to the description of the Lady Beatrice, had been seen; but -of all those to whom he addressed himself, there was no one who could -say that she was known to have escaped. - -“Miserable wretch that I am,” said he, “have her sins then been -punished by so terrible a death—sins for the which I myself must be -called to dread account both here and hereafter—I who deprived her of -the blessing of a virtuous mother’s counsel, and of a father’s powerful -protection? Holy St. Francis forgive me, the thought is agony.” - -He sat him down on a stone in the court of the Maison Dieu, and he was -soon joined by sister Marion, the lame housekeeper of the Hospital, who -came to mourn over its smouldering ruins. - -“Oh, dear heart and alas!” cried the withered matron—“the blessed St. -Mary defend, protect, and be good unto us—and there is a dole sight to -be sure. Under that very roof hae I been housed and sheltered, come the -feast of Our Lady, full forty——nay, I should hae said fourteen years -and upwards, and now I am to be turned out amidst the snares and -temptations of this wicked world, to be the sport and the pastime of -the profligate and ungodly. What will become of us, to whose lot beauty -hath fallen as a snare, and fair countenance as an aid to the Evil One? -Where, alas! shall we hide our heads that we fall not in the way of -sinners? Where——” - -“Tell me, sister!” cried the Franciscan, impatiently interrupting -her—“tell me, didst thou see the Lady Beatrice, whom I escorted hither -yesterday?” - -“Yea, in good verity, did I that, brother,” replied Marion. - -“Where?—where and when?” cried the anxious Franciscan. - -“Nay, be not in such a flurry, brother,” replied she. “I did first see -her in the refectory when thou didst bring her there, and a pretty -damsel she be, I trow.” - -“Nay, but didst thou see her after the fire?” demanded the Franciscan. - -“In very deed, nay, brother,” replied the literal sister, Marion. - -“Wretch that I am,” cried the Franciscan, in an agony of suspense, -“hath then no one seen her escape?” - -“St. Katherine help us, an thou dost talk of her escape, indeed, thou -comest to the right hand in me,” replied she, “sith that it was I -myself who did show her how to escape; but that was neither before nor -after the fire, I promise thee, but in the very height of the brenning, -when the flames were bursting here, and crackling there—and the -rafters——” - -“Nay, tell me, I entreat thee, sister,” cried the Franciscan, -interrupting her, though greatly relieved—“tell me how and where she -did save herself?” - -“But I do tell thee thou art wrong, brother,” cried the peevish old -woman, “for it was in no such ways, seeing, as I said before, it was I -myself that did save her. But thou art so flustrificacious; an thou -wouldst but let me tell mine own tale——” - -“Go on then, I pray thee, sister Marion,” cried the monk, curbing his -ire, and patiently resuming his seat upon the stone; “take thine own -way.” - -“In good troth, my way is the right way,” replied sister Marion. “Well, -as I was a-saying, I was sound asleep in my bed, in the back turret at -the end of the passage, when cometh the Lady Beatrice to my room, and -did shake, shake at me; and up did I start, for luckily for me I had -taken an opiate, tincture, or balsam, the which the good cellarer doth -give me ofttimes for the shooting toothache pain (but, alas! I doubt it -be all burnt now), and so I had somehow lain down in my clothes; and -then came the cries of the people, and the smoke and flame—and so I did -bethink me straightway of the nun’s private stair to the Chapel, the -which did lead down from my very door. This I did enter, and bid the -Lady Beatrice follow me. But I being rather lame, and the stair being -fit only for one at a time, she did sorely hurry and hasten me; and -methought we should never hae gotten down to the Chapel. A-weel, as we -were crossing the Chapel to make our way out at the door that doth lead -into the garden, who should I see coming down the steps of the -main-stair that doth lead from yonder passage on the ground floor into -the Chapel, but Sir Andrew Stewart, the son of the Wolfe of Badenoch -himself. Trust me, I stayed not long. But if the Lady Beatrice did -complain of my delay in the way down thither, I trow she had reason in -sooth to think me liard enow in leaving it. I was gone in a trice ere -she did miss me; for of a truth I had no fancy to fall into such hands, -since who doth know what——” - -“And the Lady Beatrice?” interrupted the Franciscan. - -“Nay, I must confess I did see him lay his hands on her,” answered -Marion; “and I did see him behind me as I did flee through the garden. -But——” - -“Then all is well,” interrupted the Franciscan, turning away from the -fatiguing old woman, and finishing the rest of his speech in grateful -soliloquy. “It doth rejoice me much that she hath fallen into the hands -of Sir Andrew Stewart; for albeit the Wolfe of Badenoch hath wrought so -much evil, verily I have myself seen that he is no enemy to the Lady -Beatrice. And then, Sir Andrew Stewart hath the reputation of being the -best of his family—one who is a mirror of virtue and of peaceful -gentleness; a perfect lamb of patience in that ferocious litter of wild -beasts. Even our holy Bishop hath him in favourable estimation. He -could not choose but take especial care of her. Praised be the Virgin, -I may now go about the Bishop’s affairs withouten care, being sure that -I shall hear good tidings of her anon.” - -All that day and night, and all the following day, had passed away—the -flames had been partly extinguished by active exertion, and had partly -expired from lack of further food, and much had doubtless been done by -the influence of images and relics. Measures also had been taken to -preserve the quiet and peace of the town, as well as to ensure the -immediate accommodation and support of such of its inhabitants as had -suffered in the general calamity. Penitential prayers had been offered -up, and hymns chanted in the conventual churches and chapels which had -not suffered. A general penance and solemn fast had been ordered, after -all which the Bishop sent for the Franciscan, and held a long -conference with him on the subject of the affairs of the Church, which -we shall leave them to discuss together, that we may now follow the -humbled Wolfe of Badenoch to Lochyndorbe. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LXIX. - - Changes at the Castle of Lochyndorbe—The Wolfe tamed—Alarm for the - Lady Beatrice. - - -The scene within that fortress was materially changed since our last -visit to it. The boys, Walter and James Stewart, were laid in beds from -which there was but small hope of their ever rising. Sir Alexander -Stewart also lay in a very dangerous and distressing state, with a -shattered arm and a bruised body, resulting from the heap of heavy -stones which had been thrown down upon him from the wall of Spynie; and -the hitherto hardy and impregnable mind and body of the Wolfe of -Badenoch himself, yielding before the storm of calamity that had so -suddenly assailed him, had sunk into a state of torpor, and he was now -confined to a sick bed by a low, yet rapidly consuming fever. In so -short a time as two days his gigantic strength was reduced to the -weakness of a child. His impatience of temper had not been entirely -conquered by the disease, but its effects were sufficiently moderated -by his prostration, to render him no longer a terror to any one; and -this feeling was heightened in all around him, by the conviction that -his malady was of a nature so fatal that his existence must soon be -terminated. - -The Lady Mariota was one of the first who became aware of this, and she -prudently regulated her conduct accordingly. Yes, she for whose illicit -love he had sacrificed so much—she who had ever affected so devoted an -attachment to him—she who was the mother of his five boys—she on whose -account he had so resolutely braved so many tempests, and who had been -the original cause of the very feud with the Bishop of Moray which had -led to the commission of excesses so outrageous, and now produced so -much fatal affliction—she it was who, now beginning to show herself in -her true character, sorrowed not for him, but as her own importance and -high estate must inevitably sink in his deathbed. Even her grief for -her lost sons, and her anxiety for those whom she feared to lose, arose -more from the thought that in them perished so many supporters and -protectors who might yet have enabled her to hold her head proudly, -than from any of that warm and perfectly unselfish feeling, which, if -it anywhere exists, must be found to throb in the bosom of a mother. -Instead of flying in distraction from couch to couch, administering all -that imagination could think of, to heal, to support, or to soothe, she -wisely remembered that, in her situation, time was precious; and, -accordingly, she employed every minute of it in rummaging through the -secret repositories of many a curious antique cabinet, and in making up -many a neat and portable package, to be carried off the moment that the -soul of the Wolfe of Badenoch should quit his body. Nor were her active -thoughts bestowed on things inanimate, or within doors only; her tender -care soared even beyond the Castle walls and the Loch that encircled -them; and by means of a chosen few of her own servants whom she had -managed to secure by large bribes to her especial interest, the -surrounding country was raised, and the cattle and sheep that fed in -the lawndes of the forests for many a mile round, were seen pouring in -large bodies towards the land-sconce, to be ready to accompany her, and -to unite their lowings and bleatings to her wailings, when she should -be compelled to take her sad departure from Lochyndorbe. - -Nor was the knowledge of this base ingratitude spared to the dying man. -She had not visited him for the greater part of the day. He called, but -the hirelings, who were wont to fly to him ere the words had well -passed his lips, were now glad to keep out of his sight, and each -abandoning to the rest the unwelcome task of waiting on him, he was -left altogether without help. He was parched with a thirst which he -felt persuaded the Loch itself would have hardly quenched; and in the -disturbed state of his nerves he was haunted with the eternal torture -of the idea of its waves murmuring gently and invitingly around him. It -was night. A light step entered his room cautiously, and the rays of a -lamp were seen. He entreated for a cup of water, but no answer was -returned to his request. At length his impatience gave him a momentary -command over his muscles, and throwing down the bed-clothes, he sprang -on his knees, and opened wide the curtains that shaded the lower end of -his bed. By the light of the lamp he beheld the Lady Mariota occupied -in searching through his private cabinet, whence she had already taken -many a valuable, the table being covered with rich chains of gold, and -sparkling gems of every variety of water and colour, set in massive -rings, buckles, brooches, collars, and head-circlets; and so intently -was she busied that she heard not his motion. - -“Ha, wretch,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, in a hollow and sepulchral -voice of wasted disease; “the curse of my spirit upon thee, what dost -thou there?” - -The Lady Mariota gave him not time to add more, for, looking fearfully -round, she beheld the gaunt visage of the Wolfe of Badenoch, with his -eyes glaring fiercely upon her; and believing that he had already died, -and that it was indeed his spirit which cursed her, she uttered a loud -scream, and rushed in terror from the apartment. The Wolfe, exhausted -by the unnatural exertion he had made, sank backwards in his bed, and -lay for some time motionless and unable to speak. - -“Oh, for a cup of water,” moaned the miserable man at length, the -excruciating torture of his thirst banishing even that which his mind -had experienced in beholding so unequivocal a proof of the Lady -Mariota’s selfish and unfeeling heart; “oh, will no one bring me a cup -of water? And hath it then come so soon to this, that I, the son of a -King, am left to suffer this foretaste of hell’s torments, and no one -hand to help me? Oh, water, water, water, for mercy’s sake! Alas! -Heaven’s curse hath indeed fallen upon me. My dead and dying sons -cannot help me; and Mariota—ha! fiends, fiends! Ay, there is -bitterness—venom—black poison. Was it for this,” said he, casting his -eyes towards the glittering jewels on the distant table; “was it for a -heart so worthless that I did so brave the curse of the Church? Was it -for such a viper that I did incur my father’s anger? Was it for a -poisoned-puffed spider like this that I did do deeds that made men’s -hair bristle on their heads, and their very eyes grow dim? Did I bear -her fiercely up before a chiding world, that she might turn and sting -me at an hour like this? Ha! punishment, dread punishment was indeed -promised me; but I looked not that it should come from her whom I did -so long love and cherish—from her for whom I have sacrificed peace in -this life, and oh, worse than all, mercy in that to which I am -hastening.” He shuddered at the thoughts which now crowded on his mind, -and buried his head for some moments under the bed-clothes. - -It now approached midnight, and the solitary lamp left by the Lady -Mariota was still burning, when his ear caught a rustling noise. - -“Ha, Mariota, art there again?” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, -impatiently lifting up his head. - -He looked, and through the drapery of the bed, that still remained wide -open, he beheld the Franciscan standing before him. - -“Ha, what! merciful St. Andrew,” cried the Wolfe; “ha, is it thou, -fiend, from whom hath sprung all mine affliction? Devil or monk, thou -shalt die in my grasp.” He made a desperate effort to rise, and -repeated it again and again; but he sank down nerveless, his breast -heaving with agitation, and his eyes starting wildly from their -sockets. “Speak, demon, what further vengeance dost thou come to -execute on this devoted head? Speak, for what fiendish torment canst -thou invent that shall more excruciate the body than racking and -unsatisfied thirst? or what that shall tear the soul more cruelly than -the barbed arrows of ingratitude? Hence, then, to thy native hell, and -leave me to mine.” - -“Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan, and Lord of Badenoch,” said the -Franciscan, “I do come to thee as no tormenting fiend. The seal of -death doth seem to be set on thy forehead; thou art fast sinking into -his fleshless arms. The damps of the grave do gather on thy brow. ’Tis -not for mortal man as I am, to push vengeance at such an hour. When -thou wert in thy full strength and power I did boldly face thy -wickedness; but now thou art feeble and drivelling as the child that -was born yesterday, or as the helpless crone over whose worn head and -wasted brain an hundred winters have rolled, I come not to denounce -aught of punishment against thee; for already hast thou enow here, and -thou wilt soon be plunged for endless ages in that burning sea to which -it were bootless for me to add one drop of anguish. Forgetting all thy -cruelty against myself, I do come to thee as the hand of Mercy to the -drowning wretch. I come to offer myself as the leech of thy soul as -well as of thy body; and, as an offering of peace, and a pledge of my -sincerity, behold thy beloved son!” - -The Franciscan threw aside the folds of his habit, with which he had -hitherto concealed something, and he held up the smiling boy, Duncan -Stewart. - -“Mock me not, foul fiend,” cried the frantic father, believing that -what he saw was a phantom; “hence, and disturb not my brain.” - -“Again I repeat, I am no fiend,” said the Franciscan mildly. “I come to -tell thee that repentance may yet ensure thee salvation in the next -world; nay, even life in this; yea, and life also to thy sons; and as a -gracious earnest of God’s infinite mercy, behold, I here restore thee -thy best beloved boy, the Benjamin of thy heart, whose life mine hand -did save from that raging fire thyself did so impiously kindle.” - -The Wolfe of Badenoch devoured the very words of the Franciscan as he -spake. He gazed wildly on him and on his boy alternately, as if he yet -doubted the reality of the scene; and it was not until the little -Duncan’s joyous laugh rang in his ears, and he felt the boy’s arms -fondly entwining his neck, that he became satisfied of the truth of -what he heard and saw. He was no longer the iron-framed and -stern-souled Wolfe of Badenoch; his body was weak and his mind shaken, -and he sank backwards in the bed, giving way to an hysterical laugh. - -“Oh, my boy, my boy,” cried he at length, smothering the youth with his -caresses; “my beloved Duncan, what can I do for so great a mercy! -What—what—but—Oh, mercy, one cup of water, in mercy!—I burn—my tongue -cleaveth—Oh, water, water, in mercy!” - -The Franciscan hastened to give him water; and the thirsty wretch -snatched the cup of life from the hand of him whom his unbridled rage -had so wantonly consigned to the cruellest of deaths. - -“More, more,” cried the impatient Wolfe of Badenoch; “mine entrails do -crack with the scorching heat within me.” - -“Drink this, then,” said the Franciscan, taking a phial from his bosom, -and pouring part of its contents into the cup; “drink this, and thou -shalt have water.” - -“Ha!” cried the Wolfe, darting a glance of suspicion towards the monk. -“Yet why should I hesitate?” continued he, as his eyes fell upon -Duncan. “He who hath restored my son, can have little wish to hasten -the end of a dying wretch.” - -“And he who might have used the dagger against thee,” said the -Franciscan calmly, “would never have thought of giving thee a death so -tedious as that of poison. Drink; there is health in the cup.” - -The Wolfe hesitated no longer. - -“Now water, oh, water, in mercy!” cried he again, after he had -swallowed the drug. - -“Thy thirst must be moderately ministered unto for a time,” said the -Franciscan; “yet shalt thou have one cup more,” and he poured one for -him accordingly. - -“Why art thou thus alone, father,” demanded the boy Duncan; “why is not -my mother here? she who doth ever so caress and soothe thee, if that -the pulses of thy temples do but throb unreasonably. I’ll go and fetch -her hither straightway.” - -“Fetch her not hither, Duncan, if thou wouldst not have me curse her,” -cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, dashing away the half-consumed cup of -water, in defiance of his thirst “Oh, that I might yet be myself again, -were it but for a day, that I might deal justice upon her. Then, -indeed, should I die contented.” - -“Hush,” said the Franciscan; “such is not the temper that doth best -befit a dying man; yea, and one, too, who hath so much for the which to -ask forgiveness. It doth more behove thee to think of thine own sins -than of those of others. If it may so please Heaven, I shall be the -leech of thy body; but it were well that thou didst suffer me to give -blessed medicine to thy diseased soul, for thy life or thy death -hangeth in the Almighty hand, and no one can tell how soon thou mayest -be called to thy great account. Say, dost thou repent thee of all the -evil thou hast wrought against the Holy Church and her sacred -ministers?” - -“I do, I do; most bitterly do I repent me,” cried the Wolfe of -Badenoch, grinding his teeth ferociously, and with an expression of -countenance very different from that becoming an humble penitent. “I do -repent me, I say, in gall and bitterness; for verily she for whom I did -these deeds——” - -“Nay, talk not of her,” said the Franciscan, interrupting him; “mix not -up thine angry passions with thine abasement before thine offended -Maker. Repent thee of thy sins—make instant reparation to the Church -from the abundance of thy wealth—resolve to put away all thine -abominations from thee—and, finally, make a solemn vow, that, if it -should please Heaven to restore thee to health, thou wilt do such -penance as it may seem fitting for the injured Bishop of Moray to -impose upon thee—do these things, and all may yet be well with thee. If -thou art willing to vow solemnly to do these things, if Heaven in its -mercy shall yet spare thee, verily I will receive and be witness to thy -serment; and I do beseech thee to speak quickly, for I would fain leave -thee to that healing repose, for the which my medicine hath prepared -thee, that I may go to give healthful balsams to thy three sons, that -they may yet be snatched from an early grave.” - -“Yea, most merciful and beneficent monk,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, -“thou whom I did believe to be a fiend, but whom I do now find to be -saint upon earth, most gladly do I yield me to thee. I here most -solemnly vow to the Virgin and the Holy Trinity, that I do heartily -repent me of mine outrages against the Holy Church of God and His holy -ministers; that I am ready to make what reparation I may; and that, if -it so please Heaven to rescue me from the jaws of death, I shall do -penance in such wise as to the Bishop and the King, my father, may seem -best.” - -“Be thy vow registered in Heaven,” said the Franciscan, solemnly -crossing himself. “And now, with the blessing of St. Francis, thou -shalt soon be in a state for fulfilling it. But let me entreat thee to -yield thyself to that repose, the which the healing draught thou hast -taken must speedily ensure to thee; when thou dost again awake, thy -consuming fever will have left thee, and in two or three days at most -thou mayest be again in thy saddle. Let me now hasten to help thy -sons.” - -The boy Duncan Stewart had already paved the way for the Franciscan’s -favourable reception with his brothers, who gladly submitted themselves -to his directions, and he speedily administered to their respective -cases. The domestics now began to be re-assured of the probable -recovery of the invalids, and they already quaked for the returning -wrath of the Wolfe of Badenoch. The Lady Mariota, sat trembling in her -apartment. The Franciscan, who had formerly disappeared so -miraculously, and who now re-appeared so strangely among them, was eyed -with fear by every one within the Castle, and his orders were obeyed as -implicitly and as promptly as the Wolfe himself, so that he lacked for -nothing that his patient required. Having done all for them that art -could effect, he had time to think of the Lady Beatrice, whom he -believed to be an inmate of the Castle, seeing he had no doubt that Sir -Andrew Stewart must have brought her thither. But he found, on inquiry, -that the knight had not appeared. He was vexed at the disappointment, -but taking it for granted that her protector had carried her to some -other fastness belonging to his father, he felt no uneasiness, trusting -that he should soon have tidings of her. - -Dismissing all thoughts of the Lady Beatrice, therefore, from his mind, -he devoted himself eagerly to the restoration of the sick, being filled -with the idea of the signal service he was about to perform to the -Church, the extent of which would much depend on the recovery of those -who now lay in so precarious a state, that they might appear before the -world as living instances of penitence. For two days, then, he was -indefatigable in his attentions; and the effect of his care and skill -was, that the Wolfe of Badenoch’s cure was rapid. His disease had been -chiefly caused by sudden affliction, operating on an impatient temper, -and a conscience ill at ease. The Franciscan’s words, therefore, had -happily combined with his medicines to produce an almost miraculous -effect; and, ere the time promised by the monk was expired, he appeared -in the great hall, haggard and disease-worn indeed, but perfectly ready -to fill his saddle. The recovery of his sons, though there was now -little to be feared for them, promised to be more tedious; and it was -well for the peace of the Castle of Lochyndorbe that it was so, for -they might have made some objections to the decided step which their -father took the moment he again showed himself. - -“Ha, villains,” cried he as he came stalking through the opening crowd -of domestics that shrunk from him on either hand—“so the Earl of -Buchan, the son of a King, mought have died for all ye cared. Ha! -whither did ye all hide, knaves, that I was nearly perishing of thirst, -and no one to give me a cup of water? But ’tis no marvel that ye should -have forgotten your master when—Ha! Bruce—send Bruce, the old esquire, -hither. What mighty lowing of cattle, and bleating of sheep, is that I -do hear?” - -The domestics looked at each other, but no one dared to speak. The -impatient Wolfe hurried up a little turret-stair, from the top of which -he had a view over the outer walls of the Castle, and the narrow strait -that divided that from the mainland. There he beheld the whole of the -flocks and herds which the Lady Mariota had so prudently collected -together, and which her trepidation had made her forget to order to be -driven again to their native hills and forests. He wanted no further -information, for the truth flashed on him at once. His eye reddened, -his cheek grew paler than even the disease had left it, his lip -quivered, and he rushed precipitately down to the hall. - -“Where, in the fiend’s name, is Bruce?” cried he. “Ha! thou art there, -old man. Get thee quickly together some dozen or twain of mounted -spears, with palfreys for the Lady Mariota and her women, and -sumpter-horses needful for the carriage of their raiment; and let her -know that it is my will she do forthwith depart hence with thee for my -Castle of Cocklecraig, the which is to be her future place of -sojournance.” - -The esquire bowed obediently, and hastened to execute the command of -his impatient Lord. In a little time a page appeared, with an humble -message from the Lady Mariota, to know whether the Earl was to -accompany her into Buchan. - -“Tell her no,” replied the Wolfe, turning round on the frightened page, -and speaking with a voice that shook the Gothic hall, which he was -rapidly measuring backwards and forward with his paces. - -Again a woman came to him from the Lady Mariota, most submissively -entreating for an interview. - -“Nay, the red fiend catch me then!” cried the furious Wolfe, his eyes -flashing fire; “I do already know too much of her baseness, ever to -trust myself with a sight of her again. ’Twere better, for her sake, -that she urge me not to see her. Ha! tell her I have sworn by my -knighthood that the threads that hath bound my heart to her -worthlessness shall be for ever snapped. Let not the poisonous toad -cross my path, lest I crush her in mine ire, and give to my conscience -another sin to be repented of.—Away!” - -The Wolfe again paced the hall, very much moved. The neighing of horses -and the noise of preparation were heard in the court-yard; the warder’s -call for the boats sounded across the lake; and a wailing of women’s -voices soon afterwards succeeded. The Wolfe paced the hall with a yet -more rapid step; he became much moved, and hid his face from the -Franciscan, who was the only witness of his agitation. But at last it -became too strong to be concealed, and he rushed up the turret-stair, -whence he had before looked out towards the land-sconce. He remained -absent for a considerable time; and when he returned, his face was -deeply marked with the traces of the strong contending emotions he had -undergone. - -“How doth thy leech-craft prosper, good Sir Friar?” demanded he at -length, evidently from no other desire than to talk away his present -feelings, seeing that he had already put the same question more than -half-a-dozen times before. - -“I do trust that, under God, thy sons will yet be well,” replied the -Franciscan. “But be not impatient, my Lord; their cure must be the work -of time. Meanwhile, be thankful to a merciful Providence, who doth thus -restore to thee all those of whom thou didst fear thou wert bereft.” - -“All!” cried the Wolfe, shuddering, “nay, not all; all but Andrew, and -he did perish horribly in the flames of the Maison Dieu, whither I did -myself enforce him. Heaven in its mercy pardon me!” - -“Andrew!” cried the Franciscan, with surprise; “trust me, my Lord, Sir -Andrew Stewart is safe.” - -“Safe!” cried the Wolfe, clasping his hands together in an -ecstacy—“then thanks be to a merciful God, who hath saved me from the -torturing thought of having been the cause of working my son’s death. -But where, I pray thee, was he seen?” demanded the Wolfe eagerly. - -“He was seen in the Chapel of the Maison Dieu with a lady, whom he did -thereafter lead through the garden of the Hospital,” replied the -Franciscan. - -“What, the Lady Beatrice!” demanded the Wolfe; “for that is all the -name I did ever know her to bear as a woman, albeit I do well recollect -her masculine appellation of Maurice de Grey.” - -“The same,” replied the Franciscan. - -“Then hath Andrew preserved her life,” replied the Wolfe. “By the beard -of my grandfather, but I do greatly rejoice to hear it. There is still -some virtue in the caitiff after all. My efforts to save the lady were -vain; I did even gain her chamber, but I found her gone; from which I -was compelled with grief to believe that she had surely perished. But -whither hath my son Andrew conveyed her?” - -“Nay, that I have not yet discovered,” replied the Franciscan; “but Sir -Andrew Stewart saved not the Lady Beatrice from the flames. One of the -sisters of the Hospital did teach her how to escape; and as they -crossed the Chapel together, Sir Andrew Stewart, who had fled thither -for safety——” - -“Ah, coward,” cried the Wolfe; “so, after all, he was the craven -kestrel. By my beard, I thought as much. And so thou sayest that thou -art yet ignorant where the Lady Beatrice hath been bestowed.” - -“Nay, my good Lord,” replied the Franciscan; “but with a knight of his -good report she is sure of protection, and——” - -“What sayest thou?—good report, sayest thou?” interrupted the Wolfe. -“Though he be a brauncher from mine own nest, yet must I, in honesty, -tell thee, Sir Friar, that a greater hypocrite presseth not the surface -of the earth. Protection, saidst thou? By St. Barnabas, but she hath -already hath enow of his protection.” - -“What dost thou mean, my Lord?” replied the monk, in astonishment. - -“Why, by my knighthood, but I am ashamed to speak so of mine own son,” -replied the Wolfe; “yet am I bound to treat thee with candour, and so -thou shalt e’en have it.” And he proceeded to give the monk a short -history of the infamous treachery of Sir Andrew Stewart towards the -Lady Beatrice. - -“My Lord of Buchan,” cried the Franciscan, with an agitation and -earnestness of manner which the Wolfe of Badenoch could by no means -explain, “if I have found favour with thee, lend me thine aid, I -entreat thee, to recover the Lady Beatrice from thy son. She is -destined to take the veil, and in giving me thine aid to reclaim her -thou wilt be doing a pious duty, the which will assuredly tell for the -good of thy soul, yea, and help to balance the heavy charge of thine -iniquities.” - -“Right joyfully shall I give thee mine aid,” replied the Wolfe of -Badenoch; “the more that she was the lady of the gallant Sir Patrick -Hepborne, with whom she was here, in the disguise of a page. Ha, ha, -ha, ha! But wherefore doth she now take the veil?” - -“’Tis fitting that she doth atone for a youth of sin by a life of -penitence,” replied the Friar, unwilling to speak more plainly. - -“So,” said the Wolfe of Badenoch, with a significant look, “after all -her modest pretence, and after all Sir Patrick’s cunning dissembling, -’twas as I did suspect then, after all?” - -“Thou didst suspect, then?” said the Friar; “alas! I do fear with too -much reason. Yet let us not tarry, but hasten to recover her, I pray -thee.” - -“Squires, there—what, ho, within!” cried the Wolfe, “hath no one as yet -heard aught of Sir Andrew Stewart?” - -“No one, my noble Earl,” replied an esquire who waited. - -“By the holy mass, then,” said the Wolfe, “but the caitiff hath taken -refuge in some of my strongholds. But ’twill be hard an we ferret him -not out. Ha! knaves there, let fifty mounted lances be ready in the -lawnde beyond the land-sconce ere I can wind my bugle.” - -The Wolfe of Badenoch was restored to all his pristine vigour by the -very thought of going on an expedition, even though it was against his -own son. The court-yard rang with the bustle the Castle was thrown -into, and all the boats were put in requisition to ferry the horses -across. Everything was ready for them to mount at the land-sconce in an -incredibly short space of time; but, however short the delay, still it -was too much for his impatience; nor was his companion less restless -than the Wolfe, till he found himself in saddle. When all were mounted, -the monk showed, by his forward riding, that there was little risk of -his being a drag upon the speed of the furious-pricking knight, and the -Wolfe of Badenoch exulted to behold his horsemanship. - -“By the mass,” cried he, pulling up a little, “but thou art a prince of -friars; ’tis a pleasure, I vow, to have a stalwarth monk like thee as a -confessor; wouldst thou be mine, thou shouldst ever ride at my elbow. -Where hadst thou thy schooling, Sir Friar?” - -“I have rode in the lists ere now,” replied the Franciscan; “yea, and -war have I seen in all its fashions. But it doth now befit me to forget -these vain carnal contentions, and to fight against mine own evil -passions, the which are harder to subdue than any living foe. And in -this let me be an ensample to thee, my Lord, for verily the time is but -short sith that I was as violent and tempestuous as thyself; and hard -it is even yet for me, frail man as I am, to keep down the raging devil -that is within me. May the blessed Virgin increase our virtuous -resolution!” said he, crossing himself. - -To this pious ejaculation the Wolfe added a hearty “Amen;” and they -again pushed on at the same rapid pace at which they had originally -started. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LXX. - - Bishop Barr at Lochyndorbe Castle—Reception by the Wolfe. - - -The Wolfe of Badenoch and the Franciscan had hardly reached the end of -the lake, when they descried a mounted knight approaching them. - -“By all that is marvellous,” cried the Wolfe, halting suddenly, “but -yonder doth come my very son Andrew!” - -“Is it indeed Sir Andrew Stewart?” said the Franciscan; “methinks he -cometh as if he had little fear of blame about him.” - -“By’r Lady, but his coming home thus at all doth look something like -honesty,” said the Wolfe; “but do thou let me question him, holy -father, nor fear that I will deal over gently with him. So, Sir -Andrew,” cried he, as soon as his son was near enough to hear him, “I -do rejoice to behold thee again. Whence comest thou, I pray thee?” - -“From Elgin straightway, my noble father,” replied Sir Andrew Stewart. - -“Marry, and what hath kept thee there so long, then?” demanded the -Wolfe; “methought that thou hadst seen enow to teach thee that no whelp -of mine could be welcome guest there.” - -“In truth, I did so find it indeed,” replied Sir Andrew Stewart. - -“Then what a murrain hath kept thee there?” demanded the Wolfe sternly. -“Come, thou knowest I am not over patient. Thy story—thy story quickly. -What befel thee after thou didst enter the blazing Spital of the Maison -Dieu? Didst thou rescue the damosel—the Lady Beatrice?” - -“I did,” replied the unblushing knight; “verily, I rushed to the upper -chamber through the fire and the smoke, and I did snatch her from the -very flames, and bear her forth in safety.” - -“There thou liest, caitiff,” roared out the Wolfe; “thou dost lie in -the very threshold of thy story. By the mass, but we shall judge of the -remainder of thy tale by the sample thou hast already given us. But go -on, Sir Andrew. What didst thou with her after thou didst save her, as -thou saidst? ay, and tell us, too, how thou didst escape?” - -“But first, where is she now?” demanded the Franciscan, breaking in. - -“Nay, Sir Friar, be not impatient,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch; “thou -wilt gain nothing by impatience. Interrupt him not, I entreat thee; but -let him go on in order. Proceed, sirrah.” - -“I retreated with the Lady Beatrice, through the Chapel of the Maison -Dieu,” replied Sir Andrew Stewart, now assuming greater caution as to -what he uttered. - -“Well, Sir Knight,” exclaimed the Franciscan keenly, “what hast thou -done with her? Speak to that at once.” - -“Nay, Sir Friar, why wilt thou thus persist in taking speech?” demanded -the Wolfe testily; “thou art most unreasonably hasty. By the beard of -my grandfather, but impatience and unbridled passion doth ever defeat -itself. Dost thou not see that I am cool and unflurried with this -knave’s face? Answer me, villain,” roared he to his son, “answer me, -thou disgrace to him from whom thou art sprung—thou child of thine -infamous mother—answer me, I tell thee, quickly, and to the point, or, -by the blood of the Bruce, I shall forget that thou hast any claim to -be called my son.” - -“Be not angry with me, father,” said Sir Andrew, trembling; “verily the -lady is safe, for all that I do know of her; and——” - -“Where hast thou bestowed her, villain?” shouted the Wolfe; “speak, or, -by all the fiends, thou shalt never speak more.” - -“I will, father, if thou wilt but suffer me,” replied the terrified Sir -Andrew Stewart. - -“Why dost thou not go on then?” cried the Wolfe yet more impatiently; -“where hast thou bestowed the lady, villain! An we be not possessed by -thee of the whole of thy story, and of the place where thou hast -confined her, in less time than the flight of an arrow doth consume, by -the blessed house of my ancestors, I shall cause hang thee up, though -thou be’st called my son.” - -“The lady is not in my hands,” replied Sir Andrew Stewart in terrible -alarm; “she fled from me in the garden of the Maison Dieu, and I did -never see her more.” - -“Hey—what?—but this may be all of a piece with the beginning of thy -tale, which we know was false as hell,” replied the Wolfe. - -“Nay, we do indeed know so much as that thou didst never save her,” -cried the Franciscan; “we do know right well how she was saved; yea, -and we do know, moreover, that thou didst seize her as she did pass -through the Chapel, and thou wert heard with her in the garden. Tell me -speedily whither didst thou carry her, and where is she now?” - -“Ay, where is she now,” cried the Wolfe; “out with the truth, if thou -wouldst escape hanging. Be assured that every false word thou mayest -utter shall be proved against thee; so see that thou dost speak truth.” - -“Have mercy on me, father,” cried the wretched Sir Andrew Stewart, -throwing himself from his horse, and dropping on his knees between the -Wolfe and the Franciscan; “have mercy on me, and I will tell thee all -the truth. To my shame I do confess that vanity and the fear of my -father’s wrath against my cowardice did prompt me to utter that which -was false; and——” - -“Ha! where is she, then, villain?” cried the Wolfe, interrupting him. - -“Distraction! where hast thou concealed her?” cried the Franciscan. - -“Verily, I know nothing of her,” said the knight. - -“Wretch, dost thou return to thy falsehood?” cried the Franciscan. - -“Nay, what I say in this respect is most true,” said Sir Andrew -Stewart; “it was in saying that I did rescue the Lady Beatrice that I -spake falsely. I was too much daunted by the fierceness of the flames -to venture aloft; but having been once upon a time a guest in the -Maison Dieu, I well knew its various passages, one of which did lead -from the bottom of the main staircase of the building directly into the -Chapel, whence I was aware that a retreat into the garden was easy. As -I entered the Chapel I beheld one of the sisterhood of the Maison Dieu -hobbling away with the Lady Beatrice. Mine ancient passion returned -upon me, and——” - -“Villain! thou didst carry her off,” cried the Franciscan, interrupting -him. - -“Thou lying caitiff, where hast thou concealed her?” cried the Wolfe. - -“I did straightway attempt to lay hands upon her, when she fled before -me into the garden, and escaped among the trees and bushes, where I -instantly lost all trace of her.” - -“But where hast thou been all this time sithence?” demanded the Wolfe -fiercely; “answer me straightway to that.” - -“My Lord Earl,” replied Sir Andrew Stewart, “as I wandered in the -garden I did encounter the old gardener, who, under the light of the -burning, did remember me for one of thy sons. He instantly seized me, -and having snatched my sword from my side, he did swear potent oaths -that he would put me to death if I dared offer to resist; and with -these threats he forced me through the garden, and plunged me into a -deep vault at its farther extremity, where I was immured without food -for two days.” - -“Ha! and by the Holy Rood, thou didst well merit it all, I ween, thou -most pitiful of cowards,” cried the Wolfe, angrily gnashing his teeth; -“what, thou the son of the Wolfe of Badenoch, to be frayed and captured -by an old doting unarmed gardener! By all the fiends, but thou dost -deserve to wear a kirtle and petticoat, and to have a distaff to -handle. But what more hast thou to tell, thou shame to knighthood?” - -“When I was nearly spent by hunger and thirst,” continued Sir Andrew, -“the gardener came, with some of the brethren of the Maison Dieu, to -take me from my prison, and I was led before the Bishop of Moray.” - -“Ha! and how did the Bishop treat thee?” interrupted the Wolfe. - -“He received me with much mildness and gentleness,” replied Sir Andrew -Stewart; “and he did severely chide those who so cruelly left me -without food, and ere he would allow a question to be put to me, he did -straightway order my hunger and thirst to be forthwith satisfied; and, -when I had well eaten and drank, he ordered an apartment to be -instantly prepared for me, that I might enjoy the repose the which I -had so much need; and verily I was right glad to accept of the -proffered blessing. The Bishop did keep me with him until a messenger -came to him from Lochyndorbe, after which he entertained me rather as -his favoured guest than as his prisoner.” - -“Nay, so far he speaketh truth” said the Franciscan; “that messenger -was mine; he was the messenger of peace.” - -“I do indeed speak the truth in everything now,” replied Sir Andrew -Stewart, “the which thou mayest soon learn from the Bishop himself, for -I am sent before him to announce a peaceful visitation from him, and he -will be here anon.” - -“Ha! if thou hadst but listened, Sir Friar,” cried the Wolfe, “if thine -impatience had but suffered thee to listen, we had saved much time.” - -“Yea, much time mought have indeed been saved,” said the Franciscan; -“but, sinner that I am, what hath become of the Lady Beatrice? Her -disappearance is most mysterious, if what Sir Andrew Stewart hath told -be indeed true.” - -“But didst thou not say that the Bishop was coming hither, son Andrew?” -cried the Wolfe of Badenoch; “what force doth he bring with him?” - -“He bringeth not a single armed man with him,” replied Sir Andrew -Stewart; “nay, he hath not above some fifteen or twenty persons in all -his company.” - -“Had we not better hasten us homewards?” said the Wolfe to the -Franciscan; “had we not better hasten to prepare for receiving my Lord -Bishop, sith that he doth honour me so far?” - -“Thou art right, my Lord,” replied the Franciscan, starting from a -reverie into which he had fallen; “it may be that my Lord Bishop may -peraunter have some tidings to give me of her about whom I am so much -interested.” - -The Franciscan had little leisure to think more of the Lady Beatrice at -that time. They were no sooner within the Castle walls than he found -that he had a sufficient task to fulfil in preparing the fierce mind of -the Wolfe of Badenoch for receiving the Bishop with that peaceful -humility which became a sincere penitent. It was so far a fortunate -circumstance that the Wolfe himself was already very greatly touched by -the prelate’s generous conduct towards his sons Duncan and Andrew, whom -fortune had placed at his mercy. - -“By the Rood,” exclaimed he, “but the Bishop hath shown kindness where, -in truth, I had but little reason to expect it at his hands. He might -have hanged both my boys, taken, as I may say they were, red-handed in -a manner. Then his coming thus doth show but little of that haughtiness -of the which I did believe him to be possessed. By this hand, we shall -muster out our garrison and meet him on the land-sconce with all our -warlike parade, that we may do him all the honour that may be.” - -“Nay,” replied the monk mildly, “not so, I do entreat thee, my Lord. -Let us appear there with all the symbols of peace and humility, and——” - -“What,” interrupted the Wolfe hastily, “wouldst thou have me put myself -in the power of the prelate?” - -“Nay, thou needst hardly fear that, if thou rememberest what thy son -Sir Andrew did say of the unarmed state of his small escort,” replied -the Franciscan; “and, in truth, meseems that if the peaceful Bishop -doth adventure so far as to entrust himself and his people unarmed in -thy stronghold, it would speak but little for the bold heart of the -Earl of Buchan to go armed, and attended by armed men. Nay, nay, my -Lord; of a truth, this is a bold act of the Bishop of Moray, when all -that hath passed is well considered. He hath indeed been generous, and -now he doth prove himself to be dauntless. Let him not have to boast, -then, that he hath outdone thee either in generosity or fearlessness. I -need not call upon thee to remember thee of thy vow, the which I did -witness, and which is now registered in heaven. Show that thou art -truly penitent and humble, and remember that thine abasement before -God’s minister is but thine abasement before God, who hath already -shown thee such tender mercy, and who will yet show thee more.” - -After listening to this exhortation, the Wolfe of Badenoch became -thoughtful, and the Franciscan gradually ventured to propose to him the -manner in which it would best become him to receive the Bishop. The -countenance of the ferocious warrior showed sufficiently how painful -the humiliation was to his feelings; but he submitted patiently, if not -cheerfully, and the necessary preparations were accordingly made. - -The warder who was stationed in the barbican blew his horn to announce -the first appearance of the Bishop’s party, who were seen winding like -black specks through the scattered greenwood at the farther end of the -lake. The colony of herons were scarcely disturbed by their slow and -silent march. The little fleet of boats clustered under the Castle -walls was manned, and the Wolfe of Badenoch and his whole garrison were -rowed across to the land-sconce, where they immediately formed -themselves into a procession, and walked onwards to meet those who were -coming. - -First went fifty warriors, unarmed and with their heads bare. Then -followed the Wolfe of Badenoch himself, also unarmed, and wearing a -black hood and surcoat. At his side was the Franciscan, and behind him -were his sons Andrew and Duncan, after whom came fifty more of his -people. The Bishop approached, mounted on his palfrey, surrounded by -some of the dignitaries of his diocese, and followed by a few monks and -a small train of attendants. The Wolfe of Badenoch’s men halted, and, -dividing themselves into two lines, formed a lane for the Bishop and -his party to advance. The Wolfe moved forward to meet the prelate; but -though his garb was that of a humble penitent, his eye and his bearing -were those of a proud Prince. - -“Ah, there is the good Bishop, who was so kind to me at Spynie,” cried -little Duncan, clapping his hands with joy; “he did teach me to play -bowls, father, and he gave me so many nice sweetmeats. Let me run to -him, I beseech thee.” - -The boy’s innocent speech was enough; it brought a grappling about the -heart of the Wolfe of Badenoch; he hastened forward to the end of the -lane of men, and made an effort to reach the Bishop’s stirrup, that he -might hold it for him to dismount. - -“Nay, nay,” said the good man, preventing his intention by quitting his -saddle ere he could reach him; “I may not allow the son of my King so -to debase himself.” - -“My Lord Bishop,” said the Wolfe, prompted by the Franciscan, “behold -one who doth humbly throw himself on the mercy and forgiveness of God -and thee.” - -“The mercy of God was never refused to a repentant sinner,” replied the -Bishop; “and as for the forgiveness of a fallible being like me, I wot -I do myself lack too much of God’s pardon to dare refuse it to a -fellow-sinner. May God, then, in his mercy, pardon thee on thy present -submission, and on the score of that penance to which thou art prepared -to submit.” - -“My Lord Bishop,” replied the Wolfe, “I am ready to submit to -whatsoever penance it may please thee to enjoin me. Thy mercy to my -sons, and in especial that to my boy Duncan, hath subdued me to thy -will. But let me entreat of thee that, sinner though I be, thou wilt -honour my Castle of Lochyndorbe with thy sacred presence. There shall I -learn thy volunde, the which I do here solemnly vow, before the blessed -Virgin and the Holy Trinity, whom I have offended, to perform to the -veriest tittle, were it to be a pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulchre -itself. Trust me, thy tender mercy towards me and mine hath wrought -more with me than all that thy power or thy threats could have done.” - -“Let us not talk more of this matter at this time, my Lord,” replied -the Bishop; “I do hereby take upon me, in the meanwhile, conditionally -to remove from thee the dread sentence of excommunication, seeing thou -hast made all the concession as yet in thy power, and that thou art -ready to make what reparation thou canst for what hath passed, and to -do such penance as may be required of thee; and so shall I cheerfully -accept thy hospitality for this night.” - -The Wolfe of Badenoch’s men stared at each other, to behold their -fierce master thus become the peaceable companion of the very prelate -and monk against whom the full stream of his fury had been so lately -directed. They shrugged and looked wise at each other, but no one -ventured to utter a word; and the two processions having mingled their -truly heterogeneous materials together, they turned towards the -land-sconce, and peacefully entering the boats, crossed the Lake to the -Castle, where the chief personages were soon afterwards to be seen -harmoniously seated at the same festive board. But before they were so -assembled, the Franciscan had a conference with the Bishop in his -private apartment. - -“Thou hast indeed well served the cause of the Church, Friar John,” -said the prelate to him; “yea, thou hast done God and our holy religion -good service, by having thus so miraculously tamed this wild and -ferocious Wolfe. Thou hast tilled a hardened soil, that hath heretofore -borne but thistles, thorns, and brambles, that did enter into our flesh -and tear our very hearts. But thy hand must not be taken from the -plough until thy task be complete. Thou must forward with the Earl of -Buchan towards Perth to-morrow. ’Twere well to take him while his mind -is yet soft with the meliorating dews of penitence. I have spoken to -him apart sith I did come hither. Already hath he agreed to make over -to me certain large sums in gold, to be placed at the disposal of our -chapter, as alswa divers annual rents springing from a wide extent of -territory, to be expended in the restoration of our Cathedral. -Moreover, he hath declared himself ready to perform the penance I have -enjoined him, the ceremonial of which thou wilt find detailed in this -parchment, after which he will be absolved by the godly Walter Traill, -Bishop of St. Andrews, in the Blackfriars Church of Perth. To thy -prudence and care do I commit the proper ordering and execution of all -that this parchment and these directions I have written do contain, -seeing there be none other who could do it so well.” - -“I must obey all thy commands, my sacred Lord,” replied the friar; “yet -is my mind ill attuned to the task, seeing it is distracted because of -the uncertain fate of the Lady Beatrice. I beseech thee, hath any -tidings of her reached thee?” - -“Nay, I heard not of her,” replied the Bishop, “save what I gathered -from Sir Andrew Stewart, who parted with her in the garden of the -Maison Dieu. Yet did I not cease to make inquiry—and, in truth, I do -greatly fear that she hath availed herself of her liberty to flee -towards the south, to join herself to him with whom she did once so -scandalously associate, and for whom thou sayest she hath unblushingly -confessed her inextinguishable love. I hear our Scottish champions have -returned from the English expedition, and doubtless Sir Patrick -Hepborne the younger is by this time at the Court of King Robert, at -Scone, if he hath not been detained in the Tower, to answer for his -outrage. From what thou hast told me there must have been some secret -concert between the knight and Beatrice. She must, therefore, have been -well possessed of all his intentions—and if so, she was well prepared -to avail herself of any chance of escape, that she might fly to join -herself to him again. Hadst thou any talk with her on the subject of -Sir Patrick Hepborne?” - -“Never, my sacred Lord, sith the night when Friar Rushak enabled me to -take her from the Tower,” replied the Franciscan. “Nay, save some short -dialogue between us after the ship weighed anchor, when, to quiet her -fears and compose her mind, I did tell her the secret in which she was -so much interested, and explained to her by what right I so assumed -control over her—the stormy voyage, and the fatigues that followed it, -left me no leisure to hold further converse with her. But thou art -right, my gracious Lord Bishop. She hath doubtless fled to her -paramour, who seems to carry some love enchantment about him that he -hath so bewitched her.” - -“The King hath lately removed to Scone,” said the Bishop; “so, I do -verily think that, on going to Perth on this errand of the Church, thou -shalt have the best chance to recover her who hath fled from thee; at -least, thou wilt hear of Sir Patrick Hepborne; and where he is, there -will she be also.” - -“I do verily believe so the more I turn the subject in my thoughts,” -replied the Franciscan; “nay, it can be no otherwise. Trust me, I do -gladly give thee thanks for this hint, as well as for all thy friendly -actings towards me. I shall go hence with Lord Badenoch to-morrow. My -heart shall first of all be given to the service of the blessed Church, -the which I do yet hope to see raise her head but so much the higher -from these her late calamities. That accomplished, I shall seek for and -find Beatrice, though her foul seducer should conceal her in the bowels -of the earth.” - -The hot feud had so long subsisted between the Wolfe of Badenoch and -the Bishop of Moray that each had for many years viewed the other -through a false medium. The eyes of the ferocious Earl had been -specially diseased, and now that the scales had been removed from them, -he was astonished to discover the mild and unpretending demeanour, and -the forgiving disposition of the man whom he had believed to be his -proud and implacable enemy. This induced him to overwhelm the Bishop -with all that the kindness of his native hospitality could devise, and -so a mutual re-action took place between them, which the politic -Franciscan took every opportunity to improve. The Wolfe even listened -with tolerable patience of countenance, and altogether without -offensive reply, to the Bishop’s remonstrance on the subject of his -misconduct to his wife Euphame Countess of Ross; and, strange as it may -seem, he solemnly vowed that the first step he should take after doing -penance, would be to receive that injured woman again to his bosom. - -Preparations for an early march next morning were made with that -expedition with which all his orders were generally executed by his -well-disciplined people; and when the time of departure came, the -Bishop and he set out cordially together, and afterwards separated, -each to pursue his respective way, with a friendly regret that can only -be comprehended by those who are well conversant in the whimsical -issues of the human heart. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LXXI. - - The Scottish Knights in London—Father Rushak’s Tale. - - -Allowing the Wolfe of Badenoch and his friend the Franciscan to proceed -on their journey, we must now return to inquire into the fate of Sir -Patrick Hepborne. We left him lying on the straw in his dungeon, giving -way to a paroxysm of grief for having been so cruelly rent from Lady -Beatrice, tormenting himself with fears for her safety, and refusing -the comfort which his esquire Mortimer Sang, and Master Lawrence -Ratcliffe, were in vain attempting to administer to him. Whilst he was -in this state of bitter affliction, the door of the dungeon was again -opened, and a number of guards entering, silently approached him. -Believing that they were about to lead him to immediate execution, he -rose to meet them. - -“I am ready,” said he recklessly; “my life is now but of little value -to me. The sooner it is over the better. Lead on, then, my friends.” - -Mortimer Sang sprang forward to prevent their seizure of his master, -but he was speedily overpowered, and Sir Patrick was led passively -away. - -He was conducted through a long dark passage, and finally lodged in a -cell, to which he ascended by a short circular flight of steps. He -questioned his conductors as to what was to be his fate, but they -retired without giving him any reply. His new prison, though small, was -less dark and gloomy than the larger dungeon from which he had been -taken; and though sufficiently strong, it had an air of greater comfort -about it; yet would he willingly have exchanged it for that he had -left, to have been again blessed with the society of his esquire and -the wine merchant. He seemed to be now condemned to solitary -imprisonment, and he anticipated the worst possible intentions from -this seclusion. The survey he took of the four walls that enclosed him -left no hope of escape. There was indeed another small door besides -that by which he had entered, but both were so powerfully fenced with -iron as to be perfectly impregnable. He viewed this second door with an -eye of suspicion, and the idea that through it might enter the -assassins who were privily to despatch him, presented death to him in a -shape so uninviting, that, ready as he had been to lay down his life -but the moment before, he now resolved to sell it as dearly as he -could, although he had no other weapon but his hands to defend himself -with. - -He sat down on a stone bench in a niche in the wall opposite to this -suspicious door, and, fixing his eye on it, he fell into a reverie, -from which he was roused by the sound of footsteps, as if descending -towards it. He sprang up, that he might be prepared for action. The -door opened, and a young man in the garb of a lacquey, and altogether -unarmed, appeared at the bottom of a very narrow spiral staircase. He -made an obeisance to Sir Patrick, and silently, but respectfully -beckoned him to follow; and the knight, resolving to pursue his fate, -immediately obeyed. He was conducted up several flights of steps, until -at length, to his great surprise, he was brought into a little oratory, -where he was again left alone. - -He had not waited long, when a pannel in the wall, behind the altar, -opened, and a Franciscan Friar appeared. The knight regarded him with a -calm and steady look. It was Friar Rushak, the King’s Confessor. - -“Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said the monk mildly to him, “I come to thee on -private embassage from the Royal Richard. Thine intemperance in -breaking in upon his privacy as thou didst, hath led thee to be -accused, by some who are more zealous than prudent, of having made a -premeditated attempt to assassinate His Majesty. But this hath been -done without the Royal sanction; for albeit that appearances do of a -surety most powerfully array themselves against thee, yet he doth -acquit thee of all such traitorous intent. But thou hast been led by -blind fury to lift thine hand against the Sovereign whose hospitality -thou dost now enjoy, and that, too, in defence of one against whom he -did mean nothing dishonourable, though circumstances may have wrought -up her fears to believe that he did.” - -“What!” cried Hepborne, with a strong expression of doubt in his face; -“so King Richard doth deny all dishonourable intention against the Lady -Beatrice? But what availeth it if he doth so? Hath he not sithence -devoted her to certain destruction, by giving her up to one who hath -already proved himself to be her enemy, yea, an assassin, who would -have murdered her?” - -“Sir Knight,” said Friar Rushak, after some moments’ thought, “trust -me, the King had no hand in the disposal of her. He did never see the -lady after that moment when thou didst force him to retreat before -thine inconsiderate rage. But, an assassin—a murderer, saidst thou? How -canst thou so accuse a brother of St. Francis?” - -“Because I have good reason to know that he did once steal into the -chamber of the Lady Beatrice at the hour of midnight, armed with a -dagger,” cried Hepborne impatiently; “and had she not saved herself by -flight——” - -“Thou must suffer me to tell thee that this strange tale is difficult -of credence with me,” said Friar Rushak, interrupting him; “the more, -too, that it cometh from the very knight whom report doth accuse of -having taught the damsel to stray from the path of virtue, and to whom -she oweth her present infamy.” - -“What mean ye, friar?” cried Sir Patrick Hepborne, with mingled -indignation and astonishment. “Who hath so foully and falsely dared to -charge me and the Lady Beatrice—she who is pure as an angel of -light—Who, I say, hath dared to prefer so foul and false an -accusation?” - -“The Franciscan whom thou——” - -“Villain!” cried Sir Patrick, interrupting Friar Rushak, and giving way -to a rage which he was quite unable to control; “villain, black and -damnable villain! I swear by the honour of a knight, that this charge -is false as hell. Pardon me, holy father, for my just ire. I do beseech -thee, tell me what thou dost know of this wretch, of this assassin, who -doth so foully stab reputation too, and who hath so imposed on thy too -easy belief—What, I pray thee, dost thou know of him?” - -“Nay, I am ashamed to say, I know not much,” replied Friar Rushak, -already shaken in his opinion of the Franciscan by the solemnity of Sir -Patrick’s asseverations; “yet what I do know I was about to tell thee, -when thou didst break in on my speech. Being yesterday at the -Franciscan Convent in the Newgate Street, a stranger brother of the -order did claim a private audience of me, when he entreated mine aid to -recover a damsel of good family from the house of the Lady de Vere. He -stated his belief that she had come hither for the purpose of meeting -with thee, with whom she had once lived in lawless love, hid in the -disguise of a page, a connection which both were impatient to renew. He -said that it was intended to bury her disgrace in a convent. Fearing, -for certain reasons, that the King might see her at the Lady de Vere’s, -and so be misled to take up with one so light, I resolved to do my best -to assist in her removal, and to this I was afterwards the more spurred -on by hearing that Richard had gone expressly to meet with her, as I -did believe, by her own especial consent. Availing myself of my private -knowledge of the palace, I did enable the stranger Franciscan to take -her from the apartment, where she succeeded in convincing me that she -was no willing captive; and the King’s confession of this morning, the -which I am so far permitted to impart to thee, hath satisfied me that I -had weened too gravely of the matter as it did regard him, and that the -whole of his share in it did but arise from a harmless piece of -humour.” - -“And whither hath the Lady Beatrice been carried by this villain?” -cried Hepborne, in all the agony of apprehension for her safety. - -“He took her hence by water,” said Friar Rushak, “and Scotland did seem -to be the object of his voyage. But, of a truth, mine intercourse with -the foul deceiver was so short that I had little leisure to question -him.” - -“Fiend!” cried Sir Patrick Hepborne, his rage overpowering his grief. -“If St. Baldrid do but speed me, I shall find him though he were to -flee unto the uttermost parts of the earth. Meanwhile, may God in his -mercy, and the blessed Virgin in her purity, protect the Lady -Beatrice!” - -“Amen! my son,” said the father confessor. “Verily, I do grieve for -thee and for her; and of a truth I do bitterly reproach mine own facile -credence, the which hath led me to be the innocent author of this -misfortune. Thou shalt have my prayers. Meanwhile, let us return to the -object of my mission. Richard did send me to tell thee that he doth -freely forgive thee thine indiscreet attack on his sacred person, -seeing it was committed under a delusion. Thou and thine esquire are -forthwith liberated, under his word as a king, and yours as a knight, -that all that hath passed shall be buried in oblivion by both sides; -and further, that thou, on thy part, shalt fasten no quarrel on Sir -Hans de Vere for what hath passed.” - -“Nay,” replied Hepborne; “meseems that His Majesty doth ask too much in -demanding of me to withhold punishment in a quarter where it is so -justly due.” - -“Yes, and where it would be so well merited, Sir Knight,” observed the -Friar Rushak. “But yet must thou yield for peace’s sake.” - -“Thou mayest tell the King, then,” said Hepborne, “that as a mark of -the high sense I entertain of his hospitality, he shall be obeyed -herein, and that Sir Hans de Vere shall find shelter under it from my -just indignation.” - -“And now let me show thee forth, Sir Knight,” said Friar Rushak. - -“Ere I go,” said Hepborne, forgetting not the misery of others amid his -own affliction; “ere I go hence let me entreat thee to use thine -influence with His Majesty for the liberation of mine host, Master -Lawrence Ratcliffe.” - -“Knowest thou aught of this same Ratcliffe, Sir Knight?” demanded the -Friar after a pause, during which he endeavoured to read Hepborne’s -countenance. - -“Nay, nothing further than that I have experienced his hospitality by -His Majesty’s good will,” replied Hepborne. - -“And how may he have treated thee and thine?” inquired Rushak, resuming -a careless air. - -“With a kindness for which I cannot sufficiently express my gratitude,” -replied Hepborne. - -“’Tis well,” replied Rushak. “Then may I tell thee in confidence that -he hath been for some time suspected as a malcontent, and after thine -attempt of yesternight against the King, he was taken up by the -officious minions of power, as the most likely person to have set thee -on. But I may now promise for his liberation. Thou shalt forthwith see -him at his own house, and he shall know, ere he goeth, that it is to -thee he oweth his liberty.” - -Sir Patrick Hepborne now hastened home to his lodgings, whither he was -soon afterwards followed by his esquire and Master Lawrence Ratcliffe. -The former was all joy, and the latter all gratitude. By and by he was -joined by Adam of Gordon, who wept bitterly for the fate of the Lady -Beatrice. Hepborne, much as he wanted comfort himself, found it -necessary to administer it to the good old man, whom he immediately -took into his service. He was now impatient to begin his quest after -the Franciscan, and he would have quitted London immediately could he -have easily procured a safe-conduct for himself individually; but this -could not be granted. Sir David Lindsay, however, having witnessed the -perfect recovery of the Lord Welles, on whom he had been unceasing in -his attendance, he readily yielded to Hepborne’s impatience, and the -brave band of Scottish knights departed, leaving a sweet odour of good -fame, both for courtesy and deeds of arms, behind them. - -Their journey was speedily and safely performed; and they were no -sooner in Scotland than Hepborne hastened to Hailes Castle, whither he -was accompanied by his friends. Thence he was eager to pursue his way -northwards to Elgin, where he believed that the Franciscan had his -abode, and whither he thought it likely that he had conveyed his -prisoner. But Sir John Halyburton, to whom he had been much attached -ever since their first acquaintance at Tarnawa, and with whom his -friendship had been drawn yet tighter by the intercourse he held during -their late expedition, had already extracted a promise from him that he -would be present at his marriage with the Lady Jane de Vaux, a promise -from which he felt it impossible to rid himself by any excuse he could -invent. But this, he hoped, would occasion him but small delay, for the -Lord of Dirleton, with his lady and daughter, were understood to be -with the Court at Scone; and thither Sir John Halyburton resolved to -proceed immediately, in the hope that the consummation of his happiness -would not be long deferred. Delay to Hepborne was distraction; but it -was at least some small comfort to him, that at Scone he would be so -much nearer that part of Scotland whither his anxiety now so powerfully -drew him. - -The whole party then hastened to Scone, which the residence of the -Court had already made the general rendezvous of the great. There Sir -Patrick Hepborne had the happiness to find his father, and there he -also embraced his happy sister Isabelle, and her Assueton. The Lord of -Dirleton and his lady expressed much pleasure in again enjoying his -society; but, to the great grief of Sir John Halyburton, and to the -secret mortification of his friend Sir Patrick, the Lady Jane de Vaux -was not with her father and mother, for, not being aware of the so -early return of the knights from England, they had permitted their -daughter to accompany the Countess of Moray from Aberdeen to Tarnawa, -whence that noble lady was daily expected to bring her to Scone. - -The venerable King Robert received the knights who had so nobly -supported the honour of Scotland on the bloody field of Otterbourne -with distinguished cordiality and condescension. Sir Patrick Hepborne -was among those who were most highly honoured. To him was granted the -privilege, only extended to a limited number of courtiers, of entering -the Royal presence at all times; and Robert, pressing his hand with a -warmth which kings seldom permit themselves to show, told him that the -more frequently he availed himself of the power of approaching him, the -more he would add to his satisfaction. This flattering reception from -his aged King, together with the gratifying notice bestowed on him by -the Earl of Fife and Menteith, now the Regent of the Kingdom, might -have made him well contented to prolong his residence at Court, and -little regret the delay of Halyburton’s marriage, had it not been for -the thought, that never forsook him, of the mysterious fate and -probable misery of the Lady Beatrice. His mind was ceaselessly employed -in fancying a thousand improbable things regarding her, and he was -generally abstracted in the midst of those gay scenes which the politic -Regent took care should follow one another with the greatest rapidity, -that he might the better keep his hold of the fickle hearts of the -nobles. In vain were the fairest eyes of the Court thrown upon Sir -Patrick Hepborne: their warm glances were invariably chilled by the -freezing indifference by which they were met. - -Day after day passed away, and still no appearance of the Countess of -Moray and her lovely companion; and Halyburton’s loudly-expressed -impatience was only to be equalled by that which affected Hepborne in -secret. The two knights had nearly agreed to proceed northwards -together, a plan proposed by Hepborne, and listened to by Halyburton -with great gratitude, as he considered it a very strong proof of his -friend’s anxiety for his happiness. But, happening to recollect that -the party from Tarnawa might reach Scone perhaps a few hours only after -they should leave it on this doubtful expedition, and that the -long-wished-for meeting with his beloved Jane de Vaux might thus be -much delayed, instead of hastened, Halyburton, to Hepborne’s very great -grief, abandoned the scheme as unwise. Soon afterwards came the -intelligence of the burning of Elgin, which, whilst it threw a gloom -over the whole Court, filled Hepborne’s mind with fresh apprehensions -and anxieties. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LXXII. - - At the Scottish Court—The Penitential Procession—Sir Patrick and - the Friar. - - -It happened one day that Sir Patrick went to pay his duty to the King, -and understanding, as he passed through the ante-room, from those who -were in waiting, that His Majesty was in the apartment he usually -occupied as a private audience-chamber, he approached and opened the -door. To his unspeakable astonishment, he beheld the very Franciscan -whom he was so anxious to go in search of, standing beside His -Majesty’s chair, and in conference with him. They were alone. Holding a -letter and parchment carelessly folded in his hand, His Majesty seemed -to have been much moved with what had been passing between him and the -monk, and he was so much occupied in listening, that Sir Patrick’s -entrance could have hardly been observed, had not the opening of the -door startled both of them. Sir Patrick was so petrified with what he -beheld, that he had neither self-command enough to retreat, as he ought -to have done, nor to apologise, as the interruption demanded. - -“Another time, Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said the King, nodding him away. -But His Majesty was compelled to repeat the hint ere the knight had so -far regained his self-possession as to take it, and when he did retire, -it was with a face overwhelmed with confusion, and with a heart boiling -with rage against the monk. - -“Ha!” said he, at length, in soliloquy; “at least I am now nearer the -object of my anxious quest than I did think I was. The friar must be a -fiend, who can thus so soon catch the King’s ear. But, fiend or mortal, -he shall not escape me. How malignant was his eye-glance, shot at me -the moment that he heard my name uttered. But, by St. Baldrid, were he -a basilisk I will seize him by the throat. He shall tell me where he -hath hid her who is the idol of my soul; yea, he shall disgorge all -that his black heart doth contain, even though the monarch himself -should endeavour to protect him. What if the Lady Beatrice may be here? -Oh, misery! so near me, and yet am I denied the delight of hearing that -voice, the which did so soothe mine ear when it came from the lips of -my faithful page—or of beholding that eye, which did so beam upon me -with looks that nothing but love could have explained. But the monk at -least shall not escape me this time. I shall station myself here, and -watch his approach, albeit he should tarry within till doomsday.” - -After thinking, rather than uttering, all this, Sir Patrick mingled -with the crowd in the ante-room, where he waited patiently for the -greater part of the day, until the King came forth to get into his -litter to take the air. His Majesty appeared unattended by the friar, -and then it was that Sir Patrick Hepborne began to recollect, what his -agitation had made him overlook before, that the Franciscan must have -been admitted, and allowed to retire, by a private passage, only -accessible to those who received a very particular confidential -audience of His Majesty. Hepborne threw himself as much in the King’s -way as he could, and made a very marked obeisance to him as he passed; -but Robert, who usually received all his advances with peculiar -kindness and condescension, now turned from him with a certain distance -of manner that could not be mistaken, and which chilled Sir Patrick to -the heart. At once it flashed upon him that the Franciscan, who had so -strangely possessed himself of the King’s ear, must have poisoned it -against him, as he had formerly done that of Friar Rushak. His rage -against the monk grew to tenfold strength, and, in the agony of his -distraction, he resolved to risk His Majesty’s displeasure by seeking -his presence again, rather than not gain his object. He determined to -accuse the Franciscan to the King, as he who had stolen away, and -perhaps murdered, the Lady Beatrice, and this in defiance of all -consequences. - -Sir Patrick again tried to catch the Royal eye, as the King returned -from his airing, but again he had the mortification to observe that he -was shunned and neglected. His Majesty appeared not at the banquet, -where, indeed, he had not been since the news of the burning of Elgin -had reached him; and when Hepborne thought on this, a faint hope came -over him that the King’s neglect might perhaps proceed from no -particular feeling against him, but might arise from the vexation that -must naturally fill the Royal breast on this unhappy occasion. But then -again he remembered, with incalculable chagrin, that although the -sunshine of the Monarch’s smiles had been eclipsed towards him, it had -fallen with all its wonted cheering influence upon some who were near -him, and who had hitherto been considered as planets of a much lower -order, and of infinitely less happy influence than himself. - -But Sir Patrick now became so impatient to get at the truth, that he -threw aside all that delicacy which might have otherwise swayed him. He -resolved to make an attempt to obtain an audience of His Majesty at his -hour of couchée; and, accordingly, entering the ante-room a little -before the time, he made his enquiries for that purpose. - -“The King hath given strict orders that no one be admitted to him,” -replied the Lord-in-waiting, to whom he addressed himself. “He doth -hold private conference. And between you and me, Sir Patrick Hepborne, -I do verily believe that it is with his son, the furious Wolfe of -Badenoch, who hath so besieged the Bishop of Moray, that he is to hold -parlance.” - -“What, hath the Earl of Buchan arrived, then?” demanded Sir Patrick. - -“Yea, he is here,” replied the nobleman with whom he talked. “Hast thou -not heard that to-morrow the streets of St. Johnstoun will see a sight -the like of which hath not been seen in Scotland before? for there the -fierce and proud Wolfe of Badenoch is to walk in penance from the -Castle, where he now hath his lodging, to the Church of the -Blackfriars.” - -“And how dost thou know all this?” demanded Sir Patrick Hepborne, who -had probably heard the report, but who had been too much occupied with -his own thoughts to attend to anything extraneous, however interesting -it might be to others. - -“The news hath already gone fully abroad,” replied the nobleman; “but, -moreover, all manner of preparation hath been already made for the -ceremony; yea, and all the world do make arrangement for witnessing so -great a miracle. I, for one, shall assuredly be there.” - -Sir Patrick Hepborne retired. As he passed by the entrance to the -King’s private staircase, a portly figure brushed by him, and entered -it hastily. He called to mind that he had encountered the same as he -left the King’s presence at Aberdeen. It was indeed the Wolfe of -Badenoch, but he had passed Sir Patrick Hepborne without observing him. - -King Robert was at this moment seated in a large antique chair, placed -close to the chimney corner, somewhat in the same dishabille as we have -described him to have worn on a former occasion. His foot-bath stood -ready prepared, and his attendant Vallance, who waited at a respectful -distance, ventured more than once to remind His Majesty that the water -was cooling. But the old man was deeply absorbed in serious thought. -His eyes were directed to a huge vacuum in the hinder part of the -chimney, amidst the black void of which the play of his ideas went on -without interruption. A gentle tap was heard at his private door. - -“We would be private, Vallance,” said the King, starting from his -reverie, and pointing to his attendants to quit the apartment. - -When they had withdrawn, Robert arose feebly, and propped himself on a -cane. The knock at the private room was repeated. The old Monarch -tottered towards the middle of the room. The knock was heard a third -time, and with more impatience. - -“If it be thou, son Alexander, come in,” said the King. - -The door opened and the Wolfe of Badenoch entered, with a chastened -step, and a mien very different from that which usually characterised -him. He made an humble obeisance to his father. He spoke not, but his -eyes glanced unsteadily towards the King, as if yet half in doubt what -his reception might be. He beheld the old man standing before him -struggling with emotions that convulsed his face and threw his whole -frame into a fit of trembling. He saw that a great and mortifying -change had taken place on his father since the last interview, and his -conscience at once struck him that his own disobedience and outrageous -conduct must have largely contributed to produce the decay which was so -evident. He was smitten to the heart. - -“Oh, my father, my father!” cried he in a half-choked voice; “canst -thou forgive me? When all have forgiven me, canst thou refuse me -pardon?” - -“Son Alexander,” said Robert, in a voice that shook from agitation as -well as debility, “all others may pardon thee, and yet it may be the -duty of thy King, albeit that he is thy father, to put on sternness -with thee. Nor have we been wanting in performance of the severe duty -of a King towards thee; for ere we did receive the godly Bishop of -Moray’s letters regarding thee from the hands of the good Friar John, -we had issued orders for the arrestment and warding of thy person in -the nearest and most convenient of our prisons. Nor did we ever spare -to meet thee with harsh reproof whilst thou were headstrong and -rebellious; but now that thou dost come before us as a penitent and -afflicted son, saying, ‘Father, I have sinned against Heaven and in thy -sight;’ when thou comest as one willing to submit thee to all that the -Church may demand of thee in reparation or in penance for thine -outrages, we can no longer remember that we are a King, but we must -yield us to those feelings which do now so stirringly tell us that we -are a father. Oh, Alexander, my son, my son!” cried the old man, -yielding to those emotions which he could no longer restrain, and -bursting into a flood of tears, whilst he threw his aged arms around -the manly form of the Wolfe of Badenoch; “the joy of this thy -repentance doth more than recompense for all the affliction thou hast -occasioned me during a long life. For thee, my son Alexander, have all -my nights been sleepless; yea, and for thee have all my prayers been -put up. Blessed be the holy Virgin, that they have not been put up in -vain. Verily, I do sink fast into the grave; but thanks be to the -Almighty King of kings, I shall now die in peace and with joy, sith -that it hath pleased Him to bring thee to a due sense of the enormity -of thy guilt.” - -“Alas, alas!” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, deeply affected by his -father’s wasted appearance, and sobbing aloud from remorse; “alas! I do -fear that thy life hath been amenused by mine iniquities. Oh, father, I -could bear all but this, the bitterest punishment of all. Thou hast -sadly drooped sith that I did last behold thee. Would that I had then -listened to the voice of thy wisdom, when it did so eloquently speak. -But a devil hath possessed me; and, fiend that I was——” - -“Speak not so, my son,” cried the old King, who had now sufficiently -recovered himself to be able to talk calmly. “Self-accusation, except -in so far as it is used as an offering before Heaven, is but a vain -thing. Let thy whole heart be given up to that contrition the which is -between thee and thy God alone, through the medium and mediation of the -blessed Virgin and her Son; and let the seemliness and sincerity of thy -public penance be an earnest of the amendment of thy future life.” - -“I will, I will, my father,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, much moved. -“Would that ages of my penance could but add to the number of thy -peaceful and righteous years; cheerfully would I wander as a barefooted -palmer for the rest of my miserable days. Yet fancy not, my father, -that I have lacked mine own share of punishment. The viper for whom I -did risk thy wrath and that of Heaven, hath stung me to the heart. Ha! -but ’tis over now. The good Friar John hath taught me to keep down the -raging ire which her black and hellish ingratitude did excite within -me. May the holy Virgin grant me aid to subdue it, that my whole heart -may be in to-morrow’s work; for, sooth to say, ’tis cruel and cutting, -after all, for a hardy, haughty soul like mine to bend me thus beneath -the rod of the priesthood. Ha! by the bones of my ancestors, a King’s -son too—thy son! Nay, ’tis that the which doth most gall and chafe me; -to think that thou shouldst thus be brought into derision by the -disgrace which befalleth me. Thou, a King who——” - -“Son Alexander,” said the venerable Monarch, calmly interrupting the -Wolfe of Badenoch, as he was gradually blowing up a self-kindled flame -of passion; “think not of us—think not of us now. Thou shouldst have -thought of us and of our feelings before thou didst apply the torch of -thy wild wrath to the holy temples of God and the peaceful habitations -of his ministers. Robert was indeed ashamed of a wicked son, glorying -in his mad and guilty rage; but Robert never can be ashamed of a son -who is an humble penitent. No, Alexander; thy penance will be a crown -of glory to us. Further, we would have thee remember that the -priesthood are but the ministers of the justice of a greater King than -any upon earth; and we would have thee to bear in mind how the Son of -that Almighty King did, in all His innocence, submit Himself to the -scourge and the cross, to infamy and cruel suffering, that He might -redeem such sinners as thou and I. Let this humble thy pride and tame -thy temper, if, indeed, pride or violence may yet remain with thee. And -now haste thee homeward, that, by a night spent in conversation and -prayer with the holy Friar John, thou mayest fit and prepare thyself -for to-morrow’s duty, the which ought to be rather esteemed a triumph -than a trial to thee. We shall be at the Castle of St. Johnstoun by -times to give thee our best comfort; till then take with thee a -father’s blessing.” - -The Wolfe of Badenoch bowed his head to receive the benediction of the -good old King, who wept as he gave it him, and throwing one arm round -his son’s neck, he patted his head with the other hand, kissing his -cheek repeatedly with all the affection of a doating father, who -abandons himself to the full tide of his feelings and who is unwilling -to shorten the transports he enjoys. - -The news of the intended penitential procession of the King’s son, the -terrible Wolfe of Badenoch, spread like wildfire through the town of -St. Johnstoun, as well as throughout the surrounding country, and -produced a general commotion. The Bishops of St. Andrews, Dunkeld, and -Dunblane, had already arrived at the Dominican Convent, each having -separately entered the town in great pomp, attended by all the high -dignitaries of their respective dioceses. It was a proud triumph for -the Church, and secret advices had been accordingly sent everywhere, -that it might be rendered the more imposing and impressive by the -numbers and importance of those religious persons who came as -deputations from the different monastic houses which were within reach. -Of the canons regular, there were the Abbots of Scone, Inch Colm, and -Inch Mahome, with the Priors of St. Andrews, Loch Leven, Port Moak, and -Pittenweem; of the Trinity, or Red Friars, were the Ministers of the -Hospitals of Scotlandwell and of Dundee; of the Dominicans or Black -Friars, the inmates of the Dominican Convent of Perth, where the -ceremony was to take place, with the heads of the Convents of Dundee, -Cupar in Fife, St. Monans, and St. Andrews; of the Benedictines, the -Abbot of Dunfermline; of the Tyronenses, the Abbot of Lundores; of the -Cistertians, or Bernardines, the Abbots of Culross and Balmerinoch; of -the Franciscans, or Grey Friars, the head of the Convent of -Inverkeithing; and, lastly, a numerous body of Carmelites, or White -Friars, from the neighbouring Convent of Tullilum. All these heads of -houses were largely attended; and if the crowd of these holy men was -great that of the laity and vulgar was tenfold greater. The houses of -the place were unable to contain them, and many were glad to encamp on -those beautiful meadows stretching to north and south of the town, -thankful to huddle themselves under any temporary shelter they could -procure. The Black Friars Monastery, which was to be the scene of the -humiliation of the Wolfe of Badenoch, was all in a ferment, and many -there were who, knowing the formidable character of him they had to -deal with, muttered secret ejaculations that all were well over. - -The King left his Palace of Scone early in the morning, and entered -Perth in his litter, attended by the Regent and the courtiers, being -desirous to get as quietly as possible into the Castle. The King’s -body-guard were drawn out to line the street from the Castle to the -Church of the Dominican Convent. The distance was short, but the crowd -contained in that small space was immense. The murmur was great, and -the eyes of the spectators were constantly directed towards the gate of -the Castle, whence they expected the procession to come. Every motion -among the multitude excited an accession of impatience. - -At length the King’s litter appeared, attended by the Regent, and -followed by the crowd of courtiers. They came without order, and the -litter hurried into the Church amidst the loud shouts of the people. -All was then eager expectation, and nothing interrupted the low hum of -voices, save the noise occasioned by those who made way for the -different religious deputations, who approached the Church from -different directions. - -All these had passed onwards, and some time had elapsed, when a general -hush ran through the crowd—a dead silence ensued—all eyes were directed -towards the Castle gate—and the Wolfe of Badenoch appeared. He was -supported on his right hand by his confessor, the Franciscan Friar, and -he was followed by his two sons Andrew and Duncan, and by a very -numerous train of attendants, all clad in the same humiliating -penitential garb, walking barefooted. The Wolfe of Badenoch had no -sooner issued from the Castle gateway than he appeared to be astonished -and mortified at the multitude of people who had collected to witness -his abasement. Anticipating nothing of this sort, he had prepared to -assume a subdued air; but he was roused by the sight, and advanced with -his head carried high, and with all his usual haughtiness of stride, -his eyes flinging a bold defiance to all round, and their glances -travelling rapidly from countenance to countenance, as they surveyed -the two walls of human faces lining his way, as if he looked eagerly -for some one whose taunting smile might give him an apology for -breaking forth, and giving vent to his pent-up passion by felling him -to the earth. He went on, biting his nether lip, and still he scanned -them man by man; but everywhere he encountered eyes that quailed before -his, and peaceful, gaping faces, filled with vulgar wonder, perhaps, -and indicating much of fear, but nothing of scorn to be seen. The -Franciscan was observed to whisper him; he seemed to listen with -reverence, and, as he approached the entrance to the Church, he adopted -a more humble gait and look. As for his men, they hung down their heads -sheepishly from the first, like felons going to execution. - -When the procession had reached the great door of the Church, which was -closed against it, the Franciscan approached, and knocked slowly and -solemnly. - -“Who is he who knocketh for admission into the Church of God?” demanded -a voice from within. - -“Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan, and Lord of Badenoch, son of -Robert, our most pious King,” replied the Franciscan. - -“We do know right well that there once was such an one as thou dost -name,” replied the voice; “but now he hath no existence. The great -sentence of excommunication hath gone forth against his hardened -obstinacy, and the Holy Church knoweth him no longer.” - -“He cometh here as an humble penitent, to crave mercy and pardon of our -Holy Mother Church,” replied the Franciscan. - -“Is he ready to confess his sins against God and man, then?” demanded -the voice. “Is he prepared humbly on his knees to declare his -penitence, and to implore that mercy and pardon, the which must of -necessity be extended to him ere he can again be received back into the -bosom of that Church which he hath so greatly outraged?” - -“He is,” replied the Franciscan. - -“Then, if such be his sincere professions,” replied the voice, “let him -and all understand, that albeit she can greatly and terribly punish, -yet doth the Church delight in mercy, and it is ever her most joyful -province to open her doors wide to her sincerely repentant children.” - -These words were no sooner uttered, than the folding doors were thrown -wide, and the populace were dazzled with the grandeur of the spectacle -that presented itself. The verse of a hymn, that burst from a powerful -choir within, added to the sublimity of the effect, whilst it gave time -for the spectators to feast their eyes without distraction on what they -beheld. In the centre of the doorway stood Walter Traill, the Bishop of -St. Andrews, arrayed in all the splendour of his pastoral robes. Within -his left arm was his crosier, and in his right hand he raised aloft a -large silver crucifix. On his right and left were the Bishops of -Dunblane and Dunkeld, behind whom were the whole dignitaries of the -three sees in all their pomp of costume. The Church had been darkened -that it might be artificially lighted by tapers, so as to present -objects under that softly diffused and holy kind of illumination most -favourable for the productions of strong impressions of awe. By this -was seen a long train of Abbots and Priors, with Monks and Friars from -all those religious houses we have already particularised. The sight -was grand and imposing in itself, and picturesque in its grouping and -disposal. The Franciscan Friar John whispered the Wolfe of Badenoch, -and he bent down with a rigid effort until his knees were on the -pavement. His sons and his followers imitated his example. - -“Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan, and Lord of Badenoch,” said the -Bishop of St. Andrews, in a full and sonorous voice, when the music had -died away, “dost thou earnestly desire to be relieved from the heavy -sentence of excommunication which thy manifold crimes and iniquities -have compelled the Church to issue forth against thee?” - -“I do,” replied the Wolfe in a firm voice. - -“Dost thou humbly confess and repent thee of thy sins in general,” -demanded the Bishop; “and art thou willing to confess and repent thee -of each sin in particular at the high altar of this holy temple?” - -“I do so repent me, and I am willing so to confess me,” replied the -Wolfe. - -“Then arise, my contrite son,” said the Bishop, “and humbly follow me -to present thyself at the holy altar of God.” - -The three Bishops with their attendants then turned away, and being -followed by the Wolfe of Badenoch and his long train of penitential -adherents, they moved in slow procession up the middle of the church -towards the high altar, before which the penitents kneeled down, with -their stern leader at their head, the monks of the various orders -closing in behind them. The most perfect silence prevailed, and the -soft fall of the footsteps on the pavement, and the rustling of -draperies, were the only sounds heard. - -“Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan, and Lord of Badenoch,” said the -Bishop of St. Andrews, “dost thou confess that thou hast greatly sinned -in thine abandonment of thine honourable and lawful wife Euphame -Countess of Ross, and dost thou repent thee of this thine offence?” - -“I do repent me,” said the Wolfe in an humble tone. - -“Dost thou confess that thou hast greatly sinned in taking to thy bosom -that foul and impure strange woman, Mariota Athyn?” demanded the -Bishop; “especially thou being——” - -“I do so confess, and I do most sincerely, yea, cruelly repent me,” -cried the Wolfe, breaking in impatiently, and with great bitterness, on -the unfinished question of the Bishop, and shouting out his answer in a -tone that re-echoed from the Gothic roof. - -“And art thou willing, or dost thou purpose to put this strange woman -far from thee?” demanded the Bishop. - -“I have already turned her forth,” shouted the Wolfe, in the same -furious tone; “yea, and before God, at this His holy altar, do I swear, -that with mine own will these eyes shall never see her more.” - -“And wilt thou take back thy lawful wife?” demanded the Bishop, now -willing to be as short as possible. - -“I will,” replied the Wolfe. - -“And now, dost thou sincerely acknowledge and repent thee of all the -outrages thou hast done to our Holy Mother Church, as well as to God -and His ministers?” demanded the Bishop. - -“I do,” replied the Wolfe. - -“Then do I, God’s servant, proceed to give thee and thine absolution, -and to remove from thee the excommunication which was hurled upon thee -by the Church in her just vengeance,” said the Bishop, who immediately -began to pronounce the form of absolution prescribed by his ritual, as -well as that for removing the excommunication. - -Miserere was now sung by the choir, after which a mass was chanted, and -the impatient Wolfe of Badenoch, tired twenty times over of a ceremony -which would have worn out a much more submissive temper, tarried not a -moment in the church after it was concluded, but, attended by the -Franciscan, forced his way without any delicacy through the crowd, -which yielded him a ready passage, and made a hasty exit from the -church door. Having gained the open air, he strode along the lane of -the guards, with an air that might have led a bystander to fancy that -he gloried in his strange attire. - -He was about to enter the Castle-gate, when a loud voice, calling -“Halt!” came from behind him. He stopped, and turning loftily round, he -beheld an armed knight, who came rushing through the abashed and -scattered ranks of his men, who were straggling after him. In an -instant, the mailed warrior made an effort to grapple the Franciscan by -the throat; and he would have succeeded, had not the friar sprung -nimbly aside to avoid him. - -“Ha!” cried the Wolfe, in a voice like thunder, and at the same time -snatching a formidable Scottish axe from one of the guards, and -planting his unprotected body firmly before the Franciscan; “ha! who -art thou that doth thus dare to attack the father confessor of the -Wolfe of Badenoch? Dost thou think that I have tyned my spirit in -yonder Church? By all the solemn vows I have made, I will split the -skull of any he who may dare to lay impious hands on this holy -Franciscan.” - -“Is this possible?” cried the knight, raising his vizor, and showing -himself to be Sir Patrick Hepborne the younger; “can it be that the -Earl of Buchan will thus defend the very friar whom mine ears have so -often heard him curse as a fiend? But let me pass to him, my Lord; I do -beseech thee to provoke me not, for, of a truth, I am mad, utterly mad, -at this present.” - -“Mad or sober, Sir Patrick Hepborne,” cried the Wolfe, “for now I do -perceive that thou art indeed Sir Patrick Hepborne, and much as I do -love thee, I swear, by the beard of my grandfather, that neither thine -arm, nor that of any created man, shall reach the friar save through -this body of mine.” - -“Wull she wants her helps? wull she wants her to grip him? wull she -cleave the Wolfe’s crown?” said Duncan MacErchar, who now stepped out -from the ranks, and spoke into Sir Patrick’s ear. “Troth, she wull soon -do that, though she be twenty Wolfes, and a hundert Badenochs.” - -“Stand aside, Duncan,” cried the knight, now somewhat sensible of his -apparently unwarrantable violence, and altogether confounded by the -Wolfe of Badenoch’s unlooked-for defence of the Franciscan. “By St. -Baldrid, my Lord of Buchan, I should have as soon looked to have seen -the eagle defending the owl who hath robbed her nest, as to see thee -thus stand forth the protector of that accursed priest, that -foul-mouthed slanderer, and remorseless assassin. Let me secure him. He -is a criminal who must be brought to justice.” - -“Thou shalt not touch the hem of his garment,” roared the Wolfe of -Badenoch. - -“Nay, give him way, my noble Lord of Buchan,” said the Franciscan in a -taunting manner; “let this brave knight have way to use his poinard, or -his sword, against the defenceless body of a friar. But,” continued he, -snatching a long spear from one of those near him, whilst his eyes -flashed a fiery defiance against Hepborne, “let him come on now, and he -shall find that beneath this peaceful habit there doth beat as proud -and determined a heart as ever his bosom did own. As for his villainous -and lying charges, I do hereby cast them back in his teeth as false.” - -“Caitiff,” cried Sir Patrick, “I should gain but little credit, I trow, -by attacking a vile friar. I did but intend to prevent thine escape -from the justice thou dost merit; and if I were but sure of seeing thee -again in fitter time and place, when and where I could bring forward my -charges, and prove them against thee, I should let thee go for this -present.” - -“Nay, fear not, I will promise not to shun thee, Sir Knight,” said the -friar; “and thou, too, dost well know what charges thou shalt have to -defend. The Earl of Buchan here will answer for my presence in the -Castle when it shall be wanted; but who shall answer for thine?” - -“I will,” said Sir John Halyburton, who chanced to come up at that -moment. - -“Sir John Halyburton!” exclaimed the Franciscan, with an air of -astonishment. “Um—’tis well; and trust me, Sir John Halyburton, thou -wilt find that thou hast more interest in his being forthcoming than -thou dost at this moment imagine, and so the sooner he doth appear the -better.” - -“Nay, I will follow thee now,” replied Sir Patrick; “by all the holy -saints, thou shalt not leave my sight.” - -“Come on, then,” replied the Franciscan, with a bitter laugh; “and -yonder cometh the King’s litter, so thou shalt have little time to -wait, I wis, for ample justice.” - -The monk then entered the Castle, followed by the Wolfe of Badenoch, -who still brandished the long Scottish axe, and looked sternly around -from time to time upon Sir Patrick as if suspicious that he might yet -meditate an attack upon the friar. - -“Hoit oit,” cried Duncan MacErchar, “and has the Hepbornes lost their -spunks sith the battles o’ Otterburns? Who would hae thought that ony -ane o’ her name would hae ta’en the boast yon way even frae the Wolfes -o’ Badenoch hersel? Huits toots, Sir Patrick—uve, uve!” - -“Pshaw,” replied Sir Patrick, much mortified to find that MacErchar had -attributed his forbearance to want of spirit, “Wouldst thou have had a -Hepborne attack a monk, or a man half naked, and at such a time as this -too!” - -“Ou fye! faith an’ it may be’s,” replied Duncan, somewhat doubtfully; -“but she might ha’ gien him a clour for a’ tats. But can she do nothing -to serve her honour?” - -“Yea,” replied Sir Patrick, “plant thyself here; let not that -Franciscan Friar leave the Castle until I have questioned him.” - -“Ou, troth, and she’ll no scruples to gie him a clour,” replied Duncan. - -Hepborne hastened into the Castle, and Captain MacErchar mechanically -took his stand, nor did even the approach of the King’s litter, and the -bustle that came with it, dislodge him from his post. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LXXIII. - - Accusation made in presence of the King—The Challenge. - - -Sir Patrick Hepborne, accompanied by his friend Sir John Halyburton, -made his way into the hall of the Castle, burning with impatience to -bring the Franciscan to a strict account, and half dreading that he -might yet escape, by that mysterious power which had already so -marvellously availed him. The Wolfe of Badenoch had hurried to his -apartments to rid himself of his penitential weeds; and the Franciscan -having disappeared also, the two knights were left to pace the hall for -at least two hours, until Sir Patrick began to suspect that his fears -had been realized. Rushing down to the gate, however, he found Captain -MacErchar as steady at his post as the walls of the fortress; and, -having questioned him, he learned that no friar had passed outwards. -When he returned to the hall, he found the King seated on a chair of -state, and his courtiers ranged on either hand of him, forming a -semi-circle, of which he was the central point. - -“Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said the King, with a high and distant air, “we -are here to listen to thine accusation against the holy Franciscan -Friar John, whom, we do understand, thou hast dared to malign.” - -“My liege,” said Hepborne, “the thirsty steed panteth not more for the -refreshing fountain than I do for audience of your Most Gracious -Majesty, from whom I would claim that justice the which thou dost never -deny to the meanest of thy subjects.” - -“And we shall not refuse it to thee, the son of our ancient and -faithful servant,” replied the King; “to one who hath himself done us -and our kingdom of Scotland much good service. Yet do we bid thee bear -in mind, that the best services may be wiped away by the disgraceful -finger of polluted iniquity. Speak, Sir Patrick, what hast thou to -say?” - -“Nay, my liege, I would stay me until mine adversary doth appear to -meet my charge,” said Sir Patrick. - -“’Tis so far considerate of thee,” replied the King; “but thou mayest -say on, for he will be here anon.” - -“I come here, then, to impeach this Friar John of having feloniously -carried off a damsel from the Tower of London, where she did then -abide,” said Sir Patrick Hepborne, violently agitated; “a damsel whom -he did once before attempt to murder, and whom he doth even now -secrete, if he hath not already cruelly slain her.” - -“Friar John is here to meet thy charge, Sir Knight,” cried the -Franciscan, who had entered the hall in time to hear what had fallen -from Hepborne, and who now came sternly forward, attended by the Wolfe -of Badenoch, the Lord of Dirleton, and some others; “Friar John shall -not shrink from whatever tales thine inventive recrimination may -produce against him; he too shall have his charge against thee; but let -thine be disposed of first, whereby the incredible boldness of thy -wickedness may be made the more apparent to all.” - -“What sayest thou?” demanded Hepborne, with considerable confusion. - -“I do say,” replied the friar, “that conscious guilt doth already -stagger thee in the very outset of this thine infamous attempt against -an innocent man, whom thou wouldst fain sacrifice to hide thy foul -deeds. Guilt doth often prove its own snare, and so shall ye see it -here, I ween.” - -“Villain, wretch, fiend?” cried Sir Patrick Hepborne, who forgot in his -resentment the presence in which he stood; “mine emotions, the which -thou wouldst have others so misjudge, have been those only of horror -and astonishment at thine unparalleled effrontery. My liege, this -fiend—this wicked sorcerer—for so do I believe him to be—this -assassin——” - -“Ha! by the ghost of my grandfather,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, who -stood by, now restored to all his knightly splendour—“by the ghost of -my grandfather, but I will not stand by to hear such names hurled -without reason on my holy father confessor. As he is here to answer -thee, Sir Patrick Hepborne, and as I would not willingly seem to -interfere with justice, say what thou wilt of calm accusation, for I -fear not that he will cleanse himself, whosoever may be foul. But, by -all the holy saints, I swear that, friends though we have been, I will -not hear the holy man so foully miscalled; and I am well willing to -fight for him to the outrance, not only in this world, but in the next -too, if chivalry be but carried thither.” - -“Silence, son Alexander,” said the King; “speak not, I pray thee, with -lips so irreverent. And do thou, Sir Patrick Hepborne, proceed with thy -charges, withouten these needless terms of reproach, the which are -unseemly in our presence, and do but tend to inflame.” - -“My liege,” said Sir Patrick, making an obeisance to the King, “I shall -do my best to restrain my just indignation.—The Lady Beatrice, of whom -I do now speak, did accompany me to Moray Land in the disguise of a -page; and——” - -“Ha!” exclaimed the King, starting with an air of surprise, and -exchanging a look with the Franciscan and some others, that very much -discomposed Sir Patrick; “so—dost thou confess this?” - -“I do confess nothing, my liege,” replied Sir Patrick; “I do only tell -the truth. When we were guests for some days to thee, my Lord of -Buchan, at Lochyndorbe, this friar did enter the apartment of the Lady -Beatrice armed with a dagger, and had she not fled from him to save her -life, she had surely been murdered by his villainy. Already have I told -that he did snatch her from the Tower of London, by means of false -representations made to Friar Rushak, King Richard’s Confessor, and -thence he did carry her by ship to Scotland, as I do know from Friar -Rushak himself. I do therefore call on him to produce the damsel -straightway, if indeed his cruelty hath not already put it beyond his -power so to do.” - -“Hast thou aught else to charge him withal?” demanded the King. - -“Nay, my liege,” replied Hepborne, “but I require an immediate answer -to these charges.” - -“Before I do give a reply,” said the Franciscan, assuming a grand air, -“I, on my part, do demand to know by what right Sir Patrick Hepborne -doth thus question me.” - -“Right, didst thou say?” exclaimed Hepborne; “I must answer thee by -simply saying, that I do question thee by that right which every -honourable knight hath to come forward in the cause of the unfortunate. -But I will go farther, and say before all who are here present, that I -do more especially appear here against thee for the unquenchable love I -do bear to the Lady Beatrice.” - -“Ha! so,” replied the Franciscan, with a bitter expression, “thou hast -so far confessed that thou didst entertain the Lady Beatrice in thy -company in male attire, and that thou dost cherish an unquenchable -passion for her? Then, my liege, do I boldly accuse this pretended -phœnix of virtue, this Sir Patrick Hepborne, of having stolen this -damsel from the path of honour—of having plunged her in guilt—of having -so bewitched her by potent charms, that she did even follow him to -London, whence, with much fatigue and stratagem, I did indeed reclaim -her, yea, did bring her to Scotland in a ship. But she was not many -hours on land when she so contrived as to flee from me; and no one can -doubt that her flight was directed to him who hath thrown his sorcery -over her, and to whom she hath made so many efforts basely to unite -herself again.” - -“Friar, thou hast lied, grossly and villanously lied,” cried Sir -Patrick Hepborne in a fury, “but now let me, in my turn, demand of thee -what hast thou to urge that mought have given thee right so to control -the Lady Beatrice?” - -“All have right to prevent the commission of wickedness,” said the -Franciscan. “But I do claim the right of parentage to control the Lady -Beatrice. I am her uncle. Hath not so near a parent some right to -control the erring daughter of his brother? Speak then; tell me where -thou hast hid her, Sir Knight?” - -“Can this be true?” exclaimed Sir Patrick Hepborne, petrified with -astonishment at what he heard; “canst thou in very deed be the uncle of -the Lady Beatrice? But what shall we say of that tender uncle who doth -enter the apartment of his niece at midnight with a dagger in his hand? -Villain, I observe thee blench as I do speak it. Thou art a villain -still, let thy kindred to her be what it may. Thou hast murdered my -love, and thou wouldst shift off suspicion from thyself, by an -endeavour to throw guilt upon me. Wretched hypocrite! foul stain to the -holy habit thou dost wear—say where, where hast thou bestowed the Lady -Beatrice? Is she dead or alive?” - -“Nay, foul shame to knighthood that thou art, ’tis thou who hast -secreted the Lady Beatrice—thou who hast poisoned her mind—thou who -hast disgraced her—thou who dost hide her from the light of day, that -she may minister to thine abandoned love. Tell, tell me where thou hast -hid her, or, friar as I am, I do here appeal thee to single duel.” - -“Ha!” said Sir Patrick. “And right willingly, I trow, shall I do -instant battle in support of mine unsullied honour—in support of the -honour of her who hath been so foully calumniated; but with a friar -like thee!” - -“Nay, let that be no hindrance, Sir Knight,” cried the Franciscan, -whilst his eyes darted lightnings; “now indeed I am a friar, but, trust -me, I was not always so. In me thou shalt have no weak or untaught arm -to deal withal; and if I may but have dispensation——” - -“Talk not so, Friar John,” said the King; “thou shalt never be suffered -to peril thy life. Thou must seek thee out some cham——” - -“Nay, seek nowhere but here,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, slapping his -right hand furiously on his cuirass. “If the good Friar John doth -bestir himself to save my soul, ’tis but reason, meseems, that I should -rouse me to save his body. I am in some sort a witness to the truth of -part of what he hath asserted. So, by the blood of the Bruce, Sir -Patrick——” - -“Nay, nay, my Lord Earl,” cried the old Lord of Dirleton, now starting -up with an agitation that shook every fibre, and with a countenance in -which grief and resentment were powerfully blended; “verily I am old; -but old as I am, I have still some strength; and my heart, at least, -hath not waxed feeble. It shall never be said that a De Vaux did suffer -a son of the Royal house of Scotland to risk the spilling of his noble -blood, to save that which hath already been so often shed in its -defence, and the which shall be ever ready to flow for it, whilst a -drop of it may remain within these shrivelled veins. Here am I ready to -encounter the caitiff knight, on whose smiles, when an infant, I looked -with delight as the future husband of my very daughter Beatrice, and -who did so gain upon me lately by the plausible semblance of virtue. -Base son of thy noble sire, full hard, I ween, hath it been for me, an -injured father, to sit silent thus so long listening to thy false -denials, and thy vile recriminations against my brother John. But now -do I give thee the lie to them all, and dare thee to mortal combat.” - -“My Lord, my Lord,” cried Sir John Halyburton, going up to the Lord of -Dirleton in great astonishment, “calm thy rage, I beseech thee. What is -this I do hear? Of whom dost thou speak? For whom dost thou thus hurl -mortal defiance against my dearest friend Sir Patrick Hepborne? -Daughter, saidst thou?” - -“Ay, daughter, Sir John Halyburton,” exclaimed the old man; “my -daughter Beatrice—she whom I have discovered to be yet alive, only that -I may wish her dead. Oh, I could bear the loss of mine innocent -infant—I could forgive a sinning and now repentant brother—but to -forgive the villain who hath robbed my sweet flower of her -fragrance—no, no, no, ’tis impossible. The very thought doth bring back -all a father’s rage upon me. Give me my daughter, villain!—my daughter. -Oh, villain, villain, give me my daughter!” The aged Lord of Dirleton, -exhausted by the violence of his emotions, tottered forward a step or -two towards Sir Patrick, and would have sunk down on the floor had he -not been supported to the seat he had occupied. - -“Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said Sir John Halyburton, sternly advancing -towards him, after he had assisted the father of his future bride, “we -have been warm friends, yea, I did come in hither to stand by thee to -the last, as thy friend; but my friendship did sow itself and spread -its roots in that honourable surface with the which thou wert covered. -’Tis no wonder, then, that it should dry up and wither when it doth -push deeper into the less wholesome soil, which was hitherto hid from -my sight. The Earl of Buchan, the Lord of Dirleton—nay, all do seem to -know thy blackness, and I do now curse myself that we were ever so -linked. We can be friends no longer; and sith that it has pleased -heaven to deny a son to that honourable but much injured Lord, it -behoveth me, who look soon to stand in that relation to him, to take -his wrongs upon myself. We must meet, yea, and that speedily, as deadly -foes. My liege,” continued he, turning towards the King, and making his -obeisance, “have I thy gracious permission here to appeal Sir Patrick -Hepborne to single combat of outrance, to be fought as soon as -convenient lists may be prepared?” - -“Thou hast our licence, Sir John Halyburton,” replied the King; -“to-morrow shall the lists be prepared, and on the day thereafter this -plea shall be tried.” - -“Then, sith that I have thy Royal licence, my liege,” cried Sir John -Halyburton, “I do hereby challenge Sir Patrick Hepborne to do battle -with me in single combat of outrance, with sharp grounden lances, and -after that with battle-axes, and swords and daggers, as may be, and -that unto the death. And this for the foul stain he hath brought upon -the noble family of De Vaux, of the which I am about to become a son, -and may God defend the right, and prosper the just cause;” and with -these words, Sir John Halyburton threw down his gauntlet on the floor. - -“I will not deny,” said Sir Patrick, as he stooped to lift it with a -deep sigh, “I will not deny that it doth deeply grieve me thus to take -up the gauntlet of challenge from one whom I have so much loved, and -one for whom I should much more willingly have fought to the death than -lifted mine arm against him. But the will of an all-seeing Providence -must be obeyed; that Providence, who doth know that I wist not even -that the Lady Beatrice was aught else but the page Maurice de Grey, -until after she did flee from me. Twice did I afterwards behold her; -once in the field of Otterbourne, where she had piously sought out and -found the body of her benefactor, Sir Walter de Selby, and once within -the Church of Norham, where she did assist at his funeral rites; but on -neither of these sad occasions had I even speech of her. A third time I -did behold her but for an instant in the house of Sir Hans de Vere, in -the Tower of London, and then did I save her, at the peril of my life, -from what I then conceived to be a base assault of King Richard of -England against her, for the which I did pay the penalty of -imprisonment. On these three occasions only have mine eyes beheld her, -sith that we parted at Tarnawa. If to love her honourably and -virtuously be a crime, then am I indeed greatly guilty; but for aught -else——” - -“Thou hast told a fair tale, Sir Patrick,” said the King, shaking his -head. - -“Nay, ’twere better to be silent, methinks, than thus to try to thrust -such ill-digested stories on us,” cried the Franciscan. “But ’tis no -wonder that he should be loth to appear in the lists in such a cause. -Conscience will make cowards of the bravest.” - -“Nay, let God judge me then,” cried Sir Patrick Hepborne, turning -fiercely round, and darting a furious glance at the friar. “Conscience, -as with thee, may sleep for a time; but trust me, its voice will be -terribly heard at last. Then bethink thee how thou shalt answer thine, -when thy death-bed cometh. Coward, saidst thou?—By St. Baldrid, ’tis -the first time—But Sir John Halyburton, thou at least will readily -acquit me of aught that may have so disgraceful a savour. I do accept -thy challenge; I am thine at the appointed time; may God indeed defend -the right! Then shall mine innocence appear, while the transcendent -virtue of the Lady Beatrice, whom I do glory to proclaim my lady-love, -shall shine forth like the noonday sun.” - -By one of those unfortunate accidents which sometimes occur, it chanced -that the elder Sir Patrick Hepborne had been gone for some days on -private business to his Castle of Hailes. Had he been present, this -unfortunate feud might have perhaps been prevented; but he could not be -now looked for at Scone until after the day fixed for the duel; and if -he had been expected sooner, things had already gone too far to have -been arrested, without some living proof to establish the truth. Sir -John Assueton was present during the scene we have described, but he -had been too much confounded by all he had witnessed and heard to be -able to utter a sentence. - -“My dear Assueton,” said Sir Patrick, going up to him, and taking him -aside after all was over, “my friend, my oldest, my best-tried, my -staunchest friend, thou brother of my dearest affections, from thee, I -trust, I may look for a fairer judgment than these have given me?” - -“Thou mayest indeed, Hepborne,” replied Assueton, griping his friend’s -hand warmly. “Trust me, it doleth me sorely to see such deadly strife -about to be waged between thee and one whom we both do so much love. -Yet are the ways of Providence past our finding out. But may God do -thee right, and make thy virtue appear.” - -“Thou canst not have been astonished at the tardiness I did show!” said -Hepborne. “Alas! my heart doth grieve to bursting; perplexed, lost in a -maze of conjecture, the whole doth appear to me to have been delusion. -So the Lady Beatrice proveth to be the long-lost daughter of the Lord -of Dirleton! and the Franciscan—ha!—the Friar—he then is that John de -Vaux who did so traitorously steal his brother’s child!—and hath the -word of such a villain had power to face down mine? Oh, monstrous! Nay, -now do I more than ever fear for the safety—for the life—of her whom I -do love to distraction. And then her pure fame blasted, mine own good -name tarnished, and no other means left for the cleansing of mine -honour and her fame, but to lift the pointed lance, and the whetted -sword, against the life of him whom, next to thee, I do of all men -account most dear to me! May the holy Virgin, may the blessed Trinity, -aid and sustain me amid the cruel host of distresses by the which I am -environed!” - -“Most hardly art thou indeed beset,” replied Sir John Assueton; “yet -hast thou no other choice but to put thy trust in God, and to do thy -best in this combat for the establishment of thine own honour as a -knight, and the pure fame of thy lady-love, leaving to Providence the -issues of life and death.” - -After this conversation, Sir Patrick Hepborne and Sir John Assueton -prepared to leave the Castle. As they were passing through the gateway, -Hepborne, who was deeply absorbed in his own reflections, was gently -touched on the arm by some one. - -“She be’e here, Sir Patricks,” whispered Duncan MacErchar; “troth, she -hath catched the friars, and troth she be’s a strong sturdy loons. Uve, -uve, but she had a hard tuilzie wi’ her.” - -“What? whom?” cried Sir Patrick. - -“Troth, she did tell her to stand there till Sir Patricks come,” said -MacErchar; “but she would not bide; and so, afore a’ was done, she was -forced to gie her a bit clouring. Would she no likes to——” - -“What?” cried Sir Patrick, now beginning to comprehend him, “thou dost -not talk of the Franciscan? I do hope and trust thou hast not hurt the -Franciscan?” - -“Phoo! troth, as to tat, she doth best ken hersel the friars,” replied -Duncan; “but hurts or no hurts, she be’s in here,” continued he, -pointing under the gateway to a low vaulted door, “and she may e’en ask -the friars hersel.” - -“Holy Virgin!” cried Hepborne, “thou hast ruined me with thy zeal. Open -the door of this hole, and let me forthwith release the friar. Though -he be mine enemy, yet would I not for kingdoms lie under the foul -suspect of having caused him to be waylaid.” - -“Troth, she shall soon see her,” said Duncan, opening the door of the -place—“Ho, ho, ho! there she doth lie, I do well wot, like a mockell -great grey swine.” - -There indeed, in an area not four feet square, was squeezed together -the body of the Franciscan. He had a considerable cut and bruise upon -his tonsure, from which the blood still oozed profusely. He seemed to -be insensible; but he was no sooner lifted into the open air, than it -appeared that his swoon was more owing to the closeness of the hole he -had been crammed into than the wound he had received. He quickly began -to recover and Sir Patrick raised him up and assisted him to stand. - -“To thee, then, I am indebted for thy villainous traiterie?” cried the -Franciscan, looking wildly at Sir Patrick, and shaking himself free -from his arms as he said so. “Oh, shame to knighthood, thus to plant an -assassin in my path; but rivers of thy blood shall speedily flow for -every drop that doth fall from this head of mine.” - -With these words he darted into the Castle ere Sir Patrick could speak, -leaving him stupified by this unfortunate mistake, which had brought a -fresh cause of shameful suspicion upon him. - -“May she leave her posts noo!” demanded Duncan MacErchar with great -coolness. - -“Leave thy post!” cried Hepborne in a frenzy; “would thou hadst been in -purgatory, knave, rather than that thou hadst wrought me this evil.” - -“Oh, hoit-toit!” cried Duncan. “Spurgumstory! Uve, uve! and tat’s from -Sir Patricks!” - -“Forgive me, Duncan,” cried Hepborne, immediately recovering his -self-command, and remembering whom it was he had so wounded, “forgive -my haste. I do well know thy zeal. But here, by ill luck, thou hast -fortuned to carry it farther than befitting. It will be but an evil -report when it shall be told of Sir Patrick Hepborne that he did plant -a partizan to assail and wound the friar with whom he had feud. But -thou art forgiven, my friend, for I do well know that thine intention -was of the best.” - -“Phoo-oo-o!” cried Duncan, with a prolonged sound, “troth, and she doth -see that she hath missed her marks, fan she did hit the friars a clour. -But troth, she will see yet and mend the friar’s head; and sith she -doth ken that she hath a feud wi’ her, och, but she will mak her quiet -wi’ the same plaisters that did the ills.” - -“On thy life, touch him not again,” said Sir Patrick, “not as thou dost -love me, Duncan. Let not the friar be touched, else thou dost make me -thy foe for ever.” - -“Phoo, ay, troth she’s no meddles mair wi’ her,” said Duncan; “ou ay, -troth no, she’ll no meddles.” - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LXXIV. - - The missing Lady Beatrice. - - -Whilst preparations are making for the duel, it may not be improper to -relieve the reader’s mind regarding the Lady Beatrice, who had thus -unwittingly become the subject of a feud likely to terminate so -fatally. After having providentially effected her escape, first from -the flames of the Hospital of the Maison Dieu, and then from the base -and treacherous protection of Sir Andrew Stewart, she fled through the -garden, and, being bewildered by a complication of terrors, she ran she -knew not whither, and unwittingly taking the direction of the town, -rushed wildly through the streets. Terror-struck by the blaze of the -Cathedral and the shouts of those who were engaged in its destruction, -some of whom her fears led her to imagine had joined in the pursuit -which she believed Sir Andrew Stewart still held after her, she darted -onwards with inconceivable rapidity, until she passed quite through the -town. A little beyond its western entrance, she beheld a light at some -distance before her, and believing that it proceeded from the casement -of some cottage, she sprang towards it with renewed exertion. To her -great disappointment, it turned out to be one of those lamps kept -burning within a shrine of the Virgin that stood by the wayside. She -sank down exhausted before the image it contained, and clasping her -hands together, implored protection from her whom the figure -represented. - -While she was occupied in devotion, she heard the distant tramp of a -horse. At first she was doubtful of the reality of the sound, -confounded as it was with the far-off shouts of the Wolfe of Badenoch’s -people; but it soon became too distinct to be mistaken. It came not -very quick, however, and she had yet time to flee. Filled with fresh -alarm, she again sprang to her feet; but, alas! their strength was -gone. Her limbs refused to do their office, and, tottering for a step -or two, she again sank down on the ground, under the half shadow at the -base of the little Gothic building. As she fell the horseman came on. -He halted in doubt whether that which he beheld sink so strangely was -corporeal or spiritual. His horse, too, seemed to partake of his alarm; -for when he tried to urge the animal to pass by, he snorted and backed, -and could not be persuaded or compelled to advance by any means the -rider could use. - -Meanwhile, the Lady Beatrice, believing that the man who rode the horse -had halted for the purpose of dismounting, lay trembling with -apprehension that Sir Andrew Stewart was about to seize her. Fear -robbed her for some moments of recollection, from which temporary -stupor she was roused by feeling her waist powerfully encircled by two -arms of no pigmy size or strength, upon which she screamed aloud and -fainted away. - -When the Lady Beatrice regained her recollection, she found herself -seated on the saddle, and travelling at a good round pace. She was held -in her place, and supported by the same sinewy arms, which were also -employed in guiding the reins, and pressing on the steed. - -“Mercy, mercy, Sir Andrew Stewart,” shrieked she; “oh, whither dost -thou carry me?” - -“St. Lowry be praised that thou hast gathered thysel back frae the -warld o’ sauls, my leddy! Of a truth I did greatly fear that thy spirit -had yode thither.” - -“Merciful Providence, Rory Spears!” cried the Lady Beatrice, almost -doubting the evidence of her ears. “The holy Virgin be praised, if it -be thee indeed!” - -“Yea, in good truth, it is assuredly me, Roderick Spears, esquire, at -the humble service of thy leddyship,” replied Rory. - -“Then thanks be to the blessed Virgin, I am safe!” replied Beatrice. - -“Safe!” cried Rory; “yea, as safe as the bold heart of ane esquire can -make thee. Trust me, they sall take measure o’ ane ell and ane half o’ -this lance that hangs ahint me here, that may essay to do thee aught o’ -harm between this and Tarnawa, whither my shalty Brambleberry shall -speedily convey us.” - -“May the saints unite to shower their blessings upon thee, Rory, for -thy timely aid!” cried the Lady Beatrice; “but how, I pray thee, didst -thou chance to rescue me from the power of Sir Andrew Stewart?” - -“What!” cried Rory, “so that ill-doing, misbegotten fumart hath been -besetting thee again with this accursed traiterie. By St. Lowrie, but I -did ance tak measure o’ him afore.” - -“Yea, he encountered me as I did escape from the flames of the Maison -Dieu, and he pursued me to the shrine of the Virgin, where he was in -the act of laying his impure hands on me, when I did faint away.” - -“Na, troth, my leddy,” said Rory, “the hands that war laid on thee war -my hands; and, though I should speak weel o’ that the which be’s mine -ain, I do boldly avow that they are purer than the scartin’ claws o’ -that mouldwarp, although they hae handled mony a foul fish, and I wad -be sair ashamed an they waur no teucher. It was me that took haud o’ -ye, my leddy, and I made bauld to do that same (being ane esquire) that -I might succour ye, distressed damsel that thou wert, by lifting thy -dead body into the saddle, that wi’ a sair heart I mought bring thee -aff to Tarnawa, where, an thou didst not recover thee, thou mightest -have had ane honourable yirdin’.” - -“But tell me, I pray thee, how thou didst chance to come there?” -demanded Beatrice. - -“I’ll tell thee,” said Rory. “My master, the Yearl, did send me to -Aberdeen wi’ a flight o’ falcons he had promised till the King’s -Majesty; so I hae been there, yea, and did behold his Royal Grace afore -he depairted for his Palace of Scone. I wot he was weel pleased wi’ the -birds, and he did show me the fair side o’ his Royal favour for -bringing them, partly, nae doot, for the sake o’ my noble master the -Yearl o’ Moray, and partly, I do opine, because I am noo an esquire -admitted and acknowledged, the which the King himsel did alswa most -graciously confirm out o’ his ain mouth. For, says he to me, ‘Squire -Rory,’ says he, ‘are the falcons well mewed, and hast thou reclaimed -them to purpose?’ To the which I did answer, ‘Try ye them, my Royal -Liege, and ye’ll see gin there be ony Royal hern that’ll mount wi’ -them. Trust me, my Lord King, that they have a wing that will carry -them up to the very riggin’ o’ the lift, an ye can find a hern that -’ill gang there before them.’ The king gied a most gracious laugh -thereupon, and so I did laugh too, and the Lords did laugh. At length -the King telled ane o’ his fouk to see that Squire Roderick Spears was -well feasted; and so I was in good troth, yea, and got handsome gurdeon -I rauckon alswa. So, as I was on my way back from Aberdeen, I stopped -late yestreen at the Spital o’ the Mason’s Due; but I had not lain long -asleep until I was startled to my legs by the cry o’ fire, and the -flames bursting out. I hurried on some of my garments, and grupping the -rest in my hands, I made the best o’ my way to the stable; but there I -could not get in for lack o’ the key. It was firm fast, and I had hard -wark, I wis, till I could get something to break it open wi’. Then did -I ride through a’ the town to see what destruction the Wolfe o’ -Badenoch was doing. But as I was but ae man, and that it would ill -become me to find faut wi’ the son o’ the King or the brother o’ my -leddy Countess, I cam aff hot foot to tell the Yearl. So seeing thee -moving in the light yonder, I maun just say, that, at the first, I did -opine that thou wert something not o’ this warld; and had it not been -for Brambleberry here, who would by no means pass thee by, and whose -good sense therein did gie me time to see that thou were nae ghost, -verily thou mightst ha’e lain there still for me.” - -Under the protection of the faithful Rory Spears, the Lady Beatrice -arrived safely at Tarnawa, where she was joyfully received by the -Countess. Her converse with the Franciscan had been enough to inform -her of the pleasing fact that she was indeed the daughter of the Lord -of Dirleton; and the happy Jane de Vaux learned this much from her with -a rapture that melted Beatrice’s heart with emotions of delight she had -never before experienced. To her, who had grown up without knowing -aught of the affectionate regard of a near relation, how soothing must -have been the pure embrace of a sister, of a sister too who had already -shown herself to be the kindest of friends. But the joy of Jane de Vaux -and the Countess of Moray, who had fully participated in the felicity -of her young friend, was converted into extreme anxiety about Beatrice, -who was seized with a severe illness, the effect of the fatigue, -shipwreck, dread, and agitation to which she had lately been exposed. -To add to their distress, the Earl of Moray had been gone from home for -some days. It is no wonder, then, that the Countess and the Lady Jane -de Vaux should have been too much occupied with their patient to think -of making inquiry about her uncle the Franciscan; nor was it until the -Earl returned that he did what they should have done before; and then -it was they learned from the Bishop of Moray that the friar had gone on -his important mission to the Wolfe of Badenoch. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LXXV. - - The Ordeal of Battle. - - -Having thus seen the Lady Beatrice safe into the hands of friends, we -must leave her to be recovered by their affectionate care, whilst we -give some account of the preparations which were making for the duel -between Sir Patrick Hepborne and Sir John Halyburton. - -The Lord of Dirleton, after some moments of cool reflection, began to -regret that his feelings had so hurried him away, as to make him forget -that his family honour could gain but little by the cause of the duel -being made public. He therefore lost no time in beseeching the King -that the lists might be erected in some situation where the vulgar, at -least, could be excluded; and, in compliance with this request, a spot -was fixed on, in the meadow below the Palace of Scone, and there -workmen were employed in immense numbers to ensure their erection -against the time fixed on. Even during the night they worked -unceasingly, and the lights were seen flitting about, and the hatchets, -saws, and hammers were heard in full operation, so that by the morning -of the appointed day a rudely-constructed amphitheatre of combat was -prepared. - -The morning was beautiful, and although all about the court knew that -the day must end in a tragedy, yet nothing could be more gay or -brilliant than the prologue to the scene. The King’s pavilion was -pitched close to the outside of the lists, and a private door and stair -led up from it into a balcony over the centre of one of the sides of -the enclosure, where the King took his seat, with the Regent, the Lord -of Dirleton and his lady, together with the Franciscan and some others. -Between the outer and the inner lists, a wide space extended all around -on both sides, from one gate to the other, which was dedicated to the -nobles and knights who sat on horseback, there to witness the combat. -There were barriers in the inner circle of palisadoes, one opposite to -each side of the gate. - -The two knights arrived at the outside of the lists, each attended by -his esquire, and armed at all points, both horse and man; and each of -them waited at a different gate, that he might be admitted with all the -ceremony of chivalry. - -After the King was seated, the Constable, Marshal of the lists, and the -heralds took their stand in the places allotted for them below. Then -appeared Sir John Halyburton, attended by his esquire, at the east -gate; which circumstance being formally announced to the Constable and -Marshal, they went thither to receive him. - -“Who art thou, and for what purpose art thou come hither?” demanded the -Constable. - -“I am Sir John Halyburton,” replied he; “and hither am I come, mounted -and armed, to perform my challenge against Sir Patrick Hepborne, -younger of Hailes, and to redeem my pledge. Wherefore do I humbly -desire this gate to be opened, that I may be suffered to perform mine -intent and purpose.” - -“Thou shalt have way hither if thou be’st indeed he whom thou dost set -thyself forth to be,” replied the Constable. “The Moor’s head proper on -thy crest, and thy golden shield with those three mascles on a bend -azure, do speak thee to be him whom thou dost say thou art. Yet must we -behold thy face. Raise thy vizor, then, Sir Knight.” - -Sir John Halyburton did as he was desired, and his identity being -acknowledged, he was led into the lists, and placed opposite the King, -where he was to remain until the defendant should appear. - -He had to wait no longer than the nature of the ceremony required, when -the Constable was called to the western gate to receive the defendant, -who, on being formally questioned, declared himself to be Sir Patrick -Hepborne, younger of Hailes. - -“We do indeed behold the couped horse’s head with bridled neck on thy -crest,” said the Constable; “and on thy shield gules, the chevron -argent, with the two lions pulling at the rose, but we would have other -proof that thou art in very deed Sir Patrick Hepborne. Raise thy vizor, -Sir Knight, that we may behold thy countenance. Ay, now we do indeed -see that thou art the very defendant in this duel. Enter;” and he was -accordingly led into the lists, and placed by the side of his -challenger. - -Then were the weapons of each examined. These were a lance, a -battle-axe, a sword, and a dagger. The lances were measured, and -everything was adjusted in such a manner that neither should have any -undue advantage over the other. The Constable next besought His -Majesty’s pleasure, to know whether he would in person take the oaths -of the combatants, or whether he would empower him and the Marshal to -do it; and having received orders to proceed, they first addressed Sir -John Halyburton, and demanded of him what were the terms of his -challenge. - -“I do appear as champion for William de Vaux, Lord of Dirleton,” -replied Sir John; “he being of an age which doth render it impossible -that he can take arms in his own person; also for John de Vaux, his -brother, a friar of the order of St. Francis, to do battle against Sir -Patrick Hepborne, younger of Hailes, whom, in their name, and upon -their credit, I do accuse of having wronged them in certain matters -well known to His Majesty, as also to the defendant, and to compel him -to own his guilt, or to clear it by his arm.” - -“Thou dost swear, then, on the holy Evangelists,” said the Constable, -“that this is the true cause of thy coming hither, that thou dost -thyself believe the averments of those for whom thou dost appear, and -that thou art prepared, if it be God’s will, to support the same with -thy life.” - -“I do swear,” replied Sir John Halyburton. - -“And thou, Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said the Constable, “dost thou -comprehend the charge that is brought against thee; and if thou dost, -what hast thou to answer?” - -“I do comprehend the charge,” replied Sir Patrick; “and I do deny it -solemnly in all its parts. I do deny that I have ever done injury to -the Lord of Dirleton, or to any person or thing of his; and I do -declare, that both to him and to his I have borne, and do still bear, -the strongest love. This do I swear on the holy Evangelists; and God so -help me as I do speak the truth.” - -Then the second oath—that they had not brought with them other armour -or weapon than such as was allowed, nor any engine, instrument, herb, -charm, or enchantment, and that neither of them should put affiance or -trust in anything other than God and their own valour, as God and the -holy Evangelists should help them—being solemnly sworn by both, each -was led off to the barrier opposite to the gate he had entered by, -where his banner and blazon were set up; and whilst both were in -preparation, the usual proclamation was given forth by the heralds. - -The lists were then cleared of every one save only of two knights and -two esquires, one of each to wait upon the Constable and the Marshal. -The knight who was assigned to the Constable was Sir William de Dalzel, -and he who was appropriated to the Marshal was Sir John Assueton. To -each was given a headless lance, and they sat mounted immediately -before the place occupied by the Constable and the Marshal, and -directly under the King’s balcony, that they might be ready to part the -combatants, if it should so please the King. - -When all was in readiness, the bugle-note of warning sounded from both -barriers, and, after a short pause, the King issued the usual command, -“Laissez les aller!” and, the signal being given by the heralds’ -trumpets, the knights flew together. Halyburton and Hepborne had been, -nay, were at that moment, warmly attached to each other, but his -individual honour as a knight was dearer to each of them than even -friendship. Whatever had been their feelings of regret, or -unwillingness to engage in mortal strife, each now only remembered him -of his own name and that of his lady as he spurred; and, throwing the -blame on unhappy fate, which had thus doomed them to this unnatural -struggle, each thought but of working the death of his opponent, as if -it had been but the winning from him of some gaudy trophy in a -tournament. The collision was tremendous; the clash resounded far and -near, and a murmur of admiration burst from the assembled knights. Both -lances were shivered, and both steeds were thrown so much back on their -haunches, that, for the fraction of a second, it seemed to the -spectators as if it were impossible that they could again recover -themselves. - -But the horses regaining their legs, the riders lost not an instant in -seizing the battle-axes that hung at their saddle-bows; and then the -fight became dreadful indeed. Their blows fell so thick and fast upon -each other’s head and body, that the sound resembled that which may be -supposed to come from the busy forge of an armourer; and desperate were -the dints made in the plate-mail both of the horses and their riders. -The noble quadrupeds reared and plunged, and, dexterously guided by the -rein, leaped forwards and backwards, and from side to side, with as -much precision, while the strokes were dealing, as if they had been but -parts of the animals that combated on their backs. But this equestrian -battle was not of long duration. A heavy blow from the axe of Sir John -Halyburton fell upon the head of Hepborne’s favourite war steed, -Beaufront, and, in defiance of his steel chamfront, the noble animal -was so stunned by it that he staggered, and measured his length on the -sod. But as his horse was sinking under him, Sir Patrick made his -battle-axe tell heavily and loudly on the helmet of his opponent, who -had leaned forward to give his stroke more weight, and he beat him -fairly down from his saddle. - -Sir Patrick extricated his feet from the stirrups with great agility as -his horse was falling, and leaped on the ground. His antagonist, having -taken some seconds to regain his legs, was completely in his power. But -here friendship came into operation. Although he might, with perfect -honour, have taken full advantage of Sir John Halyburton, he only -brandished his battle-axe over him for an instant to mark that -advantage, whilst the spectators shuddered, in expectation of the blow -that was to put an end to the combat, and then dropping his arm -harmlessly by his side, he retreated a few paces, to wait until his -antagonist should be again equal with him. The King, and the knights -who looked on, clapped their hands in sign of approbation. - -And now the combatants again approached each other, and desperate was -the encounter. The armour of both knights was battered so tremendously, -that their helmets were soon shorn of their proud plumes and crests, -which hung down in tattered fragments about their heads. Soon -afterwards, the lacings of their head pieces were cut, and each, in his -turn, lost his bassinet. Their surcoats were cut to shreds, and some of -the fastenings of the most important defences of their bodies being -also demolished, the plates dropped away piecemeal, and the persons of -both were left comparatively exposed, having nothing to resist the -blows but their hauberks and hauquetons. Still they fought with their -battle-axes, until both becoming unable longer to wield them, they -seemed to throw them away by mutual consent, and, drawing their swords -and daggers, began to cut and stab, aiming at those places where their -former weapons had opened breaches, through which they hoped to extract -each other’s life’s blood. - -And now, indeed, the combat assumed the character of a deadly strife. -The most experienced warriors present declared, that so perfectly -matched a contest had never before been witnessed, and a very general -opinion prevailed, that, instead of one of them only being slain, the -death of both the knights would probably be the result of this fierce -and desperate duel. Despairing of the life of her champion, the Lady -Dirleton had already fainted, and had been borne out to the King’s -pavilion. The poor old Lord of Dirleton also began to picture to -himself the melancholy scene which must take place on the return of his -daughter, the Lady Jane de Vaux, to weep over the cold and bloody -corpse of him whom she expected to find warmly waiting to salute her as -his bride. As for John de Vaux the Franciscan, he inwardly regretted -that he had not been his own champion; the apprehension of evil fortune -that naturally arises where there is a doubt, having already led him to -fear that Halyburton had much the worst of the combat. As for Assueton -and Sang, they each sat silently in their saddles, in the places where -they were posted, doubtful and unhappy. Their eyes being more turned -upon Hepborne than upon his adversary, they trembled to remark each new -wound he received, and each reeling step which the successful blows of -Halyburton occasioned. His growing faintness was anxiously and -fearfully noticed by them in secret, and every moment made an accession -to their anxiety and their fear. The minstrel, Adam of Gordon, who was -seated among the attendants behind the King, trembled, clasped his -hands, groaned, and moved backwards and forwards on his place; and as -Duncan MacErchar, who was there with his company of Guards, and who as -yet knew little of the usages observed at such duels, it was with the -utmost difficulty that he was prevented from rushing to Hepborne’s -assistance, and he was at length only hindered from doing so by being -seized by the order of the Marshal of the lists. - -The combat was raging, though both the knights were evidently growing -fainter and fainter, when a bugle sounded at one of the gates, and one -of the marshalmen being sent to ascertain the cause, brought a message -to the Constable that an esquire waited there who craved immediate -admittance to the King; and the circumstance being signified to his -Majesty, leave was granted to the stranger to enter. He no sooner -appeared within the gate than he was seen to push his horse furiously -along behind the drawn-up ranks of the mounted knights who were looking -on, making directly for the stair that led up from thence to the King’s -gallery. Some who recognized the face of this esquire knew him to be -Rory Spears. Leaping from his froth-covered horse, he left him to pant, -and, springing up the steps to the King’s gallery, he was seen to throw -himself on his knees before His Majesty. What he said was known only to -those who were near the Monarch’s person; indeed the sudden appearance -of this messenger carried away the eyes of the spectators for a few -moments only from the combat, which now appeared to be approaching -nearer and nearer to that fatal termination which so many experienced -heads had anticipated. Already both knights staggered and grew giddy -with their numerous wounds and their loss of blood; and those generous -bosoms who surrounded the lists cursed the interruption which the -King’s attention was receiving, being persuaded, that if it had been -still directed towards the combatants, he could not possibly have -allowed the duel to proceed to the extinction of two such brave lives. -They trembled with dread that he should not look and act until his -interference would be of no avail; for it seemed as if every moment -would see both the heroes extended dead upon the sod, that had been -already rendered slippery with the blood they had spilt. - -All at once a great confusion seemed to have taken place in the King’s -gallery. His Majesty himself appeared to be much agitated, and a signal -was given, in his name by the Regent to the Constable and Marshal, to -stop the combat. Their two knights assistants, who had both been in -misery for the fate of their friends who were fighting, gave their -horses the spur, and darted forward like arrows, with their headless -lances extended, to separate the combatants. The two champions, -breathless and hardly able to support themselves, were yet not -approached by any one, save by those who divided them by their -lance-poles, for in this stage of the affair the duel was only stayed; -and as it might yet be the King’s pleasure that they should renew their -strife to the death, the law required that they should be left -precisely in the same state, that if the combat should recommence, it -might do so with each champion in the same circumstances, with relation -to his adversary, as he had been in when the King had interfered. -Faint, and ready to drop, therefore, they supported themselves on their -well-hacked swords; and whilst the blood poured from many a wound, they -panted, and silently surveyed each other’s grim and gory features, at -the short distance by which they were divided, as if each read his own -death legibly written in the death-like face of his opponent. - -Female shrieks were now heard coming from the King’s pavilion without -the lists, and all was commotion in the King’s gallery. Robert himself -was seen moving away, supported by some of his people; and, in defiance -of propriety, many were seen rushing out before him by the way that led -down to the pavilion. In a few minutes the gallery was cleared. - -Meanwhile the combatants still stood gazing with fixed and ghastly look -at each other; and their two friends sat like equestrian statues, with -their lance-shafts crossed between them, but uttering no word, and -giving no sign; and, while they were thus grouped, a messenger came to -announce to the Constable the King’s pleasure that the duel should be -forthwith terminated and ended without further bloodshed, he having -taken the quarrel into his own hand, and that he was prepared to decide -it in his own pavilion, where the combatants were ordered immediately -to attend him; that the two knights should be led forth of the lists, -each by his own gate, the one by the Constable, and the other by the -Marshal, and that both should make exit at the same moment, by signal -from the heralds’ trumpets, that neither might suffer the disgrace of -being the first to quit them. - -The King’s command was no sooner made known than a loud shout burst -from the brave and noble hearts who had witnessed this obstinate and -sanguinary duel. His Majesty’s orders were punctually obeyed, and Sir -Patrick Hepborne followed the marshalman with tottering steps, whilst -Halyburton went staggering in the opposite direction, and as if he was -groping his way in the dark after the Constable. The trumpets sounded, -and they disappeared from the gates. Hepborne, supported by his guide -and his faithful esquire, made the best of his way round to the -external entrance to the King’s pavilion; but thither Sir John -Halyburton never came, for he swooned away the moment he had crossed -the threshold of the gateway. As Hepborne was entering the pavilion, a -lady, frantic with grief and despair, rushed by him, and made her way -towards the eastern gate, followed by several attendants. - -Sir Patrick made his obeisance to the King, immediately upon coming -into the pavilion, and His Majesty, with the Regent, came kindly -towards him, to praise his valour and to inquire into his safety. A -crowd, among whom he recognized the Lord and Lady Dirleton, the Earl -and Countess of Moray, and the Franciscan, surrounded a lady who seemed -to be overwhelmed with affliction. - -“He is safe,” cried half a dozen voices to her immediately on -perceiving him; and the circle opening at the moment, he beheld the -Lady Beatrice de Vaux. At one and the same instant she screamed aloud -when she saw him, and he sprang forward to throw himself at her feet, -where he fainted away. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER LXXVI. - - The Friar’s Tale—The Two Combatants—Lady Eleanore’s explanation—All - is well that ends well. - - -It was not wonderful that a sudden ecstasy of joy, such as that which -burst unexpectedly on Hepborne, coming after so much mental -wretchedness, and when his bodily frame had been so weakened by -fatigue, wounds, and loss of blood, should have thrown him into a -swoon, from which he only awakened to show symptoms of a feverish -delirium. He passed some days and nights under all the strange and -fluctuating delusions of a labouring dream, during which the angelic -image of her he loved, and the hated form of the Franciscan, appeared -before him, but in his delirium he knew them not. - -It was after a long and deep sleep that he opened his eyelids, and -felt, for the first time, a consciousness of perfect calmness and -clearness of intellect, but combined with a sense of great exhaustion. -He turned in bed, and immediately he heard a light step move towards it -from a distant part of the room. The drapery was lifted up, and the -lovely, though grief-worn countenance of Beatrice looked anxiously in -upon him. - -“Blessed angel,” said Sir Patrick, clasping his hands feebly together, -and looking upwards with a heavy languid eye, that received a faint ray -of gladness from what it looked upon; “blessed angel, is it a fair -vision that deceives me, or is it a reality I behold? I have dreamed -much and fearfully of thee and of others; tell me, do I dream still, or -art thou in truth Beatrice, the lady of my heart?” - -“Hush, Sir Knight,” replied the lady, a smile of pleasure delicately -blending on her countenance, with a rich blush of modesty; “I am indeed -Beatrice. It joyeth me much to hear thee talk so calmly, seeing that it -doth argue thy returning health; but quiet and repose are needful for -thee, therefore must I leave thee.” - -“Nay, if thou wouldst have me repose in peace, repeat again that thou -art Beatrice, that thou art mine own Beatrice,” cried Sir Patrick -feelingly. “Say that thy beauteous form shall never more flit from my -sight; and that we shall never, never part.” - -“Do but rest thee quietly, Sir Patrick,” said Beatrice. “Trust me, -thine own faithful Maurice de Grey shall be thy page still, and shall -never quit the side of thy couch until health shall have again -revisited those wan and wasted cheeks.” - -“’Tis enough,” exclaimed Sir Patrick, rapturously snatching her hand -and devouring it with kisses; “thou hast already made me well. Methinks -I do almost feel strong enow to quit this couch; and yet I could be ill -for ever to be blessed with such attendance.” - -“Nay, thou must by no means think of rashly quitting thy sick-bed,” -said the Lady Beatrice, withdrawing her hand, and looking somewhat -timorous at his impetuosity, as she dropped the curtain. - -A stirring was then heard in the apartment, then a whispering, and -immediately Assueton and Sang appeared, with anxious looks, at his -bedside. - -“My dearest friend, and my faithful esquire,” said Hepborne, with a -face of joy, and with so collected and rational an expression, that -they could hardly doubt the perfect return of his senses; though they -soon began to believe themselves deceived, for his features suddenly -became agitated; “but what eye is that which doth glare from between -you? Ha! the face of mine arch enemy—of that demon, the enemy of the -Lady Beatrice. Doth he come to snatch her from me again? Seize him, my -beloved Assueton—seize him, my faithful esquire—let him not escape, I -entreat thee, if thou wouldst have me live.” - -“We have been in terror, my dearest Hepborne,” said Assueton, calmly, -after having ascertained that it was the Franciscan, who had been -looking over his shoulder, that had excited Hepborne’s apparent fit of -frenzy; “this Franciscan, this friar, John de Vaux, hath now no evil -thought or wish against thee or the Lady Beatrice. He was worked upon -by false impressions, which were not removed until that Providential -discovery, the which did put a stop to thine unfortunate duel with Sir -John Halyburton. But sith that all is now cleared up, the holy -Franciscan hath made good reparation for all the evil his misjudgment -did occasion thee; for sith that thou wert laid here, he hath never -ceased day or night to watch by thy bedside, save when called to that -of another; and to him, under God, do we now owe the blessed hope of -thy speedy recovery.” - -“Strange,” cried Hepborne; “but didst thou not say unfortunate duel? I -beseech thee speak—Hath my beloved friend, Halyburton, against whom -fate did so cruelly compel me to contend—oh, say not, I beseech thee, -that aught hath befallen him! What, thou dost hesitate! Oh, tell me not -that he hath died by my hand, or happiness shall ne’er again revisit -this bosom.” - -“He is not dead,” said the Franciscan, “but he is still grievously sick -of his wounds; yet may we hope that he will soon recover as thou dost.” - -“Thank God, he is not dead,” cried Hepborne with energy; “thank God, -there is hope of his recovery.” - -“Nay, this good Friar John will keep him alive, as he hath done thee,” -said Assueton. - -“Strange,” said Hepborne, “to see thee, my truest friend, Assueton, -thus in league with the man whom I did esteem my bitterest foe; -wonderful to learn from thee that he hath exerted himself to recall me -from death. Of a truth, then, I must of needscost yield me to -conviction so strong, and pray him and God to forgive me for the hatred -I did harbour against him.” - -“Nay, Sir Knight,” said the Franciscan, “of a truth much hatred and -misjudging doth need forgiveness on both our parts, and I do grieve -most sincerely and heavily for mine, as well as for the mischief it -hath occasioned.” - -“But I do earnestly entreat thee to clear up my way through this -strange wilderness of perplexity in which I am still involved,” said -Sir Patrick. - -“That will I most readily do for thee, Sir Knight,” replied the -Franciscan; “but anxiety for thy certain and speedy return to health -would lead me to urge thee to postpone thy curiosity, until thou shalt -have gained further strength.” - -“Nay,” said Sir Patrick, “of a truth I shall have more ease and repose -of body after that my mind shall have been put at rest.” - -“In truth, what thou hast said hath good reason in it,” replied the -Franciscan; “then shall I no longer keep thee in suspense, but briefly -run over such circumstances as it may be necessary for thee to know. - -“My brother, the Lord of Dirleton, hath told me that thou art already -possessed by him of the story of the loss of his first-born infant -daughter. It was I, John de Vaux, his brother, to whom he did ever play -the part of a kind benefactor and an affectionate father—it was I who -repaid all the blessings I received from him by robbing him of his -child. My mother (’tis horrible to be compelled thus to allow it) was -the worst of her sex. I was young and violent of temper, and not being -at that time aware of her infamy, I was hurt by the neglect with which -she was treated, and, instigated by her, I boldly attempted to force -her into the hall of my brother’s Castle, then thronged by all the -nobility and chivalry of the neighbourhood, to witness the ceremonial -baptism of the little Beatrice. My brother was justly enraged with mine -impudence; he did incontinently turn both of us forth with disgrace, -and in doing so he struck me a blow. Stung with the affront, I gave way -to the full fury of my passion, and vowed to be revenged. My mother -wickedly fostered mine already too fiery rage, till it knew no bounds. -She urged me to watch mine occasion to murder the child; and although -my young soul revolted at a crime so horrible, yet did her proposal -suggest a plan of vengeance, which, with less of guilt to me, should -convey as much of misery to my brother, and especially to his wife, -against whom we had a peculiar hatred. - -“It was long ere a fitting opportunity offered for carrying my purpose -into effect. At length, after frequent watching, I did one evening -observe the nurse walking in a solitary place, with the babe in her -arms. With my face concealed beneath a mask, and my person shrouded in -a cloak, I came so suddenly on her, that I snatched the child from her -arms before she was aware. Ere I could flee from the woman, she sprang -on me like a she-wolf robbed of her young—pulled the mantle from the -child in a vain attempt to reach her, and clung to me so firmly as I -fled, that, to rid myself of her, I was compelled to wound her hand -deeply with my dagger. My horse was at hand, and, to put the child -equally beyond the reach of the affection of its fond parents or the -cruelty of my mother, I wrapt it in my cloak, and, riding with it over -to Lammermoor, consigned it to the care of a shepherd’s wife. To avoid -suspicion, I returned home immediately; but conscious guilt would not -permit me to remain long near those I had injured. I withdrew myself -secretly, and entered on board the privateer of the brave Mercer, where -for six or eight years of my life I encountered many a storm, and bore -my part in many a desperate action. I was a favourite with the old man, -and did gain considerable wealth with him; but my proud spirit would -not brook command, so I quitted the sea-service, and travelled through -foreign lands as a knight, when I did share in many a stubborn field of -fight, and won many a single combat. Yet was I not always successful; -and, having been overthrown in a certain tournament, I was so -overwhelmed with mortification at the disgrace that followed me, that I -became soured with the world, and straightway resolved to exchange the -helmet and the cuirass for the Franciscan’s grey cowl and gown, vainly -hoping to humble my haughty temper by the outward semblance of poverty. -But my towering soul was not to be subdued by a mere garb of penance. - -“From the foreign convent into which I entered, I chanced to be sent to -England, and, having been recommended as a proper person for confessor -in the family of the Earl of Northumberland, mine ambitious and proud -heart did again begin to show itself. Sir Rafe Piersie, to whom I was -more especially attached, made me large promises of future promotion in -the Church; and, having set his affections on the Lady Eleanore de -Selby, he did employ me to further his suit. To effect this, I bribed a -certain villainous pretender to necromancy, who was well known to have -much influence over the old knight. But the villain deceived me. Sir -Rafe Piersie had a flat denial, as well from the father as the -daughter, and this did I partly attribute to the traiterie of the -impostor, whose services I paid for, and partly to the interposition of -Sir Walter de Selby’s adopted daughter, whom I did not then know to be -my niece, the Lady Beatrice. Sir Rafe Piersie, believing that I had -been playing the cheat with him, drove me indignantly away. I burned to -be revenged against those who had occasioned this overthrow of my -hopes, and soon afterwards I had nearly glutted my rage against the -Ancient by a cruel death, from which he most narrowly escaped. I did -then journey northwards to the Franciscan Convent at Elgin, where I -arrived at the very time the Bishop of Moray was sorely lacking some -one bold enough to beard the Wolfe of Badenoch. It was a task quite to -my mind, and I accordingly readily undertook that, the which all others -did most anxiously shun. Thou, who wert present at Lochyndorbe, mayest -well remember how mine attempt was likely to have ended. As they -dragged me from the hall I did detect the companion of the Lady -Eleanore de Selby under her page’s disguise, having seen her by -accident at Norham. One of mine old seamates, who chanced to be among -the number of Lord Badenoch’s men, procured me admission to the Castle, -and he it was who effected mine escape from the horrors of the Water -Pit Vault. He would fain have had me flee instantly, but, much against -his will, I did insist on his showing me the page’s chamber; and I went -thither, determined to question closely her whom I did then only know -to be the companion of the Lady Eleanore de Selby, as to what share she -had in persuading her friend against an union with the Piersie. I -sought her chamber with my mind rankling with the remembrance of my -disgrace, inflamed and full of prejudice against her, and, Heaven -pardon me, it is in truth hard to say how far my blind rage might have -hurried me, had she not fled from me at the sight of my dagger. - -“It was soon after this that my brother, William de Vaux, came to -Elgin. The remembrance of my ingratitude to him came powerfully upon -me. I contrived to bring him, at night, into the Church of the -Franciscan Convent, and then it was I discovered that his heart, -instead of being filled with a thirst of revenge against me, was full -of charity, compassion, and forgiveness. This discovery so worked upon -my soul, already beginning to feel compunction for mine early -wickedness, that I should have confessed all to my much-injured -brother, had not some one, accidentally approaching at that moment, -unluckily interrupted the conference and compelled me to retreat. But I -went straightway to the good Bishop of Moray, with whom by this time I -stood in high favour for my bold service, and to him did I fully -confess my sins against my brother, of the which, until now, I had but -little thought, and had never repented. I did then forthwith solemnly -vow to do all that might be in my power to restore his child to him, if -that she did yet live. In this good resolution the Bishop encouraged -me; yea, and he did moreover lend me ample means for effectuating the -purpose I had in view. I hastened to the South of Scotland, to find out -the woman with whom I had left the baby. From her I learned that -poverty and my neglect had induced her to part with Beatrice to Sir -Walter de Selby. Then did I shudder to think of the scene at -Lochyndorbe, where, but for the providence of God, I might have -murdered mine own niece, and I secretly blessed a merciful Being who -had snatched her from my hands. - -“But now another cause of affliction took possession of me. Believing, -as I did, that Beatrice was the unworthy partner of thy journey, and -that thou hadst taken her with thee, by her own guilty consent, from -Norham, where I did well know thou hadst been, I cursed my villainy, -which had removed an innocent babe from that virtuous maternal counsel -and protection, the lack of which, I believed, had been her undoing. My -suspicions were confirmed when I beheld thee among the crowd at the -funeral of Sir Walter de Selby in Norham Church. I doubted not but thou -hadst come thither to meet with Beatrice, and by her own consent to -carry her off. Her eyes encountered mine as I stood near the altar, -and, as they were full of severity from the impressions then on my -mind, it is little marvel that the sight of me should have produced the -fainting fit into which she fell. That night I was deprived of all -chance of an interview with her; and when I sought for one in the -morning, I found that she had departed, no one knew whither. After -seeking her for many days, I at last returned to Dunbar in despair, -where I did by chance meet with the son of mine old sea captain, -Mercer, and from him I learned that she had been sojourning for some -time at Newcastle, but that she had sailed for London. Having heard of -the expedition of the Scottish knights thither, I readily believed that -her errand was for the purpose of meeting him who had so won her heart -from virtue. My soul boiled within me to rescue her from so base an -intercourse, and mine old sea-mate having offered to carry me to the -Thames in his ship, I did accept his aid, and did take her from thence, -as thou dost already know, Sir Knight; but instead of making the port -whence we had sailed, we were driven northward by a storm, and, after -much tossing, we suffered wreck on the eastern coast of Moray Land, -whence I conveyed Beatrice to the Hospital of the Maison-Dieu at Elgin, -on that night the place was burnt by the Wolfe of Badenoch. As I was -well assured that the lady had escaped from the fire, and that I could -nowhere hear tidings of her, it was no wonder that I believed she had -fled to thee; for our stormy voyage had left me no leisure to undeceive -myself by the discovery of her innocence.” - -The Franciscan then went on to give Sir Patrick such other explanations -as his eager questions called for. But his patient seemed to be -insatiable in his thirst of information. Afraid that he might do -himself an injury, the learned leech forbade him further converse, and, -having ordered some proper nourishment for the invalid, desired that he -should be left quiet. Sir Patrick accordingly fell into a deep and -refreshing sleep, from which he next day awakened, with pleasing dreams -of future happiness. - -Sir Patrick Hepborne the elder had not yet returned to Scone. The -younger Sir Patrick saw less of the Franciscan after he became -convalescent; but his friend, Assueton, was indefatigable in his -attendance on him, and Mortimer Sang did not even permit his love for -Katherine Spears to carry him away from the affectionate duty he paid -his master. It was not surprising, then, that his cure went on rapidly, -being so carefully looked to. As he got better, he was visited by many. -The King sent daily inquiries for him; the Regent came himself; and the -Wolfe of Badenoch, though his impatient temper would never permit him -to make his visit long, generally called three or four times a day to -see how he did. But the grateful Duncan MacErchar lay in the ante-room, -like an attached dog, from the moment that Hepborne was carried into -the Palace, and never quitted the spot save when he thought he could -run off for something that might do him good or give him ease. - -Hepborne was a good deal surprised, and even a little hurt, that, -amongst all those who came to see him in his wounded state, he had -never beheld the old Lord of Dirleton, who had ever shown so warm a -heart towards him until the late unfortunate misunderstanding. The -Franciscan, too, came but to dress his numerous wounds, which were fast -healing up, and then left him in haste. But when some days more had -passed away, and he was enabled to quit his bed, he learned -intelligence that explained this seeming neglect of the De Vaux, and -filled him with grief and anxiety. It was the anticipation of its -producing this effect upon him, indeed, which had occasioned the -concealment of it, as the Franciscan feared that his recovery might -have been retarded by the communication. Sir John Halyburton’s case had -been much less favourable than Hepborne’s. His life still hung -quivering in uncertainty. The Lord of Dirleton, his lady, and the -unhappy Lady Jane de Vaux never left him; and the Franciscan, who had -been the unfortunate cause of bringing it into its present peril, was -reduced to the deepest despair. - -No sooner had Sir Patrick learned those doleful tidings, than, calling -to his esquire, he put on his garments, and demanded to be instantly -led to the apartment of Sir John Halyburton, where he found those who -were so deeply interested in him sitting drowned in affliction, -believing that they should soon see him breathe his last. Sir Patrick -mingled his tears with theirs; but he did more—he spoke the words of -hope, comfort, and encouragement; and the Franciscan and the others -being worn out, and almost rendered unserviceable with watching, he -took his instructions from the learned leech, and then seated himself -by the wounded knight’s bedside. It seemed as if a kind Providence had -blessed the hand which had inflicted the wounds with a power of healing -them. From the moment that Sir Patrick sat down by his friend’s couch, -he had the satisfaction of finding his disease take a favourable turn. -He never left his patient, who continued to improve hourly. In less -than a week he was declared out of danger, and in a few days more he -was able to join Hepborne and the two happy sisters, Beatrice and Jane -de Vaux, in their walks on the terrace of the Palace. - -The reader may easily fancy what was the subject of conversation that -gave interest to these walks. It was during one of them that the Lady -Beatrice de Vaux was suddenly met by a woman of the most graceful mien, -who, standing directly in her path, threw aside a mantle that shrouded -her face. Astonishment fixed Beatrice to the spot for an instant, when, -recovering herself, she sprang into the arms of the stranger, -exclaiming— - -“Eleanore—my beloved Eleanore de Selby!” - -The meeting was overpowering, and Hepborne hastened to conduct the two -friends into the Palace, where they might give full way to their -feelings without observation. After their transports had in some degree -subsided, the Lady Beatrice eagerly inquired into the history of her -friend. - -“Proud as thou knowest me to be, Beatrice,” replied Eleanore, “I do -here come to thee as a suppliant, nor do I fear that I come in vain; -albeit I have peraunter but ill deserved a favour at thy hands, since I -did deceive thee into being the propagator of a falsehood, by telling -thee that he with whom I fled from Norham was Sir Hans de Vere——” - -“Ah! if thou didst but know into what wretchedness that falsehood had -nearly betrayed me,” exclaimed Beatrice; “but who then was thy lover?” - -“Thou dost well know that my poor father was early filled by a wicked -and lying witch with a superstitious dread of the union of his daughter -with a Scottish knight, the cunning fortune-teller having discovered -his prejudice, and fostered it by prophesying that such a marriage -would lead to certain misery. So he did ever study to keep me from all -sight of Scottish chevaliers. But, when visiting my aunt at Newcastle, -I did chance to meet with Sir Allan de Soulis, who had fled from -Scotland for having killed a knight in a hasty brawl, and to him did I -quickly resign my heart. ’Twas this which made me despise the splendid -proposals of the proud Sir Rafe Piersie, and which rendered the thought -of the horrid union with the Wizard Ancient, if possible, even yet more -insupportable. I agreed to fly into the arms of Sir Allan; but, to -effect mine escape, thy connivance was indispensable, nay, without -thine aid it would have been impossible to have carried my scheme into -execution. I did well know thine attachment and devotion to my father, -and I felt how difficult it would be to shake thee from what thou -wouldst conceive to be thy duty to him. I saw, however, that I had thy -full pity for the unwonted harshness I was enduring; yet I feared that -if thou shouldst discover the country of my lover, thou wouldst never -consent to keep my secret, far less to become my accomplice in an act -that would tend to make Sir Walter so unhappy. I was therefore -compelled to resort to falsehood. I did introduce Sir Allan to thee as -Sir Hans de Vere, one who, from being kinsman to King Richard’s -favourite, De Vere, Duke of Ireland, was likely to rise to high -honours. By doing this, I hoped to weaken thine objections to the step -I was about to take. Nor was I wrong in my conjecture, for thou didst -at last kindly agree to facilitate my flight.” - -“And whither didst thou fly, then?” demanded Beatrice. - -“First to Newcastle,” replied the Lady de Soulis, “and then to Holland. -Being banished from his own country, and dreading to remain in England, -where he, too, could not tarry during war without proving himself a -traitor to Scotland, we were compelled to retreat beyond sea for a -time. It is not long since that the sad news of my father’s death did -reach me. I was struck with deep remorse for my desertion of him. We -hastened back to Norham. There I found that some low-born kinsmen of my -father’s, trusting that I should never return, had seized on the -greater part of his effects and divided the spoil. The small remnant -that was left me was saved by the fidelity of the trusty Lieutenant -Oglethorpe. There doth yet remain for us Sir Allan’s paternal lands in -Scotland, the which have not yet been forfaulted; but without the Royal -remission he dare not return to claim them. To thee, then, my Beatrice, -do I look to use thine influence with the merciful King Robert in -behalf of the gallant De Soulis, that he may be restored to his -country, his estates, and the cheering countenance of his Sovereign.” - -We need push the conversation between these two friends no farther. It -is enough to say that the united entreaties of Hepborne, Halyburton, -and the two Ladies de Vaux, soon prevailed in moving the clemency of -the good old King, and the happy Lady de Soulis flew to England to be -the bearer of her own good news to the brave Sir Allan. - -The joy of the old Lord of Dirleton and his lady in contemplating the -happiness that awaited their children may be imagined; and it will also -be readily believed that the delight of the elder Sir Patrick Hepborne -was no less, when he returned to Scone, and found that he had lost his -share of the general misery, and had arrived just in time to have full -enjoyment in the unalloyed pleasure that spread itself throughout the -whole Court. - -The King resolved that the double nuptials should be celebrated in his -presence, with all the splendour that he could shed upon them. The -Bishop of Moray came from his diocese, at His Majesty’s particular -request, to perform the marriage rites; and the Wolfe of Badenoch, to -mark his respect for the good man, actually made one of his rapid -journeys into Buchan, to bring thence his neglected spouse, Euphame, -Countess of Ross, that she might be present with him on the happy -occasion. So magnificent and proudly attended a ceremonial had not been -witnessed in Scotland for many a day. Old Adam of Gordon, who was now a -member of the younger Sir Patrick Hepborne’s household, composed and -performed an epithalamium that put all the other minstrels to shame; -and as for Squire Rory Spears, and Captain MacErchar, of His Majesty’s -Guards, their joy was so totally beyond all restraint, that, much to -the amusement of the company, they performed a bargaret together—a sort -of dance of these days which antiquarians have supposed to have borne -some resemblance to the fandango of Spain, or the saltarella of Italy. - -If the two knights who thus married the co-heiresses of Dirleton were -friends before, they now became attached to each other with an -affection almost beyond that of brothers, and Sir John Assueton was -united with them in the same strict bonds. Sir Patrick Hepborne being -aware that the unexpected discovery of Beatrice had diminished the -prospect of wealth which would have eventually accrued to Halyburton, -had Jane de Vaux been the sole heiress of her father, privately -influenced the old Lord to leave his Castle, and the larger part of his -estates, to his brother-in-law. On the death of William De Vaux, -therefore, Sir John Halyburton became Lord of Dirleton. For the -descendants from these marriages, those who are curious in such matters -may consult “Douglas’s Peerage,” vol. i., pp. 223 and 687. [2] - -We must not forget to mention that Rory Spears and Captain MacErchar -were called on soon afterwards to repeat their dancing exhibition which -had met with so much applause; and this was on occasion of the wedding -of Squire Mortimer Sang and the lovely Katherine Spears. Many a happy -hour had Squire Roderick afterwards, in teaching his grandson the -mysteries of wood and river craft, whilst the youth’s father, the -gallant Sir Mortimer, was gathering wreaths of laurel in foreign lands, -whither he travelled as a valiant knight. - -One of the last acts of King Robert was to bestow a small estate in the -valley of the Dee upon the veteran MacErchar. Thither he retired to -spend a comfortable and respectable old age, and, having married, -became the head of a powerful family. - -It has always been a very common belief in Scotland that, when a wicked -man becomes unexpectedly good, the circumstance is a forewarning of his -approaching death. It was so with the Wolfe of Badenoch, for he lived -not above two or three years after the reformation that was so -surprisingly worked in him. The Franciscan, who still continued with -the Earl as his confessor, gained a great ascendancy over his ferocious -mind; and his endeavours to subdue it to reason had also the good -effect of enabling him the better to command his own proud spirit, -which he every day brought more and more under subjection. The happy -effects of this appeared after the demise of him to whom he had been so -strangely linked; for, despising that Church advancement which was now -within his grasp, he retired into the Franciscan Convent at Haddington, -where he subjected himself to the penance of writing the Chronicle from -which these volumes have been composed; and those who have suffered the -tedium of reading the produce of it, may perhaps be judges of the -severity of this self-inflicted punishment. That the Wolfe of Badenoch -had not failed to make good use of the remnant of his life, in wiping -off old scores with the Church by making it large donations, we may -well guess, from the following epitaph, which may yet be read in -well-raised, black-letter characters sculptured around the edge of the -sarcophagus in which his body was deposited in the Cathedral of -Dunkeld; but where now, alas! there remains not as much of the dust of -Alister-more-mac-an-righ as might serve to make clay sufficient for -the base purpose to which the fancy of our immortal dramatic Bard has -made his moralizing Prince of Denmark trace a yet mightier Alexander, -and an Imperial Cæsar, - - - To stop a hole to keep the wind away. - - -The Epitaph is:— - - Hic Jacet - Dominus Alexander Seneschallus - Comes de Buchan et Dominus de Badenoch, - Bonæ Memoriæ, - Qui Obiit xx Die Mensis Februarii, - Anno Domini MCCCXCIV. [3] - - - - THE END. - - - - - - - - -NOTES - - -[1] Having some debates with the Earl of Huntly, he laid him under -ecclesiastical censure, which so provoked the Gordons that they -threatened to pull the Bishop out of his pigeon-holes. “I will build a -house,” said the Bishop, “out of which neither the Earl nor his clan -shall pull me,” and he accordingly erected that strong tower still -known by the name of Davy’s Tower. Even the present walls were of date -posterior to that alluded to in the text. - -[2] The reader, on consulting the second reference of our text, will -find that Douglas has run into much confusion in regard to the -Halyburtons. The Sir John Halyburton who married the co-heiress of -Dirleton, he kills at the battle of Nisbet in 1355. Now, by consulting -the first reference, p. 223, it will be found that Sir Patrick -Hepborne, younger of Hailes, who married the other sister, was killed -at the battle of Nisbet in 1402, at which time Sir Patrick Hepborne, -sen., was alive. This we know to be true, and perfectly according to -history; but to suppose that Sir Patrick Hepborne’s brother-in-law -could have been killed in 1355 is a glaring absurdity. The -inconsistency is easily explained, however, for there were several Sir -John Halyburtons, and two battles of Nisbet. There was a Sir John -Halyburton killed at the battle of Nisbet in 1355, and there was a Sir -John Halyburton taken at the battle of Nisbet in 1402. On this last -occasion Sir Patrick Hepborne commanded. It is therefore quite natural -that his brother-in-law should have had a share in this -expedition.—Vid. Fordun, II., p. 433. - -[3] This monument is still in tolerable preservation, though it -suffered mutilation by a party of Cameronians about the time of the -Revolution. - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no - restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it - under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this - eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the - United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where - you are located before using this eBook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that: - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without -widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/66763-0.zip b/old/66763-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 48d6fae..0000000 --- a/old/66763-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/66763-h.zip b/old/66763-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 7f74634..0000000 --- a/old/66763-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/66763-h/66763-h.htm b/old/66763-h/66763-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 5655de6..0000000 --- a/old/66763-h/66763-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,26047 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html -PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/html4/loose.dtd"> -<!-- This HTML file has been automatically generated from an XML source on 2021-11-17T21:50:19Z using SAXON HE 9.9.1.8 . --> -<html lang="en"> -<head> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> -<title>The Wolfe of Badenoch</title> -<meta name="generator" content="tei2html.xsl, see https://github.com/jhellingman/tei2html"> -<meta name="author" content="Thomas Dick Lauder (1784–1848)"> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/new-cover.jpg"> -<link rel="schema.DC" href="http://dublincore.org/documents/1998/09/dces/"> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="Thomas Dick Lauder (1784–1848)"> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="The Wolfe of Badenoch"> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en"> -<meta name="DC.Format" content="text/html"> -<meta name="DC.Publisher" content="Project Gutenberg"> -<style type="text/css"> /* <![CDATA[ */ -html { -line-height: 1.3; -} -body { -margin: 0; -} -main { -display: block; -} -h1 { -font-size: 2em; -margin: 0.67em 0; -} -hr { -height: 0; -overflow: visible; -} -pre { -font-family: monospace, monospace; -font-size: 1em; -} -a { -background-color: transparent; -} -abbr[title] { -border-bottom: none; -text-decoration: underline; -text-decoration: underline dotted; -} -b, strong { -font-weight: bolder; -} -code, kbd, samp { -font-family: monospace, monospace; -font-size: 1em; -} -small { -font-size: 80%; -} -sub, sup { -font-size: 67%; -line-height: 0; -position: relative; -vertical-align: baseline; -} -sub { -bottom: -0.25em; -} -sup { -top: -0.5em; -} -img { -border-style: none; -} -body { -font-family: serif; -font-size: 100%; -text-align: left; -margin-top: 2.4em; -} -div.front, div.body { -margin-bottom: 7.2em; -} -div.back { -margin-bottom: 2.4em; -} -.div0 { -margin-top: 7.2em; -margin-bottom: 7.2em; -} -.div1 { -margin-top: 5.6em; -margin-bottom: 5.6em; -} -.div2 { -margin-top: 4.8em; -margin-bottom: 4.8em; -} -.div3 { -margin-top: 3.6em; -margin-bottom: 3.6em; -} -.div4 { -margin-top: 2.4em; -margin-bottom: 2.4em; -} -.div5, .div6, .div7 { -margin-top: 1.44em; -margin-bottom: 1.44em; -} -.div0:last-child, .div1:last-child, .div2:last-child, .div3:last-child, -.div4:last-child, .div5:last-child, .div6:last-child, .div7:last-child { -margin-bottom: 0; -} -blockquote div.front, blockquote div.body, blockquote div.back { -margin-top: 0; -margin-bottom: 0; -} -.divBody .div1:first-child, .divBody .div2:first-child, .divBody .div3:first-child, .divBody .div4:first-child, -.divBody .div5:first-child, .divBody .div6:first-child, .divBody .div7:first-child { -margin-top: 0; -} -h1, h2, h3, h4, h5, h6, .h1, .h2, .h3, .h4, .h5, .h6 { -clear: both; -font-style: normal; -text-transform: none; -} -h3, .h3 { -font-size: 1.2em; -} -h3.label { -font-size: 1em; -margin-bottom: 0; -} -h4, .h4 { -font-size: 1em; -} -.alignleft { -text-align: left; -} -.alignright { -text-align: right; -} -.alignblock { -text-align: justify; -} -p.tb, hr.tb, .par.tb { -margin: 1.6em auto; -text-align: center; -} -p.argument, p.note, p.tocArgument, .par.argument, .par.note, .par.tocArgument { -font-size: 0.9em; -text-indent: 0; -} -p.argument, p.tocArgument, .par.argument, .par.tocArgument { -margin: 1.58em 10%; -} -td.tocDivNum { -vertical-align: top; -} -td.tocPageNum { -vertical-align: bottom; -} -.opener, .address { -margin-top: 1.6em; -margin-bottom: 1.6em; -} -.addrline { -margin-top: 0; -margin-bottom: 0; -} -.dateline { -margin-top: 1.6em; -margin-bottom: 1.6em; -text-align: right; -} -.salute { -margin-top: 1.6em; -margin-left: 3.58em; -text-indent: -2em; -} -.signed { -margin-top: 1.6em; -margin-left: 3.58em; -text-indent: -2em; -} -.epigraph { -font-size: 0.9em; -width: 60%; -margin-left: auto; -} -.epigraph span.bibl { -display: block; -text-align: right; -} -.trailer { -clear: both; -margin-top: 3.6em; -} -span.abbr, abbr { -white-space: nowrap; -} -span.parnum { -font-weight: bold; -} -span.corr, span.gap { -border-bottom: 1px dotted red; -} -span.num, span.trans, span.trans { -border-bottom: 1px dotted gray; -} -span.measure { -border-bottom: 1px dotted green; -} -.ex { -letter-spacing: 0.2em; -} -.sc { -font-variant: small-caps; -} -.asc { -font-variant: small-caps; -text-transform: lowercase; -} -.uc { -text-transform: uppercase; -} -.tt { -font-family: monospace; -} -.underline { -text-decoration: underline; -} -.overline, .overtilde { -text-decoration: overline; -} -.rm { -font-style: normal; -} -.red { -color: red; -} -hr { -clear: both; -border: none; -border-bottom: 1px solid black; -width: 45%; -margin-left: auto; -margin-right: auto; -margin-top: 1em; -text-align: center; -} -hr.dotted { -border-bottom: 2px dotted black; -} -hr.dashed { -border-bottom: 2px dashed black; -} -.aligncenter { -text-align: center; -} -h1, h2, .h1, .h2 { -font-size: 1.44em; -line-height: 1.5; -} -h1.label, h2.label { -font-size: 1.2em; -margin-bottom: 0; -} -h5, h6 { -font-size: 1em; -font-style: italic; -} -p, .par { -text-indent: 0; -} -p.firstlinecaps:first-line, .par.firstlinecaps:first-line { -text-transform: uppercase; -} -.hangq { -text-indent: -0.32em; -} -.hangqq { -text-indent: -0.42em; -} -.hangqqq { -text-indent: -0.84em; -} -p.dropcap:first-letter, .par.dropcap:first-letter { -float: left; -clear: left; -margin: 0 0.05em 0 0; -padding: 0; -line-height: 0.8; -font-size: 420%; -vertical-align: super; -} -blockquote, p.quote, div.blockquote, div.argument, .par.quote { -font-size: 0.9em; -margin: 1.58em 5%; -} -.pageNum a, a.noteRef:hover, a.pseudoNoteRef:hover, a.hidden:hover, a.hidden { -text-decoration: none; -} -.advertisement, .advertisements { -background-color: #FFFEE0; -border: black 1px dotted; -color: #000; -margin: 2em 5%; -padding: 1em; -} -.footnotes .body, .footnotes .div1 { -padding: 0; -} -.fnarrow { -color: #AAAAAA; -font-weight: bold; -text-decoration: none; -} -.fnarrow:hover, .fnreturn:hover { -color: #660000; -} -.fnreturn { -color: #AAAAAA; -font-size: 80%; -font-weight: bold; -text-decoration: none; -vertical-align: 0.25em; -} -a { -text-decoration: none; -} -a:hover { -text-decoration: underline; -background-color: #e9f5ff; -} -a.noteRef, a.pseudoNoteRef { -font-size: 67%; -line-height: 0; -position: relative; -vertical-align: baseline; -top: -0.5em; -text-decoration: none; -margin-left: 0.1em; -} -.displayfootnote { -display: none; -} -div.footnotes { -font-size: 80%; -margin-top: 1em; -padding: 0; -} -hr.fnsep { -margin-left: 0; -margin-right: 0; -text-align: left; -width: 25%; -} -p.footnote, .par.footnote { -margin-bottom: 0.5em; -margin-top: 0.5em; -} -p.footnote .fnlabel, .par.footnote .fnlabel { -float: left; -min-width: 1.0em; -margin-left: -0.1em; -padding-top: 0.9em; -padding-right: 0.4em; -} -.apparatusnote { -text-decoration: none; -} -.apparatusnote:target, .fndiv:target { -background-color: #eaf3ff; -} -table.tocList { -width: 100%; -margin-left: auto; -margin-right: auto; -border-width: 0; -border-collapse: collapse; -} -td.tocPageNum, td.tocDivNum { -text-align: right; -min-width: 10%; -border-width: 0; -white-space: nowrap; -} -td.tocDivNum { -padding-left: 0; -padding-right: 0.5em; -} -td.tocPageNum { -padding-left: 0.5em; -padding-right: 0; -} -td.tocDivTitle { -width: auto; -} -p.tocPart, .par.tocPart { -margin: 1.58em 0; -font-variant: small-caps; -} -p.tocChapter, .par.tocChapter { -margin: 1.58em 0; -} -p.tocSection, .par.tocSection { -margin: 0.7em 5%; -} -table.tocList td { -vertical-align: top; -} -table.tocList td.tocPageNum { -vertical-align: bottom; -} -table.inner { -display: inline-table; -border-collapse: collapse; -width: 100%; -} -td.itemNum { -text-align: right; -min-width: 5%; -padding-right: 0.8em; -} -td.innerContainer { -padding: 0; -margin: 0; -} -.index { -font-size: 80%; -} -.index p { -text-indent: -1em; -margin-left: 1em; -} -.indexToc { -text-align: center; -} -.transcriberNote { -background-color: #DDE; -border: black 1px dotted; -color: #000; -font-family: sans-serif; -font-size: 80%; -margin: 2em 5%; -padding: 1em; -} -.missingTarget { -text-decoration: line-through; -color: red; -} -.correctionTable { -width: 75%; -} -.width20 { -width: 20%; -} -.width40 { -width: 40%; -} -p.smallprint, li.smallprint, .par.smallprint { -color: #666666; -font-size: 80%; -} -span.musictime { -vertical-align: middle; -display: inline-block; -text-align: center; -} -span.musictime, span.musictime span.top, span.musictime span.bottom { -padding: 1px 0.5px; -font-size: xx-small; -font-weight: bold; -line-height: 0.7em; -} -span.musictime span.bottom { -display: block; -} -ul { -list-style-type: none; -} -.splitListTable { -margin-left: 0; -} -.numberedItem { -text-indent: -3em; -margin-left: 3em; -} -.numberedItem .itemNumber { -float: left; -position: relative; -left: -3.5em; -width: 3em; -display: inline-block; -text-align: right; -} -.itemGroupTable { -border-collapse: collapse; -margin-left: 0; -} -.itemGroupTable td { -padding: 0; -margin: 0; -vertical-align: middle; -} -.itemGroupBrace { -padding: 0 0.5em !important; -} -.titlePage { -border: #DDDDDD 2px solid; -margin: 3em 0 7em 0; -padding: 5em 10% 6em 10%; -text-align: center; -} -.titlePage .docTitle { -line-height: 1.7; -margin: 2em 0 2em 0; -font-weight: bold; -} -.titlePage .docTitle .mainTitle { -font-size: 1.8em; -} -.titlePage .docTitle .subTitle, .titlePage .docTitle .seriesTitle, -.titlePage .docTitle .volumeTitle { -font-size: 1.44em; -} -.titlePage .byline { -margin: 2em 0 2em 0; -font-size: 1.2em; -line-height: 1.5; -} -.titlePage .byline .docAuthor { -font-size: 1.2em; -font-weight: bold; -} -.titlePage .figure { -margin: 2em auto; -} -.titlePage .docImprint { -margin: 4em 0 0 0; -font-size: 1.2em; -line-height: 1.5; -} -.titlePage .docImprint .docDate { -font-size: 1.2em; -font-weight: bold; -} -div.figure { -text-align: center; -} -.figure { -margin-left: auto; -margin-right: auto; -} -.floatLeft { -float: left; -margin: 10px 10px 10px 0; -} -.floatRight { -float: right; -margin: 10px 0 10px 10px; -} -p.figureHead, .par.figureHead { -font-size: 100%; -text-align: center; -} -.figAnnotation { -font-size: 80%; -position: relative; -margin: 0 auto; -} -.figTopLeft, .figBottomLeft { -float: left; -} -.figTopRight, .figBottomRight { -float: right; -} -.figure p, .figure .par { -font-size: 80%; -margin-top: 0; -text-align: center; -} -img { -border-width: 0; -} -td.galleryFigure { -text-align: center; -vertical-align: middle; -} -td.galleryCaption { -text-align: center; -vertical-align: top; -} -.lgouter { -margin-left: auto; -margin-right: auto; -display: table; -} -.lg { -text-align: left; -padding: .5em 0 .5em 0; -} -.lg h4, .lgouter h4 { -font-weight: normal; -} -.lg .lineNum, .sp .lineNum, .lgouter .lineNum { -color: #777; -font-size: 90%; -left: 16%; -margin: 0; -position: absolute; -text-align: center; -text-indent: 0; -top: auto; -width: 1.75em; -} -p.line, .par.line { -margin: 0 0 0 0; -} -span.hemistich { -visibility: hidden; -} -.verseNum { -font-weight: bold; -} -.speaker { -font-weight: bold; -margin-bottom: 0.4em; -} -.sp .line { -margin: 0 10%; -text-align: left; -} -.castlist, .castitem { -list-style-type: none; -} -.castGroupTable { -border-collapse: collapse; -margin-left: 0; -} -.castGroupTable td { -padding: 0; -margin: 0; -vertical-align: middle; -} -.castGroupBrace { -padding: 0 0.5em !important; -} -body { -padding: 1.58em 16%; -} -.pageNum { -display: inline; -font-size: 70%; -font-style: normal; -margin: 0; -padding: 0; -position: absolute; -right: 1%; -text-align: right; -letter-spacing: normal; -} -.marginnote { -font-size: 0.8em; -height: 0; -left: 1%; -position: absolute; -text-indent: 0; -width: 14%; -text-align: left; -} -.right-marginnote { -font-size: 0.8em; -height: 0; -right: 3%; -position: absolute; -text-indent: 0; -text-align: right; -width: 11% -} -.cut-in-left-note { -font-size: 0.8em; -left: 1%; -float: left; -text-indent: 0; -width: 14%; -text-align: left; -padding: 0.8em 0.8em 0.8em 0; -} -.cut-in-right-note { -font-size: 0.8em; -left: 1%; -float: right; -text-indent: 0; -width: 14%; -text-align: right; -padding: 0.8em 0 0.8em 0.8em; -} -span.tocPageNum, span.flushright { -position: absolute; -right: 16%; -top: auto; -text-indent: 0; -} -.pglink::after { -content: "\0000A0\01F4D8"; -font-size: 80%; -font-style: normal; -font-weight: normal; -} -.catlink::after { -content: "\0000A0\01F4C7"; -font-size: 80%; -font-style: normal; -font-weight: normal; -} -.exlink::after, .wplink::after, .biblink::after, .qurlink::after, .seclink::after { -content: "\0000A0\002197\00FE0F"; -color: blue; -font-size: 80%; -font-style: normal; -font-weight: normal; -} -.pglink:hover { -background-color: #DCFFDC; -} -.catlink:hover { -background-color: #FFFFDC; -} -.exlink:hover, .wplink:hover, .biblink:hover, .qurlink:hover, .seclin:hover { -background-color: #FFDCDC; -} -body { -background: #FFFFFF; -font-family: serif; -} -body, a.hidden { -color: black; -} -h1, h2, .h1, .h2 { -text-align: center; -font-variant: small-caps; -font-weight: normal; -} -p.byline { -text-align: center; -font-style: italic; -margin-bottom: 2em; -} -.div2 p.byline, .div3 p.byline, .div4 p.byline, .div5 p.byline, .div6 p.byline, .div7 p.byline { -text-align: left; -} -.figureHead, .noteRef, .pseudoNoteRef, .marginnote, .right-marginnote, p.legend, .verseNum { -color: #660000; -} -.rightnote, .pageNum, .lineNum, .pageNum a { -color: #AAAAAA; -} -a.hidden:hover, a.noteRef:hover, a.pseudoNoteRef:hover { -color: red; -} -h1, h2, h3, h4, h5, h6 { -font-weight: normal; -} -table { -margin-left: auto; -margin-right: auto; -} -.tablecaption { -text-align: center; -} -.arab { font-family: Scheherazade, serif; } -.aran { font-family: 'Awami Nastaliq', serif; } -.grek { font-family: 'Charis SIL', serif; } -.hebr { font-family: Shlomo, 'Ezra SIL', serif; } -.syrc { font-family: 'Serto Jerusalem', serif; } -/* CSS rules generated from rendition elements in TEI file */ -.adBook { -padding-left: 2em; -text-indent: -2em; -} -/* CSS rules generated from @rend attributes in TEI file */ -.cover-imagewidth { -width:480px; -} -.ad { -text-align:center; -} -.titlepage-imagewidth { -width:446px; -} -.xd31e198 { -font-size:small; -} -.xd31e984 { -font-size:xxx-large; -} -.xd31e985 { -font-size:smaller; -} -.xd31e1342 { -text-indent:6em; -} -.xd31e1597 { -text-indent:3em; -} -.xd31e1632 { -text-indent:4em; -} -.xd31e1642 { -text-indent:5em; -} -.xd31e2067 { -text-indent:2em; -} -.xd31e4709 { -font-family:'UnifrakturMaguntia'; -} -.xd31e6344 { -text-indent:12em; -} -.xd31e7901 { -text-align:center; font-family:'UnifrakturMaguntia'; -} -.xd31e7917 { -text-align:center; -} -.xd31e7921 { -text-align:center; font-size:small; -} -@media handheld { -} -/* ]]> */ </style> -</head> -<body> - -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Wolfe of Badenoch, by Thomas Dick-Lauder</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Wolfe of Badenoch</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:0;'>A Historical Romance of the Fourteenth Century</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Thomas Dick-Lauder</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: November 17, 2021 [eBook #66763]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net/ for Project Gutenberg (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH ***</div> -<div class="front"> -<div class="div1 cover"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divBody"> -<p class="first"></p> -<div class="figure cover-imagewidth"><img src="images/new-cover.jpg" alt="Newly Designed Front Cover." width="480" height="720"></div><p> -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="div1 advertisement ad"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main"><span class="sc">By the Same Author.</span></h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first"><span class="sc">The Great Moray Floods of 1829.</span> <i>With numerous Etchings by the Author. Third Edition. Price 8s. 6d.</i> -</p> -<p><span class="sc"><a class="pglink xd31e40" title="Link to Project Gutenberg ebook" href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/58694">Highland Legends</a>.</span> <i>Price 6s.</i> -</p> -<p><span class="sc">Tales of the Highlands.</span> <i>Price 6s.</i> -</p> -<p><span class="sc">Lochandhu.</span> <i>Reprinting.</i> -</p> -<p><span class="sc">The Rivers of Scotland.</span> <i>Reprinting.</i> -</p> -<p><span class="sc">An Account of the Royal Progress in Scotland in 1842.</span> <i>Out of print.</i> -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="div1 titlepage"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divBody"> -<p class="first"></p> -<div class="figure titlepage-imagewidth"><img src="images/titlepage.png" alt="Original Title Page." width="446" height="720"></div><p> -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="titlePage"> -<div class="docTitle"> -<div class="mainTitle"><span class="sc">The</span><br> -<span class="sc">Wolfe of Badenoch</span></div> -<div class="subTitle"><i>A Historical Romance of the</i><br> -<i>Fourteenth Century</i></div> -</div> -<div class="byline">BY<br> -<span class="docAuthor">SIR THOMAS DICK-LAUDER</span>, <span class="sc">Bart.</span><br> -<i>Of Fountainhall</i> -<br> -<span class="sc"><i>Complete Unabridged Edition</i></span></div> -<div class="docImprint">LONDON: HAMILTON, ADAMS & CO.<br> -GLASGOW: THOMAS D. MORISON<br> -<span class="docDate">1886</span></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pageNum" id="pb7">[<a href="#pb7">7</a>]</span></p> -<div class="div1 preface"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main"><span class="sc">Preface to First Edition.</span></h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The “<span class="sc">Wolfe of Badenoch</span>” was advertised in June, 1825, at which time it was ready for the press. Since then, -certain circumstances, easily guessed at, have subjected it, with many a more important -work, to an embargo, from which critics may possibly say it should never have been -liberated. The author himself had forgotten it, until now that it has been unexpectedly -called for; and this must be his apology for that want of revision which he fears -will be but too apparent. -</p> -<p>The author has been accused of being an imitator of the Great Unknown. In his own -defence, however, he must say, that he is far from being wilfully so. In truth, his -greatest anxiety has been to avoid intruding profanely into the sacred haunts of that -master enchanter. But let it be remembered, that the mighty spirit of the magician -has already so filled the labyrinth of romance, that it is not easy to venture within -its precincts without feeling his influence; and to say that, in exploring the intricacies -of these wizard paths, one is to be denounced for unwittingly treading upon these -flowers which have been pressed by his giant foot, amounts to a perfect prohibition -of all entrance there. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb8">[<a href="#pb8">8</a>]</span></p> -<p>In the “<span class="sc">Wolfe of Badenoch</span>,” the author has adhered strictly to historical fact, as far as history or historical -character has been interwoven with his story. He has felt, indeed, that this scrupulosity -has considerably fettered his invention; and, had circumstances permitted the public -so to judge of his former production, some of the remarks thrown out upon it would -have been spared. -</p> -<p class="tb"></p><p> -</p> -<p class="xd31e198">[<i>Note to the present edition.</i>—The author of course refers here to Sir Walter Scott, at that time, one may almost -say, inaugurating a new era in historical romance. The “<span class="sc">Wolfe of Badenoch</span>” was first published in 1827 under circumstances of disadvantage, from having to -stand the contrast with the famous series of tales by the above distinguished author. -It, nevertheless, passed successfully through this trying ordeal, and was most favourably -reviewed in many critical publications, some of which ranked it alongside the best -productions of Sir Walter Scott. A still more certain and gratifying estimate of its -worth was the favourable hold it took on public opinion, the work being extensively -read and successive editions speedily called for.] -<span class="pageNum" id="pb9">[<a href="#pb9">9</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="toc" class="div1 contents"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CONTENTS.</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first tocChapter"><a href="#ch1" id="xd31e209">CHAPTER I</a>. <span class="tocPageNum">PAGE</span> -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Scottish Knights—Journeying Homewards—The Hostelry of Norham Towers</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">17</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch2" id="xd31e222">CHAPTER II</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Host and the Hostess—Preparing the Evening Meal</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">29</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch3" id="xd31e232">CHAPTER III</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Knights Invited to Norham Castle</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">33</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch4" id="xd31e242">CHAPTER IV</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Evening Meal at the Castle—The Minstrel and the Tourney of Noyon—Master Haggerstone -Fenwick the Ancient</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">39</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch5" id="xd31e252">CHAPTER V</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Night at the Castle—The Friar’s Visit to the Ancient</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">47</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch6" id="xd31e263">CHAPTER VI</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Making Love on the Ramparts</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">54</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch7" id="xd31e273">CHAPTER VII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Midnight Meeting in the Ancient’s Chamber—Strange Proposal—A Dreadful Alternative</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">61</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch8" id="xd31e283">CHAPTER VIII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Arrival of Sir Rafe Piersie—The Challenge</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">70</span> -<span class="pageNum" id="pb10">[<a href="#pb10">10</a>]</span></p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch9" id="xd31e294">CHAPTER IX</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Combat—Departure of the Scots—Master Kyle Swears by St. Cuthbert</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">77</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch10" id="xd31e304">CHAPTER X</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Home of the Hepbornes—Remembrances of Childhood—The Old Wolf-Hound</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">84</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch11" id="xd31e314">CHAPTER XI</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Wolf Hunt—A Desperate Encounter</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">90</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch12" id="xd31e325">CHAPTER XII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Freaks of Love at Hailes Castle—The Tournament at Tarnawa Announced</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">97</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch13" id="xd31e335">CHAPTER XIII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Sir Patrick Hepborne’s Departure for the North—Consternation at the Castle</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">109</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch14" id="xd31e345">CHAPTER XIV</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Pursuit—Surprising the Camp</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">115</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch15" id="xd31e355">CHAPTER XV</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Norham Castle again—The Ancient’s Divination—Sir Walter Bewitched—The Franciscan Friar -to the Rescue</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">121</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch16" id="xd31e365">CHAPTER XVI</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Raising the Devil—Delivered to the Flames</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">126</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch17" id="xd31e376">CHAPTER XVII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Sir John’s Pursuit in Quest of the Missing Lady—The Forester’s Hunting Camp—Sir Miers -de Willoughby’s Border Keep</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">134</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch18" id="xd31e386">CHAPTER XVIII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Horrors of the Dungeon</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">140</span> -<span class="pageNum" id="pb11">[<a href="#pb11">11</a>]</span></p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch19" id="xd31e397">CHAPTER XIX</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Dawn in the Dungeon—An Appalling Sight—Rough Visitors</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">147</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch20" id="xd31e407">CHAPTER XX</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>A Dreadful Situation—Daniel Throckle the Old Jailor</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">153</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch21" id="xd31e417">CHAPTER XXI</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Crooked-hold-him-fast—Making a Lantern of Burnstower Castle</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">160</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch22" id="xd31e427">CHAPTER XXII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Waiting for the Spearmen—The Lady Isabella’s Tale—The Fight</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">166</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch23" id="xd31e438">CHAPTER XXIII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Sir Patrick Hepborne’s Journey North—Passes through Edinburgh—King Robert II.—The -Wilds of the Highlands—The Celtic Host</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">171</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch24" id="xd31e448">CHAPTER XXIV</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Savage-looking Visitors—Night in the Highland Hostelry—Wolf Dogs</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">180</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch25" id="xd31e458">CHAPTER XXV</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Wild Scottish Bisons—Fight with a Bull—Cold and Fatigue</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">184</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch26" id="xd31e468">CHAPTER XXVI</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Evening Encampment—Treachery</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">191</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch27" id="xd31e478">CHAPTER XXVII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Another Night attack—A Desperate Encounter</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">198</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch28" id="xd31e489">CHAPTER XXVIII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Meeting the Wolfe of Badenoch—The Cavalcade</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">205</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch29" id="xd31e499">CHAPTER XXIX</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Wolfe of Badenoch’s Hunting Encampment—Letter from King Robert—Arrival at the -Wolfe’s Stronghold</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">210</span> -<span class="pageNum" id="pb12">[<a href="#pb12">12</a>]</span></p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch30" id="xd31e510">CHAPTER XXX</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Castle of Lochyndorbe—An Evening Episode on the Ramparts—The Wolfe’s Raid on the -Bishop’s Lands</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">224</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch31" id="xd31e520">CHAPTER XXXI</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Lady Mariota and the Page—The Fury of the Wolfe</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">231</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch32" id="xd31e530">CHAPTER XXXII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Maurice’s Song—The Franciscan Friar—Excommunication</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">238</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch33" id="xd31e540">CHAPTER XXXIII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Water Pit Vault—Friar or Devil, which?</i> <span class="tocPageNum">247</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch34" id="xd31e551">CHAPTER XXXIV</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Wolfe of Badenoch and the Earl of Moray</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">251</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch36" id="xd31e561">CHAPTER XXXVI</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Castle of Tarnawa—Distinguished Guests</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">260</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch37" id="xd31e571">CHAPTER XXXVII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Banquet at the Castle—Alarm—Forres on Fire</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">267</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch38" id="xd31e581">CHAPTER XXXVIII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Burning of the Church and Town of Forres</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">272</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch39" id="xd31e591">CHAPTER XXXIX</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Sir Patrick and the Earl at Forres</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">279</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch40" id="xd31e602">CHAPTER XL</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>In the Countess of Moray’s Apartments—Sir Patrick gets Quizzed</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">283</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch41" id="xd31e612">CHAPTER XLI</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Rory Spears, the Earl’s Henchman</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">288</span> -<span class="pageNum" id="pb13">[<a href="#pb13">13</a>]</span></p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch42" id="xd31e623">CHAPTER XLII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Lovely English Damosel</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">292</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch43" id="xd31e633">CHAPTER XLIII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Mustering for the Tournament—The Proclamation—The Procession at St. John’s Chapel</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">293</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch44" id="xd31e643">CHAPTER XLIV</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Italian Armourer—The Knight of Cheviot</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">304</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch45" id="xd31e653">CHAPTER XLV</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Tournament</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">311</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch46" id="xd31e664">CHAPTER XLVI</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The English Ambassador and the Gallant Lindsay</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">321</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch47" id="xd31e674">CHAPTER XLVII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Earl of Fife’s Council Meeting—The Challenge between the Scottish and English -Knights</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">326</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch48" id="xd31e684">CHAPTER XLVIII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Departure from the Castle of Tarnawa—The Alarm of War</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">333</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch49" id="xd31e694">CHAPTER XLIX</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Lord of Dirleton’s Tale—The Bishop of Moray and his Clergy</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">342</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch50" id="xd31e704">CHAPTER L</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Mystery of the Lady Beatrice—Arrival of the Nobles and Men-at-arms at Aberdeen</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">351</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch51" id="xd31e715">CHAPTER LI</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>King Robert at Aberdeen—Duncan MacErchar again</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">356</span> -<span class="pageNum" id="pb14">[<a href="#pb14">14</a>]</span></p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch52" id="xd31e726">CHAPTER LII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Wolfe of Badenoch at Aberdeen—Father and Son</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">366</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch53" id="xd31e736">CHAPTER LIII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The English Lady’s Departure from Tarnawa Castle—The Crafty Son of the Wolfe of Badenoch</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">376</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch54" id="xd31e746">CHAPTER LIV</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Sir Andrew’s Deep-laid Plot—An Unexpected Arrival</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">384</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch55" id="xd31e756">CHAPTER LV</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Travelling through the Wild Forest—A Dreadful Spectacle—Arrival at the River Tweed</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">394</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch56" id="xd31e766">CHAPTER LVI</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Old Acquaintances at the Hostel of Norham Tower—Great Gathering at Jedworth—The Council -of War</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">402</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch57" id="xd31e777">CHAPTER LVII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Scots Besieging Newcastle—The Fight on the Walls</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">415</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch58" id="xd31e787">CHAPTER LVIII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Combat between Douglas and Hotspur—The Fight for the Pennon</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">426</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch59" id="xd31e797">CHAPTER LIX</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Battle at Otterbourne</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">444</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch60" id="xd31e807">CHAPTER LX</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Bishop’s Army—Sorrow for the Fate of the Heroic Douglas</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">459</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch61" id="xd31e817">CHAPTER LXI</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Field of Otterbourne after the Fight</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">465</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch62" id="xd31e828">CHAPTER LXII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Withdrawal of the Scots Army—Obsequies of the Gallant Dead—The Mystery Solved</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">471</span> -<span class="pageNum" id="pb15">[<a href="#pb15">15</a>]</span></p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch63" id="xd31e839">CHAPTER LXIII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Scottish Knights at the English Court—The Wealthy London Merchant—Combat on London -Bridge</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">485</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch64" id="xd31e849">CHAPTER LXIV</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Lady de Vere and her lovely Guest—Innocence and Purity Endangered—The King’s Confessor -and the Franciscan Friar</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">506</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch65" id="xd31e859">CHAPTER LXV</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>In the Dungeons of the Tower of London</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">525</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch66" id="xd31e869">CHAPTER LXVI</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>A Ship of Olden Times—Tempest Tossed—Arrival at the Maison Dieu in Elgin</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">529</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch67" id="xd31e879">CHAPTER LXVII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Wolfe of Badenoch again—The Burning of Elgin Cathedral</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">536</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch68" id="xd31e890">CHAPTER LXVIII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Bishop’s Palace at Spynie—The Wolfe gets a Surprise</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">547</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch69" id="xd31e900">CHAPTER LXIX</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Changes at the Castle of Lochyndorbe—The Wolfe tamed—Alarm for the Lady Beatrice</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">555</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch70" id="xd31e910">CHAPTER LXX</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Bishop Barr at Lochyndorbe Castle—Reception by the Wolfe</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">566</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch71" id="xd31e920">CHAPTER LXXI</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Scottish Knights in London—Father Rushak’s Tale</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">576</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch72" id="xd31e930">CHAPTER LXXII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>At the Scottish Court—The Penitential Procession—Sir Patrick and the Friar</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">582</span> -<span class="pageNum" id="pb16">[<a href="#pb16">16</a>]</span></p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch73" id="xd31e942">CHAPTER LXXIII</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>Accusation made in presence of the King—The Challenge</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">595</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch74" id="xd31e952">CHAPTER LXXIV</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Missing Lady Beatrice</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">604</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch75" id="xd31e962">CHAPTER LXXV</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Ordeal of Battle</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">608</span> -</p> -<p class="tocChapter"><a href="#ch76" id="xd31e972">CHAPTER LXXVI</a>. -</p> -<p class="tocArgument"><i>The Friar’s Tale—The Two Combatants—Lady Eleanore’s explanation—All is well that ends -well</i>, <span class="tocPageNum">615</span> -<span class="pageNum" id="pb17">[<a href="#pb17">17</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="body"> -<div id="ch1" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e209">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="super xd31e984"><span class="asc xd31e985">The</span><br> -<span class="sc">Wolfe of Badenoch</span>.</h2> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER I.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Scottish Knights—Journeying Homewards—The Hostelry of Norham Towers.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">It was in the latter part of the fourteenth century that Sir Patrick Hepborne and -Sir John Assueton—two young Scottish knights, who had been serving their novitiate -of chivalry under the banners of Charles the Sixth of France, and who had bled their -maiden lances against the Flemings at Rosebarque—were hastening towards the Border -separating England from their native country. A truce then subsisting betwixt the -kingdoms that divided Britain had enabled the two friends to land in Kent, whence -they were permitted to prosecute their journey through the dominions of Richard II., -attended by a circumscribed retinue of some ten or a dozen horsemen. -</p> -<p>“These tedious leagues of English ground seem to lengthen under our travel,” said -Sir John Assueton, breaking a silence that was stealing upon their march with the -descending shades of evening. “Dost thou not long for one cheering glance of the silver -Tweed, ere its stream shall have been forsaken by the last glimmer of twilight?” -</p> -<p>“In sooth, I should be well contented to behold it,” replied Hepborne. “The night -droops fast, and our jaded palfreys already lag their ears from weariness. Even our -unbacked war-steeds, albeit they have carried no heavier burden than their trappings, -have natheless lost some deal of their morning’s metal, and, judging from their sobered -paces, methinks they would gladly exchange their gay chamfronts for the more vulgar -hempen-halters of some well-littered stable.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb18">[<a href="#pb18">18</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Depardieux, but I have mine own sympathy with them,” said Assueton. “Saidst thou -not that we should lie at Norham to-night?” -</p> -<p>“Methought to cast the time and the distance so,” replied Hepborne; “and by those -lights that twinkle from yonder dark mass, rising against that yellow streak in the -sky, I should judge that I have not greatly missed in meting our day’s journey to -that of the sun. Look between those groups of trees—nay, more to the right, over that -swelling bank—that, if I mistake not, is the keep of Norham Castle, and those are -doubtless the torches of the warders moving along the battlements. The watch must -be setting ere this. Let us put on.” -</p> -<p>“Thou dost not mean to crave hospitality from the captain of the strength, dost thou?” -demanded Assueton. -</p> -<p>“Such was my purpose,” replied Hepborne; “and the rather, that the good old knight, -Sir Walter de Selby, hath a fair fame for being no churlish host.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, if thou lovest me, Hepborne, let us shun the Castle,” said Assueton. “I have, -’tis true, heard of this same Sir Walter de Selby; and the world lies if he be not, -indeed, as thou sayst, a hospitable old knight. But they say he hath damsels about -him; and thou knowest I love not to doff mine armour only to don the buckram of etiquette; -and to have mine invention put upon the rack to minister to woman’s vanity. Let us -then to the village hostel, I entreat thee.” -</p> -<p>“This strange unknightly disease of thine doth grow on thee, Assueton,” said Hepborne, -laughing. “I have, indeed, heard that the widowed Sir Walter was left with one peerless -daughter, who is doubtless the pride of her father’s hall; nay, I confess to thee, -my friend, that the much-bruited tale of her beauty hath had its own share in begetting -my desire to lodge me in Norham; but since thou wilt have it so, I am content to pleasure -thee, trusting that this my ready penance of self-denial may count against the heavy -score of my sins. But stay;—What may this be that lies fluttering here among the gorse?” -</p> -<p>“Meseems it a wounded hawk,” said Assueton, stooping from his horse to look at it. -</p> -<p>“In truth, ’tis indeed a fair falcon,” said Hepborne’s esquire, Mortimer Sang, as -he dismounted to pick it up. “He gasps as if he were dying. Ha! by’r Lady, but he -hath nommed a plump partridge; see here, it is dead in his talons.” -</p> -<p>“He hath perchance come by some hurt in the swooping,” said Hepborne; “Canst thou -discover any wound in him?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, I can see nothing amiss in him,” replied Sang. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb19">[<a href="#pb19">19</a>]</span></p> -<p>“I’ll warrant me, a well-reclaimed falcon,” said Hepborne, taking him from his esquire; -“ay, and the pet of some fair damsel too, if I may guess from his silken jesses. But -hold—he reviveth. I will put him here in the bosom of my surcoat, and so foster the -small spark of life that may yet remain in him.” -</p> -<p>At this moment their attention was arrested by the sound of voices; and, by the meagre -light that now remained, they could descry two ladies, mounted on palfreys, and followed -by two or three male attendants, who came slowly from behind a wooded knoll, a little -to the left of the path before them. Their eyes were thrown on the ground, and they -seemed to be earnestly engaged in looking for something they had lost. -</p> -<p>“Alas, my poor bird!” said one of the ladies, “I fear I shall never see thee more.” -</p> -<p>“Mary, ’tis vain to look for him by this lack of light,” said an esquire. -</p> -<p>“Do thou thy duty and seek for him, Master Turnberry,” said the second lady, in a -haughty tone. -</p> -<p>“A murrain on’t!” said the esquire again; “this comes of casting a hawk at a fowl -at sundown.” -</p> -<p>“I tell thee he must be hereabouts,” said the second lady again; “it was over these -trees that I saw him stoop.” -</p> -<p>“Stoop! ay, I’ll be sworn I saw him stoop,” said the esquire. “But an I saw him not -dash his brains ’gainst one of those gnarled elms, my name is not Thomas, and I have -no eyes for falconry. He’s amortised, I promise thee.” -</p> -<p>“Silence, Master Turnberry,” said the same lady again; “thou givest thy tongue larger -license than doth well beseem thee.” -</p> -<p>“By the Rood, but ’tis well to call silence,” replied the esquire, sulkily, “and to -me too who did verily steal these two hours’ sport of hawking for thee at mine own -proper peril.” -</p> -<p>“Ay, stolen indeed were they on thy part, Master Turnberry,” replied the same lady; -“but forget not that they were honestly bought of thee on ours.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, then, bought or not,” said the esquire, “the last nail’s breadth of thy merchandize -hath been unrolled to thee. We must e’en clip short, and haste us to Norham, else -will Sir Walter’s grey beard become redder than a comet’s tail with ire. Thou knowest -this has been but a testy day with him.” -</p> -<p>“Peace with thy impudence, sir knave,” said the same lady hotly. “Dost thou dare thus -to speak in presence of the Lady Eleanore de Selby? A greybeard’s ire shall never——” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb20">[<a href="#pb20">20</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Nay, talk not so,” said the first lady, mildly interrupting her. “The honest squire -equeary hath reason. Though it grieveth me to lose my poor falcon thus, we must e’en -give him up, and haste us to the Castle.” -</p> -<p>“Stay, stay, fair damsel,” cried Hepborne, urging his steed forward from the hollow -bushy path where he and his party had hitherto remained concealed, from dread of alarming -the ladies, a precaution which he now entirely forgot in his eagerness to approach -her, whose person and manners had already bewitched him. “Stay, stay—fly not, lady—your -hawk—your falcon!” -</p> -<p>But the sudden appearance of armed men had so filled the ladies with alarm, that they -had fled at his first word; and he now saw himself opposed by sturdy Squire Turnberry, -who being too much taken by surprise to catch the knight’s meaning, and taking it -for granted that his purpose was hostile, wheeled his horse round, and planting himself -firmly in the midst of the path, at the head of the grooms, couched his hunting-spear, -as if determined to prevent pursuit. -</p> -<p>“What, ho! sir stranger knight—what seek ye, in the fiend’s name?” demanded the squire, -sternly. -</p> -<p>“Credit me no evil,” said Sir Patrick. “It galleth me sore that mine intemperate rudeness -should have so frayed these beauteous damsels. Mine intent was but to restore the -fair lady’s lost falcon, the which it was our chance to pick up in this hollow way. -He had ta’en some unseen hurt in swooping at this partridge, which he had nommed.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, by the mass, but I thought as much,” said the squire. -</p> -<p>“Tell the lovely mistress of this fair bird, that Sir Patrick Hepborne willingly submits -him to what penance she may enjoin for the alarm he caused her,” said the knight; -“and tell, too, that he gave life to her expiring falcon, by cherishing it in his -bosom.” -</p> -<p>“I give thee thanks in mine own name, and that of the lady who owneth the hawk,” said -the esquire. “Trust me, thy sin will be forgotten in the signal service thou hast -done her. The bird, methinks, rouseth him as if there were no longer evil in him.” -</p> -<p>“Yea, he proyneth and manteleth him as if rejoicing that he shall again embrace his -lady’s wrist with his sengles,” said the knight. “Happy bird! depardieux, but he is -to be envied. Tell his fair mistress, that if the small service it hath been my good -fortune to render her, may merit aught of boon at her hands, let my reward be mine -enlistment in that host of gallant knights who may have vowed devotion to her will.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb21">[<a href="#pb21">21</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Sir Knight,” said the squire, “I will bear thy courteous message to her who owneth -the falcon; and if I tarry not longer to give the greater store of thanks, ’tis that -the Lady Eleanore de Selby hath spurred away so fast, that I must have a fiend’s flight -if I can catch her.” And turning his horse with these words he tarried not for further -parlance. -</p> -<p>“’Tis a strange adventure, Assueton,” said Hepborne to his friend, as they pursued -their journey; “to meet thus with the peerless Eleanore de Selby at the very moment -she formed the subject of our discourse.” -</p> -<p>“’Tis whimsical enow,” said Assueton, drily; “yet it is nothing marvellous.” -</p> -<p>“Albeit that the growing darkness left me but to guess at the excellence of her features, -from the elegance of her person,” continued Hepborne, “yet do I confess myself more -than half enamoured of her by very intuition. Didst thou observe that her attendant -who talked so forwardly, though not devoid of grace, showed in her superior presence -but as a mere mortal beside a goddess?” -</p> -<p>“Nay,” replied Assueton, “though I do rarely measure or weigh the points of women, -and am more versant in those of a battle-steed, yet methought that the attendant, -as thou callest her, had the more noble port of the two.” -</p> -<p>“Fie on thy judgment, Assueton,” cried Hepborne; “to prefer the saucy, pert demeanour -of an over-indulged hand-maid, to the dignified deportment of gentle birth. The Lady -Eleanore de Selby—she, I mean, in the reddish-coloured mantle, she who wept for the -hawk—was as far above her companion in the elegance of her air, as heaven is above -earth.” -</p> -<p>“May be so,” replied Assueton with perfect indifference. “’Tis a question not worth -the mooting.” -</p> -<p>“To thee, perhaps, it may be of little interest,” said Hepborne; “but I could be well -contented to be permitted to solve it in Norham Castle. Why wert thou born with feelings -so much at war with what beseemeth a knight, as to make thee eschew all converse with -those fair beings, the sun of whose beauty shineth but to brace up the otherwise damp -and flaccid nerves of chivalrous adventure?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, thou mightest as well demand of me why my raven locks are not as fair as thine,” -said Assueton with a smile; “yea, or bid him who is born blind to will to see.” -</p> -<p>“By Saint Baldrid, but I do pity thee as much as if thou wert blind,” said Hepborne. -“Nay, what is it but to be blind, yea, to want every sense, to be thus unmoved with——” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb22">[<a href="#pb22">22</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Ha! see where the broad bosom of Tweed at last glads our eyes, glistening yonder -with the pale light that still lingers in the west,” exclaimed Assueton, overjoyed -to avail himself of so happy an opportunity of interrupting his friend’s harangue. -</p> -<p>“Yonder farther shadowy bank is Scotland—our country,” cried Hepborne, with deep feeling. -</p> -<p>“God’s blessing on her hardy soil!” said Assueton, with enthusiasm. -</p> -<p>“Amen!” said Hepborne. “To her shall we henceforth devote our arms, long enow wielded -in foreign broils, where, in truth, heart did hardly go with hand.” -</p> -<p>“But where lieth the hamlet of Norham?” inquired Assueton. -</p> -<p>“Seest thou not where a few feeble rays are shed from its scattered tenements on the -hither meadow below?” replied Hepborne. “Nay, thou mayest dimly descry the church -yonder, sanctified by the shelter it did of erst yield to the blessed remains of the -holy St. Cuthbert, what time the impious Danes drove them from Lindisferne.” -</p> -<p>“But what, methinks, is most to thy present purpose, Sir Knight,” observed Mortimer -Sang, “yonder brighter glede proceedeth, if I rightly guess, from the blazing hearth -of Master Sylvester Kyle, as thirsty a tapster as ever broached a barrel, and one -who, if he be yet alive, hath hardly, I wot, his make on either side the Border, for -knavery and sharp wit.” -</p> -<p>“Pray heaven his sharp wit may not have soured his ale,” muttered Roger Riddel, the -laconic esquire of Sir John Assueton. -</p> -<p>They now hastened down the hollow way that led to the village and soon found themselves -in its simple street. -</p> -<p>“Ay,” exclaimed Sang, “by St. Andrew, but old Kyle’s gate is right hospitably open. -I promise ye, ’tis a good omen for Border quiet to find it so. So please thee, Sir -Knight, shall I advance and give note of thine approach?” -</p> -<p>“Do so,” said Hepborne, to the esquire, who immediately cantered forward. -</p> -<p>“Ho! house there!” cried Sang, halting in the gateway. “Come forth, Monsieur, mine -host of the hostel of Norham Tower. Where art thou, Mr. Sylvester Kyle? Where be thine -hostlers, drawers, and underskinkers? Why do not all appear to do themselves honour -by waiting on two most puissant knights, for I talk not of their esquires, or the -other gentlemen soldiers of pregnant prowess, of the very least of whom it were an -honour to undo the spur?” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb23">[<a href="#pb23">23</a>]</span></p> -<p>By the time that Sang had ended his summons, the party were at the gate, and had leisure -to survey the premises. A rude wall of considerable length faced the irregular street -of the village, having the gateway in the centre. The thatch-roofed buildings within -formed the other three sides of the quadrangular court. Those to the right were occupied -as stables, and in those to the left were the kitchen, and various other domestic -offices; whilst the middle part was entirely taken up by one large room, from whence -gleamed the light of a great fire, that burned on a hearth in the midst, shedding -around a common comfort on the motley parties of noisy ale-drinkers seated at different -tables. -</p> -<p>“What, ho! Sylvester, I say—what a murrain keeps thee?” cried Sang, although the portly -form of the vintner already appeared within the aperture of the doorway, like a goodly -portrait in a frame, his carbuncled face vying in lustre with the red flare of the -torch he held high in his hand. “Gramercy, Master Kyle, so thou hast come at last. -By the mass, but that paunch of thine is a right fair warrant for the goodness of -thine ale, yet it will be well that it do come quicker when it be called for than -thou hast.” -</p> -<p>“Heyday, what a racket thou dost make, gaffer horseman!” cried Kyle. “But the emptiest -vessel doth ever make the most din.” -</p> -<p>“Tut, man, thou hast hit it for once with thy fool’s head,” replied Sang. “I am, as -thou sayest, at this present, in very sober earnest, an empty vessel; yea, and for -that matter, so are we all. But never trust me and we make not a din till we be filled. -The sooner thou stoppest our music, then, the better for thine ears, seeing that if -we be forced to pipe thus, and that thou dancest not more quickly to our call, thou -mayest perchance lose them.” -</p> -<p>“By the mass, but thy music is marvellously out of tune, good fellow,” replied the -publican. “Thy screeching is like that of a cracked rebeck, the neck of which must -be hard griped, and most cruelly pinched, ere its tone be softened. But of what strength -is thy company?” continued he, whirling his torch around so as to obtain a general -view of the group of horsemen. “By St. Cuthbert, I wish there may be stabling for -ye all.” -</p> -<p>“Stabling for us all, sir knave?” cried Sang; “marry, thou dost speak as if we were -a herd of horses.” -</p> -<p>“Cry you mercy, noble esquire,” rejoined Kyle. “An thou beest an ass, indeed, a halter -and a hook at the gate-cheek may <span class="pageNum" id="pb24">[<a href="#pb24">24</a>]</span>serve thy turn, and so peraunter I may find room for the rest.” -</p> -<p>A smothered laugh among his comrades proclaimed Squire Sang’s defeat. The triumphant -host ran to hold Sir Patrick Hepborne’s stirrup. -</p> -<p>“By the Rood,” cried the squire, as he dismounted, with a good-natured chuckle at -his own discomfiture—“by the Rood, but the rogue hath mastered me for this bout. But -verily my wit is fasting, whilst his, I warrant, hath the full spirit of his potent -ale in’t. Never trust me but I shall be even with him anon.” -</p> -<p>“Master Kyle,” said Assueton, to their host, as he ushered his guests into the common -room, “we should be glad to see some food. The rising sun looked upon our last meal; -so bestir thyself, I pr’ythee, goodman, and let us know as soon as may be how we are -to fare.” -</p> -<p>“Room there, sirs, for two valiant knights,” cried Kyle, getting rid of the question -by addressing himself to a party seated at a table near the hearth; “room, I say, -gentlemen. What, are ye stocks, my masters?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, treat not the good people so rudely,” said Hepborne, as some eight or ten persons -were hastily vacating their places; “there is room enow for all. Go not thou, at least, -old man,” continued he, addressing a minstrel who was following the rest<span class="corr" id="xd31e1087" title="Source: .">,</span> his snowy locks and beard hanging luxuriantly around a countenance which showed all -the freshness of a green old age; “sit thee down, I do beseech thee, and vouchsafe -us thy winning discourse. Where is the chevalier to whom a bard may not do honour?” -</p> -<p>The minstrel’s heart was touched by Sir Patrick’s kind words; his full hazel eye beamed -on him with gratitude; he put his hand to his breast, and modestly bowed his head. -</p> -<p>“My time is already spent, most gentle knight,” said he. “Ere this I am looked for -at the Castle; yet, ere I go hence, let me drink this cup of thanks for thy courtesy. -To thee I wish tender love of fairest lady; and may thy lance, and the lance of thy -brave companion, never be couched but to conquer.” And so draining the draught to -the bottom, he again bowed, and immediately retired. -</p> -<p>“So, Master Kyle,” said Assueton to the host, who returned at this moment, after having -ascertained the country and quality of his new guests, “what hast thou in thy buttery?” -</p> -<p>“Of a truth, Sir Knight, we are now but ill provided for sike guests,” replied Kyle. -“Had it been thy luck to have sojourned here yestere’en, indeed, I wot ye mought ha’ -been feasted. <span class="pageNum" id="pb25">[<a href="#pb25">25</a>]</span>But arrives me my Lord Bishop of Durham at the Castle this morning; down comes me -the seneschal with his buttery-men, and whips me off a whole beeve’s carcase; then -in pour me the people of my Lord Bishop—clerks, lacqueys, and grooms; bolt goes me -a leg of mutton here—crack goes me a venison pasty there—gobble goes me a salmon in -this corner, whilst a whole flock of pullets are riven asunder in that; so that there -has been nothing from sunrise till sundown but wagging of jaws.” -</p> -<p>“Marry, these church-followers are wont to be stout knights of the trencher,” said -Assueton, with a smile. “But let us have a supper from what may be left thee, and -that without more ado.” -</p> -<p>“Anon, courteous Sir Knight,” said Master Kyle, with a grin. “But, as I was a-saying, -there hath been such stuffing; nay ye may know by the clinking of their cans that -the rogues drink not fasting. By the mass, ’tis easy to guess from the seas of ale -they are swallowing, what mountains of good provender they have to float in their -stomachs. Why, yonder lantern-jaws i’ the corner, with a mouth that opens as if he -would swallow another Jonas, and wangs like the famine-ground fangs of a starving -wolf—that same fellow devoured me a couple of fat capons single-head; and that other -churl——” -</p> -<p>“Have done with thine impertinence, villain, said Assueton, interrupting him; “have -done with thine impertinence, I say, and let us straightway have such fare as thou -canst give, or by St. Andrew——” -</p> -<p>“Nay, then, sweet sir,” replied the host, “there be yet reserved some delicate pig’s -liver for myself and Mrs. Kyle, but they shall be forthwith cheerfully yielded to -thy necessities.” -</p> -<p>“Pestilence take thee, knave,” cried Assueton, “couldst thou not have set them down -to us at once, without stirring up our appetites to greater keenness by thine enumeration -of the good things that are gone? Come, come, despatch—our hunger is beyond nicety.” -</p> -<p>Sir John Assueton now sat down to put in practice that patience of hunger, the exercise -of which was one of the chief virtues of knighthood. As for Sir Patrick Hepborne, -his attention was so entirely absorbed by a conversation that ensued at the adjoining -table, to which the Bishop’s people had retired, that he altogether forgot his wants. -</p> -<p>“And was it thy luck to see the Lady Eleanore de Selby, Master Barton?” demanded one -of the persons of the dialogue; “Fame speaketh largely of her perfections.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb26">[<a href="#pb26">26</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Yea, Foster, I did indeed behold her,” replied the other, who seemed to be a person -of more consequence than the rest. “When I entered the Castle-hall this morning, to -receive the commands of my Lord the Bishop, she was seated between him and her father. -They were alone, and the old knight was urging something to her in round soldier-like -terms; but I gathered not the purport of his speech, for he broke off abruptly as -I appeared.” -</p> -<p>“And is she so rare a beauty as folks do call her?” demanded Foster. -</p> -<p>“Verily, so much loveliness did never bless these eyes before,” replied Barton. “Yet -was the sunshine of her face disturbed by clouds. Tear-drops, too, had dimmed the -lustre of her charms. But methought they were more the offspring of a haughty spirit -than of an afflicted heart.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, of a truth, they do say that she lacketh not haughtiness,” observed Foster. -“’Tis whispered that she hath already scorned some noble knights who would fain have -wedded the heiress of the rich Sir Walter de Selby.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, I warrant me she hath had suitors enow, and those no mean ones,” replied Barton. -“What thinkest thou of Sir Rafe Piersie, brother to the gallant Hotspur? Marry, they -say that he deigns to woo her with right serious intent.” -</p> -<p>“Sayest thou so?” exclaimed Foster; “then must the old knight’s gold have glittered -in the young knight’s eyes, that a proud-blooded Piersie should even him thus to the -daughter of him who is but a soldier of Fortune.” -</p> -<p>“Ay, and welcome, I ween, would the old knight’s hard-won wealth be to the empty coffers -of a younger brother who hath never spared expense,” replied Barton. -</p> -<p>“Yea, and high, I wot, mought Sir Walter’s hoar head be held with such a gallant for -his son-in-law,” observed Foster again. -</p> -<p>“Trust me,” said Barton, “he would joyfully part with all the golden fruits he hath -gleaned from Scottish fields, to see this solitary scion from his old stock grafted -on the goodly and towering tree of Northumberland. But they say that the Lady Eleanore -is so hard to win, that she even scorns this high alliance; and if I might guess at -matters the which to know are beyond my reach, I should say, hark ye, that this visit -of our Right Reverend Lord Bishop to Sir Walter de Selby, hath something in it of -the nature of an ambassage from the Piersie touching this same affair.” -</p> -<p>“I do well know our Right Reverend Lord’s affection for that house,” said Foster. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb27">[<a href="#pb27">27</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Nay, he doth stand related to the Piersie in no very distant degree,” replied Barton. -</p> -<p>“Perchance this marriage treaty then had something to do with the lady’s tears,” observed -Foster. -</p> -<p>“Doubtless,” said Barton. “But I mistake if she carrieth not a high brow that will -be ill to bend. Her doting father hath been ever too foolishly fond of her to thwart -her will, till it hath waxed too strong for his opposing. She will never yield, I -promise thee.” -</p> -<p>“Then hath our Bishop lost his travel,” said Foster. “But when returneth our Reverend -Lord homeward?” -</p> -<p>“His present orders are for to-morrow,” replied Barton. -</p> -<p>“How sayst thou, Assueton?” said Hepborne, in a whisper to his friend, after the conversation -between the two strangers had dropped; “how sayst thou now? Did I right, think ye, -to yield to thine importunity, to shun the hospitality of Norham Castle, that we might -hostel it so vilely here i’ the nale of the Norham Tower? Dost thou not grieve for -thy folly?” -</p> -<p>“Why, faith,” replied Assueton, “to thee it may be cause of some regret; and I may -grieve for thee, seeing that thou, an idolater of woman’s beauty, hast missed worshipping -before the footstool of this haughty damsel. Thou mightest have caught a shred of -ribbon from her fair hand, perchance, to have been treasured and worn in thy helmet; -but, for mine own particular part, I despise such toys. Rough, unribboned steel, and -the joyous neighing of my war-steed, are to me more pleasing than the gaudy paraments -and puling parlance of love-sick maidens.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, then, I do confess that my desire to behold this rare beauty hath much grown -by what I have heard,” replied Hepborne. “Would that thou hadst been less indolently -disposed, my friend. We might have been even now in the Castle; and ere we should -have left it, who knows but we might have rescued this distressed damosel from an -alliance she detesteth. Even after all these protestations to the contrary, thine -icy heart mought have been thawed by the fire of her eyes, and the adventure mought -have been thine own.” -</p> -<p>“St. Andrew forbid!” replied Assueton. “I covet no such emprise. I trust my heart -is love-proof. Have I not stood before the lightning-glances of the demoiselles of -Paris, and may I not hold my breastplate to be good armour against all else?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, boast not of this unknightly duresse of thine, Assueton,” replied Hepborne. -“Trust me, thou wilt fall when thine hour cometh. But, by St. Baldrid, I would give -this golden <span class="pageNum" id="pb28">[<a href="#pb28">28</a>]</span>chain from my neck—nay, I would give ten times its worth, to be blessed with but a -sight of her.” -</p> -<p>“Ay,” said Assueton, “thou art like the moth, and wouldst hover round the lamp-fire -till thy wings were singed.” -</p> -<p>“Pshaw, Sir Adamant,” said Hepborne, “thou knowest I have skimmed through many a festal -hall, blazing with bright eyes, and yet are my opinions as whole as thine. But I am -not insensible to woman’s charms as thou art; and to behold so bright a star, perdie, -I should care little to risk being scorched by coming within the range of its rays.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, then, I do almost repent me that I hindered thee from thy design of quartering -in the Castle,” said Assueton. “Thou mightest have levied new war on our ancient and -natural foemen, by snatching an affianced bride from the big house of Northumberland.” -</p> -<p>“Depardieux, but it were indeed a triumph, and worthy of a Scottish knight, to carry -off the Lady Eleanore de Selby by her own consent from the proud Piersie,” said Hepborne. -“But ’tis well enow to jest of.” -</p> -<p>Whilst this dialogue was going on between the two friends, their esquires entered -the place. Mortimer Sang, after reconnoitring the different tables, and perceiving -that there were no convenient places vacant, except at that occupied by the attendants -of the Bishop, went towards it, followed by his comrade Roger Riddel. -</p> -<p>“By your good leave, courteous gentlemen,” said Sang, with a bow, at the same time -filling up an empty space with his person; “I hope no objection to our joining your -good company? Here, tapster,” cried he, at the same time throwing money on the table, -“bring in a flagon of Rhenish, that we may wash away the dryness of new acquaintance.” -</p> -<p>This cheering introduction of the two esquires was received with a smiling welcome -on the part of those to whom it was addressed. -</p> -<p>“Come ye from the south, Sir Squire?” demanded Barton, after the wine had silently -circulated, to the great inward satisfaction of the partakers. -</p> -<p>“Ay, truly, from the south, indeed,” replied Sang, lifting the flagon to his head. -</p> -<p>“Then was I right, Richard, after all,” said Barton, addressing one of his fellows. -“Did I not tell thee that these strangers had none of the loutish Scot in their gait?” -</p> -<p>“Loutish Scot!” cried Sang, taking the flagon from his lips, and starting up fiercely; -“What mean ye by loutish Scot?” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb29">[<a href="#pb29">29</a>]</span></p> -<p>Barton eyed the tall figure, broad chest, and sinewy arms of the Scottish esquire. -</p> -<p>“Nay, I meant thee not offence, Sir Squire,” replied he. -</p> -<p>“Ha!” said Sang, regaining his good-humour; “then I take no offence where none is -meant. Your Scot and your Southern are born foes to fight in fair field; yet I see -no just cause against their drinking together in good fellowship when the times be -fitting, albeit they may be called upon anon to crack each other’s sconces in battle -broil. Thine hand,” said he, stretching his right across the table to the Bishop’s -man, whilst he poised the flagon with his left. “Peraunter thou be’st a soldier, though -of a truth that garb of thine would speak thee to be as much of a clerk as an esquire; -but, indeed, an thy trade be arms, I am bold to say, that Scotland doth not hold a -man who will do thee the petites politesses of the skirmish more handsomely than I -shall, should chance ever throw us against each other. Meanwhile my hearty service -to thee.” -</p> -<p>“Spoke like a true man,” said Roger Riddel, taking the flagon from his friend. “Here, -tapster, we lack wine.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Roger,” said Sang, “but we cannot drink thus fasting. What a murrain keeps that -knave with the——Ha! he comes. Why, holy St. Andrew, what meanest thou, villain, by -putting down this flinty skim-milk? Caitiff, dost take us for ostriches, to digest -iron? Saw I not hogs’ livers a-frying for our supper?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, good master Squire,” said the flaxen-polled lad of a tapster, “sure mistress -says that the livers be meat for your masters.” -</p> -<p>“Meat for our masters, sirrah!” replied Sang; “and can the hostel of Master Sylvester -Kyle, famed from the Borders to the Calais Straits—can this far-famed house, I say, -afford nothing better for a brace of Scottish knights, whose renown hath filled the -world from Cattiness to the land of Egypt, than a fried hog’s liver? Avoid, sinner, -avoid; out of my way, and let me go talk to this same hostess.” -</p> -<p>So saying, he strode over the bench, and, kicking the rushes before him in his progress -towards the door, made directly for the kitchen. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch2" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e222">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER II.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Host and the Hostess—Preparing the Evening Meal.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">On entering the kitchen, Master Mortimer Sang found the <span class="pageNum" id="pb30">[<a href="#pb30">30</a>]</span>hostess, a buxom dame with rosy cheeks, raven hair, and jet-black eyes, busily employed -in cooking the food intended for the two knights. Having already had a glimpse of -her, he remarked her to be of an age much too green for so wintry a husband as Sylvester -Kyle; so checking his haste, he approached her with his best Parisian obeisance. -</p> -<p>“Can it be,” said he, assuming an astonished air—“can it possibly be, that the cruel -Master Sylvester Kyle doth permit so much loveliness to be melted over the vile fire -of a kitchen, an ’twere a piece of butter, and that to fry a paltry pig’s liver withal?” -</p> -<p>The dame turned round, looked pleased, smiled, flirted her head, and then went on -frying. Sighing as if he were expiring his soul, Sang continued,— -</p> -<p>“Ah, had it been my happy fate to have owned thee, what would I not have done to preserve -the lustre of those charms unsullied?” -</p> -<p>Mrs. Sylvester Kyle again looked round, again she smiled, again she flirted her head, -and, leaving the frying-pan to fry in its own way, she dropped a curtsey, and called -Master Sang a right civil and <span class="corr" id="xd31e1171" title="Source: fair spoken">fair-spoken</span> gentleman. -</p> -<p>“Would that thou hadst been mine,” continued Sang, throwing yet more tenderness into -his expression: “locked in these fond arms, thy beauty should have been shielded from -every chance of injury.” So saying he suited the action to the word, and embracing -Mrs. Kyle, he imprinted on her cheeks kisses, which, though burning enough in themselves, -were cold compared to the red heat of the face that received them. Having thus paved -the way to his purpose— -</p> -<p>“What could possess thee, beauteous Mrs. Kyle,” said he, “to marry that gorbellied -glutton of thine, a fellow who, to fill his own rapacious bowke, and fatten his own -scoundrel carcase, starveth thee to death? I see it in thy sweet face, my fair hostess; -’tis vain to conceal it; the wretch is miserably poor; he feedeth thee not. The absolute -famine that reigneth in his beggarly buttery, nay, rather flintery (for buttery it -were ridiculous to call it), cannot suffice to afford one meal a-day to that insatiable -maw of his, far less can it supply those cates and niceties befitting the stomach -of an angel like thyself.” -</p> -<p>Mrs. Kyle was whirled up to the skies by this rhapsody; Master Sylvester had never -said anything half so fine. But her pride could not stand the hits the squire had -given against the poverty of her larder. -</p> -<p>“Nay thee now, but, kind sir,” said she, “we be’s not so bad <span class="pageNum" id="pb31">[<a href="#pb31">31</a>]</span>off as all that; Master, my goodman Kyle hath as fat a buttery, I warrant thee, as -e’er a publican in all the Borders.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay, ’tis impossible, beautiful Mrs. Kyle,” said Mortimer again—“’tis impossible; -else why these wretched pigs’ entrails for a couple of knights, of condition so high -that they may be emperors before they die, if God give them good luck?” -</p> -<p>“La, now there,” exclaimed Mrs. Kyle; “and did not Sylvester say that they were nought -but two lousy Scots, and that any fare would do for sike loons. Well, who could ha’ -thought, after all, that they could be emperors? An we had known that, indeed, we -might ha’ gi’en them emperor’s fare. Come thee this way, kind sir, and I’ll let thee -see our spense.” -</p> -<p>This was the very point which the wily Master Sang had been aiming at. Seizing up -a lamp, she led the way along a dark passage. As they reached the end of it, their -feet sounded hollow on a part of the floor. Mrs. Kyle stopped, set down her lamp, -slipped a small sliding plank into a groove in the side wall made to receive it, and -exposed a ring and bolt attached to an iron lever. Applying her hand to this, she -lifted a trap door, and disclosed a flight of a dozen steps or more, down which she -immediately tripped, and Sang hesitated not a moment to follow her. But what a sight -met his eyes when he reached the bottom! He found himself in a pretty large vault, -hung round with juicy barons and sirloins of beef, delicate carcases of mutton, venison, -hams, flitches, tongues, with all manner of fowls and game, dangling in most inviting -profusion from the roof. It was here that Master Kyle preserved his stock-in-trade, -in troublesome times, from the rapacity of the Border-depredators. Mortimer Sang feasted -his eyes for some moments in silence, but they were allowed small time for their banquet. -</p> -<p>A distant foot was heard at the farther extremity of the passage, and then the angry -voice of Kyle calling his wife. Mortimer sprang to the top of the steps, just as mine -host had reached the trap-door. -</p> -<p>“Eh! what!” exclaimed Kyle with horror and surprise—“A man in the spense with my wife! -Thieves! Murder!” -</p> -<p>He had time to say no more, for Sang grappled him by the throat, as he was in the -very act of stooping to shut the trap-door on him, and down he tugged the bulky host, -like a huge sack; but, overpowered by the descent of such a mountain upon his head, -he rolled over the steps with his burthen into the very middle of the vault. More -afraid of her husband’s wrath than anxious for his safety, Mrs. Kyle put her lamp -on the ground, <span class="pageNum" id="pb32">[<a href="#pb32">32</a>]</span>jumped nimbly over the prostrate strugglers, and escaped. The active and Herculean -Sang, rising to his knees, with his left hand pressed down the half-stunned publican, -who lay on his back gasping for breath; then seizing the lamp with his right, he rose -suddenly to his legs, and, regaining the trap-door in the twinkling of an eye, sat -him down quietly on the floor to recover his own breath; and, taking the end of the -lever in his hand, and half closing the aperture, he waited patiently till his adversary -had so far recovered himself as to be able to come to a parley. -</p> -<p>“So, Master Sylvester Kyle,” said the esquire, “thou art there, art thou—caught in -thine own trap? So much for treating noble Scots, the flower of chivalry, with stinking -hog’s entrails. By’r Lady, ’tis well for thee thou hast such good store of food there. -Let me see; methinks thou must hold out well some week or twain ere it may begin to -putrify. Thou hadst better fall to, then, whiles it be fresh; time enow to begin starving -when it groweth distasteful. So wishing thee some merry meals ere thou diest, I shall -now shut down the trap-door—bolt it fast—nail up the sliding plank—and as no one knoweth -on’t but thy wife, who, kind soul, hath agreed to go off with me to Scotland to-night, -thou mayest reckon on quiet slumbers for the next century.” -</p> -<p>“Oh, good Sir Squire,” cried Kyle, wringing his hands like a maniac, “let me out, -I beseech thee; leave me not to so dreadful a death. Thou and thy knights and all -shall feast like princes; thou shalt float in sack and canary; thou shalt drink Rhinwyn -in barrelfuls, and Malvoisie in hogsheads, to the very lowest lacquey of ye. No, merciful -Sir Squire, thou canst not be so cruel—Oh, oh!” -</p> -<p>“Hand me up,” said Sang, with a stern voice, “hand me up, I say, that venison, and -these pullets there, that neat’s tongue, and a brace of the fattest of these ducks; -I shall then consider whether thou art worthy of my most royal clemency.” -</p> -<p>Mine host had no alternative but to obey. One by one the various articles enumerated -by Sang were handed up to him, and deposited beside him on the floor of the passage. -</p> -<p>“Take these flagons there,” said he, “and draw from each of these buts, that I may -taste.—Ha! excellent, i’ faith, excellent.—Now, Sir knave, those of thy kidney mount -up a ladder to finish their career of villainy, but thy fate lieth downwards; so down, -descend, and mingle with thy kindred dirt.” -</p> -<p>He slapped down the trap-door with tremendous force, bolted it firmly, and replaced -the sliding plank, so that the wretch’s <span class="pageNum" id="pb33">[<a href="#pb33">33</a>]</span>shrieks of horrible despair came deafened through the solid oak, and sounded but as -the moaning of some deep subterranean stream. -</p> -<p>Master Sang had some difficulty in piling up the provender he had acquired, and carrying -it with the flagons to the kitchen. There he found Mrs. Kyle, who, in the apprehension -of a terrible storm from her lord, was sitting in a corner drowned in tears. -</p> -<p>“Cheer up, fair dame,” said Sang to the disconsolate Mrs. Kyle; “thou needest be under -no fear of him to-night. I have left him in prison, and thou mayest relieve him thyself -when thou mayest, and on thine own terms of capitulation. Meanwhile, hash up some -of that venison, and dress these capons, and this neat’s tongue, for the knights, -our masters, and make out a supper for my comrade and me and the rest as fast as may -be. I’ll bear in the wine myself.” -</p> -<p>Mrs. Kyle felt a small smack of disappointment to find that the so lately gallant -esquire, after all he had said, should himself put such an office upon her; but she -dried her eyes, and quickly begirding herself for her duty, set to work with alacrity. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch3" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e232">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER III.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Knights Invited to Norham Castle.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">On the return of Mortimer Sang to the common room, he found that a new event had taken -place in his absence. An esquire had arrived from the Castle, bearing a courteous -message from Sir Walter de Selby, its captain, setting forth that it pained him to -learn that Sir Patrick Hepborne and Sir John Assueton had not made experiment of his -poor hospitality; that their names were already too renowned not to be well known -to him; and that he trusted they would not refuse him the gratification of doing his -best to entertain them, but would condescend to come and partake of such cheer and -accommodation as Norham Castle could yield. An invitation so kind it was impossible -to resist. Indeed, whatever Sir John Assueton might have felt, Sir Patrick Hepborne’s -curiosity to see the fair maid of the Castle was too great to be withstood. The distance -was but short, and Sir Walter’s messenger was to be their guide. Leaving their esquires -and the rest of their retinue, therefore, to enjoy the feast so ingeniously provided -for them by Sang, their horses were ordered out, and they departed. -</p> -<p>The night was soft and tranquil. The moon was up, and her <span class="pageNum" id="pb34">[<a href="#pb34">34</a>]</span>silvery light poured itself on the broad walls of the keep, and the extensive fortifications -of Norham Castle, rising on the height before them, and was partially reflected from -the water of the farther side of the Tweed, here sweeping wildly under the rocky eminence, -and threw its shadow half-way across it. They climbed up the hollow way leading to -the outer ditch, and were immediately challenged by the watch upon the walls. The -password was given by their guide, the massive gate was unbarred, the portcullis lifted, -and the clanging drawbridge lowered at the signal, and they passed under a dark archway -to the door of the outer court of guard. There they were surrounded by pikemen and -billmen, and narrowly examined by the light of torches; but the officer of the guard -appeared, and the squire’s mission being known to him, they were formally saluted, -and permitted to pass on. Crossing a broad area, they came to the inner gate, where -they underwent a similar scrutiny. -</p> -<p>They had now reached that part of the fortress where stood the barracks, the stables, -and various other buildings necessarily belonging to so important a place; while in -the centre arose the keep, huge in bulk, and adamant in strength, defended by a broad -ditch, where not naturally rendered inaccessible by the precipitous steep, and approachable -from one point only by a narrow bridge. Lights appeared from some of its windows, -and sounds of life came faintly from within; but all was still in the buildings around -them, the measured step of the sentinel on the wall above them forming the only interruption -to the silence that prevailed. -</p> -<p>The esquire proceeded to try the door of a stable, but it was locked. -</p> -<p>“A pestilence take the fellow,” said he; “how shall I get the horses bestowed?—What, -ho!—Turnberry—Tom Equerry, I say.” -</p> -<p>“Why, what art thou?” cried the gruff voice of the sentinel on the wall; “what art -thou, I say, to look for Tom Turnberry at this hour? By’r lackins, his toes, I’ll -warrant me, are warm by the embers of Mother Rowlandson’s suttling fire. He’s at his -ale, I promise thee.” -</p> -<p>“The plague ride him, then,” muttered the squire; “how the fiend shall I find him? -I crave pardon, Sirs Knights, but I must go look for this same varlet, or some of -his grooms, for horses may not pass to the keep; and who knoweth but I may have to -rummage half the Castle over ere I find him?” So saying, he left the two knights to -their meditations. -</p> -<p>He was hardly gone when they heard the sound of a harp, <span class="pageNum" id="pb35">[<a href="#pb35">35</a>]</span>which came from a part of the walls a little way to the left of where they were then -standing. The performer struck the chords, as if in the act of tuning the instrument, -and the sound was interrupted from time to time. At last, after a short prelude, a -Scottish air was played with great feeling. -</p> -<p>“By the Rood of St. Andrew,” exclaimed Assueton, after listening for some time, “these -notes grapple my heart, like the well-remembered voice of some friend of boyhood. -May we not go nearer?” -</p> -<p>“Let us tie our horses to these palisadoes, and approach silently, so as not to disturb -the musician,” said Hepborne. -</p> -<p>Having fastened the reins of their steeds, they moved silently in the direction whence -the music proceeded, and soon came in sight of the performer. -</p> -<p>On a part of the rampart, at some twenty yards’ distance, where the wall on the outside -rose continuous with the rock overhanging the stream of the Tweed, they beheld two -figures; and, creeping silently for two or three paces farther, they sheltered themselves -from observation under the shadow of a tower, where they took their stand in the hope -of the music being renewed. The moonlight was powerful, and they easily recognized -the garb of the harper whom they had so lately seen at the hostel. He was seated on -the horizontal ropes of one of those destructive implements of war called an <i>onager</i> or <i>balista</i>, which were still in use at that period, when guns were but rare in Europe. His harp -was between his knees, his large and expressive features were turned upwards, and -his long white locks swept backwards over his shoulders, as he was in the act of speaking -to a woman who stood by him. The lady, for her very mien indicated that she was no -common person, stood by the old man in a listening posture. She was enveloped in a -mantle, that flowed easily over her youthful person, giving to it roundness of outline, -without obscuring its perfections. -</p> -<p>“By St. Dennis, Assueton,” whispered Hepborne to his friend, “’tis the Lady Eleanore -de Selby. The world lies not; she is beautiful.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, then, thine eyes must be like those of an owl, if thou canst tell by this light,” -replied Assueton. -</p> -<p>“I tell thee I caught one glance of her face but now, as the moonbeam fell on it,” -said Hepborne; “’twas beauteous as that of an angel. But hold, they come this way.” -</p> -<p>The minstrel arose, and the lady and he came slowly along the wall in the direction -where the two knights were standing. -</p> -<p>“Tush, Adam of Gordon,” said the lady, in a playful manner, <span class="pageNum" id="pb36">[<a href="#pb36">36</a>]</span>as if in reply to something the harper had urged, “thou shalt never persuade me; I -have not yet seen the knight—nay, I doubt me whether the knight has yet been born -who can touch this heart. I would not lose its freedom for a world.” -</p> -<p>“So, so,” whispered Assueton, “thou wert right, Master Barton; a haughty spirit enow, -I’ll warrant me.” -</p> -<p>“Hush,” said Hepborne, somewhat peevishly; “the minstrel prepares to give us music.” -</p> -<p>The minstrel, who had again seated himself, ran his fingers in wild prelude over his -chords, and graduating into a soft and tender strain, he broke suddenly forth in the -following verses, adapted to its measure:— -</p> -<div class="lgouter"> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">Oh think not, lady, to despise -</p> -<p class="line">The all-consuming fire of Love, -</p> -<p class="line">For she who most his power defies -</p> -<p class="line">Is sure his direst rage to prove. -</p> -<p class="line">Was never maid, who dared to scorn -</p> -<p class="line">The subtle god’s tyrannic sway, -</p> -<p class="line">Whose heart was not more rudely torn -</p> -<p class="line">By his relentless archery.</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">Do what thou canst, that destined hour -</p> -<p class="line">Will come, when thou must feel Love’s dart; -</p> -<p class="line">Then war not thus against his power, -</p> -<p class="line">His fire will melt thine icy heart. -</p> -<p class="line">Oh, let his glowing influence then -</p> -<p class="line">Within thy bosom gently steal; -</p> -<p class="line">For sooth, sweet maid, I say again, -</p> -<p class="line">That all are doom’d Love’s power to feel.</p> -</div> -</div> -<p class="first">“Why, Adam,” exclaimed the lady, as the minstrel concluded, “this is like a prophecy. -What, dost thou really say that I must one day feel this fire thou talkest of? Trust -me, old man, I am in love with thy sweet music, and thy sweet song; but for other -love, I have never thought of any such, and thou art naughty, old man, to fill mine -ears with that I would fain keep from having entrance there.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, lady, say not so,” cried Adam of Gordon, earnestly; “thou knowest that love -and war are my themes, and I cannot ope my lips, or touch my harp, but one or other -must have way with me. How the subject came, I know not; but the verses were the extemporaneous -effusion of my minstrel spirit.” -</p> -<p>“Come, Hepborne,” whispered Assueton, “let us away; we may hear more of the lady’s -secrets than consists with the honour of knights wilfully to listen to.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, I could stay here for ever, Assueton,” replied Hepborne; “I am spell-bound. -That ethereal creature, that <span class="pageNum" id="pb37">[<a href="#pb37">37</a>]</span>enchantress, hast chained me to the spot; and wouldst thou not wish to have more of -that old man’s melody? Methought his verses might have gone home to thee as well as -to the lady.” -</p> -<p>“Pshaw,” said Assueton, turning away, “dost think that I may be affected by the drivelling -song of an old dotard? Trust me, I laugh at these silly matters.” -</p> -<p>“Laugh while thou mayest, then,” replied Hepborne; “thou mayst weep anon. Yet, as -thou sayst, we do but ill to stand listening here. Let us away then.” -</p> -<p>When they reached the spot where their horses were tied, they found that the esquire -who guided them to the Castle had but just returned with Master Turnberry, the equerry, -whose state sufficiently betrayed the manner in which he had been spending his evening, -and showed that the sentinel had not guessed amiss regarding him. He came staggering -and grumbling along. -</p> -<p>“Is’t not hard, think ye, that an honest man cannot be left to enjoy his evening’s -ease undisturbed? I was but drinking a draught of ale, Master Harbuttle.” -</p> -<p>“A draught of ale,” replied Harbuttle; “ay, something more than one draught, I take -it, Master Thomas. But what makest thou with a torch in such a moonshiny night as -this?” -</p> -<p>“Moonshiny,” cried Turnberry, hiccuping; “moonshiny, indeed, why, ’tis as dark as -a pit well. Fye, fye, Mr. Harbuttle, thou must have been drinking—thou must have been -drinking, I say, since thou hast so much fire in thine eyes; for, to a sober, quiet, -cool-headed man like myself, Master Harbuttle, the moon is not yet up. Fye, fye, thou -hast been taking a cup of Master Sylvester Kyle’s tipple. ’Tis an abominable vice -that thou hast fallen into; drink will be the ruin of thee.” -</p> -<p>“Thou drunken sot, thou,” exclaimed Harbuttle, laughing, “dost not see the moon there, -over the top of the keep?” -</p> -<p>“That the moon!” cried Turnberry, holding up his torch as if to look for it; “well, -well, to see now what drink will do—what an ass it will make of a sensible man; for, -to give the devil his due, thou art no gnoffe when thou art sober, Master Harbuttle. -That the moon! Why, that’s the lamp burning in Ancient Fenwick’s loophole window. -Thou knowest he is always at his books—always at the black art. St. Cuthbert defend -us from his incantations!” -</p> -<p>“Amen!” said the squire usher, fervently crossing himself. -</p> -<p>“But what a fiend’s this?” cried Turnberry; “here are two horses, one black and t’other -white. I see that well enow, though thou mayn’t, yet thou would’st persuade me I don’t -know <span class="pageNum" id="pb38">[<a href="#pb38">38</a>]</span>the Wizard Ancient’s lamp from the moon. Give me hold of the reins.” -</p> -<p>But as he stretched forth his hand to take them, he toppled over and fell sprawling -among the horses’ feet, whence he was opportunely relieved by two of his own grooms, -who arrived at that moment. -</p> -<p>“Where hast thou been idling, varlets?” demanded Turnberry, as he endeavoured to steady -himself, and assume the proper importance of authority; “drinking, varlets, drinking, -I’ll be sworn—John Barleycorn will be the overthrow of Norham Castle. See, villains, -that ye bestow these steeds in good litters, and that oats are not awanting. I’ll -e’en return to my evening’s repose.” -</p> -<p>At this moment the lady, followed by Adam of Gordon, came suddenly upon the group -from a narrow gateway, at the bottom of a flight of steps that led from the rampart, -and were close upon Hepborne and his friend before they perceived the two knights. -The lady drew back at first from surprise, and seemed to hesitate for an instant whether -she would advance or not. She pulled her hood so far over her face as to render it -only partially visible; but the flame of Master Turnberry’s torch had flashed on it -ere she did so, and Hepborne was ravished by the momentary glance he had of her beauty. -The lady, on the other hand, had a full view of Sir Patrick’s features, for his vizor -was up. The minstrel immediately recognized him. -</p> -<p>“Lady,” said the old man, “these are the courteous stranger knights who came hither -as the guests of Sir Walter de Selby.” -</p> -<p>“In the name of Sir Walter de Selby, do I welcome them then,” said the lady, with -a modest air. “Welcome, brave knights, to the Castle. But,” added she, hesitatingly, -“in especial am I bound to greet with mine own guerdon of good thanks him who is called -Sir Patrick Hepborne, to whose gentle care I am so much beholden for the safety of -my favourite hawk.” -</p> -<p>“Proudly do I claim these precious thanks as mine own rich treasure, most peerless -lady,” exclaimed Sir Patrick, stepping forward with ardour. “Blessed be my good stars, -which have thus so felicitously brought me, when least expecting such bliss, into -the very presence of a demoiselle whose perfections have already been so largely rung -in mine ears, short as hath yet been my time in Norham.” -</p> -<p>“Methinks, Sir Knight,” replied the lady, in some confusion, “methinks that thy time, -albeit short, might have been better spent in Norham than in listening to idle tales -of me. Will it <span class="pageNum" id="pb39">[<a href="#pb39">39</a>]</span>please thee to take this way? Sir Walter, ere this, doth look for thee in the banquet-hall.” -</p> -<p>“Lady, the tale of thy charms was music to me,” said Sir Patrick; “yet hath it been -but as some few notes of symphony to lure me to a richer banquet. Would that the gentle -zephyrs, which do now chase the fleecy cloud from yonder moon, might unveil that face. -Yet, alas! I have already seen but too much of its charms for my future peace.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Sir Knight,” replied the lady, “this fustian is but thrown away on me. Thy friend, -perhaps, may talk more soberly—Shall I be thy guide, chevalier?” added she, addressing -Assueton. -</p> -<p>“No, no, no,” interrupted Hepborne, springing to her side; “I’ll go with thee, lady, -though thou should’st condemn me to eternal silence.” -</p> -<p>“Here, then, lieth thy way,” said the lady, hurrying towards the bridge communicating -with the entrance to the keep; “and here come the lacqueys with lights.” -</p> -<p>The squire, who had gone in before, now appeared at the door, with attendants and -torches. Hepborne anxiously hoped to be blessed with a more satisfactory view of the -lady’s face than accident had before given him; but as she approached the lights, -she shrouded up her head more closely in her hood, yet not so entirely as to prevent -her eyes from enjoying some stolen glances at the noble figure of Sir Patrick. She -had no sooner got within the archway of the great door, however, than she took a lamp -from an attendant, and, making a graceful obeisance to the two friends, disappeared -in a moment, leaving Sir Patrick petrified with vexation and disappointment. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch4" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e242">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER IV.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Evening Meal at the Castle—The Minstrel and the Tourney of Noyon—Master Haggerstone -Fenwick the Ancient.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Sir Patrick Hepborne was roused from the astonishment the sudden disappearance of -the lady had thrown him into, by the voice of the Squire Usher, who now came to receive -them. -</p> -<p>“This way, Sirs Knights,” cried he, showing them forwards, and up a staircase that -led them at once into a large vaulted hall, lighted by three brazen lamps, hanging -by massive chains from the dark wainscot roof, and heated by one great projecting -chimney. A long oaken table, covered with pewter and wooden <span class="pageNum" id="pb40">[<a href="#pb40">40</a>]</span>trenchers, with innumerable flagons and drinking vessels of the same materials, occupied -the centre of the floor. About a third of its length, at the upper end, was covered -with a piece of tapestry or carpet, and there the utensils were of silver. The upper -portion of the table had massive high-backed carved chairs set around it, and these -were furnished with cushions of red cloth, whilst long benches were set against it -in other parts. The rest of the moveables in the hall consisted of various kinds of -arms, such as helmets, burgonets, and bacinets—breastplates and back-pieces—pouldrons, -vambraces, cuisses, and greaves—gauntlets, iron shoes, and spurs—cross-bows and long-bows, -hanging in irregular profusion on the walls; whilst spears, pikes, battle-axes, truncheons, -and maces, rested everywhere in numbers against them. The floor was strewed with clean -rushes; and a dozen or twenty people, some of whom were warlike, and some clerical -in their garb, were divided into conversational groups of two or three together. -</p> -<p>Sir Walter de Selby, an elderly man, with a rosy countenance, and a person rather -approaching to corpulency, clad in a vest and cloak of scarlet cloth, sat in <i>tête-à-tête</i> with a sedate and dignified person, whose dress at once declared him to be of the -religious profession and episcopal rank. -</p> -<p>“Welcome, brave knights,” said Sir Walter, rising to meet them as the Squire Usher -announced them; “welcome, brave knights. But by St. George,” added he, with a jocular -air, as he shook each of them cordially by the hand, “I should have weened that ye -looked not to be welcomed here, seeing ye could prefer bestowing yourselves in the -paltry hostelry of the village, rather than demanding from old Sir Walter de Selby -that hospitality never refused by him to knights of good fame, such as thine. But -ye do see I can welcome, ay, and welcome heartily too. My Lord Bishop of Durham, this -is Sir Patrick Hepborne, and this, Sir John Assueton, Scottish knights of no mean -degree or renown.” Sir Walter then made them acquainted with the chief personages -of the company, some of whom were knights, and some churchmen of high rank. -</p> -<p>After the usual compliments had passed, the Scottish knights were shown to apartments, -where they unarmed, and were supplied with fitting robes and vestments. Sir Patrick -Hepborne was happy in the expectation of being speedily introduced to the Lady Eleanore; -but, on returning to the hall, he found that she had not yet appeared, and he was -mortified to hear Sir Walter de Selby give immediate orders for the banquet. -</p> -<p>“These gallant knights,” said he, “would, if I mistake not, <span class="pageNum" id="pb41">[<a href="#pb41">41</a>]</span>rather eat than talk, after a long day’s fast. We shall have enow of converse anon. -Bring in—bring in, I say.” And, seating himself at the head of the table, he placed -the Lord Bishop on his right hand, and the two stranger knights on his left, while -the other personages took their places of themselves, according to their acknowledged -rank. Immediately after them came a crowd of guests of lesser note, who filled up -the table to the farther extremity. -</p> -<p>The entertainment consisted of enormous joints of meat, and trenchers full of game -and poultry, borne in by numerous lacqueys, who panted under the loads they carried; -and the dishes were arranged by the sewer, whose office it was to do so. -</p> -<p>When the solid part of the feast had been discussed, and the mutilated fragments removed, -Sir Walter called for a mazer of Malvoisie. The wine was brought him in a silver cup -of no despicable manufacture, and he drank a health to the stranger knights; which -was passed round successively to the Bishop and others, who sat at the upper end, -and echoed from the lower part of the table by those who drank it in deep draughts -of ale. Numerous pledges succeeded, with hearty carouse. -</p> -<p>“Sir Walter,” said Hepborne, taking advantage of a pause in the conversation, “the -fame of thy peerless daughter, the Lady Eleanore de Selby, hath reached our ears: -Shall our eyes not be blessed with the sight of so much beauty? May we not look to -see thy board graced with her presence ere the night passeth away?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Sir Knight,” replied Sir Walter, his countenance undergoing a remarkable change -from gay to grave, “my daughter appeareth not to-night. But why is not the minstrel -here?” exclaimed he aloud, as if wishing to get rid of Hepborne’s farther questioning; -“why is not Adam of Gordon introduced? Let him come in; I love the old man’s music -too well to leave him neglected. Yea, and of a truth, he doth to-night merit a double -share of our regard, seeing that it is to him we do owe the honour of these distinguished -Scottish guests. A chair for the minstrel, I say.” -</p> -<p>A chair was accordingly set in a conspicuous place near the end of the hall. Adam -entered, with his harp hanging on his arm, and, making an obeisance to the company, -advanced towards the top of the table. -</p> -<p>“Ay, ay, come away, old man; no music without wine; generous wine will breed new inspiration -in thee: Here, drink,” said Sir Walter, presenting him with the mantling cup. -</p> -<p>The minstrel bowed, and, drinking health to the good company, <span class="pageNum" id="pb42">[<a href="#pb42">42</a>]</span>he quaffed it off. His tardy blood seemed quickened by the draught; he hastened to -seat himself in the place appointed for him; and, striking two or three chords to -ascertain the state of his instrument, he proceeded to play several airs of a martial -character. -</p> -<p>“Come, come, good Adam, that is very well,” said Sir Walter, as the harper paused -to rest his fingers awhile—“so far thou hast done well; but my good wine must not -ooze out at the points of thy fingers with unmeaning sounds. Come, we must have it -mount to thy brain, and fill thee with inspiration. Allons! Come, drink again, and -let the contents of this cup evaporate from thee in verse. Here, bear this brimming -goblet to him: And then, dost thou hear, some tale of hardy dints of arms; ’tis that -we look for. Nay, fear not for my Lord Bishop; I wot he hath worn the cuirass ere -now.” -</p> -<p>“Thou sayest truly, Sir Walter,” said the Bishop, rearing himself up to his full height, -as if gratified by the remark; “on these our Eastern Marches there are few who have -not tasted of war, however peaceful may have been their profession; and I cannot say -but I have done my part, thanks be to Him who hath given me strength and courage.” -</p> -<p>Adam quaffed off the contents of the cup that had been given him, and, seizing his -harp again, he flourished a prelude, during which he kept his eyes thrown upwards, -as if wrapt in consideration of his subject, and then dashed the chords from his fingers -in a powerful accompaniment to the following verses:— -</p> -<div class="lgouter"> -<h4>THE TOURNEY OF NOYON.</h4> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">Proud was the bearing of fair Noyon’s chivalry, -</p> -<p class="line">Brave in the lists did her gallants appear; -</p> -<p class="line">Gay were their damosels, deck’d out in rivalry, -</p> -<p class="line">Breathing soft sighs from the balconies near. -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">Each to her knight, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">His bright helm to dight, -</p> -<p class="line">Flung her love-knot, with vows for his prowess and might; -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">And warm were the words -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">Of their love-sick young lords, -</p> -<p class="line">Mingling sweet with the tender harp’s heart-thrilling chords. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">But long ere the trumpet’s shrill clamour alarming -</p> -<p class="line">Told each stark chevalier to horse for the strife; -</p> -<p class="line">Ere yet their hot steeds, in their panoply arming, -</p> -<p class="line">Were led forth, their nostrils wide breathing with life; -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">Ere the lists had been clear’d, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">The brave Knollis appear’d -</p> -<p class="line">With his heroes, the standard of England who rear’d; -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">But nor billman nor bowman -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">Came there as a foeman, -</p> -<p class="line">For peace had made friends of these stout English yeomen. -</p> -</div> -<p><span class="pageNum" id="pb43">[<a href="#pb43">43</a>]</span></p> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">As afar o’er the meadows, with soldiers’ gear laden, -</p> -<p class="line">They merrily marched for their dear native land; -</p> -<p class="line">Their banners took sighs from full many a maiden, -</p> -<p class="line">And trembled, as love-lorn each waved her white hand. -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">But see from the troops -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">Where a warrior swoops, -</p> -<p class="line">From the speed of his courser his plume backward droops; -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">’Tis a bold Scottish Knight, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">Whose joy and delight -</p> -<p class="line">Is to joust it in sport—or at outrance to fight. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">His steed at the barrier’s limit he halted, -</p> -<p class="line">And toss’d to his Squire the rich gold-emboss’d rein; -</p> -<p class="line">Cased in steel as he was, o’er the high pales he vaulted, -</p> -<p class="line">And, bowing, cried, “Messieurs Chevaliers, prey deign -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">To lend me an ear— -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">Lo, I’m singly come here, -</p> -<p class="line">Since none of you dared against me to appear. -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">One and all I defy, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">Nor fear I shall fly, -</p> -<p class="line">Win me then, if you can—for my knighthood I try.” -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">Then a huge massive mace round his head quickly whirling, -</p> -<p class="line">He charged their bright phalanx with furious haste, -</p> -<p class="line">And some he laid prostrate, with heads sorely dirling, -</p> -<p class="line">And some round the barrier swiftly he chased. -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">Where’er he attacked, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">The French knighthood backed, -</p> -<p class="line">Preux Chevalier le brave Jean de Roy he thwacked, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">Till his helmet rang well, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">Like the couvre-feu bell— -</p> -<p class="line">By the Rood, but ’twas nearly his last passing knell. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">Then Picardy’s pride, Le Chevalier de Lorris, -</p> -<p class="line">He soon stretch’d on the sand in most pitiful case, -</p> -<p class="line">And he rain’d on the rest, till they all danced a morris -</p> -<p class="line">To the music he played on their mails with his mace. -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">Till tired with his toil, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">He breathed him a while, -</p> -<p class="line">And, bowing again, with a most courteous smile, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">“Adieu, Messieurs!” said he, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">“Je vous rend graces, Perdie! -</p> -<p class="line">For the noble diversion you’ve yielded to me.” -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">Then some kind parting-blows round him willingly dealing, -</p> -<p class="line">That on breastplates, and corslets, and helmets clang’d loud, -</p> -<p class="line">Sending some ten or dozen to right and left reeling, -</p> -<p class="line">He soon clear’d his way through the terrified crowd. -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">O’er the pales then he bounded -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">As all stood confounded. -</p> -<p class="line">To the saddle he leap’d—and his horse’s heels sounded -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">As he spurrd out of sight, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">Leaving proofs of his might, -</p> -<p class="line">That had marr’d the bold jousting of many a knight.</p> -</div> -</div> -<p class="first">Loud applause followed the minstrel’s merry performance, and Sir Walter de Selby called -Adam towards him to reward him with another cup of wine. -</p> -<p>“But thou hast not told us the name of thy mettlesome knight, old bard,” said he. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb44">[<a href="#pb44">44</a>]</span></p> -<p>Adam looked over his shoulder, with a waggish smile, towards Sir John Assueton. -</p> -<p>“’Twas a certain Scottish knight,” said he, “one whose heart was as easily wounded -as his frame was invulnerable—one who was as remarkable for his devotion to the fair -as for his prowess in the field. It was whispered at Noyon that the feat was done -to give jovisaunce to a pair of bright eyes which looked that day from the balcony.” -</p> -<p>“By St. Andrew, but thou art out there, goodman harper,” cried Assueton, caught in -the trap so cunningly laid for him by the minstrel; “trust me, thou wert never more -out in thy life. My heart was then, as it is now, as sound, entire, firm, and as hard -as my cuirass. By’r Lady, I am not the man to be moved by a pair of eyes. No pair -of eyes that ever lighted up a face could touch me; and as to that matter, a—a—” But -observing a smile playing over the countenances of the guests, he recollected that -he had betrayed himself, and stopped in some confusion. The harper turned round to -the host— -</p> -<p>“Sir Walter,” said he, “there never sat within this wall two more doughty or puissant -knights than these. Both did feats of valour abroad that made Europe ring again. Sir -John Assueton was indeed the true hero of my verses. As to his love I did but jest, -for I wot ’tis well known he hath steeled himself against the passion, and hath never -owned it. I but feigned, to draw him into a confession of the truth of my tale, the -which his consummate modesty would never have permitted him to avow.” -</p> -<p>Sir Walter called for a goblet of wine— -</p> -<p>“To the health of the brave knight of Noyon!” cried he. “Well did we all know to whom -the merry minstrel alluded.” -</p> -<p>The health was received with loud applause, and compliments came so thick upon Assueton, -that he blushed to receive them. -</p> -<p>“Load me not thus, courteous knights, load me not thus, I beseech you, with your applause -for a silly frolic. Here sits one,” said he, wishing to turn the tide from himself, -and tapping Hepborne on the shoulder—“Here sits one, I say, who hath done feats of -arms compared to which my boyish pranks are but an idle pastime. This is the Scottish -knight who, at the fight of Rosebarque, did twice recover the flag of France from -the Flemings, and of whom the whole army admitted that the success of that day belonged -to the prowess of his single arm.” -</p> -<p>This speech of Assueton’s had all the effect he desired. Sir <span class="pageNum" id="pb45">[<a href="#pb45">45</a>]</span>Walter was well aware of the renown acquired by Hepborne upon that occasion, and there -were even some at table who had witnessed his glorious feats of arms on that day. -His modesty was now put to a severe trial in its turn, and goblets were quaffed in -honour of him. He looked with a reproachful eye at his friend for having thus saved -himself at his expense; and at last, to get rid of praises he felt to be oppressive, -he signified to his host a wish to retire for the night. Accordingly the Squire Usher -was called, and the two knights were shown to their apartments; soon after which the -banquet broke up, leaving the Lord Bishop and Sir Walter in deep conference. -</p> -<p>As Hepborne and Assueton passed up the narrow stair that led to the apartments appropriated -to them, they were interrupted in their progress by a pair of limbs of unusual length, -that were slowly descending. The confined and spiral nature of the stair kept the -head and body belonging to them entirely out of view; and the huge feet were almost -in Hepborne’s stomach before he was aware. He called out, and the limbs, halting for -an instant, seemed to receive tardy instructions to retire, from the invisible head -they were commanded by, which, judging of the extent of the whole person by the parts -they saw, must have been, at that moment at least, in the second storey above them. -The way being at last cleared, the two friends climbed to the passage leading to their -apartments. Irresistible curiosity, however, induced them to linger for a moment on -the landing-place to watch the descent of a figure so extraordinary. It came as if -measured out by yards at a time. In the right hand was a lamp, carried as high as -the roof of the stair would permit, to enable the bearer to steer his head under it -without injury, and the light being thus thrown strongly upon the face, displayed -a set of features hardly human. -</p> -<p>The complexion was deadly pale, the forehead unusually low and broad, and the head -was hung round with lank tangles of black hair. A pair of small fiery eyes smouldered, -each within the profound of a deep cavity on either side of the nose, that, projecting -a good inch or two nearly in a right angle from the forehead, dropped a perpendicular -over the mouth, almost concealing the central part of that orifice, in which it was -assisted by the enormous length of chin thrust out in a curve from below. The cheekbones -were peculiarly enlarged, and the cheeks drawn lankly in; but the corners of the mouth, -stretching far backwards, were preternaturally expanded, and, by a <span class="pageNum" id="pb46">[<a href="#pb46">46</a>]</span>convulsive kind of twist, each was alternately opened wide, so that, in turn, they -partially exhibited the tremendous grinders that filled the jaws. It is not to be -supposed that Hepborne and Assueton could exactly note these particulars so circumstantially -as we have done; but the uncouth figure moved with so much difficulty downwards, with -a serpentizing sort of course, that they had leisure to remark quite enough to fill -them with amazement. -</p> -<p>The apparition, clad in a close black jerkin and culottes, had no sooner wormed itself -down, than both knights eagerly demanded of the Squire Usher who and what it was. -</p> -<p>“’Tis Master Haggerstone Fenwick, the Ancient,” replied he with a mysterious air. -</p> -<p>“Nay,” said Assueton, “he surely is fitter for hoisting the broad banner of the Castle -upon, than for carrying the colours in the field.” -</p> -<p>“Why, as to that, Sir Knight,” said the Usher, “he might i’faith do well enough for -the banner; and he would be always at hand too when wanted, seeing that he rarely -or ever quitteth the top of the keep. He liveth in the small cap-room, where he must -lig from corner to corner to be able to stretch himself; yet there he sitteth night -and day, reading books of the black art, and never leaveth it, except when he cometh -down as now, driven by hunger, the which he will sometimes defy for a day or two, -and then he descendeth upon the buttery, like a wolf from the mountains, and at one -meal will devour thee as much provender as would victual the garrison for a day, and -then mounteth he again to his den. He is thought to possess terrible powers; and strange -sights and horrible spectres have been seen to dance about the battlements near his -dwelling.” -</p> -<p>“Holy Virgin! and is all this believed by Sir Walter de Selby?” inquired Hepborne<span class="corr" id="xd31e1472" title="Source: ,">.</span> -</p> -<p>“Ay, truly,” said the Usher gravely; “most seriously believed (as why should it not?) -by him, and all in the Castle. But I beseech thee, Sir Knight, let us not talk so -freely of him. Holy St. Mary defend us! I wish he may not take offence at our stopping -him in his way to his meal. Let us not talk more of him. I bid thee good night.” -</p> -<p>“But tell me ere thou goest why we saw not that star of female beauty, the Lady Eleanore -de Selby, at the banquet this evening?” demanded Hepborne. -</p> -<p>“’Tis a fancy of her father’s, Sir Knight,” replied the Squire Usher, smiling; “and, -if it may not offend thee, ’tis because he willeth not that the lady may marry her -with a Scottish chevalier, <span class="pageNum" id="pb47">[<a href="#pb47">47</a>]</span>that he ever doth forbid her entrance when any of thy nation are feasted in his hall.” -</p> -<p>“It irketh me to think that we should have caused her banishment,” said Hepborne. -“What, is she always wont to keep her chamber on like occasions<span class="corr" id="xd31e1483" title="Source: .">?</span>” -</p> -<p>“Yea,” replied the Squire Usher, “ever save when the evening air is so bland as to -suffer her to breathe it upon the rampart. She is often wont to listen to the minstrel’s -notes there. But there are your chambers, Sirs Knights. The squires of your own bodies -will be with you in the morning. Sir Walter hath issued orders for the admission of -your retinue into the Castle. And he hopes you will sojourn with him as long as your -affairs may give you sufferance. Good night, and may St. Andrew be with you.” -</p> -<p>The two friends separated, and quickly laid themselves down to repose. The hardy and -heart-whole Assueton slept soundly under the protection of his national saint, to -whom he failed not to recommend himself, as a security against the incantations of -the wizard. Nor did Sir Patrick Hepborne neglect to do the same; for these were times -when the strongest minds were subject to such superstitions. But his thoughts soon -wandered to a more agreeable subject. He recalled the lovely face he had seen, and -he sighed to think that he had not been blessed with a somewhat less transitory glance -of features which he would have wished to imprint for ever upon his mind. -</p> -<p>“Why should her father thus banish her from the eyes of all Scotchmen? By the Rood, -but it can and must be only from the paltry fear of his wealth going to fatten our -northern soil. But I can tell him that there be Scots who would cheerfully take her -for her individual merit alone, and leave her dross to those sordid minds who covet -it.” -</p> -<p>Such was Sir Patrick’s soliloquy, and, imperfect as his view of the lady had been, -it was sufficient to conjure up a vision that hovered over his pillow, and disturbed -his rest, in defiance of the good St. Andrew. Having lain some time awake, he heard -the laborious ascent of the Ancient Fenwick to his dwelling in the clouds; but fatigue -at length vanquished his restlessness, and he had been, for some hours, in a deep -sleep, ere another and a much lighter footstep passed up in the same direction. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch5" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e252">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER V.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Night at the Castle—The Friar’s Visit to the Ancient.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The Ancient Fenwick was sitting drawn together into a farther <span class="pageNum" id="pb48">[<a href="#pb48">48</a>]</span>corner of his den. His everlasting lamp was raised on a pile of manuscript volumes -near him, that it might throw more light on a large parchment roll that lay unfolded -on the floor before him. His right elbow rested on the ground, and the enormous fingers -of his hand embraced and supported his head; while his eyes, burning without meaning, -like two small red fragments of ignited charcoal, could have been supposed to be occupied -with the characters before them, only from the position of his face, which was so -much turned down that the tangled hair, usually drooping from behind, was thrown forwards -over his ears. He was so absorbed that he heard not the soft barefooted tread of the -step on the stair, or as it approached his den along the vaulted roof of the keep. -</p> -<p>The person who came thus to have midnight converse with him, stooped his head and -body to enter the low and narrow doorway, and halted with his head thrust forward -within it to contemplate the object he was about to address. -</p> -<p>“Ancient Fenwick,” said he, after a pause of some moments. -</p> -<p>Fenwick started at the sound of the voice, and looked towards the little doorway. -A pair of keen eyes glared upon him from beneath a dark cowl; and, plunged as he had -been in the mysteries of conjuration, it is not wonderful that he should have believed -that the Devil himself had appeared to further his studies. -</p> -<p>“Avaunt thee, Sathanas!” exclaimed he, speaking with the alternate sides of his mouth, -and drawing himself yet more up into the corner—“I say unto thee, Sathanas, avaunt?” -</p> -<p>“What?” said the figure, creeping into the place, and seating himself on the floor -opposite to him, “what! Master Ancient Fenwick, dost thou wish to conjure up the Devil, -and yet art afraid to look on him? I weened that thou hadst been a man of more courage -than to be afraid of a friar coming to thee at midnight.” -</p> -<p>Fenwick made an exertion to compose himself, seeing his visitor bore all the externals -of a mortal about him. -</p> -<p>“And what dost thou see in me,” said he, in his usual harsh, discordant, and sepulchral -utterance, “that may lead thee to think differently!” -</p> -<p>“Umph, why, nothing—nothing now,” said the monk, bending his brows, and throwing a -penetrating glance from under them into the Ancient’s face; “nothing now, but methought, -for a conjuror, thou wert rather taken unawares.” -</p> -<p>“And who art thou, who thus darest to disturb my privacy?” demanded Fenwick, somewhat -sternly, and advancing his body <span class="pageNum" id="pb49">[<a href="#pb49">49</a>]</span>at the same time, from the more than ordinarily constrained attitude he had assumed. -</p> -<p>The monk drew up his lips so as to display a set of long, white teeth, and raising -his eyelids so as to show the white of his eye-balls, he glared at the Ancient for -some time, and then slowly pronounced in a deep voice, “The Devil! what wouldst thou -with me now?” -</p> -<p>In a paroxysm of terror, Fenwick again drew himself up in his corner, with a force -as if he would have pressed himself through the very wall; his teeth chattered in -his head, and he sputtered so vehemently with the alternate corners of his mouth, -that his words were unintelligible, except that of “Sathanas,” frequently repeated. -The monk relaxed his features, and, with a scornful laugh, and a look of the most -sovereign contempt— -</p> -<p>“So,” said he, “thou must confess now that I proved thy courage to be in my power. -I banished it with a look and a word. But ’tis not with thy courage I have to do at -present; ’tis thy cunning I want.” -</p> -<p>“Art thou then verily no devil?” demanded the Ancient, doubtingly. -</p> -<p>“Tush, fool, I am a poor monk of the order of St. Francis; so calm thy craven fears, -and listen to me.” He paused for some moments, to give Fenwick time to recollect himself, -and when he saw that the latter had in some degree regained his composure: “Now listen -to me, I say. Thou knowest doubtless that the Bishop of Durham came to Norham Castle -this morning?” He waited for a reply. -</p> -<p>“I did hear so,” answered the Ancient, “when I went down to take food.” -</p> -<p>“Knowest thou what he came about?” demanded the Franciscan. -</p> -<p>“I know not, I inquired not,” replied the Ancient. -</p> -<p>“Then I will tell thee,” proceeded the Franciscan—“Sir Rafe Piersie, brother to the -noble Hotspur, has stooped to fix his affection on the Lady Eleanore de Selby; he -has deigned to court her for his bride, and has met with ready acceptance from her -father. Not sufficiently sensible of this his great condescension, the lady has treated -his high offer with neglect—with indifference. Her father, a weak man, though eager -for so splendid an alliance, hath allowed himself to be trifled with by the silly -girl, who hath done all she could to oppose it, though to the sacrifice of her own -happiness. But Sir Rafe Piersie, being too much love-stricken, abandoneth not the -demoiselle so easily. He therefore availeth himself of his ally the Bishop of <span class="pageNum" id="pb50">[<a href="#pb50">50</a>]</span>Durham, to urge, through him, his suit with the lady, and to endeavour to stir up -Sir Walter to a more determined bearing with his daughter, should she continue in -her obstinacy. I shall not tell how I know, yet I do know, that the lady treated the -proposals of the Bishop, as well as the name and person of the renowned Piersie, with -contempt. His efforts to rouse Sir Walter de Selby to the assertion of his rights -as a father, have, however, been more successful. The old man, who passionately desireth -great connexion, even became irritated against her obstinacy. But Sir Rafe Piersie, -wisely considering that a peaceful religious pastor was not the fittest instrument -for his purpose, judgeth it right to put hotter and more efficient irons in the work. -Unknown to the Bishop, and unknown to every one, therefore, he hath deputed me to -seek thee and to urge thee to aid his plans. Now, Master Ancient Fenwick, thou hast -the whole intricacies of the affair; thou understandest me, dost thou not?” -</p> -<p>The Franciscan paused for a reply, and tried to read the face of him he was addressing; -but it was in vain he tried it, for, except when very strongly excited by the passion -of fear, or something equally forcible, the features of the Ancient were at all times -illegible. After twisting and smacking the alternate corners of his mouth, which was -always his prelude to speaking, and which even his actual utterance did not always -go much beyond— -</p> -<p>“Well,” said he, “and what can I do in this matter? What can magic do in it?” -</p> -<p>“Magic!” exclaimed the Franciscan; “pshaw, fool that thou art, thinkest thou that -thou canst impose upon me as thou dost on the common herd of mankind?—on one who hath -dived into the arcana of nature as I have done? Thinkest thou that an active mind -like mine hath not searched through all the books of these divinals—hath not toiled -by the midnight lamp, and worked with their uncouth and horrible charms and incantations? -Thinkest thou——” -</p> -<p>“Hast thou so, brother?” exclaimed the Ancient, eagerly interrupting him; “hast thou -in truth studied so deeply?” Then throwing his body earnestly forward, “Perhaps thou -wilt clear up some small difficulties that have arisen in my path towards perfection -in the invaluable art.” -</p> -<p>The Franciscan paused. He saw at once that he had so far mistaken his man. The Ancient, -whilst engaged in deceiving others, had also succeeded in deceiving himself, and was -in truth a believer in the art he professed. To undertake the barren <span class="pageNum" id="pb51">[<a href="#pb51">51</a>]</span>task of convincing him of his error was foreign to the Franciscan’s present purpose; -and seeing that Fenwick, in his eagerness for an accession to his knowledge of magic, -had mistaken the contemptuous expressions he had thrown out against it for the approbation -and eulogy of an adept, he deemed it best to permit him to continue in his mistake, -nay, rather to foster it. He therefore commenced a long and very mystical disquisition -on necromancy, answering all his questions, and solving all his doubts, but in such -a manner, that although Fenwick, at the moment, firmly believed they were solved, -yet, when he afterwards came to look back into his mind, he could find nothing there -but a vast chaos of smoke and ashes, from which he in vain tried to extract anything -tangible or systematic. -</p> -<p>But this is not to our point. The Franciscan gained all he wanted, in acquiring a -certain ascendancy over his mind by pretended superiority of knowledge—an ascendancy -which he afterwards hoped to bring to bear towards the object of his mission; and -to this object he gradually led the Ancient back from the wide waste of enchantment -he had been wandering over. -</p> -<p>“Thou art indeed much more learned in the sublime art than I did at first suppose -thee,” said the Franciscan at length, gravely; “thy study hath been well directed; -and now that I have poured the mere drop of knowledge I possessed into the vast ocean -flowing in thy capacious head, thou art well fit to be my master. Some of those ingredients -I talked of are of high price; thou must buy them with gold.” -</p> -<p>“Ah!” exclaimed Fenwick; “but where shall I find gold to buy them withal?” -</p> -<p>The Franciscan groped in the canvas pouch that hung at his girdle of ropes, and, drawing -forth a leathern bag, with a weight of broad gold pieces in it, he threw it down on -the floor between the Ancient’s knees. -</p> -<p>“There!” said he; “Sir Rafe Piersie sends thee that; ’tis to secure thee as his friend. -Use thine art magic in his favour, to incline the haughty damosel to his wishes. Thou -mayest do much with her father. ’Tis well known that the old knight looketh with awe -upon thy powers. Thou art thyself aware that thou canst bend him as thou wilt; he -doth hold thee as his oracle. Work upon his fears, then; work upon him, I say, to -compel this marriage—a marriage the which is so well calculated to gratify his desire -of high family alliance. He is ignorant that thou knowest of the negotiation; to find -that thou dost, when he supposes that it is only known to the chief parties, will -increase his veneration for thy skill. Exert thy <span class="pageNum" id="pb52">[<a href="#pb52">52</a>]</span>power over him; he is weak, and thou mayest easily make him thy slave. Stimulate him -to firmness, to severity, nay, if necessary, to harshness with his daughter. Thou -knowest ’tis for his happiness, as well as for the happiness of the silly damosel, -that she should be coarted. Then do thy best to screw him up to the pitch of determination -that may secure her yielding. I leave it to thyself to find out what schemes and arguments -thou must employ. The world lies if thou canst not invent enow to make him do as thou -wouldst have him. Remember, the Piersie is thy friend, as thou mayst do him proper -service. There are more bags of broad pieces in the same treasury that came from. -And now I leave thee to the hatching of thy plans. Let them be quickly concerted, -and speedily put in execution, for your Piersie never was famous for patience. Farewell, -and may powerful spirits aid thee!” -</p> -<p>The Franciscan gathered up his grey gown, drew his cowl over his face, and, creeping -on hands and knees to the door, disappeared in a moment. -</p> -<p>The Ancient remained for some minutes in stupid astonishment, with his back against -his corner, and his vast length of limbs stretched across the floor. He almost doubted -the reality of the vision that had appeared to him. He drew up his knees to his mouth, -and the leathern bag appeared. He thought of the Devil as he seized it; and, as he -poured the glittering gold into his broad palm, he almost expected to see the pieces -change into dried leaves, cinders, slates, or some such rubbish. Twice or thrice the -thought recurred that it might have been the Great Tempter himself who had visited -him. The hour—the place—the difficulty of anything mortal reaching him there, through -all the intricacies of a well-watched garrison—the great knowledge displayed by the -unknown—all contributed to support the idea that his visitor was something more than -man. Then, on the other hand, he remembered the friar’s bare feet, that were certainly -human. He again looked at the broad pieces of gold; they were bright, and fresh, and -heavy as he poised them. His confidence that they were genuine became stronger, and -he slipped them into the bag, and the bag into an inner pocket of his black jerkin, -resolving that they should be the test of the reality of the seeming friar. -</p> -<p>The Ancient had been for many years plunged in the study of necromancy. His uncouth -appearance, and awkward ungainly port, rendered him so unfit for the gay parade of -war, that Sir Walter de Selby had more than once refused him that promotion to which -he was entitled in the natural course of <span class="pageNum" id="pb53">[<a href="#pb53">53</a>]</span>things, and of which he had been very ambitious. This rankled at his heart, and made -him shun his fellows, slight the profession of arms, and take to those studies that, -in so superstitious a period, met with the readiest belief and reverence, and from -which he hoped to discover the means of gratifying both his ambition and his avarice. -His necromantic fame, increased by tales hatched or embellished by the fertile imaginations -of weak and superstitious minds, rapidly grew among all ranks; and Sir Walter de Selby -was as firm a believer in his powers as the meanest soldier under his command. He -readily excused the Ancient from all duty; so that, being thus left to the full and -undisturbed possession of that solitary cap-house he had himself selected for his -habitation, he became so immersed in his work that he rarely left it, except when -driven by hunger to seek food. Living so entirely secluded as he did, it is not to -be wondered at that he had hardly seen a female face. As for Lady Eleanore, he had -never beheld her since her childhood, until a few days previous to the time we are -now speaking of, when, having been led by some extraordinary accident beyond the walls -of the keep, he had met her by chance in the court-yard; and the young lady was alarmed -by the appearance of the strange monster, who blocked up her way to the bridge, and -stood surveying her with his horrible eyes, that she fled from him precipitately. -It must be admitted, then, that he was but little calculated to produce any favourable -change on her mind in behalf of Sir Rafe Piersie, unless, indeed, it were by the art -magic. With that brave old soldier of fortune, Sir Walter de Selby, he was much more -likely to be successful, since the chief wish of his heart was that his daughter and -his wealth should be the means of allying him with some family eminent for the grandeur -of its name, as well as for its power and influence. It was a grievous disappointment -to him that he had had no son; but as he had been denied this blessing, he now looked -forward to having a grandson, who might give him good cause to be proud, from the -high rank he should be entitled to hold in the splendid galaxy of English chivalry. -He was far from being without affection for his daughter; yet his affection was in -a great measure bottomed upon these his most earnest wishes and hopes; and of all -this the Ancient, Mr. Haggerstone Fenwick, was very sufficiently aware. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb54">[<a href="#pb54">54</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch6" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e263">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER VI.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Making Love on the Ramparts.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">When Sir Patrick Hepborne and Sir John Assueton arose in the morning, they found their -own squires and lacqueys in attendance. The busy note of preparation was in the Castle-yard, -and they were told that the Bishop of Durham was just taking his departure. -</p> -<p>The mitred ecclesiastic went off on an ambling jennet, accompanied by the knights -and churchmen who had come with him, and followed by a long cavalcade of richly-attired -attendants; and he was saluted by the garrison drawn up in array, and by the guards -as he passed outwards. He was, moreover, attended by Sir Walter and his principal -officers, who rode half a day’s journey with him. The two friends were thus left to -entertain themselves until the evening. Assueton occupied himself in studying the -defences of the place, whilst Hepborne loitered about the exterior of the keep, and -the walls commanding a view of its various sides, in the hope of being again blessed -with a sight of the Lady Eleanore. -</p> -<p>As he was surveying the huge mass of masonry, so intently that a bystander might have -supposed that he was taking an account of the number of stones it was composed of, -the lady appeared at one of the high windows on the side facing the Tweed. The knight -had his eyes turned in a different direction at the moment, so that she had a full -and undisturbed view of him, as he stood nearly opposite to her on the rampart, for -some time ere he perceived her. He turned suddenly round, and she instantly withdrew; -but not before he had enjoyed another transient glimpse of that face which had already -created so strong a sensation in his breast. -</p> -<p>“Provoking!” thought Hepborne; “yet doth the very modesty of this angelic lady lead -me the more to admire her. Unbending spirit, said that knave at the hostel? She is -as gentle as a dove. Would I could behold her again.” -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick stepped back upon the rampart so as to have a better view inwards, and -he was gratified by observing that her figure was still within the deep window, though -her face was obscured by its shade. He recognized the rose-coloured mantle she had -formerly appeared in. He kissed his hand and bowed. He saw her alabaster arm relieve -itself from the mantle, and <span class="pageNum" id="pb55">[<a href="#pb55">55</a>]</span>beheld the falcon he had rescued seated on her glove. She stepped forward in such -a manner to return his salute, that he enjoyed a sufficient view of her face to make -him certain that he was not mistaken in the person. The lady pointed with a smile -to her falcon, kissed it, waved an acknowledgment of his courtesy, and again retreating, -disappeared. -</p> -<p>As Sir Patrick was standing vainly hoping for her re-appearance, the old minstrel, -Adam of Gordon, chanced to come by. Hepborne saluted him courteously. -</p> -<p>“Canst thou tell me whose be those apartments that do look so cheerily over the Tweed -into Scotland?” demanded he. -</p> -<p>“Ay,” said the old man, “’tis, as thou sayest, a cheering prospect; ’tis the country -of my birth, and the country of my heart; I love it as lover never loved mistress.” -</p> -<p>“But whose apartments be those?” demanded Hepborne, bringing him back to the question. -</p> -<p>“Those are the apartments of the Lady Eleanore de Selby,” replied the minstrel. -</p> -<p>“Is it thy custom to play thy minstrelsy under the moonlight on the rampart, as thou -didst yestere’en?” demanded Hepborne. -</p> -<p>“Yea, I have pleasure in it,” said Adam, with a shrewd look. -</p> -<p>“And art thou always so attended?” demanded Hepborne; “is thy music always wont to -call that angel to thy side whom I last night beheld there?” -</p> -<p>“So thou dost think her an angel, Sir Knight?” cried Adam, with pleasure glancing -in his eyes. -</p> -<p>“I do,” said Sir Patrick. “Already hath my heart been wounded by the mere momentary -glances to which chance hath subjected me, and eagerly do I look for a cure from those -eyes whence my hurt doth come. She is beautiful.” -</p> -<p>“Yea,” said old Adam, “and she is an angel in soul as well as in form. But St. Andrew -keep thee, Sir Knight, I must be gone;” and he hurried away without giving Hepborne -time to reply. -</p> -<p>Assueton now came up, and Sir Patrick detailed to him the occurrences we have just -narrated, after which he walked about, looking every now and then impatiently towards -the window. -</p> -<p>“Would I could have but one more sight of the Lady Eleanore,” cried he; “her features -have already become faint in my mind’s eye; would I might refresh the picture by one -other gaze.” But the lady appeared not; and he became vexed, <span class="pageNum" id="pb56">[<a href="#pb56">56</a>]</span>and even fretful, notwithstanding all his resolution to the contrary. -</p> -<p>“Hepborne, my friend,” said Sir John Assueton, “why shouldst thou afflict thyself, -and peak and pine for a silly girl? A knight of thy prowess in the field may have -a thousand baubles as fair for the mere picking up; let it not irk thee that this -trifle is beyond thy reach. Trust me, women are dangerous flowers to pluck, and have -less of the rose about them than of the thorn.” -</p> -<p>“Pshaw!” replied <span class="corr" id="xd31e1583" title="Source: Heyborne">Hepborne</span>, “thou knowest not what it is to love.” -</p> -<p>“No, thank my good stars,” answered Assueton, “I do not, and I hope I shall never -be so besotted; it makes a fool of a man. There, for instance, thou art raving about -a damosel, of whose face thou hast seen so little that wert thou to meet her elsewhere -thou couldst never tell her from another.” -</p> -<p>“It is indeed true, Assueton,” replied Hepborne, “that I have seen but too little -of her face; but I have seen enough of it to know that it is the face of an angel.” -</p> -<p>In such converse as this did they spend the day until the evening’s banquet. Then -Sir Walter exhibited the same hospitality towards his guests that had characterised -him the night before; but he seemed to be less in spirits, nay, he was even sometimes -peevish. Hepborne, too, being restless and unhappy, mirth and hilarity were altogether -less prevalent at the upper end of the festal board than they had been the previous -evening. The minstrel, however, was not forgotten, and was treated with the same personal -attention as formerly; but he sang and played without eliciting more than an ordinary -meed of applause. At last he struck some peculiarly powerful chords on the instrument, -and as Hepborne turned his head towards him, in common with others, at the sound, -old Adam caught his eye, and looking significantly, began to pour forth the following -irregular and unpremeditated verse:— -</p> -<div class="lgouter"> -<p class="line">’Twas thus that a minstrel address’d a young knight, -</p> -<p class="line">Who was love-lorn, despairing, and wan with despite, -</p> -<p class="line">What, Sir Knight, canst thou gain by these heart-rending sighs? -</p> -<p class="line">The hero ne’er pines, but his destiny tries, -</p> -<p class="line">And pushes his fate with his lance in the rest, -</p> -<p class="line">Whether love or renown be his glorious quest. -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1597">Let not those who droop for Love -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1597">Fly in grief to wild Despair, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1597">She, wither’d witch, can ne’er remove -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1597">The cruel unkindness of the fair. -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">Then with the gladd’ning ray -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">Of Hope’s bright star to cheer thee, -<span class="pageNum" id="pb57">[<a href="#pb57">57</a>]</span></p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">Do thou still press thy way, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">Nor let obstructions fear thee. -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">True love will even bear -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">A hasty moment’s slighting, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">And boldly will it dare, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">Nor ever fear benighting. -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">’Twill often and again -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">Return, though ill entreated; -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">’Twill blaze beneath the rain; -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">Though frozen, ’twill be heated. -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1632">When least thy thoughts are turn’d on joy, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">The smiling bliss is nigh; -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1632">No happiness without alloy -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1342">Beneath the radiant sky. -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1632">But haste to-night, to meet thy love -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1642">Upon the Castle-wall; -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1632">Thou know’st not what thy heart may prove, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e1642">What joy may thee befal.</p> -</div> -<p class="first">These seemingly unmeaning verses passed unnoticed by all at table except by Hepborne, -on whom they made a strong impression. He was particularly struck by the concluding -stanza, containing an invitation which he could not help believing was meant to apply -to himself. He resolved to visit the ramparts as soon as he could escape from the -banquet. This he found it no very difficult matter to accomplish, for Sir Walter was -abstracted, and evidently depressed with something that weighed on his spirits; so, -taking advantage of this circumstance, Hepborne rose to retire at an early hour. His -friend followed him, and, when left to the secresy of their own apartments— -</p> -<p>“Assueton,” said Sir Patrick, “didst thou remark the glance, full of meaning, which -the minstrel threw on me to-night? or didst thou note the purport of his ditty?” -</p> -<p>“As for his glances,” replied Sir John, “I noticed nothing particular in them; your -bards are in use to throw such around them, to collect their barren harvest of paltry -praise; and as for his verses, or rather his rhymes, I thought them silly enow in -conscience. But thou knowest I do rarely listen when love or its follies are the theme.” -</p> -<p>“But I saw, and I listened,” replied Hepborne. “By St. Denis, they carried hints to -me that I shall not neglect. I go to take the air on the ramparts, and hope to meet -the angelic Eleanore de Selby there.” -</p> -<p>“Art thou mad?” said Assueton. “What can old Adam have looked or said that can induce -thee to go on such a fool’s errand? Thou hast but fancied; thy blind passion hath -deceived thee.” -</p> -<p>“I shall at least put his fancied hints to the proof,” said Hepborne, “though I should -watch all night.” -</p> -<p>“Then I wish thee a pleasant moonlight promenade,” said <span class="pageNum" id="pb58">[<a href="#pb58">58</a>]</span>Assueton. “I’ll to my couch. To-morrow, I presume, we shall cross the Tweed, and yede -us into Scotland. By St. Andrew, I would gladly meet again with those well-known faces -whose smiles once reflected the happiness of my boyhood!” -</p> -<p>“Go to-morrow!” exclaimed Hepborne, as if their so speedy departure was far from being -agreeable in the contemplation; “surely thou wilt stay, Assueton, if thou seest that -thy so doing may further my happiness?” -</p> -<p>“Nay,” replied Assueton, “thou needst hardly fear that I will scruple to sacrifice -my own wishes to thy happiness, Hepborne; but I confess I would that my happiness -depended on some more stirring cause, and one in which we both could join.” -</p> -<p>Here the friends parted. Hepborne, wrapped up in a cloak, stole gently down stairs, -and slipping unperceived from the keep, bent his steps towards that part of the ramparts -where he had formerly seen the lady. To his inexpressible joy, he saw the minstrel -already on the spot. There were two ladies in company with the old man. As Sir Patrick -passed near the base of the tower under which he and his friend had concealed themselves -the night before, a huge figure began to rear itself from under it, throwing a shadow -half-way across the court-yard. It looked as if the tower itself were in motion. He -stood undaunted to observe it, as it gradually arose storey over storey. It was the -Ancient Fenwick. His enormous face looked downwards upon Hepborne, and his red cinder-like -eyes glared upon him as he sputtered out some unintelligible sounds from the corners -of his mouth, and then moved away like a walking monument. -</p> -<p>Whilst Hepborne’s attention was occupied in observing the retreat of the monster, -who seemed to have secreted himself there for no good purpose, the minstrel, and the -two ladies who were with him, had already walked down the rampart until they were -lost within the shade of a projecting building. He began to fear that they were gone, -but he soon saw one of them, whom he believed to be the attendant, emerge from the -shadow and retire by a short way to the keep, whilst the other returned along the -wall with the minstrel. As they stopped to converse, the lady leaned on one of the -engines of war. A breeze from the Tweed threw back the hood of her mantle, and Hepborne -could no longer doubt it was the Lady Eleanore de Selby he saw. Her long and beautiful -hair streamed down, but she hastily arranged it with her fingers, and then came onwards -with Adam of Gordon. Sir Patrick flew to the rampart and sprang on the wall. The lady -was alarmed at first by his <span class="pageNum" id="pb59">[<a href="#pb59">59</a>]</span>sudden appearance, but perceiving immediately that it was Sir Patrick Hepborne, she -received him graciously yet modestly. -</p> -<p>“The soft and perfumed air of this beauteous night,” said Hepborne, “and yonder lovely -moon, lady, tempted me forth awhile; but what bliss is mine that I should thus meet -with her who, in softness, sweetness, and beauty, doth excel the Queen of Night herself!” -</p> -<p>“Sir Patrick Hepborne, thou art at thy fustian again,” replied the lady seriously. -“This high-flown phrase of thine, well suited though it may have been to the pampered -ears of Parisian damsels, sorteth but ill with plainness such as mine. Meseems,” continued -she somewhat more playfully, “meseems as if the moon were thy favourite theme. Pray -Heaven that head may be right furnished, the which hath the unstable planet so often -at work within it.” -</p> -<p>“And if I am mad, as thy words would imply,” said Hepborne, smiling, “’tis thou, lady, -who must answer for my frenzy; for since I first saw thee last night, I have thought -and dreamt of thee alone.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Sir Knight,” said the lady, blushing, “methinks it savours of a more constitutional -madness to be so affected by so short a meeting. We were but some few minutes together, -if I err not.” -</p> -<p>“Ay, lady,” said Adam of Gordon, significantly; “but love will work miracles like -this.” -</p> -<p>“’Tis indeed true,” said the lady, with a sigh; and then, as if recollecting herself, -she added, “I have indeed heard of such sudden affections.” -</p> -<p>“Ay,” said Sir Patrick, “and that fair falcon of thine! Depardieux, I begin to believe -that he was Cupid himself in disguise, for ever sith I gave the traitor lodgment in -my bosom, it hath been affected with the sweet torment the urchin Love is wont to -inflict. My heart’s disease began with thy hawk’s ensayning.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, then, much as I love him,” said the lady, “yet should I hardly have purchased -his health, I wot, at the price of that of the gallant knight who did so feelingly -redeem it.” -</p> -<p>“Heaven’s blessings on thee for thy charity, lady,” exclaimed Hepborne; “yet should -I rejoice in my disease were it to awaken thy sympathy, so that thou mightest yield -me the healing leechcraft that beameth from those eyes.” -</p> -<p>“Verily, my youth doth lack experience in all such healing skill,” said the lady. -</p> -<p>“Nay, ’tis a mystery most easily learned by the young,” <span class="pageNum" id="pb60">[<a href="#pb60">60</a>]</span>replied Hepborne. “Thou dost possess the power to assuage, if not to heal, my wound,” -added he tenderly. “Let me but be enlisted among the humblest of the captives whom -thine eyes hath made subject to thy will; and albeit thy heart may be already given -to another, spurn not the adoration of one whose sole wish is to live within the sphere -of thy cheering influence, and to die in thy defence.” -</p> -<p>“In truth, Sir Knight, these eyes have been guiltless of any such tyranny as thou -wouldst charge them withal,” replied the lady, artlessly; “at least they have never -wilfully so tyrannized. As for my heart, it hath never known warmer feeling than that -which doth bind me to him to whom I owe the duty of a daughter.” -</p> -<p>“Then is thy heart unenthralled,” cried Hepborne in an ecstacy, in the transport of -which he threw himself on one knee before her who had produced it. “Refuse not, then, -to accept my services as thy true and faithful knight. All I ask is, but to be allowed -to devote my lance to thy service. Reject not these my vows. Cheer me with but one -ray of hope, to nerve this arm to the doing of deeds worthy of the knight who calleth -himself thy slave. I swear——” -</p> -<p>“Swear not too rashly, Sir Knight,” said the lady, with a deep sigh, and with more -of seriousness than she had yet displayed, “to one such as me, to one so obscure——” -</p> -<p>“Obscure, lady!” cried Hepborne, interrupting her; “Hath not high Heaven stamped thee -with that celestial face and form to place thee far above all reckonings of paltry -pedigree? What, then, is that obscurity which may have dimmed the birth of so fair -a star? What——” -</p> -<p>“Nay,” said the lady, interrupting him with an air of uncommon dignity and animation, -“obscure though mine origin may be, Sir Patrick, yet do I feel within me that which -doth tell me that I might match with princes.” -</p> -<p>“Lady, I well know thy high and justly-grounded pretensions,” said Hepborne, in a -subdued tone; “yet scorn not mine humble devotion.” -</p> -<p>“I scorn thee not, Sir Knight,” said the lady, with combined modesty and feeling, -and again sighing deeply; “it would indeed ill become me to scorn any one, far less -such as thee; nor is my heart insensible to the courtesy thou hast been pleased to -show to one who——” -</p> -<p>“Thanks, thanks, most peerless of thy sex,” cried Hepborne, gazing with ecstacy in -her face, that burned with blushes even under the cold light of the moon. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb61">[<a href="#pb61">61</a>]</span></p> -<p>“But in truth it beseemeth me not to stand talking idly with thee thus, Sir Knight,” -said the lady, suddenly breaking off; “I must hie me to my chamber.” -</p> -<p>“Oh, stay, sweet lady, stay—one moment stay!” cried Hepborne; “rob me not of thy presence -until thou hast left me the cheering prospect of meeting thee to-morrow.” -</p> -<p>“I hope Sir Walter hath induced thee and thy friend to tarry some longer space in -Norham; if so, it will pleasure me to meet thee again,” said the lady, with a trembling -voice. -</p> -<p>“Then trust me I go not from Norham, betide me what may,” cried Sir Patrick, energetically. -“But tell me, lady, I entreat thee, when these eyes may be again blest with thy presence; -give me hope, the which is now the food I feed on.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, in sooth, I can enter into no arrangements,” said the lady, with yet greater -agitation; “but,” said she, starting away, “I have tarried here too long; in truth, -Sir Patrick Hepborne, I must be gone; may the Holy Virgin be with thee, Sir Knight!” -</p> -<p>“And may thou be guarded by kindred spirits like thyself!” cried Sir Patrick, earnestly -clasping his hands, and following her with his eyes as she hastily retreated with -old Adam. -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick took several turns on the walls, giving way to the rapture which this -meeting had occasioned him, and then hastened to regain his apartment, where he laid -himself down not to repose, but to muse on the events of the evening. -</p> -<p>“The minstrel was right,” thought he; “the good Adam’s prophecy did not deceive me. -She admitted that her heart was free, and she confessed, as far as maiden modesty -might permit her, that she is not altogether without an interest in me. She was pleased -with the idea of our farther stay at Norham; and in her confusion she betrayed, that -to meet me again would give her pleasure. And she shall meet me again—ay, and again; -mine excellent Assueton’s patience must e’en bear some days’ longer trial, for go, -at least, I shall not. Days, did I say? ha! but let events determine.” With such happy -reflections, and yielding to a train of the most pleasing anticipation, he amused -himself till he fell asleep. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch7" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e273">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER VII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Midnight Meeting in the Ancient’s Chamber—Strange Proposal—A Dreadful Alternative.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">It was past the hour of midnight, when all in the Castle had <span class="pageNum" id="pb62">[<a href="#pb62">62</a>]</span>been for some time still, save when the sentinels on the ramparts repeated their prolonged -call, that a footstep was again heard upon the stair leading to the top of the keep. -It was the heavy, slow step of Sir Walter de Selby. He carried a lamp in his hand, -and often stopped to breathe; but at last he made his way to the roof, and sought -the aerial den of the monstrous Ancient. He went thither, deluded man, imagining that -he went of his own free will; but the crafty Ancient had taken secret measures to -insure his coming. -</p> -<p>When the good old knight had sought the little private oratory within his chamber, -immediately after his attendants had retired, he was fearfully dismayed by observing -a blue lambent light flitting over the surface of an ancient shield that hung above -a small altar within a dark Gothic recess. In that age of ignorance, a circumstance -so unaccountable might have shaken the firmest nerves; but it had been the shield -of his father, a bold moss-trooper, and from him he had learned that this was the -ill-omened warning sign that was always said to appear to foretell some dire calamity -affecting him or his issue. With extreme agitation of mind he at once recurred to -recent events for an explanation of it. During his ride with the Bishop of Durham, -that prelate had repeated the arguments he had employed the day before, particularly -in the long conference they had held after the banquet, to fortify him in the resolution -of pressing the Lady Eleanore into a marriage with Sir Rafe Piersie; and, indeed, -Sir Walter’s heart was so eagerly set on the accomplishment of a union in every respect -equal to his most sanguine wishes, that little eloquence was necessary to convince -him of the propriety of urging his daughter to it by every means in his power. Nay, -although she was his only child, and that he so doted on her as to have got into a -habit of yielding to every wish she expressed, yet this was a point on which he was -very easily brought to adopt a determined line of conduct with her. She had somewhat -provoked him, too, by the license she had given her tongue in presence of the Bishop, -when she indulged herself in ridiculing the very august person he was proposing to -her as a husband; and the knight’s passion at the moment had so far got the better -of his affection, that he spoke to her with a degree of harshness he had never used -before. His after conversations with the Bishop had now brought him to the determination -of compelling the Lady Eleanore to a marriage so much to her advantage, and so flattering -to his own hopes of high alliance. So firmly was he fixed in this resolution, that, -in a meeting he had with his daughter after his return from <span class="pageNum" id="pb63">[<a href="#pb63">63</a>]</span>accompanying the Bishop, he withstood all her entreaties, and steeled himself against -all her grief, and all her spirited remonstrances. After such an interview, it is -not surprising that Sir Walter should have immediately supposed that the menacing -prodigy, which now appeared before his eyes, had some reference to the purposed marriage -of the Lady Eleanore. On all similar occasions of threatened misfortune, he had been -for some years accustomed to apply for counsel to the cunning Ancient Fenwick, whom -he believed to possess supernatural powers of foretelling and averting the greatest -calamities; nay, he had more than once been convinced of the happy effects of his -interference in his behalf. His impatience to seek him at present, therefore, was -such that he could hardly restrain himself until he had reason to think that all eyes -in the Castle were closed but his own. He paced his chamber in a state bordering on -distraction, stopping from time to time at the door of the oratory to regard the terrific -warning, and wringing his hands as he beheld it still flitting and playing over the -surface of the shield. -</p> -<p>He was no sooner certain, however, that he might move from his apartment without risk -of observation, than he seized his lamp, and, as we have seen, sought the lonely cap-house -of the Ancient. The small door of the place was closed. So strongly were men’s minds -bound by the thraldom of superstition in those days, that the gallant Sir Walter de -Selby, who had so often faced the foe like a lion in the field, and who would even -now have defended the Castle of Norham to the uttermost extremity, yea, so long as -one stone of its walls remained upon another—this brave old warrior, I say, absolutely -trembled as he tapped at the door of the wretched Ancient Haggerstone Fenwick, who -once formed his most common subject of jest. He tapped, but no answer was returned; -he listened, but not a sound was heard. He tapped again—and again he tapped louder. -He called the Ancient by his name; but still all was profound silence. He hesitated -for some moments, in doubt what to do. At last he brought himself to the determination -of pushing the door up. He bent down on his knees to force it, and it yielded before -his exertions; but the sight which met his eyes so appalled him, that he was unable -at first to advance. -</p> -<p>The Ancient Fenwick, to all appearance dead, lay stretched, with his arms and legs -extended on the floor. His face had the leaden hue of death on it; and a small orb, -composed of a number of points of bluish lambent flame, like that so ominously illuminating -the shield, flitted on his forehead—a book of necromancy lay open on the floor—his -lamp burned on the <span class="pageNum" id="pb64">[<a href="#pb64">64</a>]</span>usual pile of volumes—and, on a temporary altar, composed of several folios, raised -one above the other against the wall, were placed a human skull, and thigh bones, -and an hour-glass. Immediately over these a number of cabalistical figures were described -with charcoal on the plaster; and a white rod seemed, from the position it lay in, -to have been pointed towards them, and to have fallen from his hand, as if he had -been suddenly struck down in the very act of conjuration. -</p> -<p>Sir Walter was so overpowered with horror and superstitious fear, that some moments -elapsed ere he could summon up resolution to creep into the place and examine the -body more narrowly. He looked down on the hidous ghastly face, over which the magical -flame still flitted. The small fiery eye-balls glared—but they were still; not a feature -moved, nor was there the slightest sound or appearance of respiration. Scarcely bearing -to behold such a spectacle, the old knight looked timorously around him, afraid that -the demon, who had done this fearful work upon his disciple, might appear to annihilate -him also. In truth his terrors so far overcame him, that he was just about to retreat -hastily, when he observed a certain spasmodic twitch about the mouth, which soon afterwards -became powerfully convulsed, writhing from side to side, and throwing the whole features -of the countenance into the most fearful contortions. By degrees, the convulsion seemed -to extend itself along the muscles of the body, arms, and limbs, until the whole frame -was thrown into violent agitation; unintelligible sputtering sounds came from the -alternate corners of the mouth; and Sir Walter quaked to hear the name of “Sathanas” -often repeated energetically. At last, by a convulsion stronger than the rest, the -head and body were erected, and, after a little time, the Ancient seemed to recover -the use of his senses, and the command over his muscles, as well as of his powers -of utterance. -</p> -<p>“What, Master Ancient Fenwick, hath befallen thee?” exclaimed Sir Walter, in a voice -almost indistinct from trepidation; “tell me, I beseech thee, what hath happened.” -</p> -<p>“My brain burneth,” cried the Ancient, with a hideous yell, and striking his forehead -with the palms of both hands, after which the flame no longer appeared. Then, after -a pause, “Where am I?” said he, staring wildly around, “Where am I? Ha! I see I am -again in the world of men. What?” exclaimed he, with surprise, on beholding Sir Walter, -“art thou here? How camest thou to this place?” -</p> -<p>“My friend,” replied the old knight, “my excellent friend, I <span class="pageNum" id="pb65">[<a href="#pb65">65</a>]</span>came to consult thee; I came to take counsel from thy superhuman knowledge—thy knowledge -gathered from converse with the spirits of another world.” -</p> -<p>“Another world!” exclaimed the Ancient, in a sepulchral voice—“in another world, didst -thou say? Ay, I have indeed long had converse here, face to face, with some of its -blackest inmates: but never till this night,” added he, shuddering, “did I visit its -fiery realms.” -</p> -<p>“Where hast thou been, then?” asked the knight, in a tone of alarm. -</p> -<p>“In hell!” cried the Ancient, with a horrible voice that chilled the very blood in -Sir Walter’s brains. “Yes,” continued he, “I have visited those dreadful abodes; but -I may not tell their awful secrets. Some, it is true, I am permitted to disclose, -if I can bring myself to speak of them—of things on which depend the fate of thyself -and thy daughter, and deeply affecting thy country’s weal.” -</p> -<p>“What, good Ancient, hast thou learned, that may affect me or my daughter? I do beseech -thee, let me straightway be informed. The blue fire burns on my father’s shield to-night; -some dreadful calamity impends.” -</p> -<p>“Ha! saidst thou so?” cried the Ancient, with a sudden start. “The blue fire, saidst -thou? Signs meet then; prodigies combine to overwhelm thee.” -</p> -<p>“They do, indeed, most terribly,” said the knight, shuddering with alarm. -</p> -<p>“Their portent is direful,” said the Ancient, groaning deeply. -</p> -<p>“In mercy tell me by what means they may be averted,” anxiously inquired Sir Walter. -</p> -<p>“Nay,” said the Ancient, with a desponding air, “’tis thyself who art bringing them -on thine own head.” Then, after a long pause—“Thou art about to marry thy daughter -to the brother of the Piersie?” -</p> -<p>“By what miracle knowest thou this?” demanded Sir Walter, in amazement. -</p> -<p>“Ask me not by what miracle I know this,” replied the Ancient, “after what thou hast -thyself witnessed. Have I not been in the world below? Do I not know all things? Do -I not know that Sir Rafe Piersie hath sought the hand of the Lady Eleanore?—that he -hath been scorned by her?—that even the Lord Bishop of Durham’s influence hath been -employed by him to incline thee to the match; and that, overcome by his counsels, -thou art about to compel thy daughter to accept of his hand? Yea, all this do I know, -to the veriest item of the <span class="pageNum" id="pb66">[<a href="#pb66">66</a>]</span>conversation held between thee; and now, canst thou doubt whence I have had this knowledge?” -</p> -<p>Sir Walter replied not, but groaned deeply. -</p> -<p>“Sit down by me,” said the Ancient, “and listen to me. ’Tis registered in the dread -Book of Fate,” continued he solemnly, “that if this marriage be concluded, consequences -the most direful will result from it. First, thy daughter shall produce a son, of -countenance so inhuman, that it shall be liker that of a wild boar than a man; and -the monstrous birth will produce the death of the mother. Then the child shall grow -up, and wax exceeding strong, so that his might shall overmatch that of the most powerful -men. But though his mind shall not ripen in proportion, yet shall his passions terribly -expand themselves; and, after murdering thee, from whom he shall have sprung, he shall -gather unto himself a host of demons of his own stamp, and lay waste the fair face -of England, cruelly slaying and oppressing its innocent people for the space of ten -years, when he shall be at last overthrown by a Scottish army, which being brought -against him, shall subdue and enslave our nation.” -</p> -<p>The white hairs of the aged Sir Walter bristled on his head as he listened to this -dreadful prophecy. The scourge with which his country was menaced was worse, in his -eyes, than even his own unhappy fate. -</p> -<p>“Tell me, oh tell me, most excellent Ancient,” said he, in the agony of despair, “tell -me, I entreat thee, how this awful mass of approaching misery may be averted.” -</p> -<p>“There is only one way to shield yourself and mankind from the threatened curse,” -replied the Ancient tardily, and rather as if he felt difficulty in bringing it out; -“there is only one course to pursue, but it is such that, slave as thou art to the -prejudices of the world, it is vain to hope that even the dread of these impending -calamities will induce thee to adopt it.” -</p> -<p>“Talk not so, good Ancient, talk not so,” cried the old knight impatiently, “There -is nothing I would not do—Holy Virgin, forgive me!—there is nothing I would not do -honestly to prevent this threatened curse from arising, to the destruction of my family -and my country.” -</p> -<p>“Sayest thou so?” said the Ancient, calmly shaking his head, as if in doubt; “I will -put thee to the proof then. It is written, as I have already declared, in the Book -of the Fates of men, that this marriage shall take place, and that from it shall proceed -this two-edged sword, to smite both thee and England, unless thou shalt bestow thy -daughter on one whom—but thou wilt never condescend——” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb67">[<a href="#pb67">67</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Nay,” impatiently interrupted the knight, “better she should marry any honest man -of good family than that she should be suffered to match so proudly only to be the -mother of destruction to herself, to me, and to her country.” -</p> -<p>“Thou sayest well,” calmly replied the Ancient; “but the Fates have not left the choice -of her mate to thee or to her. Yet hear me patiently, and thou shalt know all. Thou -art not ignorant that I have long abjured the pitiful affairs of men. ’Tis now more -than fifteen years since, quitting their society, I have devoted myself to those studies -by which thou hast more than once benefited. I have sacrificed all earthly prospects -and enjoyments for the sake of that sublime knowledge which doth enable me to foresee -and control coming events; and it is to me a reward in itself so great, as to make -every other appear despicable in comparison with it. But though I have forsworn the -world, yet cannot I rid myself of attachment to thee; my early feelings must tie me -to thee and thine for ever. Thou hast had proofs of this devotion too often, to require -me to repeat that it doth exist; but I am now prepared to give thee a demonstration -of it yet stronger than any thou hast hitherto received from me.” -</p> -<p>“Kind, excellent Ancient,” exclaimed the grateful Sir Walter, “I well know the care -with which thou hast watched over the welfare of my house; I feel the magnitude of -the debt I owe thee, and ’tis with gratitude I acknowledge it. What is it, I beseech -thee, thou canst do?” -</p> -<p>“Yes,” exclaimed the Ancient, with a show of much feeling, “yes; I will sacrifice -myself. I will come forth again into the haunts of deceitful and cold-blooded men. -I will give up all I prize—my quiet, my solitude—to save thee and thine from the destruction -that impendeth. On my part there shall be no failure, however at war with my habits -and inclinations the sacrifice may be. ’Tis upon thyself, therefore—upon thine own -decision—that thine own fate, and the fate of thy daughter, and of thy country, must -depend.” -</p> -<p>“Name, name, I entreat thee, the terms!” cried the anxious old knight; “name the conditions -that I must fulfil; tell me what I must do, and no time shall be lost in carrying -it into effect.” -</p> -<p>The Ancient paused for some moments, during which he looked into the face of the knight -with his fiery inexpressive eyes, and then, with slow and solemn, though harsh utterance—“I -must espouse thy daughter, the Lady Eleanore!” said he. “The Fates have willed it -so; no other remedy doth now <span class="pageNum" id="pb68">[<a href="#pb68">68</a>]</span>remain against the overwhelming destruction thou art doomed to behold.” -</p> -<p>This fatal declaration—this dreadful contrast to all those hopes of splendid alliance -which had filled Sir Walter’s thoughts, came upon him like a thunderbolt, and was -perfectly annihilating. He could not stand the bitter alternative that was thus presented -to him. Overcome by his feelings, he threw himself back among the straw composing -the lair of the monster he had been listening to, and, covering his eyes with the -palms of his hands, he, hardy soldier as he was, burst into a flood of tears. -</p> -<p>A grim meteor smile of inward satisfaction shot over the pallid face of the impostor. -</p> -<p>“Ay,” said he, “no one can expect thee to match thy daughter with such as me. Better -that she should give birth to ten thousand such demons as her fated marriage with -the brother of the Piersie is infallibly destined to produce—better that she should -die, and thou be cruelly murdered by the parricidal hand of thine inhuman grandchild, -than that thou shouldst call such a wretch as me son. Thy determination hath been -well taken; ’tis like a good soldier, as thou art, to brave the Fates. I thank thee, -too, for mine emancipation from the vow I had resolved to subject myself to for thy -sake. My time, and my quiet, and my solitude, shall be again mine own, and my darling -studies shall receive no interruption.” -</p> -<p>“Is there no other alternative?” cried the distracted father, rising with energy from -the position he had thrown himself into. -</p> -<p>“None!” replied the Ancient. “But that thou mayest be ignorant of no tittle of what -it so deeply concerns thee to know,” continued he after a pause, “it is destined that -if ever I do so espouse me, my son shall be the most perfect model of bravery and -of virtue that ever England saw; and that, taking the proud name of de Selby, he shall -wax exceeding mighty, and, leading a small band of gallant youths, march into Scotland -as a conqueror, until at last, dethroning the monarch of the North, he shall himself -be proclaimed king of that country, and, uniting himself by marriage with the King -of England, he and his posterity shall reign for twelve centuries. To look farther -into futurity is denied; but enow hath been told thee to point out the way that doth -lie before thee. The space of three days and three hours is given thee to choose thy -daughter’s destiny. And now,” continued the Ancient, putting out his hand to the hour-glass, -and solemnly inverting it; “and now the stream of thy time beginneth to run; see how -the sand floweth down—a portion of it hath already glided away; so will the rest, -till the <span class="pageNum" id="pb69">[<a href="#pb69">69</a>]</span>period assigned thee be irrecoverably gone. ’Twere better that thou shouldst retire -to thy chamber, to weigh well the fates of thy daughter, for the balance of her destinies -is in thine hand.” -</p> -<p>The impostor paused. The agitated mind of Sir Walter de Selby had eagerly grasped -at the flattering picture which the Ancient had so cunningly reserved to the last, -and which was so perfectly in harmony with every wish of the old man’s heart. In his -contemplation of it, he had almost forgotten the uncouth son-in-law destined to make -him the grandfather of a hero, who was to raise the glory of his country’s arms so -high, and who was at last to become a King of Scotland. His pride was peculiarly flattered -by the notion of the name of de Selby being retained to become eventually royal; and -he began to reason with himself as he sat, that it was but stooping to present humiliation -in order to rise to the summit of human ambition. The crafty Ancient saw the working -of his mind, from its operation on his honest countenance, as well as if he had been -thinking audibly. -</p> -<p>“Such proud prospects of an issue so glorious tempt not me,” said he. “These dark -volumes, and the retirement of this unseemly chamber, whence the stars can be most -easily conversed with, are to me worth a world of such. But for thee, if thou demandest -it of me, the sacrifice shall be made; and shouldst thou make me the humble instrument -of the salvation and exaltation of thyself and issue, it would,” said he, with an -affectation of extreme humility, “be no more, after all, than burying good seed in -the soil of a dunghill, to see it buxion with the more vigour, shoot the more aloft, -and rear its proud head far above the meagre plants on higher but more sterile spots. -But it is matter worthy of grave thought. Yet judge me not as I seem—the poor, the -wretched inmate of this owlet’s nest. Why am I so? Even because I despise all those -gewgaws men esteem most valuable, and covet only that most precious of all jewels—the -perfection of knowledge. Thinkest thou that it would not help me to all the rest, -were it my pleasure to command them? Thinkest thou that I could not command worldly -wealth and honours, were I to fancy such baubles? Wouldst thou have me conjure up -gold? Lo!—there!” said he, plucking the leathern bag from his jerkin, and emptying -the shining contents of it on the ground, to the astonishment of Sir Walter; “a little -midnight labour would raise me up a hoard that might purchase the earth itself. But -what is the vile dross to me? Nay, I would not inundate the wretched world with that -which hath already caused sufficient human misery. To pour out more <span class="pageNum" id="pb70">[<a href="#pb70">70</a>]</span>would be to breed a more accursed scourge than e’en thy grandson Piersie will prove.” -</p> -<p>“Talk not of him,” exclaimed the knight in terror; “the very thought of his existence -is racking to me. I want not time for consideration on a point so plain. I do now -resolve me on the alliance with thee. Sir Rafe Piersie comes to-morrow morning; I -shall break with him abruptly—and then, my resolution being taken, my daughter must -yield to the irresistible decrees of Fate.” -</p> -<p>With these words Sir Walter rose to his knees, and snatching up his lamp, scrambled -hastily to the door, and stole softly down to his apartment. He looked with fear and -trembling into the oratory, when, to his extreme relief, he saw that the ominous flame -had left the fatal shield, and he retired to his couch in a state of comparative composure. -</p> -<p>“So,” said the Ancient, in grim soliloquy, after Sir Walter’s footsteps had died away -on the stairs—“so the hook is in thy nose, and thou shalt feel the power, as well -as the vengeance, of him thou didst despise and make thy mock of. Thou didst thwart -mine ambition; but my helm ere long shall tower amid the proudest crests of chivalry, -and wealth and honours, yea, and the haughty smile of beauty too, shall be at my will. -This is indeed to rise by mine abasement, even beyond the highest soaring of those -early hopes which this man did so cruelly level with the earth. The thought is ecstasy.” -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch8" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e283">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER VIII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Arrival of Sir Rafe Piersie—The Challenge.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Sir John Assueton was early astir next morning, for his head was so filled with the -remembrance of those friends and scenes of his youth, he now hoped to revisit after -a long absence, that he was impatient to depart from Norham Castle. He had already -given orders to the squires to hold themselves in readiness, and he had visited the -stable, where Blanche-etoile neighed a recognition to his master, and was spoken to -with the kindness of a friend. The knight then ascended the ramparts to enjoy a short -promenade; and there he was soon afterwards joined by Hepborne, who came springing -towards him, urged by an unusual flow of spirits. -</p> -<p>“Good morrow, Hepborne,” said Assueton; “I am glad to see thee so alert this morning. -I have looked at our steeds; <span class="pageNum" id="pb71">[<a href="#pb71">71</a>]</span>they are as courageous as lions, and as gamesome as kids. They will carry us into -Scotland with as much spirit as we shall ride them thither. After breaking our fast, -and bestowing our meed of thanks on the good old knight for his hospitality, we may -yet make our way o’er many a good mile of Scottish ground ere yonder new-born sun -shall sink in the west.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, my dear Assueton,” said Hepborne, “what need hast thou for such haste? Hadst -thou some fair damsel in Scotland—some lady bright, who, with her swan-like neck stretched -towards the mid-day sun, looketh day after day from her lofty towernet, with anxious -eyes, in the hope of descrying thee, her true and constant Knight—hadst thou such -a fair one as this, I say, impatience might indeed become thee; but what reason hast -thou, despiser of the lovely sex as thou art, to long for a change of position? By -the Rood of St. Andrew, I begin to believe that thou art no such woman-hater as thou -wouldst pretend, and that all this seeming coldness of thine is nothing but thy laudable -constancy to some Scottish maid, who hath thine early-pledged vows of love in keeping.” -</p> -<p>“Thou art welcome to rally me as it may please thee, Hepborne,” replied Assueton, -with a smile: “but, on the faith and honour of my knighthood, I have not seen the -maiden for whom I would go three ells from my intended path, except for common knightly -courtesy, or to redress some grievous wrong. Nay, nay, thou knowest my natural duresse—that -my heart is adamant to all such weak impressions. Perdie, I cannot understand how -any such affect the good, hardy, soldier-like bosom, though I do observe the melancholy -truth exampled forth, in daily occurrence, with those around me. But I perceive thy -drift, my politic friend. To assail is the best tactique against being assailed. Thou -camest forth conscience-stricken, and being well aware that thy foolish fondness of -this masquing damosel of the Castle here would come under my gentle lash, to divert -the attack against thyself, thou dost begin to skirmish against me. But I see well -enow ’tis the Lady Eleanore’s attraction that would keep thee here.” -</p> -<p>“It is e’en so, I candidly confess it,” replied Hepborne. “I candidly confess it, -dost mark me? so, throwing myself at thy feet, I cry for quarter.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, an thou dost disarm me thus,” replied Assueton, “I can say no more.” -</p> -<p>“Oh, Assueton, Assueton, my bel ami,” said Hepborne, enthusiastically, “I was the -happiest of human beings last night. I did indeed meet her on the ramparts. Old Adam -of Gordon <span class="pageNum" id="pb72">[<a href="#pb72">72</a>]</span>was a good seer; nay, perchance, though as to that I know not, he may have been Cupid’s -messenger. Yet, hold! Depardieux, I do her most foul wrong in so supposing; for she -hath too much maiden modesty to have been guilty of so much boldness. But, be that -as it may, her words—her looks—were kind and most encouraging. She did blushingly -confess that her heart had known no other affection than that which she bears towards -her venerable father. She half admitted that I was not altogether indifferent to her; -she did utter a hope that we should remain her father’s guests for some longer space; -yea, and she even admitted that to see me again would give her pleasure. Then her -accents were so sweet, and her demeanour so gentle—Oh, Assueton, she is in very truth -an angel! But what is all this to thee, thou Knight of Adamant? I forgot that I might -as well speak to the stones of these walls of amorets and love passages, as to Sir -John Assueton.” -</p> -<p>“Thou art right, i’ faith, Hepborne,” replied Assueton; “they say walls have ears, -whilst I, in good earnest, may with truth enow be said to have none for such matters, -since they do irk whenever the theme of love is handled in their hearing. Yet my friendship -for thee bids me listen to thy ravings, and compassion for thy disease makes me watch -the progress of its symptoms, as I should do those of any other fever. From all thou -hast said, then, I would gather that thou wouldst fain loiter off another day or two, -to catch fresh smiles and deeper wounds from the Lady Eleanore. Is’t not so, Hepborne?” -</p> -<p>“In truth, Assueton,” replied Sir Patrick, “her whole deportment towards me last night -hath buoyed me up with hope, yea, and hath even led me to flatter myself that I am -not indifferent to her, Scot though I be. At so critical a period, then, I cannot -go, my dear Assueton; and I am sure thy good nature will never allow thee to abandon -thy friend in the crisis of his distemper.” -</p> -<p>“No, Hepborne,” said Assueton, laughing, “I shall certainly not be so little of a -Christian knight as to abandon thee when thine estate is so dangerous. Well, then, -I must wait thy time, I suppose. But parfoy I must have some rounds of the tiltyard, -were it but to joust at the quintaine, or Blanche-etoile and I too will lose our occupation. -Wilt thou not take a turn with me for exercise? But soft—I need not talk to thee of -any such thing, for yonder comes the cause of thy malady.” -</p> -<p>“By St. Dennis, it is she indeed!” exclaimed Hepborne: “that is the very mantle she -wore. But who is that cavalier <span class="pageNum" id="pb73">[<a href="#pb73">73</a>]</span>on whose arm she hangs so freely?” added he with a jealous tone and air. -</p> -<p>“St. Genevieve! but he is a tall, proper, handsome knight,” said Assueton. -</p> -<p>“Pshaw?” said Hepborne pettishly, “I see nothing handsome about him; meseems he hath -the air of a sturdy swineherd.” -</p> -<p>“Is not that the Lady Eleanore de Selby?” inquired Assueton of a sentinel who walked -on the ramparts at some little distance from where the knights then stood. -</p> -<p>“Ay, in truth, it is she,” replied the man, stopping to look at her. -</p> -<p>“And who may yonder knight be with whom she holds converse?” demanded Hepborne eagerly. -</p> -<p>“By the mass, I know not, Sir Knight,” replied the man as he turned to tread back -his measured pace; “I never saw him before, that I knows on.” -</p> -<p>But notwithstanding the unfavourable remark which jealousy had made Hepborne cast -on the stranger’s appearance, he could not help secretly confessing that the knight -with whom the Lady Eleanore had come forth from the keep, and on whose arm she was -now leaning with so little reserve, was indeed very handsome, even noble-looking. -An esquire waited for him at the end of the bridge, with two magnificently-caparisoned -black horses. The lady seemed to be a drag on his steps, and to keep him back, as -it were, with a thousand last words, as if with a desire of prolonging the few remaining -minutes of their converse. On his part he displayed signs of the tenderest affection -for her; and after they had crossed the bridge tardily together, she threw herself -upon his mailed neck, and he enfolded her in his arms, both remaining locked together -for some moments in a last embrace. The warrior then tore himself from her, and vaulting -on his steed, struck the pointed steel into his sides, and galloped off at a desperate -pace. The lady, leaning on the balustrades of the bridge, rested there a little space, -and then turning slowly towards the door of the keep, disappeared. -</p> -<p>The two knights commanded a full though distant view of this scene of dumb show, from -the part of the rampart where they then stood. Assueton turned his eyes with compassion -upon his friend to observe its effect upon him. He was standing like a marble statue, -still gazing on the spot where it had been acted—his eyes fixed in his head as with -apathetical stupor. At length, after remaining in the same attitude for several minutes, -he struck his forehead violently with the palms <span class="pageNum" id="pb74">[<a href="#pb74">74</a>]</span>of his hands, and addressing his friend in hurried accents—“Assueton, Assueton,” said -he, “didst thou see? didst thou mark! Oh, woman, woman, woman! But it mattereth not. -Assueton, let our horses be ordered; I will forth with thee for Scotland even now; -ay, even now. Thou wert indeed right, my friend; there is more of thorns than of roses -about them all. Thou wert wise, Assueton; but I am cured now—nay, I am as sane as -thyself. Our horses, Assueton—our squires and cortege. Let us not lose a moment; we -may despatch good store of Scottish miles ere we sleep.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, let us not be guilty of doing violence to the courtesy of knighthood,” replied -Assueton; “Sir Walter de Selby hath used much fair hospitality towards us. It beseems -us not to leave Norham Castle without giving thanks to the good old governor in person, -and bidding him adieu. Besides, ’twere as well, methinks, to go with less suspicious -haste, lest we may be misjudged; and, indeed, Sir Walter can have hardly left his -couch as yet.” -</p> -<p>“Ay, ay, true—thou sayest true, my friend,” said Hepborne, interrupting him keenly. -“I had forgotten. Her father not yet astir, and she taking leave of her lover so tenderly -at such an hour. Oh, damnable! He came, doubtless, last night, and has been i’ the -keep without the old man’s knowledge. So, all her deep and long drawn suspires were -but the offspring of her fears lest her leman should break faith.” -</p> -<p>“Come, come, Hepborne, my bel ami, compose thyself,” said Sir John; “thou must not -let this appear within; ’tis but a short hour sacrificed to common civility, and then -let us boune us for Scotland.” -</p> -<p>“Thou sayest well, Assueton,” said Hepborne, recollecting himself after a short pause, -during which he sighed deeply; “I must endeavour to command myself; my passion too -much enchafeth me. The good old man hath indeed been to us kindness itself. How cruel -that he should be so deceived in his daughter! I pity him from the bottom of my soul. -My wounds will soon be healed—war-toil must be their confecture; but his, alas! are -yet to be opened, for now they do fester all unwist to him, and when they do burst -forth, I fear me they may well out his life’s blood. But come,” added he, rousing -himself, “let’s in.” -</p> -<p>They turned their steps towards the keep, but before they had descended from the ramparts -their ears were struck with the sound of a bugle, and as they looked over the walls -they descried a long cavalcade of knights, esquires, grooms, lacqueys, <span class="pageNum" id="pb75">[<a href="#pb75">75</a>]</span>and spearmen, advancing with lances and pennons up the hollow way leading towards -the outer gate of the Castle. The party soon came thundering over the drawbridge, -and were saluted by the guards as they passed. At the head of the troop rode the proud -Sir Rafe Piersie. The array of the very meanest of his people was magnificent; but -his armour and his horse-gear shone like the sun, and glittered with the splendour -of their embossments. They passed into the inner courtyard; loud rang the bugle of -announcement, and the ear was assailed by the neighing of hot steeds, the clattering -and pawing of impatient hoofs, the champing of foam-covered bits, the jingling of -chains, and the clinking of spurs; whilst a rout of soldiers and grooms, with Master -Thomas Turnberry at their head, ran clustering around them. The squires of the Castle, -with the hoary seneschal and a host of lacqueys, came forth from the keep, and ushered -in Sir Rafe Piersie and his suite. -</p> -<p>Hepborne and Assueton soon afterwards followed, and, on reaching the banquet-hall, -they found Sir Walter de Selby in the act of receiving and welcoming his newly-arrived -guest, whose supercilious air, when addressing the plain, honest old soldier by no -means prepossessed the two Scottish knights in his favour. Sir Walter introduced them -to Piersie, and he received them with the same offensive hauteur. There is something -in such a deportment that provokes even the humble man to put on haughtiness. Hepborne, -from late events, was not prepared to be in the most condescending humour, so that -he failed not to carry his head fully three inches higher than he had done since he -became an inmate of the Castle of Norham. Nor was Assueton at all behind him in stateliness. -</p> -<p>The table was covered with the morning’s meal, and but little conversation passed -during the time it was going on. Sir Walter de Selby seemed to be more reserved, and -even less disposed to risk his words than he had been the previous night. -</p> -<p>“I marvel much, Sir Governor,” said Sir Rafe Piersie with a haughty sneer—“Methinks -’tis marvellously strange, I say, that thou hast as yet said nothing touching the -object of the visit I have thus paid thee. Am I, or am I not, to have this girl of -thine? Depardieux, there hath been more ambassage about this affair than might have -brought home and wedded a queen of England. The damsel, I am informed, knew not her -own mind, and thou were weak enough to suffer thyself to be blown about by her wayward -whimsies; but my kinsman, the Bishop of Durham, tells me that, having at last brought -thine own determination up to the proper point, thou art finally resolved <span class="pageNum" id="pb76">[<a href="#pb76">76</a>]</span>she shall be mine. Marry, a matter of great exertion, truly, to accept of Sir Rafe -Piersie as a husband for Eleanore de Selby!” -</p> -<p>“My mind has indeed been made up, Sir Rafe Piersie,” said the old knight, “and would -to Heaven, beausir, that it could have been made up differently; for, certes, it doleth -me sorely to be driven to answer thee as I must of needscost do. I should not have -broached this matter till privacy had put the seal on our converse: but, since thou -hast opened it, I am forced to tell thee that, since I saw the Bishop of Durham, obstacles -have appeared which render it impossible for me to give thee my daughter, the Lady -Eleanore, to wife. She is affianced to another.” -</p> -<p>“So,” thought Hepborne, the ideas passing rapidly through his mind, “her father knows -of the attachment between her and the knight who left her this morning. Then, perhaps, -she has been less to blame than I thought; yet why were her words and manner such, -last night, towards me, as to mislead me into the idea that I had reason to hope? -Oh, deceitful woman, never satisfied with the success of thy springes as long as there -is a foolish bird to catch. So! thou must have me limed to? But, grammercy, I have -escaped thy toils.” -</p> -<p>Such were Hepborne’s thoughts; but what Sir Rafe Piersie’s were during the pause of -astonishment he was thrown into, may be best gathered from the utterance he gave them. -</p> -<p>“What is this I hear? has a limb of the noble Piersie been brought here to be insulted? -Thou art a false old papelarde; and were it not for those hoary hairs of thine, by -the beard of St. Barnabas, I would brain thee with this gauntlet;” and saying so, -he dashed it down on the board, making it ring again. -</p> -<p>Hepborne and Assueton both started up, and stretched out their hands eagerly to seize -it. -</p> -<p>“Ah, thou art always lucky, Hepborne,” said Assueton, much disappointed to see that -his friend had snatched it before him. -</p> -<p>“Sir Rafe Piersie,” said Hepborne, “in behalf of this good old knight, whom thou hast -so grossly insulted at his own board, I defy thee to instant and mortal debate; and -in thy teeth I return the opprobrious epithets thou didst dare to throw in his face; -and here, I say, thou liest!” and with these words he threw down his gauntlet. -</p> -<p>“And who art thou?” said his antagonist, taking it up; “who art thou, young cockerel, -who crowest so loud? By St. George, but thou showest small share of wisdom to pit -thyself thus against Sir Rafe Piersie. But fear not, thou shalt have thy <span class="pageNum" id="pb77">[<a href="#pb77">77</a>]</span>will. Was thy darreigne for instant fight, saidst thou? In God’s name, let us to horse -then without farther parley. Let Sir Richard de Lacy here, and thine eager friend -there, be the judges of the field; and as for the place, the Norham meadow below will -do as well for thine overthrow as any other; thou wilt have easy galloping ere thou -dost meet it. What, defy Sir Rafe Piersie to combat of outrance, and give him the -lie, too! Thou art doomed, young man, thou art doomed; thine insolence hath put thee -beyond the pale of my mercy. By the holy Rood, thou must be the young cock-sparrow -the old dotard hath chosen as a mate for his pretty popelot, else thou never couldst -have been so bold.” -</p> -<p>“I am not so fortunate,” replied Hepborne, with calm and courteous manner. -</p> -<p>“And what may thy name and title be, then?” demanded Piersie, with yet greater hauteur. -</p> -<p>“My name,” replied he, with a dignified bow, “is Sir Patrick Hepborne.” -</p> -<p>“Ha! then, by my faith, thou hast some good Northern blood in thee,” replied Piersie; -“thou art less unworthy of my lance than I did ween thou wert. Thy father is a right -doughty Scot; and, if I mistake not, I have heard of some deeds of thine done in France, -which have made thine honours and renomie to bud and buxion rathely. But ’tis a warm -climate they have sprouted in, and such early and unnatural shoots are wont to be -air-drawn and unhealthy; and albeit they may vegetate under the more southern sun, -they are often withered by the blasts of the North as soon as they appear amongst -us. But come, come, my horse, Delaval—my horse and gear, I say;” and, leaving the -hall hastily, he sought a chamber where he might prepare himself for single combat. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch9" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e294">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER IX.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Combat—Departure of the Scots—Master Kyle Swears by St. Cuthbert.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Hepborne was not slow on his part, and in a very short time the Castle-yard was again -in commotion, and grooms and esquires were seen running in all directions, bringing -out horses and buckling on trappings. Hepborne’s gallant steed Beaufront was led proudly -forth from his stall by Mortimer Sang, and was no sooner backed by his master than -he pranced, neighed, and <span class="pageNum" id="pb78">[<a href="#pb78">78</a>]</span>spurned the ground, as if he had guessed of the nature of the work he had to do. Attended -by Assueton and their small party of followers, Sir Patrick rode slowly down to the -mead of Norham, extending from under the elevated ground on which the Castle stood, -for a considerable way to the westward, between the village and the bank of the Tweed. -Here he halted, and patiently awaited the arrival of his opponent. Piersie came in -all his pomp, mounted on a dapple-grey horse, of remarkable strength, figure, and -action. Both horse and rider were splendidly arrayed, and his friends and people came -crowding after him, boasting loudly of the probable issue of the combat. Sir Walter -de Selby came last, attended by some few officers, esquires, and meaner people, and -joined Hepborne’s party, stationed towards one end of the field, Sir Rafe Piersie’s -having filed off and taken post towards the other extremity of it. Little time was -lost in preparation. The two judges placed themselves opposite to the middle of the -space, and there the combatants met and measured lances. -</p> -<p>The bugle-mot gave them warning, so turning their steeds round, they each rode back -about a furlong towards their respective parties, and, suddenly wheeling at the second -sound of the bugle, they ran their furious course against each other with lance in -rest. The shock was tremendous. The clash of their armour echoed from the very walls -of the neighbouring Castle; nor had the oldest and most experienced men-at-arms who -were there present ever seen anything like it. Sir Patrick Hepborne received his adversary’s -lance, with great adroitness, on his shield, at such an angle that it glanced off -broken in shivers; yet the force was so great that it had almost turned him in his -saddle. But he, on his part, had borne his point so stoutly, so steadily, and so truly, -that, taking his adversary in the centre of the body, he tossed him entirely over -the croupe of his horse. Piersie lay stunned by the fall; and Sir Patrick, checking -Beaufront in his career, made a circuit around his prostrate adversary, and speedily -dismounting, went up to him, and kneeling on the ground beside him, lifted up his -head, and opened his vizor and beaver to give him freer air. Sir Richard de Lacy and -Assueton came up. -</p> -<p>“Sir Richard,” said Hepborne, “thou seest his life is in mine hands; and after the -bragging and insolent threats he used towards me, perhaps I might be deemed well entitled -to use the privileges of my victory, and take it. But I engaged in this affair only -to wipe off the disgrace thrown on this good old knight, Sir Walter de Selby, in whose -hospitality I and my brother-in-arms have so liberally shared; and the blot having -<span class="pageNum" id="pb79">[<a href="#pb79">79</a>]</span>been thus removed, by God’s blessing on mine arm, I leave Piersie his life, that he -may use it against me when next we meet in fair fight in bloody field, should the -jarring rights of our two countries summon us against each other. But through thee, -his friend, I do most solemnly enjoin him that, on the honour of a knight, he shall -hold Sir Walter de Selby as acquitted of all intention of doing him any injury or -insult in the matter of the marriage he contemplated with the Lady Eleanore, and that -he think not of doing Sir Walter violence on that account.” -</p> -<p>For all this Sir Richard de Lacy immediately pledged himself in name of Sir Rafe Piersie; -and the discomfited knight, who was still insensible, having been lifted up by his -esquires, was straightway borne towards the Castle. As they were carrying him away, -Mortimer Sang, who had by chance caught the dapple-grey steed, as he scoured past -him on the field after his rider’s overthrow, trotted up to the group leading him -by the bridle. The worthy esquire had heard and treasured up the taunts and boasting -of Piersie’s people, as they were approaching the field. -</p> -<p>“Hath any of ye lost perchance a pomely grise-coloured horse, my masters?” exclaimed -he; “here is a proper powerful destrier, if he had been but well backed. Hast thou -no varlet of a pricksoure squire who can ride him? Here, take him, some of ye; and, -hark ye, let his saddle be better filled the next time ye do come afield.” -</p> -<p>Piersie’s men were too much crestfallen to return his jibes, so he rode back to the -group that surrounded the conqueror, chuckling over his triumph. The good old Sir -Walter de Selby, his eyes running over with gratitude, approached Sir Patrick Hepborne, -and embraced him cordially. -</p> -<p>“The time hath been,” said he, “the time hath been, Sir Patrick, when it pleased Heaven -to permit me to reap the same guerdon of inward satisfaction thou art now feeling, -and could the weight of a few years have been lifted from off this hoar head, by God’s -blessing, thou shouldst not have had this noble chance of gathering fame at the cost -of Sir Rafe Piersie. As it is, I thank thee heartily for thy gallant defence of an -old man, as well as for the generous use thou hast made of thy victory. Come, let -us to the Castle, that by my treatment of thee, and Sir Rafe Piersie, I may forthwith -prove my gratitude to the one and my forgiveness of the other. -</p> -<p>“Thanks, most hospitable knight,” said Sir Patrick, “I beseech thee in mine own name, -and that of my friend, to receive our poor thanks for thy kind reception of us at -Norham. But <span class="pageNum" id="pb80">[<a href="#pb80">80</a>]</span>now our affairs demand our return to our own country; nay, had it not been for this -unlooked-for deed of arms, we had been ere now some miles beyond that broad stream. -We boune us now for Scotland. Farewell, and may the holy St. Cuthbert keep thee in -health and safety. We may yet haply meet again.” -</p> -<p>Sir Walter de Selby was grieved to find that all his efforts to detain the two knights -were ineffectual. -</p> -<p>“Since it is thy will, then, to pleasure me no longer with thy good company and presence, -Sirs Knights, may the blessed Virgin and the holy St. Andrew guide you in safety to -your friends; and may you find those you love in the good plight you would wish them -to be.” And saying so, he again cordially embraced both the knights, and slowly returned -towards the Castle with his attendants. -</p> -<p>The bustle and commotion occasioned by the appearance of the knights and their followers -on the mead of Norham, the sound of the bugle, and the clash of the shock, had brought -out many of the inhabitants of the village to see what was a-doing. Amongst these -was the black-eyed Mrs. Kyle, who came up to Master Mortimer Sang, and laying hold -of his bridle-rein— -</p> -<p>“When goest thou for Scotland?” said she anxiously. -</p> -<p>“Even now, fair dame,” said he calmly. -</p> -<p>“Then go I with thee, Sir Squire,” returned she. “Let me have a seat on that batt-horse; -I can ride right merrily there.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, my most beautiful Mrs. Kyle,” replied Sang, “that may in no wise be, seeing -I am an honest virtuous esquire, not one of those false faitors who basely run away -with other men’s wives. Thou canst not with me, I promise thee.” -</p> -<p>“Yea, but thou didst promise to take me,” cried Mrs. Kyle, a flood of tears bursting -from her eyes, as she began to reproach Sang, with a voice half-chocked by the violence -of her sobbing. “So false foiterer that thou art, I—I—I—I must be foredone by thee, -must I, after all thy losengery and flattery? Here have I kept goodman Kyle all this -time i’ the vault, ygraven, as a body may say, that I mought the more sickerly follow -thee when thou wentest. Oh, what will become of me? I am but as one dead.” -</p> -<p>“Why, thou cruel giglet, thou,” cried Sang, “didst thou in very truth mean to go off -to Scotland with me, and leave thy poor husband ygraven i’ the vault to die the most -horrible of deaths? Did not I tell thee to let him out at thy leisure and on thine -own good terms? By the mass, a pretty leisure hast thou taken, and pretty terms hast -thou resolved to yield him.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb81">[<a href="#pb81">81</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Nay, judge not so hastily, good Sir Squire,” replied Mrs. Kyle. “That I would boune -me to Scotland is sure enow; but, as to leaving Sylvester Kyle to die a cruel death, -Thomas Tapster here knows that I taught him the use of the sliding plank and the clicket -of the trap door, and that Master Sylvester was to receive his franchise as soon as -Tweed should be atween us. But what shall I do? I can never go back to the Norham -Tower again; goodman Sylvester will surely amortise me attenes when he doth get freedom.” -</p> -<p>“Squire,” said Hepborne, “thou must e’en get thee back to the village, and make her -peace with the bear her husband: we shall wait for thee at the ferry-boat.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, as for that matter,” said Sang, “I must go back at any rate, for I have yet -to pay the rascal for the excellent supper we had of him, and for the herborow of -our party for the night we spent there. Come along then, Dame Kyle, I see thou art -not quite so savage as I took thee to be.” -</p> -<p>They soon reached the hostel, and Master Mortimer Sang, dismounting from his horse -in the yard, entered, and strode along the passage to the place where he knew the -trap-door to be, and, sliding aside the plank that covered its fastenings, he hoisted -up the lever. -</p> -<p>“Sylvester Kyle, miserable lossel wight,” cried he, “art thou yet alive? Sinner that -thou art, I have compassion on thee, and albeit thou hast been there but some short -space—small guerdon for thy wicked coulpe, seeing thou art in the midst of so great -a mountance of good provender and drink, with which to fill thine enormous bowke—I -condescend to let thee come forth. Come up, come up, I say, and show thy face, that -we may hold parley as to the terms of thine enlargement.” -</p> -<p>A groaning was heard from the farther end of the place, and by and by Sylvester’s -head appeared above the steps, his countenance wearing the most miserable expression. -Horrible fear of the agonizing death he had thought himself doomed to die had prevented -him from touching food; but the anxious workings of his mind had done even more mortification -upon him than a starvation of a fortnight could have accomplished. The red in his -face was converted into a deadly pale copper hue, for even death itself could never -have altogether extinguished the flame in his nose; his teeth projected beyond his -lips, and chattered against each other from the cold he had undergone: and his eyes -stared in their sockets, from the united effects of want and terror. -</p> -<p>“Should it please me to give thee the franchise, thou <span class="pageNum" id="pb82">[<a href="#pb82">82</a>]</span>agroted lorrel, thou,” said the Squire, “wilt thou give me thy promise to comport -thyself more honestly in time to come, to have done with all knavery and chinchery, -and to give thy very best to all Scots who may, in time to come, chance to honour -thy hostelry with their presence?” -</p> -<p>“Oh, good Sir Squire,” replied the host, “anything—I will promise anything that thou -mayest please.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay, Sir Knave,” cried Sang, “horrow tallowcatch that thou art—no generals—swear -me in particulars—item by item, dost thou hear, as thou framest thy reckonings? If -thou dost not down goeth the trap-door again, and I leave thee here to meditate and -ypend my proposal, until my return from the Holy Wars, whether I am boune. By that -time thou wilt be more humble, and more coming to my terms. Swear.” -</p> -<p>“I swear, by the holy St. Cuthbert,” replied the host, “that all Scots shall henceforth -be entertained with the best meats and drinks the nale of the Norham Tower can afford, -yea, alswa the best herborow it can yield them.” -</p> -<p>“’Tis well,” said Sang; “swear me next, then, and let the oath be strong, that thou -wilt never again score double.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Master Squire, that is a hard oath for a tapster to take; ’tis warring against -the very nicest mystery of my vocation,” said Kyle. -</p> -<p>“No matter, Sir Knave,” said Sang, “I shall not have my terms agrutched by thee. An -thou swearest not this, down thou goest, and I leave thee to settle scores with a -friend of thine below, with whom thou wilt find the single reckoning of thy sins a -hard enough matter for thee to pay.” -</p> -<p>“Oh, for mercy’s sake, touch not the trap-door, Sir Squire, and I will swear anything,” -cried Kyle, much alarmed at seeing Sang’s brawny arm preparing to turn it over upon -his head. -</p> -<p>“Well, thou horrow lossel,” cried Sang, “dost thou swear thou wilt never more cheat, -or score double?” -</p> -<p>“I do, I do,” said the host; “by the holy Rood, I swear that I will never cheat or -score double again. God help me,” cried he, after a pause, “how shall I eschew it, -and what shall I do without it?” -</p> -<p>“Now, thou prince of knaves,” cried Sang, “thou hast yet one more serment to swallow. -Swear by the blessed Virgin, that thou wilt receive thy wife back into thy bosom, -and abandoning thy former harshness towards her, that thou wilt kindly cherish her, -and do thy possible to comfort and pleasure her, forgetting all that may have hitherto -happened amiss between ye. I restore her to thee pure. She was not to blame for my -<span class="pageNum" id="pb83">[<a href="#pb83">83</a>]</span>being in the vault with her. The coulpe was all thine own. Thou madest me ravenous -with hunger by thy villainous chinchery. My nose, through very want, became as sharp -in scent as that of a sleuth-hound. I winded the steam that came from the trap-door, -yea, from the very common room where I sat. I ran it up hot foot, and descending the -stair, I had but just begun to feast mine eyes with that thou hadst denied to my stomach, -when thy pestiferous voice was heard. Thy wife is as virtuous and innocent as the -child unborn. So swear, I say.” -</p> -<p>Master Sylvester Kyle shook his head wofully, and looked very far from satisfied; -but he had no alternative; he swore as the squire wished him to do, and then was permitted -to issue from his subterranean prison. -</p> -<p>“And now, Sir Knave,” said Sang, “do but note my extreme clemency. Thou wouldst have -starved me, the knights, and our good company, because we were Scots, for the which -grievous sin I did put thee in a prison full of goodly provender and rich drinks; -whence I now let thee forth, with thy greedy carcase crammed to bursting, and thy -whole person plump and fair as a capon. Do but behold him, I beseech ye, how round -he looks. Now get thee to thine augrim-stones, and cast up thine account withal. Thou -knowest pretty well what we have had, for thou didst give me the victuals and wine -with thine own hand.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, good Sir Squire,” said Kyle, glad to escape, “take it all, in God’s name, as -a free gift, and let us part good friends.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay,” said Master Sang, “we take no such beggarly treats, we Scottish knights -and squires. Come, come—thy reckoning, thy reckoning, dost hear? No more words; my -master doth wait, and I must haste to join him.” -</p> -<p>Kyle, with his wife’s assistance, and that of the pebbles or augrim-stones, by which -accounts were usually made out in those days, scored up the first fair reckoning he -had ever made in his life, and Sang paid it without a word. -</p> -<p>“And now,” said he, “let us, as thou saidst, Master Kyle, let us e’en part good friends. -Bring me a stirrup-cup of thy best.” -</p> -<p>The host hastened to fetch a cup of excellent Rhenish. They drank to each other, and -shook hands with perfect cordiality; and the squire, smacking the pouting lips of -Mrs. Kyle, mounted his horse, and rode away to join his party. -</p> -<p>As the knights and their small retinue were crossing the Tweed in the ferry-boat, -Hepborne cast his eyes up to the keep of the Castle, towering high above them, and -frowning defiance upon Scotland. A white hand appeared from a narrow window, and waved -a handkerchief; and, by a sort of natural impulse, <span class="pageNum" id="pb84">[<a href="#pb84">84</a>]</span>he was about to have waved and kissed his fervently in return. -</p> -<p>“Pshaw!” said he, pettishly checking himself, for being so ready to yield to the impulse -of his heart. The white hand and handkerchief waved again—and again it waved ere he -reached the Scottish shore; but he manfully resisted all temptation, and gave no sign -of recognition. -</p> -<p>As he mounted, however, he looked once more. The hand was still there, streaming the -little speck of white. His resolution gave way—he waved his hand, and his eyes filling -with tears, he dashed the rowels of his spurs against the sides of his steed, sprang -off at full gallop, and was immediately lost amongst the oak copse through which lay -their destined way. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch10" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e304">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER X.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Home of the Hepbornes—Remembrances of Childhood—The Old Wolf-Hound.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">After tarrying for a little while at the small town of Dunse, the two knights pursued -their journey over the high ridge of Lammermoor, and early on the second day they -reached Hailes Castle, the seat of the Hepbornes, a strong fortress, standing on the -southern banks of the river Tyne, in the heart of the fertile county of East Lothian. -At the period we are now speaking of, the varied surface of the district surrounding -the place was richly though irregularly wooded; and even the singular isolated hill -of Dunpender, rising to the southward of it, had gigantic oaks growing about its base, -and towering upon its sides, amidst thick hazel and other brushwood, wherever they -could find soil enough to nourish them. -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick Hepborne had been particularly silent during their march. The events which -took place at Norham, and the conviction he felt that the Lady Eleanore de Selby had -indirectly endeavoured to draw him into an attachment for her, when her heart either -was or ought to have been engaged to another, made him unhappy. It was needless to -inquire why it should have done so, since he was ever and anon congratulating himself -on having escaped uninjured from the toils of one so unworthy of him. But the truth -was he had not escaped uninjured; he had “tane a hurt” from her, of a nature too serious -to be of very easy cure. Assueton, who had never felt the tender passion, and who -had consequently very little sympathy for it, had more than once complained of the -unwonted <span class="pageNum" id="pb85">[<a href="#pb85">85</a>]</span>dulness of his companion, who used to be so full of life and cheerfulness, and had -made several vain attempts to rouse him, until at last, despairing of success, he -amused himself in jesting with Master Mortimer Sang, who possessed a never-failing -spring of good humour. -</p> -<p>As they drew near the domains of Sir Patrick Hepborne the elder, however, a thousand -spots, and things, and circumstances, began to present themselves in succession, and -to force themselves on the attention of the love-sick knight, awakening warm associations -with the events of his youthful days, and overpowering, for a time, his melancholy. -To these he began to give utterance in a language his friend could not only comprehend, -but participate in the feelings they naturally gave rise to. -</p> -<p>“Assueton,” said he, “it was here, in this very wood, that I took my first lessons -in the merry art of woodcraft; in yonder hollow were the rethes and pankers spread -to toyle the deer; and, see there, under yonder ancient tree, was I first planted -with my little cross-bow, as a lymer, to have my vantage of the game. It was Old Gabriel -Lindsay, then a jolly forester, who put me there, and taught me how to behave me. -He is now my father’s seneschal, if, as I hope, he be yet alive. He was a hale man -then, and though twenty years older than my father, he had a boy somewhat younger -than myself, who took up his father’s trade of forester, just before I went to France. -Alas, the old tree has had a fearful skathe of firelevin since last I saw it. See -what a large limb hath been rent from its side. Dost see the river glancing yonder -below, through the green-wood? Ay, now we see it better. In yonder shallow used I -to wade when a child, with my little hauselines tucked up above my knees. I do remember -well, I was so engaged one hot summer’s day, when, swelled by some sudden water-spout -or upland flood, I saw the liquid wall come sweeping onwards, ready to overwhelm me. -I ran in childish fear, but ere I reached the strand it came, and overtaking my tottering -steps, hurried me with it into yonder pool. I sank, and rose, and sank again. I remember -e’en now how quickly the ideas passed through my infant mind, as I was whirling furiously -round and round by the force of the eddy, vainly struggling and gasping for life, -now below and now on the surface of the water. I thought of the dreadful death I was -dying; I thought of the misery about to befall my father and mother—nay, strange as -it may seem, I saw them in my mind’s eye weeping in distraction over my pale and dripping -corpse, and all this was intermixed with flitting <span class="pageNum" id="pb86">[<a href="#pb86">86</a>]</span>hopes of rescue, that were but the flash amidst the darkness of the storm. The recollections -of the five or six years I could remember of my past childhood were all condensed -into the short period of as many minutes; for that was all the time my lucky stars -permitted me to remain in jeopardy, till Gabriel Lindsay came, and, plunging into -the foaming current, dragged me half dead to the shore. Full many a time have I sithence -chosen that very pool as a pleasure bayne wherein to exercise my limbs in swimming, -when hardier boyhood bid me defy the flood.” -</p> -<p>“My dear friend,” said Assueton, “trust me, I do envy thee thine indulgence in those -remembrances excited by the scenes of thy childhood; they make me more eager than -ever to revel in those that await me around my paternal boure. I shall be thy father’s -guest to-night; but I can no longer delay returning to my paternal possessions, and -in especial to my widowed mother, who doubtless longs to embrace me. I must leave -thee to-morrow.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Assueton, thou didst promise to bestow upon me three or four days at least,” -said Hepborne: “let me not then have thy promise amenused. To rob me of so large a -portion of thy behote were, methinks, but unkind.” -</p> -<p>“I did promise, indeed,” said Assueton, “but I wist not of the time we should waste -at Norham. I must e’en go to-morrow, Hepborne; but, trust me, I shall willingly boune -me back again some short space hence.” -</p> -<p>Hepborne was not lacking in argument to overcome his friend’s intentions, but he could -gain no more than a promise, reluctantly granted, that his departure should be postponed -until the morning after the following day. -</p> -<p>“But see, Assueton,” said Hepborne, “there are the outer towers and gateway of the -Castle, and behold how its proud barbicans rise beyond them. As I live, there is Flo, -my faithful old wolf-dog, lying sunning himself against the wall. He is the fleetest -allounde in all these parts for taking down the deer at a view. What ho, boy, Flo, -Flo! What means the brute, he minds me not?” continued Hepborne, riding up to him: -“I wot he was never wont to be so litherly; he used to fly at my voice with all the -swiftness of the arrow, which he is named after. Ah! now I see, he is half-blind; -and peraunter he is deaf too, for he seems as if he heard me not. But, fool that I -am, I forget that some years have passed away sith I saw him last, and that old age -must ere this have come upon him. ’Twas but a week before I left home, Assueton, that -he killed a wolf. But <span class="pageNum" id="pb87">[<a href="#pb87">87</a>]</span>let us hasten in, I am impatient to embrace my father, and my dear mother, and my -sister Isabelle.” -</p> -<p>Loud rang the bugle-blast in the court-yard of the Castle. Throwing his reins to his -esquire, Hepborne sprang from his horse, and running towards the doorway, whence issued -a crowd of domestics, alarmed by the summons, he grasped the hand of an old white-headed -man, who presented the feeble remains of having been once tall and powerful, but who -was now bent and tottering with age. -</p> -<p>“My worthy Gabriel,” said he in an affectionate tone and manner, and with a tear trembling -in his eye, “dost thou not know me? How fares my father, my mother, and my sister, -the Lady Isabelle?” -</p> -<p>The old man looked at him for some moments, with his hand held up as a pent-house -to his dim eyes. -</p> -<p>“Holy St. Giles!” exclaimed he at last, “art thou indeed my young master? Art thou -then alive and sound? Well, who would hae thought, they that saw me last winter, when -I was so ill, that I would hae lived to hae seen this blessed day!” -</p> -<p>“But tell me, Gabriel,” cried Hepborne, interrupting him, “tell me where are they -all; I suppose I shall find them in the banquet hall above?” -</p> -<p>“Stop thee, stop thee, Sir Patrick,” said the old seneschal, “thy father and the Lady -Isabelle rode to the green-wood this morning. There was a great cry about a route -of wolves that have been wrecking doleful damage on the shepens; they do say, that -some of the flocks hae been sorely herried by them; so my master and the Lady Isabelle -rode forth with the sleuth-hounds, and the alloundes, and the foresters; and this -morning, ere the sun saw the welkin, my boy rode away to lay out the rethes and the -pankers. I wot, thou remembers thee of my son Robert? He is head forester now. Thy -noble father, Heaven’s blessing and the Virgin’s be about him, did that for him; may -long life and eternal joy be his guerdon for all his good deeds to me and mine! And -Ralpho Proudfoot was but ill content to see my Rob get the place aboon him; so Ralpho -yode his ways, and hath oft sithes threatened some malure to Rob; but as to that——” -</p> -<p>“Nay, my good Gabriel,” said Hepborne, impatiently interrupting him, “but where, I -entreat thee, is my mother?” -</p> -<p>A cloud instantly overcast the face of the venerable domestic; he hesitated and stammered— -</p> -<p>“Nay, then, my dear young master, thou hast not heard of the doleful tidings?” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb88">[<a href="#pb88">88</a>]</span></p> -<p>“What doleful tidings? Quick, speak, old man. My mother! is she ill? Good God, thou -art pale. Oh, thy face doth speak too intelligibly—my mother, my beloved mother, is -no more!” -</p> -<p>The old man burst into tears. He could not command a single word; but the grief and -agitation he could not hide was enough for Sir Patrick Hepborne. In a choked and hollow -voice— -</p> -<p>“Assueton,” said he, “walk up this way, so please thee; there is the banquet-hall; -I must retire into this apartment for some moments. If thou hadst known my mother—my -excellent, my tenderly affectionate mother—my mother, by whose benignant and joy-beaming -eyes I looked to be now greeted withal—thou wouldst pardon me for being thus unmanned. -But I shall be more composed anon.” -</p> -<p>And with these words, and with an agitation he could not hide, he burst away into -an adjacent chamber, where he shut himself in, that he might give way to his emotions -without interruption. -</p> -<p>It was his mother’s private room. In the little oratory opening from the farther end -of it, was her prie-dieu and crucifix, and on the floor opposite to it was the very -velvet cushion on which he found her kneeling, and offering up her fervent orisons -to Heaven on his behalf, as he entered her apartment to embrace her for the last time, -the morning he left Hailes for France. He remembered that his heart was then bounding -with delight at the prospect of breaking into the world, and figuring among knights -and warriors, amidst all the gay splendour of the French Court. Alas! he little thought -then he was embracing her for the last time. He now looked round the chamber, and -her missal-books, with a thousand trifles he had seen her use, called up her graceful -figure and gentle expression fresh before his eyes. He wept bitterly, and, seating -himself in the chair she used, wasted nearly an hour in giving way to past recollections, -and indulging in the grief they occasioned. At last his sorrow began to exhaust itself, -and he became more composed. The cushion and the little altar again caught his eye, -and, rising from the chair, he prostrated himself before the emblem of the Saviour’s -sufferings and the Christian’s faith and hope, pouring out his soul in devotional -exercise. As his head was buried in the velvet drapery of the prie-dieu, and his eyes -covered, his imagination pictured the figure of his mother floating over him in seraphic -glory. He started up, almost expecting to see his waking vision realized; but it was -no more than <span class="pageNum" id="pb89">[<a href="#pb89">89</a>]</span>the offspring of his fancy, and he again seated himself on his mother’s chair, to -dry his eyes and to compose his agitated bosom. -</p> -<p>Though still deeply afflicted, he now felt himself able to command his feelings, and -he left his mother’s apartment to rejoin Assueton. At the door he met old Gabriel -Lindsay, and he being now able to ask, and the hoary seneschal to tell, the date and -circumstances of his mother’s death, he learned that she had been carried off by a -sudden illness about three months previous to his arrival. The firmness of the warrior -now returned upon him, and, with a staid but steady countenance, he rejoined his friend. -</p> -<p>“Assueton,” said he, “if thou art disposed to ramble with me, it would give me ease -to go forth a little. Let us doff our mail, and put on less cumbrous hunting-garbs -and gippons, and go out into the woods. We may chance to hear their hunting-horns, -and so fall in with them; else we may loiter idling it here till nightfall ere they -return.” -</p> -<p>Assueton readily agreed; and both having trimmed themselves for active exercise, and -armed themselves with hunting-spears, and with the anelace, a kind of wood-knife or -falchion, usually worn, together with the pouch, hanging from the girdlestead of the -body, they left the Castle, with the intent of taking the direction they were informed -the hunting-party had gone in. As they passed from the outer gateway, the great rough -old wolf-hound again attracted his master’s attention. -</p> -<p>“Alas! poor old Flo,” said Hepborne, going up to him, and stooping to caress him, -“thou canst no more follow me as thou wert wont to do. Thou art now but as a withered -and decayed log of oak—thou who used, whenever I appeared, to dart hither and thither -around me like a firelevin.” -</p> -<p>The old dog began to lick his master’s hand, and to whine a dull recognition. -</p> -<p>“I believe he doth hardly remember me,” said Hepborne, moving away; “he seems now -to be little better than a clod of earth.” -</p> -<p>The old dog, however, though he had scarcely stirred for many months before, began -to whimper, and rearing up his huge body with great pain, as if in stretching each -limb he required to break the bonds that age had rivetted every joint withal, and -getting at last on his legs, he began to follow Sir Patrick, whining and wagging his -tail. Hepborne, seeing his feeble state, did what he could to drive him back; but -the dog persisted in following him. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb90">[<a href="#pb90">90</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Poor old affectionate fellow,” said Hepborne, “go with me, then, thou shalt, though -I should have to carry thee back. Assueton,” continued he, “let us climb the lofty -height of Dunpender, whence we shall have such a view around us as may enable us to -descry the hunting-party, if they be anywhere within the range of our ken.” -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch11" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e314">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XI.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Wolf Hunt—A Desperate Encounter.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">They accordingly made their way through the intervening woods, lawns, and alleys, -and ascended the steep side of the hill. From the summit, the beautiful vale of the -Tyne was fully commanded, and the extent and variety of the prospect was such as to -occupy them for some time in admiration of it. Hepborne discovered a thousand spots -and points in it connected with old stories of his youth. He touched on all these -in succession to Assueton, his heart overflowing with his feelings, and his eyes with -the remembrance of his beloved mother, whose image was continually recurring to him. -He made his friend observe the distant eminences in parts of Scotland afar off; and -Assueton, amongst others, was overjoyed to descry the blue top of that hill at the -base of which he had been born, and whither his heart bounded to return. -</p> -<p>“Hark,” said Hepborne, suddenly interrupting the enthusiastic greeting his friend -was wafting towards his distant home—“hark! methinks I hear the sound of bugles echoing -faintly through the woods below; dost thou not hear?” -</p> -<p>“I do,” said Assueton, “and methinks I also hear the yelling note of the sleuth-hounds.” -</p> -<p>“That bugle-mot was my father’s,” said Hepborne; “I know it full well; I could swear -to it anywhere. Nay, yonder they ride. Dost not see them afar off yonder, sweeping -across the green alures and avenues, where the wood-shaws are thinnest? Now they cross -the wide lawnde yonder—and now they are lost amid the shade of these oakshaws. They -come this way; let us hasten downward; we shall have ill luck an we meet them not -at the bottom of the hill.” -</p> -<p>Hepborne was so eager to embrace his father, that, forgetting his friend was a stranger -to the perplexities of the way, he darted off, and descended through the brushwood, -leaving Assueton to follow him as he best might. Assueton, in his turn, eager to <span class="pageNum" id="pb91">[<a href="#pb91">91</a>]</span>overtake Hepborne, put down the point of his hunting-spear to aid him in vaulting -over an opposing bush. There was a knot in the ashen shaft, and it snapt asunder with -his weight. He threw it away, and, guided by the distant sounds of the bugle-blasts -and the yells of the hounds, he pressed precipitately down the steep, but in his ignorance -he took a direction different from that pursued by Hepborne. -</p> -<p>As he was within a few yards of the bottom of the hill, he saw an enormous wolf making -towards him, the oblique and sinister eyes of the animal flashing fire, his jaws extended, -and tongue lolling out. Assueton regretted the loss of his hunting-spear, but judging -him to be much spent, he resolved to attack him. He squatted behind a bush directly -in the animal’s path, and springing at him as he passed, he grappled him by the throat -with both hands, and held him with the grasp of fate. The furious wolf struggled with -all his tremendous strength, and before Assueton could venture to let go one hand -to draw out his anelace, he was overbalanced by the weight of the creature, and they -rolled over and over each other down the remainder of the grassy declivity, the knight -still keeping his hold, conscious that the moment he should lose it he must inevitably -be torn in pieces. There they lay tumbling and writhing on the ground, the exertions -of the wolf being so violent, as frequently to lift Assueton and drag him on his back -along the green sward. Now he gained his knees, and, pressing down his savage foe, -he at last ventured to lose his right hand to grope for his anelace; but it was gone—it -had dropped from the sheath; and, casting a glance around him, he saw it glittering -on the grass, at some yards’ distance. There was no other mode of recovering it but -by dragging the furious beast towards it, and this he now put forth all his strength -to endeavour to effect. He tugged and toiled, and even succeeded so far as to gain -a yard or two; but his grim foe was only rendered more ferocious in his resistance, -by the additional force he employed. The wolf made repeated efforts to twist his neck -round to bite, and more than once succeeded in wounding Assueton severely in the left -arm, the sleeve of which was entirely torn off. As the beast lay on his back too, -pinned firmly down towards his head, he threw up his body, and thrust his hind feet -against Assueton’s face, so as completely to blind his eyes, and by a struggle more -violent than any he had made before, he threw him down backwards. -</p> -<p>The situation of the bold and hardy knight was now most perilous, for, though he still -kept his grasp, he lay stretched on <span class="pageNum" id="pb92">[<a href="#pb92">92</a>]</span>the ground; and whilst the wolf, standing over him, was now able to bring all his -sinews to bear against him, from having his feet planted firmly on the ground, Assueton, -from his position, was unable to use his muscles with much effect. The panting and -frothy jaws, and the long sharp tusks of the infuriated beast, were almost at his -throat, and the only salvation that remained for him, was to prevent his fastening -on by it, by keeping the head of the brute at a distance by the strength of his arms. -The muscles of the neck of a wolf are well known to be so powerful, that they enable -the animal to carry off a sheep with ease; so that, with all his vigour of nerve, -Assueton had but a hopeless chance for it. Still he held, and still they struggled, -when the tramp of a horse was heard, and a lady came galloping by under the trees. -She no sooner observed the dreadful strife between the savage wolf and the knight, -than, alighting nimbly from her palfrey, she couched the light hunting-spear she carried, -and ran it through the heart of the half-choked animal. The blood spurted over the -prostrate cavalier, and the huge carcase fell on him, with the eyes glaring in the -head, and the teeth grinding together in the agony of death. -</p> -<p>The bold Assueton, sore toil-spent with the length of the contest, threw the now irresisting -body of the creature away from him, and instantly recovered his legs. All bloody and -covered with foam as he was, he bowed gracefully to his preserver, and gazed at her -for some time ere he could find breath to give his gratitude utterance. She was lovely -as the morning. Her fair hair, broken loose from the thraldom of its braiding bodkins -by the agitation of riding, streamed from beneath a hunting hat she wore, and fell -in flowing ringlets over the black mantle that hung from her shoulder. Her mild and -angelic soul spoke in expressive language through her blue eyes, though they were -more than half veiled by her modest eyelids. Her full fresh lips were half open, and -her bosom heaved with her high breathing from the exercise she had been undergoing, -and the unwonted exertion she had so lately made, and her cheek was gently flushed -by the consciousness of the glorious deed she had achieved. -</p> -<p>“Sir Knight,” inquired she, timidly though anxiously, “I hope thou hast tane no hurt -from the caitiff salvage? Thou dost bleed, meseems?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, lady,” said Assueton, at last able to speak, “I bleed not; ’tis the blood of -the brute yonder. Perdie, thy bold and timely aid did rid me of a strife that mought -have ended sorely to my mischaunce. Verily, thou camest like an angel to my <span class="pageNum" id="pb93">[<a href="#pb93">93</a>]</span>rescue, and my poor thanks are but meagre guerdon for the heroic deed thou didst adventure -to effect it. Do I not speak to the sister of my friend, Sir Patrick Hepborne? Do -I not address the fair Lady Isabelle?” -</p> -<p>“Patrick Hepborne?” inquired she eagerly; “art thou, indeed, the friend of my brother? -Welcome, Sir Knight; thou art welcome to me, as thou wilt be to my father. What tidings -hast thou of my gallant brother?” -</p> -<p>“Even those, I ween, beauteous lady, which shall give thee belchier,” said Assueton; -“my friend is well as thou wouldst wish him; nay, more, he is here with me. We parted -but now above yonder at the crop of the hill. I lost him in the thickets on its side, -just before I encountered with gaffer wolf yonder.” -</p> -<p>“Pray Heaven,” said Isabelle, with alarm in her countenance, “that he may not meet -with some of the wolves we drove hither before us. Thou seemest to be altogether without -weapon, Sir Knight; perhaps he is equally defenceless.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, lady,” replied Assueton, “I broke a faithless rotten shafted hunting-spear ere -I came down, and I lost my anelace from my girdlestead as I was struggling with the -wolf. Sir Patrick has both, I warrant thee, and will make a better use of them than -I did. Shall we seek him, so please ye?” -</p> -<p>“Oh, yes,” cried the Lady Isabelle joyfully; “how I long to clasp my dear brother -in these arms. But hold, Sir Knight,” said she, her face again assuming an air of -anxiety, “thou dost bleed, maugre all thou didst say. Truly thy left arm is most grievously -torn by the miscreant wolf; let me bind it up with this rag here.” And notwithstanding -all Assueton’s protestations to the contrary, she took off a silken scarf, and bound -up his wounds very tenderly, even exposing her own lovely neck to the sun, that she -might effect her charitable purpose. -</p> -<p>“And now,” said she, “let’s on in the direction my father took; he and my brother -may have probably met ere this. Hey, Robert,” cried she to a forester who appeared -at the moment, “whither went my father?” -</p> -<p>“This way, lady,” said he, pointing in a particular direction; “I heard his bugle-mot -but now.” -</p> -<p>“Charge thyself with the spoils of this wolf, Robert,” said the Lady Isabelle; “I -do mean to have his felt hung up in the hall, in remembrance of the bold and desperate -conflict, waged without aid of steel against him, by dint of thewes and sinews alone, -by this valiant knight; ’tis a monster for size, the make of which is, I trow, rarely -seen.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, lady,” cried Assueton, “rather hang up his spoils in <span class="pageNum" id="pb94">[<a href="#pb94">94</a>]</span>commemoration of thine own brave deed; for it was thou who killed him. And had it -not been for thee, gaffer wolf might, ere now, have made a dinner of me.” -</p> -<p>“In truth, Sir Knight,” replied Isabelle, “hadst thou not held him by the throat so -starkly, I trow I should have had little courage to have faced him.” -</p> -<p>The lady vaulted on her palfrey, and Assueton, his left arm decorated with her scarf, -and holding her bridle with his right, walked by the side of the palfrey, like a true -lady’s knight, unwittingly engaged, for the first time in his life, in pleasing dialogue -with a beautiful woman. -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick Hepborne, who thought only of seeing his father, had rushed down the steep -of Dunpender in the hope of meeting him somewhere near the base of the hill, for the -sound of the chase evidently came that way. His old dog Flo had difficulty in following -him; and stumbling over the stumps of trees, and the stones that lay in his way, he -was at last completely left behind. As Sir Patrick had nearly reached the bottom of -the steep, he too observed a large wolf making up the hill. The animal came at a lagging -pace, and was evidently much blown. Hepborne hurled his hunting-spear at him without -a moment’s delay, wounding him desperately in the neck; and, eager to make sure of -him with his anelace, rushed forward, without perceiving a sudden declivity, where -there was a little precipitous face of rock, over which he fell headlong, and rolling -downwards his head came in contact with the trunk of an oak, at the foot of which -he lay stunned and senseless. The wolf, writhing for sometime with the agony of the -wound he had received, succeeded at last in extricating himself from the spearhead, -and then observing the man from whose hand he had received it, lying at his mercy -on the ground near him, he was about to take instant vengeance on him, when he was -suddenly called on to defend himself against a new assailant. -</p> -<p>This was no other than poor Flo, who, having followed his master’s track as fast as -his old legs could carry him, came up at the very moment the gaunt animal was about -to fasten his jaws on him. His ancient spirit grew young within him as he beheld his -master’s danger. He sprang on the wolf with an energy and fury which no one who had -seen him that morning could have believed him capable of, and, seizing his ferocious -adversary by the throat, a bloody combat ensued between them. -</p> -<p>Hepborne having gradually recovered from his swoon, and hearing the noise of the fight, -roused himself, and, getting upon his legs, beheld with astonishment the miraculous -exertions his <span class="pageNum" id="pb95">[<a href="#pb95">95</a>]</span>faithful dog was making in his defence, and the deadly strife that was waging between -him and the wolf. The fierce and powerful animal was much an overmatch for the good -allounde, who had already received some dreadful bites, but still fought with unabated -resolution. Hepborne ran to his rescue, and burying his anelace in the wolf’s body, -killed him outright. But his help came too late for poor old Flo, who licked the kind -hand that was stretched out to succour and caress him, and, turning upon his side, -raised his dim eyes towards his master’s face, and slowly closed them in death. -</p> -<p>Hepborne lifted him up, all streaming with blood, and, carrying him to a fountain -a few paces off, bathed his head and his gaping wounds, with the vain hope that the -water might revive him; but life was extinct. Sir Patrick laid him on the ground, -and wept over him as if he had been a friend. -</p> -<p>The sound of the horns now came nearer, the yell of the dogs approached, and by and -by some of the hounds appeared, and ran in upon their already inanimate prey. Immediately -behind them came Sir Patrick Hepborne the elder, a powerful, noble-looking man, in -full vigour of life, mounted on a gallant grey, and with a crowd of foresters at his -back. He took off his hunting hat to wipe his brow as he halted, and though he displayed -a bald forehead, the hinder part of his head was covered with luxuriant black hair, -on which age’s winter had not yet shed a single particle of snow. His beard and moustaches -were of the same raven hue; and his eyes, though mild, were lofty and penetrating -in their expression. -</p> -<p>“How now, young man,” said he to his son, as he reined up his steed, “what, hast thou -killed the wolf?” -</p> -<p>“My father!” cried the younger Sir Patrick, starting up and running to his stirrup. -</p> -<p>“My son!” exclaimed the delighted and astonished Sir Patrick the elder; and, vaulting -from his horse, they were immediately locked in each other’s arms. -</p> -<p>It was some minutes before either father or son could articulate anything but broken -sentences. The minds of both reverted to the overwhelming loss they had sustained -since they last saw each other, and they both wept bitterly. -</p> -<p>“My dear boy, forgive me,” said the father; “but these tears are—we have lost—but -yet I see thou hast already gathered the sad intelligence. ’Tis now three months—Oh, -bitter affliction!—but she is a saint above, my dear Patrick.” -</p> -<p>Again they enclasped each other, and, giving way to their feelings, the two warriors -wept on each other’s bosoms, till the <span class="pageNum" id="pb96">[<a href="#pb96">96</a>]</span>rude group of foresters around them were melted into tears at the spectacle. Sir Patrick -the elder was the first to regain command of himself, and the first use he made of -the power of speech was to put a thousand questions to his son. The younger knight -satisfied him as to everything, and concluded by giving him the history of his accident, -and the glorious but afflicting death of his faithful old allounde. -</p> -<p>“Poor fellow,” said the elder Sir Patrick, going up to the spot where he lay, and -dropping a tear of gratitude over him—“poor fellow, he has died as a hero ought to -do—nobly, in stark stoure in the field. Let him be forthwith yirded, dost hear me, -on the spot where he fell; I shall have a stone erected over him, in grateful memorial -of his having died for his master.” -</p> -<p>Some of the foresters, who had implements for digging out the vermin of the chase, -instantly executed this command, and the two knights tarried until they had themselves -laid his body in the grave dug for him. -</p> -<p>“And now let us go look for Isabelle and thy friend Sir John Assueton,” said the elder -Sir Patrick. “Sound thy bugles, my merry men, and let us down to the broad-lawnde, -where we shall have the best chance of meeting.” -</p> -<p>They had no sooner entered the beautiful glade among the woods alluded to by the elder -knight, than the younger Sir Patrick descried his sister, the Lady Isabelle, coming -riding on her palfrey, and his friend Assueton leading her bridle-rein. He ran forward -to embrace her, and she, instantly recognizing him, sprang from the saddle into his -arms. The meeting between the brother and sister was rendered as affecting by the -remembrance of the loss of their mother, as that of the father and son had been. But -the elder Sir Patrick having mastered his feelings, soon contributed to soothe theirs. -The younger Sir Patrick introduced his friend Assueton to his father, and after their -compliments of courtesy were made, the adventures of both parties detailed, and mutual -congratulations had taken place between them— -</p> -<p>“Come,” said the elder Sir Patrick, “come Isabelle, get thee to horse again, and let -us straightway to the Castle. The welkin reddens i’ the west, and the sun is about -to hide his head among yonder amber clouds; let us to the Castle, I say. I trow we -shall have enow of food for talk for the rest of the evening. We shall have the spoils -of these wolves hung up in the hall, in memorial of the strange events of this day—of -the gallantry of the Lady Isabelle, who so nobly rescued Sir John Assueton, and of -the courage and fidelity of <span class="pageNum" id="pb97">[<a href="#pb97">97</a>]</span>the attached old allounde Flo, who so nobly died in defence of his master.” -</p> -<p>The bugles sounded a mot, and the elder Sir Patrick, with his son walking by his side, -moved forward at the head of the troop. The Lady Isabelle sprang into her saddle, -and Sir John Assueton, never choosing to resign the reign he had grasped, led her -palfrey as before, and again glided into the same train of conversation with her which -he had formerly found so fascinating. The foresters, grooms, and churls who formed -the hunting suite, some on foot and others on horseback, armed with every variety -of hunting-gear, followed in the rear of march, and in this order they returned to -the Castle. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch12" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e325">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Freaks of Love at Hailes Castle—The Tournament at Tarnawa announced.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The affliction which had so lately visited the elder Sir Patrick Hepborne had made -him avoid company, and Hailes Castle had consequently been entirely without guests -ever since his lady’s death. But it must not be imagined that the evening of the hunting -day passed dully because the board was not filled. The sweet and soothing sorrow awakened -by tender and melancholy reflections soon gave way before the joy arising from the -return of Sir Patrick the younger. In those days letters could not pass as they do -now, with the velocity of the winds, by posts and couriers, from one part of Europe -to another; and, during Hepborne’s absence, his father had had no tidings of his son, -except occasionally through the medium of those warriors or pilgrims who, having fought -in foreign fields, or visited foreign shrines, had chanced during their travels to -see or hear of him, and who came to Hailes Castle to receive the liberal guerdon of -his hospitality for the good news they brought. The elder Sir Patrick, therefore, -had much to ask, and the son much to answer; so that the ball of conversation was -unremittingly kept up between them. -</p> -<p>The Lady Isabelle was seated between her brother and his friend Sir John Assueton, -in the most provoking position; for she was thus placed, as it were, between two magnets, -so as to be equally attracted by both. Her affection for Sir Patrick made her anxious -to catch all he said, and to gather all his adventures; whilst, on the other hand, -Sir John Assueton’s conversation, <span class="pageNum" id="pb98">[<a href="#pb98">98</a>]</span>made up, as it in a great measure was, of the praises of his friend, intermixed with -many interesting notes on the accounts of battles and passages of arms her brother -was narrating to her father, proved so seducing that she found it difficult to turn -away her ear from him. Nor were Assueton’s illustrations the less gratifying that -they often brought out the whole truth, where her brother’s modesty induced him to -sink such parts of the tale as were the most glorious to himself. As for Assueton -himself, he seemed to have become a new man in her company. He was naturally shrewd, -excessively good-humoured, and often witty in his conversation, but he never in his -life before bestowed more of it on a lady than barely what the courtesy of chivalry -required. This night, however, he was animated and eloquent; and the result was, that -the Lady Isabelle retired to her couch at an unusually late hour, and declared to -her handmaiden, Mary Hay, as she was undressing her, that Sir John Assueton was certainly -the most gallant, witty, and agreeable knight she had ever had the good fortune to -meet with. -</p> -<p>“But thou dost not think him so handsome as thy brother Sir Patrick, Lady?” said the -sly Miss Mary Hay. -</p> -<p>“Nay, as to that, Mary,” replied the Lady Isabelle, “they are both handsome, yet both -very diverse in their beauty. Thou knowest that one is fair, and the other dark. My -brother, Sir Patrick, and I, do take our fair tint from our poor mother. Is it not -common for fair to affect dark, and dark fair? My father, thou seest, is dark, yet -was my dear departed mother fair as the light of day. Is it unnatural, then, that -I should esteem Sir John Assueton’s olive tint of countenance, his speaking black -eyes, his nobly-arched jet eyebrows, and the raven curls of his finely-formed head, -more than the pure red and white complexion, the blue eyes and the fair hair of my -dear brother? Nay, nay, my brother is very handsome; but algate he be my brother, -and though I love him, as sure never sister loved brother before, yet must I tell -the truth, thou knowest, Mary; and, in good fay, I do think Sir John Assueton by much -the properer man.” -</p> -<p>Hepborne had been by no means blind to that of which neither his sister nor Sir John -Assueton were, as yet, themselves aware. He saw the change on Assueton with extreme -delight. He enjoyed the idea of this woman-hater being at last himself enslaved, and, -above all, he rejoiced that the enslaver should be his sister, the Lady Isabelle. -He longed to attack him on the subject; but, lest he might scare him away from the -toils before <span class="pageNum" id="pb99">[<a href="#pb99">99</a>]</span>he was fairly and irrecoverably meshed, he resolved to appear to shut his eyes to -his friend’s incipient disease. As he went with Sir John, therefore, to see him comfortably -accommodated for the night, he only indulged himself in a remark, natural enough in -itself, upon his wounded arm. -</p> -<p>“Assueton,” said he, “wilt thou not have thine arm dressed by some cunning leech ere -thou goest to rest? Our chaplain is no mean proficient in leechcraft; better take -that rag of a kerchief away, and have it properly bound up.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay,” cried Assueton, hastily, “I thank thee, my good friend; but ’tis very -well as it is. Thy sister, the Lady Isabelle, bound it up with exceeding care; and -in these cases I have remarked that there is no salve equal in virtue to the bloody -goutes of the wound itself. Good night, and St. Andrew be with thee.” -</p> -<p>“And may St. Baldrid, our tutelary saint, be with you,” replied Hepborne, as he shut -the door. “Poor Assueton,” said he then to himself, with a smile, “my sister has -cured one wound for him, only to inflict another, which he will find it more difficult -to salve.” -</p> -<p>The next day being devoted to the gay amusement of hawking, was yet more decisive -of the fate of poor Sir John Assueton. He rode by the side of the Lady Isabelle; and -as the nature of the sport precluded the possibility of her using that attention necessary -to make her palfrey avoid the obstacles lying in its way, or to keep it up when it -stumbled, Sir John found a ready excuse for again acting the part of her knight; and, -one-armed as he had been rendered by the bites of the wolf, he ran all manner of risks -of his own neck to save hers. Hepborne was more occupied in regarding them than in -the sport they were following. He rode after the pair, enjoying all he saw; for in -the malicious pleasure he took in perceiving Assueton getting deeper and deeper entangled -in the snares of love, and its fever mounting higher and higher into his brain, he -almost forgot the toils he had himself been caught in, and found a palliative for -his own heart’s disease, producing a temporary relaxation of its intensity. Thus then -they rode. When the game was on wing, the fair Isabelle galloped fearlessly on, with -her eyes sometimes following the flight of the falcon after its quarry, but much oftener -with her head turned towards Sir John Assueton, whilst Sir John’s looks were fixed -now with anxiety on the ground, to ensure safe riding to the lady, and now thrown -with love-sick gaze of tenderness into the heaven of her eyes, for his had no wish -to soar higher. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb100">[<a href="#pb100">100</a>]</span></p> -<p>In the evening, the Lady Isabelle and her knight were again left to themselves by -the father and son. Her brother’s tales were less interesting to her than they had -been the previous night, and though Assueton talked less of his friend, yet she by -no means found his conversation duller on that account; nay, she even listened much -more intensely to it than before. The younger Sir Patrick, towards the close of the -night, begged of his sister to sit down to her harp, and when she did so, Assueton -hung over her with a rapture sufficiently marking the strength of his new-born passion, -and the little art he had in concealing it. -</p> -<p>Having been asked by her brother to sing, she accompanied her voice in the following -canzonette:— -</p> -<div class="lgouter"> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">Why was celestial Music given, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">But of enchanting love to sing! -</p> -<p class="line">Ethereal flame, that first from heaven -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Angels to this earth did bring. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">What state was man’s till he received -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">The genial blessing from the sky? -</p> -<p class="line">What though in Paradise he lived? -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Yet still he pined, and knew not why. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">But when his beauteous partner came, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">The scene, that dreary was and wild, -</p> -<p class="line">Grew lovely as he felt the flame, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">And the luxuriant garden smiled. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">Oh, Love!—of man thou second soul, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">What but a clod of earth is he -</p> -<p class="line">Who never yet thy flame did thole, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Who never felt thy witchery!</p> -</div> -</div> -<p class="first">Assueton’s applauses were more energetic, and his approbation more eloquently expressed -at the conclusion of this song, than Hepborne had ever heard them on any former occasion. -Though the theme was wont to be so very unpalatable to him, yet he besought the Lady -Isabelle again and again to repeat it, and it seemed to give him new and increased -pleasure every time he heard it. At last the hour for retiring came, and Hepborne -inwardly rejoiced to observe a certain trembling in the voices of both Assueton and -his sister, as they touched each other’s hands to say good night. -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick Hepborne the younger had no sooner accompanied his friend to his apartment -than Assueton seated himself near the hearth, and put up his feet against the wall, -where he fell into a kind of listless dream. Hepborne took a seat on the opposite -side of the fire-place, and, after he had sat silently watching him for some time, -in secret enjoyment of the state <span class="pageNum" id="pb101">[<a href="#pb101">101</a>]</span>he beheld him reduced to, the following conversation took place between them:— -</p> -<p>“Well, Assueton,” said Hepborne, first breaking silence, and assuming as melancholy -a tone as the humour he was in would permit him to use, “Well, mon bel ami, so we -must part to-morrow? The thought is most distressing. My heart would have urged me -to press thee to a farther sojourn with us at Hailes; but thou wert too determined, -and urged too many and too strong reasons for thy return home, when we last talked -of the matter, to leave room for hope that I might succeed in shaking thy purpose. -I see that of very needscost thou must go; nay, in good sooth, thy motives for departure -are of a nature that, feeling as I have myself felt, I should inwardly blame thee -were thy good nature to lead thee to yield to my importunate entreaty. Yea, albeit -thou shouldst consent to stay with me, I should verily tine half the jovisaunce that -mought otherwise spring from thy good company; since, from the all-perfect being I now hold -thee to be, thou wouldst dwindle in my esteem, and be agrutched of half the attraction -thou dost possess in mine eyes, by appearing to lose some deal of those strong feelings -of attachment for thy home, and for the scenes and friends of thy boyhood, which thou -hast hitherto so eminently displayed, and in which, I am led to think, we do so much -resemble each other. Having now had mine somewhat satisfied, perdie, I could almost -wish to boune me with thee, were it only to participate in thine—were it only to see -thee approach the wide domains and the ancient castle of thine ancestors—to see thee -meet thy beloved mother, now so long widowed, and panting to press her only child, -her long absent son, to her bosom—to watch how thou mayst encounter with old friends—to -behold the hearty shakes of loving souvenaunce, given by thy hand to those with whom -thou hast wrestled, or held mimic tourney when thou wert yet but a stripling. Oh, -’twould be as a prolonging of mine own feelings of like sort to witness those that -might arise to thee. But the journey is too long for me to take as yet; and besides, -I cannot yet so soon leave my father and Isabelle. Moreover, thou knowest that my -heart yet acheth severely from the wounds which it took at Norham. Heigh ho! But, -gramercy, forgive me, I entreat thee, for touching unwittingly on the (by thee) hated -subject of love, the which, I well know, is ever wont to erke thee.” -</p> -<p>During this long address, Assueton remained with his heels up against the wall, his -toes all the time beating that species of march that in more modern times has been -called the devil’s <span class="pageNum" id="pb102">[<a href="#pb102">102</a>]</span>tattoo, and with his eyes firmly fixed on the embers consuming on the hearth. -</p> -<p>“I hope, however, my dearest friend,” continued Hepborne, “that thou mayest yet be -able to return to me at Hailes. Thine affairs (though, perdie, thou must have much -to settle after such a succession, and so long an absence), thine affairs, I say, -cannot at the worst detain thee at home longer than a matter of twelve months or so; -after which (that is, when thou shalt have visited thy friends in divers other parts) -I may hope perchance to see thee again return hither.” -</p> -<p>Assueton shifted his position two or three times during this second speech of Hepborne’s, -always again commencing his devil’s tattoo on the wall; but when his friend ceased, -he made no other reply than— -</p> -<p>“Umph! Ay, ay, my dear Hepborne, thou shalt see me.” -</p> -<p>“My dear Assueton,” continued Hepborne, “that is but a loose and vague reply, I ween. -But, by St. Genevieve, I guess how it is. Thou hast thoughts (though as yet thou wouldst -fain not effunde them to me) of returning to France in short space; and thou wouldst -keep them sicker in thy breast for a time, lest peradventure I should grieve too deeply -at thy so speedy abandonment of thy country.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay,” said Assueton, hastily, “trust me I have no such emprize in head.” -</p> -<p>“What then can make thee so little satisfactory in thy reply?” said Hepborne; “surely -’tis but a small matter to grant me; ’tis but a small boon to ask of thee to return -to Hailes Castle some twelve months or year and half hence? I doubt me sore that thou -hast been but half pleased with thy visit here; and truly, when I think on’t, it has -been but a dull one.” -</p> -<p>“Nay,” replied Assueton, eagerly interrupting him, “I do assure thee, Hepborne, thou -art grievously mistaken in so supposing. On the contrary, my hours never passed so -happily as they have done here; nor,” added he, with a deep sigh, “so swiftly, so -very swiftly.” -</p> -<p>“’Tis all well in thee, Assueton,” said Hepborne, “’tis all well in thee to use thy -courtesy to say so; yet, I wot well, ’tis but to please thy friend. Thou knowest that -my father hath been so voracious in his inquiries into the history of my life during -my stay in France, that he hath never suffered me to leave him, so that thou hadst -neither his good company nor my poor converse to cheer thee, but, much to my distress, -thou hast been left to be erked by the silly prattle and trifling speech of that foolish -pusel my sister Isabelle, worn out by the which, ’tis <span class="pageNum" id="pb103">[<a href="#pb103">103</a>]</span>no marvel thou shouldst now be thus moody, as I see thou art; and to rid thyself of -this dreriment of thine, it is natural enow that thou shouldst be right glad to escape -hence, yea, and sore afraid ever to return here. But fear thee not, my friend; she -shall not stand long in thy way. She hath had many offers of espousal, on the which -my father and I are to sit in counsel anon, that is, when other weightier matters -are despatched; and as soon as we shall have time to choose a fitting match for the -maid, she shall forthwith be tochered off. She cannot, then, remain much longer at -Hailes than some three or four weeks at farthest, to frighten from its hall my best -and dearest friend. So that if she be the hindrance to thy return thither, make no -account of her, and promise me at once that thou wilt come. By St. Baldrid, we shall -have a houseful of jolly stalwart knights to meet thee there; and our talk shall be -of deeds of arms, and tourneys, till thy heart be fully contented.” -</p> -<p>This speech of Hepborne’s very much moved Assueton. He shifted his legs down from -the wall and up again at least a dozen times, and his tattoo now became so rapid, -that it would have troubled the legions for whom the march may have been originally -composed to have kept their feet trotting in time to its measure. -</p> -<p>“Nay, verily, Hepborne,” said he seriously, “thou dost thy sister but scrimp justice, -methinks. The Lady Isabelle was anything but tiresome to me; nay, if I may adventure -to say so much, she hath sense and judgment greatly beyond what might be looked for -from her age and sex; there is something most truly pleasing in her converse—something, -I would say, much superior to anything I have heretofore chanced to encounter in woman. -But, methinks thou art rather hasty in thy disposal of her. The damosel is young enow, -meseems, to be thrust forth of her father’s boure, perhaps to take upon her the weight -of formal state that appertaineth to the Madame of some stiff and stern vavesoure. -Perdie, I cannot think with patience of her being so bestowed already; ’twould be -cruel, methinks—nay, ’twould, in good verity, be most unlike thee, Hepborne, to throw -thy peerless sister away on some harsh lord, or silly gnoffe, merely to rid thy father’s -castle of her for thine own convenience. Fie on thee; I weened not thou couldst have -even thought of anything so selfish.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, be not angry, Assueton,” said Hepborne, “thou knowest that they have all a wish -to wed them. But ’tis somewhat strange, methinks, to hear thee talk so; the poppet -seems to have made more impression on thee than ever before was <span class="pageNum" id="pb104">[<a href="#pb104">104</a>]</span>made by woman. What means this warmth? or why shouldst thou step forth to be her knight?” -</p> -<p>“’Tis the part of a good knight,” replied Assueton hastily, “to aid and succour all -damosels in distress.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, but not against a distress of the knight’s own fancying, yea, and contrary to -the wishes of the damosel herself,” replied Hepborne. “What! wouldst thou throw down -the gauntlet of defiance against thy friend, only for being willing to give his sister -the man of her own heart?” -</p> -<p>“And hath she then such?” exclaimed Assueton, his face suddenly becoming the very -emblem of woe-begone anxiety. -</p> -<p>“Yea, in good truth hath she, Assueton,” replied Sir Patrick. “I did but suspect the -truth last night, but this day I have been confirmed in it.” -</p> -<p>“Then am I the most wretched of knights,” cried Assueton, at once forgetting all his -guards; and rising hastily from his seat, he struck his breast, and paced the room -in a frenzy of despair. -</p> -<p>Hepborne could carry on the farce no longer. He burst into a fit of laughter that -seemed to threaten his immediate dissolution; then threw himself on the couch, that -he might give full way to it without fear of falling on the floor, and there he tossed -to and fro with the reiterated convulsions it occasioned him. Assueton stood in mute -astonishment for some moments, but at last he began to perceive that his friend had -discovered his weakness, and that he had been all this time playing on him. He resumed -his seat and position at the hearth, and returned again to his tattoo. -</p> -<p>“So,” said Hepborne—“so—ha, ha, ha!—so!—ha, ha!—so!—Oh, I shall never find breath -to speak—ha, ha, ha! So, Sir John Assueton, the woman-hater, the knight of Adamant, -he who was wont to be known in France by the surnoms of the Knight sans Amour, and -the Chevalier cœur caillou—who, rather than submit to talk to a woman, would hie him -to the stable, to hold grave converse with his horse—who railed roundly at every unfortunate -man that, following the ensample of his great ancestor Adam, did but submit himself -to the yoke of love—who could not bear to hear the very name of love—who sickened -when it was mentioned—who had an absolute antipathy to it, as some, they knew not -why, have to cats or cheese—who, though he liked music to admiration, would avoid -the place if love but chanced to be the minstrel’s theme;—he, Sir John Assueton, is -at last enslaved, has his wounds bound up by a woman, and wears her scarf—plays the -lady’s knight, and <span class="pageNum" id="pb105">[<a href="#pb105">105</a>]</span>leads her palfrey rein—rownes soft things in her ear, hangs o’er her harp, and drinks -in the sweet love-verses she sings to him!” -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay, Hepborne, my dearest friend,” said Assueton, starting up, and clasping -his hands together in an imploring attitude, “I confess, I confess; but sith I do -confess, have mercy on me, I entreat thee; ’tis cruel to sport with my sufferings, -since thou knowest, alas, too surely that I must love in vain.” -</p> -<p>“But, pr’ythee, ‘why shouldst thou afflict thyself, and peak and pine for a silly -girl?’ ” said Hepborne ironically, bringing up against him some of the very expressions -he had used to himself at Norham. “ ‘A knight of thy prowess in the field may have -a thousand baubles as fair for the mere picking up; let it not erke thee that this -trifle is beyond thy reach.’ ” And then rising, and striding gravely up to Assueton, -and shaking his head solemnly—“ ‘Trust me, women are dangerous flowers to pluck, and -have less of the rose about them than the thorn.’ Ha, ha, ha! Oh, ’tis exquisite—by -St. Dennis, ’tis the richest treat I ever enjoyed.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, but bethink thee, my dear friend,” said Assueton, with an imploring look; “bethink -thee, I beseech thee, what misery I am enduring, and reflect how much thou art augmenting -it by thy raillery. Depardieux, I believe thou never didst suffer such pain from love -as I do now.” -</p> -<p>“ ‘No, thank my good stars,’ ” said Hepborne, returning to the charge, and again assuming -a burlesque solemnity of air and tone, “ ‘and I hope, moreover, I never shall be so -besotted: it makes a very fool of a man.’ ” -</p> -<p>“Well, well,” said Assueton, sighing deeply, “I see thou art determined to make my -fatal disease thy sport; yet, by St. Andrew, it is but cruel and ungenerous of thee.” -</p> -<p>“Grammercy, Assueton, I thought my innocent raillery could do thee no harm,” said -Hepborne; “methought that ‘thou mightst be said to have no ears for such matters.’ -But if thou in good truth hast really caught the fever, verily I shall not desert -thee, ‘my friendship for thee shall make me listen to thy ravings;’ yea, and ‘compassion -for thy disease shall make me watch the progress of its symptoms. Never fear that -I shall be so little of a Christian knight as to abandon thee when thy estate is so -dangerous.’ But what, I pr’ythee, my friend, hath induced this so dangerous malady?” -</p> -<p>“Hepborne,” replied Sir John, “thy angelic sister’s magnanimity, her matchless beauty, -her enchanting converse, and her sweet syren voice.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb106">[<a href="#pb106">106</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Ay, ay,” said Hepborne roguishly; “so ’twas her voice, her warbles, and her virelays -that gave thee the coup-de-grace? Nay, it must be soothly confessed, thou didst hang -over her chair to-night in a most proper love-like fashion, as she harped it; yet -her verses ‘were silly enough in conscience, methought’—and then, thou knowest, thou -dost ‘rarely listen to music when love or follies are the theme.’ ” -</p> -<p>“Hepborne,” said Assueton gravely, and with an air of entreaty, “it was not after -this fashion that I did use thee in thine affliction at Norham. Think, I beseech thee, -that my case is not less hopeless than thine. But who, I entreat thee, is the happy -knight who is blessed by the favouring smile of thy divine sister, of the Lady Isabelle -Hepborne, whom I now no longer blush to declare to be the most peerless damosel presently -in existence?” -</p> -<p>“He is a knight,” replied Hepborne, “whose peer thou shalt as rarely meet with, I -trow, as thou canst encounter the make of my sister, the Lady Isabelle. He is a proper, -tall, athletic, handsome man, of dark hair and olive complexion, with trim moustaches -and comely beard—nay, the very man, in short, to take a woman’s eye. Though as yet -but young in age, he is old in arms, and hath already done such doughty deeds as have -made him renowned even in the very songs of the minstrels. Moreover, he is a beloved -friend of mine, and one much approved of my father, and he shall gladly have our consent -for the espousal of my sister.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, then,” said Assueton, in the accents of utter hopelessness, “I am indeed but -a lost knight, and must hie me to some barren wilderness to sigh my soul away. But -lest my disease should drive me to madness, tell me, I entreat thee, the name of this -most fortunate of men, that I may keep me from his path, lest, in my blind fury, I -might destroy him in some ill-starred contecke, and through him wrack the happiness -of the Lady Isabelle, now dearer to me than life.” -</p> -<p>“Thou knowest him as well as thou dost thyself, my dear Assueton,” said Hepborne. -“Trust me, he is one to whom thou dost wish much too well to do him harm. His name -is—Sir John Assueton.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, mock me not, Hepborne, drive me not mad with false hopes,” said Assueton; “certes, -thy raillery doth now exceed the bounds that even friendship should permit.” -</p> -<p>“Grammercy,” said Hepborne, “thou dost seem to me to be mad enough already. What! -wouldst thou quarrel with me for giving thee assurance of that thou hast most panted -for? <span class="pageNum" id="pb107">[<a href="#pb107">107</a>]</span>By the honour of a knight, I swear that Isabelle loves thee. ’Tis true, I heard it -not from her lips; but I read it in her eyes, the which, let me tell thee, inexperienced -in the science, and all unlearned in the leden of love as thou art, do ever furnish -by far the best and soothest evidence on this point that the riddle woman can yield. -Never doubt me but she loves thee, Assueton. She drank up the words thou didst rowne -in her ear with a thirst that showed the growing fever of her soul. And now,” continued -he, as he observed the happy effects of the intelligence upon the countenance of his -friend—“and now, Assueton, tell me, I pr’ythee, at what hour in the morning shall -I order thine esquire and cortege to be ready for thy departure?” -</p> -<p>“Hepborne,” said Assueton, running to embrace him, “thou hast made me the happiest -of mortals. Go! nay, perdie, I shall stay at Hailes till thou dost turn me out.” -</p> -<p>“But, my dearest Assueton,” cried Hepborne, smiling, “consider thy mother, and the -friends and the scenes of thy boyhood—consider what thou——” -</p> -<p>“Pshaw, my dear Hepborne,” cried Sir John, interrupting him, “no more on’t, I entreat -thee. Leave me, I beseech thee, to dreams of delight. Good night, and may the blessed -Virgin and St. Andrew be thy warison, for this ecstacy of jovinaunce thou hast poured -into my soul.” -</p> -<p>“Good night,” said Hepborne, with a more serious air—“good night, my dear and long-tried -brother-in-arms; and good night, my yet dearer brother by alliance, as I hope soon -to call thee.” -</p> -<p>The meeting of the lovers on the next day was productive of more interesting conversation -than any they had yet enjoyed; and although Assueton was, as his friend had said, -a novice in the science and language of love, yet he caught up the knowledge of both -with most marvellous expedition, and was listened to with blushing pleasure by the -lovely Isabelle. -</p> -<p>As the party was seated at breakfast, the sound of trumpets was heard followed by -that of the trampling of horses in the court-yard, and immediately afterwards a herald, -proudly arrayed, and followed by his pursuivants, was ushered into the hall. -</p> -<p>“Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said he, “and you, Sirs Knights, I come to announce to you -and to the world, that on the tenth day of the next month, the noble John Dunbar, -Earl of Moray, will hold a splendid meeting of arms on the mead of St. John’s; and -all princes, lords, barons, knights, and esquires, who intend to tilt at the tournament, -are hereby ordained to lodge themselves <span class="pageNum" id="pb108">[<a href="#pb108">108</a>]</span>within his Castle of Tarnawa, or in pavilions on the field, four days before the said -tournament, to make due display of their armouries, on pain of not being received -at the said tournament. And their arms shall be thus disposed: The crest shall be -placed on a plate of copper large enough to contain the whole summit of the helmet, -and the said plate shall be covered with a mantle, whereon shall be blazoned the arms -of him who bears it; and on the said mantle at the top thereof shall the crest be -placed, and around it shall be a wreath of colours, whatsoever it shall please him. -God save King Robert!” -</p> -<p>The herald having in this manner formally pronounced the proclamation entrusted to -him, was kindly and honourably greeted by Sir Patrick Hepborne, and forthwith seated -at the board and hospitably entertained, after which he arose and addressed the knight. -</p> -<p>“Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said he, “myself and my people, being now refreshed, I may -not waste my time here, having yet a large district to travel over. I drink this cup -of wine to thee and to thy roof-tree, with a herald’s thanks for thy noble treatment. -Say, shall the Lord of Moray look for thy presence at the tourney? I know it would -be his wish to do thee and thine particular honour.” -</p> -<p>“Of that I may judge by his sending thee to Hailes,” said Sir Patrick courteously. -“But in truth I cannot go. I must leave it to thee to tell the noble Earl how sorely -grieved I am to say so; but my heart ha’ been ill at ease of late.” -</p> -<p>“Thine absence will sorely grieve the noble Earl, Sir Knight,” replied the herald, -“but, natheless, I shall hope to see thy gallant son, and the renowned Sir John Assueton, -chiefest flowers in the gay garland of Scottish knights, who shall that day assemble -at St. John’s. Till then adieu, Sirs Knights, and may God and St. Andrew be with ye -all.” -</p> -<p>The trumpets again sounded, and the herald, being waited on by the knights to the -court-yard, mounted his richly caparisoned steed, and rode forth from the castle, -again attended by all the pomp of heraldry. -</p> -<p>“Assueton,” said Hepborne, with a roguish air of seriousness, as they returned up -stairs, “goest thou to this tourney?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, of a truth,” replied Assueton, with his eyes on the ground. “I cannot just at -present yede me so far. Besides, these wounds in my bridle-arm do still pain me grievously, -rendering me all unfit for jousting.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb109">[<a href="#pb109">109</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Then, as I am resolved to go,” said Hepborne, “I do beseech thee make Hailes Castle -thy home till my return, and play the part of son to my dear father in mine absence.” -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch13" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e335">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XIII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Sir Patrick Hepborne’s Departure for the North—Consternation at the Castle.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">As the way was long, and the day of the tournament not very distant, Sir Patrick Hepborne -the younger resolved to leave Hailes Castle next morning for the North, that he might -save himself the necessity of forced marches. He accordingly made instant preparations -for his journey; his father gave immediate orders for securing him a cortege as should -not disgrace the name he bore; and his horses, arms, and appointments of every description -were perfectly befitting his family and rank. When the morning of his departure arrived, -he took an affectionate leave of his father and Assueton, who left the Castle with -their attendants at an early hour, for the purpose of hunting together. The Lady Isabelle -would gladly have made one of the party with her father and her lover, but, attached -as she was to Sir John Assueton, her affection for her brother was too strong to permit -her to leave the Castle till he should be gone. That he might enjoy her society in -private till the last moment, Hepborne despatched his faithful esquire, Mr. Mortimer -Sang, at the head of his people, to wait for him at a particular spot, which he indicated, -at the distance of about a mile from the Castle; and he also sent forward the palfrey -he meant to ride, for his noble destrier Beaufront was to be led by a groom during -the whole march. -</p> -<p>His fond Isabelle resolved to walk with him to the place where he was to meet his -attendants, and accordingly the brother and sister set out together arm in arm. -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick resolving to probe his sister’s heart, adroitly turned the conversation -on Sir John Assueton, and, with extreme ingenuity, touched on those agrémens and virtues -which his friend evidently possessed, as well as on a number of weak and faulty points, -both in person and manner, which he chose, for certain purposes, to feign in him, -or greatly to exaggerate. In praising the former, the Lady Isabelle very much surpassed -her brother; for, however highly he might laud his friend, she always found something -yet more powerful and eloquent to say <span class="pageNum" id="pb110">[<a href="#pb110">110</a>]</span>in his favour; but whenever Sir Patrick ventured to hint at any thing like a fault -or a blemish, the lady was instantly up in arms, and made as brave a defence for him -against her brother as she had done for him some days before against the wolf. This -light skirmishing went on between them until they reached a knoll covered with tall -oaks, whence they beheld the party, about to take shelter in the appointed grove of -trees, on the meadow by the river’s side, at a considerable distance below them. -</p> -<p>“Isabelle,” said Hepborne, taking her hand tenderly, “thou hast walked far enough, -my love; let us rest here for an instant, and then part. Our converse hath not been -vain. My just praise of Assueton, as well as the faults I pretended to find in him, -were neither of them without an object. I wished ere I left thee to satisfy myself -of the true state of thy little heart; for I should have never forgiven myself had -I discovered that I had been mistaken, and that I had told what was not true, when -I assured Assueton, as I did last night, that thou lovest him.” -</p> -<p>“Told Sir John Assueton that I love him?” exclaimed the Lady Isabelle, blushing with -mingled surprise and confusion; “how couldst thou tell him so? and what dost thou -know of my sentiments regarding him? Heavens! what will he think of me?” -</p> -<p>“Why, well, passing well, my fair sister,” said Hepborne; “make thyself easy on that -score. He loves thee, believe me, as much as thou lovest him; so I leave thee to measure -the length, breadth, height, and depth of his attachment by the dimensions of thine -own. But as to knowing the state of thy heart—tut! I could make out much more difficult -cases than it presents; for well I wot its state is apparent enough, even from the -little talk I have had with thee now, if I had never heard or seen more. But, my dear -Isabelle, after my father, thou and he are the two beings on earth whom I do most -love. Ye are both perfect in mine eyes. I could talk to thee of Assueton’s qualities -and perfections for days together, and of virtues which as yet thou canst not have -dreamt of; but I must leave thee to the delightful task of discovering them for thyself. -All I can now say is, may heaven make ye both happy in each other—for I must be gone. -And so, my love, farewell, and may the blessed Virgin protect thee.” -</p> -<p>He then threw his arms about his sister’s neck, pressed her to his bosom, and, having -kissed her repeatedly with the most tender affection, tore himself from her, ran down -the hill, and, as she cleared her eyes from the tear-drops that swelled in them, <span class="pageNum" id="pb111">[<a href="#pb111">111</a>]</span>she saw him disappear in the shade of the clump of trees where his party was stationed. -A good deal of time seemed to be lost ere the whole were mounted and in motion; but -at last she saw them emerging from the wood-shaw, and winding slowly, in single files, -up the river-side. She sat on the bank straining her eyes after them until they were -lost in the distant intricacies of the surface, and then turned her steps slowly homewards, -ruminating agreeably on her brother’s last words, as well as on the events of the -preceding days, which had given her a new and more powerful interest in life than -she had ever before experienced. -</p> -<p>“Oh, my dear brother,” said she to herself, “thou didst indeed say truly that I do -love him; and if thou sayest as soothly that he doth love me, then am I blessed indeed.” -</p> -<p>It was courtesy alone that induced Sir John Assueton to agree to Sir Patrick Hepborne’s -proposal of going that morning to the woodlands to hunt the deer. He went with no -very good will; nay, when his host talked of it, he felt more than once inclined, -as he had done with his friend about the tournament, to plead his wounded arm as an -excuse for remaining at home with the Lady Isabelle; and, perhaps, if it had not been -for absolute shame, he might have yielded to the temptation. Hence he had but little -pleasure in the sport that day, although it was unusually fine; and he was by no means -gratified to find himself led on by the chase to a very unusual distance. But to leave -Sir Patrick was impossible. He was therefore compelled, very much against his inclination, -to ride all day like a lifeless trunk, whilst his spirit was hovering over the far-off -towers of Hailes Castle. The deer was killed so far from home, that it was later than -ordinary before the party returned. -</p> -<p>“I am surprised Isabelle is not already here to receive us,” said Sir Patrick, as -they entered the banquet hall; “I trowed she might have been impatient for our return -ere this. Gabriel,” said he to the old seneschal, “go, I pr’ythee, to Mary Hay, and -let her tell her lady that we are come home, and that we have brought good appetites -with us.” -</p> -<p>Gabriel went, and soon returned with Mary Hay herself, who appeared in great agitation. -</p> -<p>“Where is thy lady?” demanded Sir Patrick, with an expression of considerable anxiety. -</p> -<p>“My lady! my good lord,” said the terrified girl; “holy St. Baldrid! is she not with -thee then?” -</p> -<p>“No,” said Sir Patrick, with increasing amazement and alarm, <span class="pageNum" id="pb112">[<a href="#pb112">112</a>]</span>“she went not with us. We left her here with my son, when he rode forth in the morning.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, I knew that,” said the terrified Mary Hay, “but—good angels be about us—I weened -that her pages and palfrey might have gone with thee, and that she might ha’ been -to join thee in the woods, after having given her brother the convoy.” -</p> -<p>“Merciful powers! did she leave the Castle with her brother?” “Good Heavens! hath -she never been seen since morning?” exclaimed Sir Patrick and Assueton, both in the -same breath, and looking eagerly in the faces of the people around them for something -satisfactory; but no one had seen her since morning. Some of the domestics ran out -to question those who had kept guard; but though she had been seen as she went out -with her brother, neither warder or sentinel had observed her return. Meantime the -whole Castle was searched over from garret to cellar by Assueton, Sir Patrick, and -the servants, all without success. -</p> -<p>The consternation and misery of the father and the lover were greater than language -can describe. Broken sentences burst from them at short intervals, but altogether -void of connection. A thousand conjectures were hazarded, and again abandoned as impossible. -Plans of search without number were proposed, and then given up as hopeless; while -all they said, thought, or did, was without concert, and only calculated to show their -utter distraction. But matters did not long continue thus. -</p> -<p>“My horse, my horse!” cried the agonized and frenzied father; and “My horse, my horse!” -responded Assueton, in a state no less wild and despairing. -</p> -<p>Both rushed down to the stable, and the horses which yet remained saddled from the -chase being hurriedly brought out, they struck the spurs into their sweltering sides, -and, almost without exchanging a word, galloped furiously from the gateway, each, -as if by a species of instinct, taking a different way, and each followed by a handful -of his people, who mounted in reeking haste to attend his master. They scoured the -woodlands, lawns, and alleys, from side to side, and all around; they beat through -the shaws and copses, and hollowed and shouted to the very cracking of their voices. -By and by, to those who listened from the walls, their circles appeared to become -wider, and their shouts were no longer heard. Forth rushed, one by one, as they could -horse them in haste, or gird themselves for running, grooms, lacqueys, spearmen, billmen, -bowmen, and foresters, until none were left within the place but the men on guard, -the old, the feeble, and some of the women. Even Mary Hay ran <span class="pageNum" id="pb113">[<a href="#pb113">113</a>]</span>out into the woods, beating her breast, tearing her hair, screaming like a maniac, -and searching wildly among the bushes, even less rationally than those who had gone -before her. -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick, as he rode, began, in the midst of his affliction, to collect his scattered -ideas, and, calling to mind what they had told him of Lady Isabelle having gone to -convoy her brother, he immediately halted from the unprofitable search he was pursuing, -and turned his horse’s head towards that direction which they must have necessarily -taken. He rode on as far as the knoll where the brother and sister had bid adieu to -each other, and there being a cluster of cottages at the bottom of the hill, he made -towards one of them himself, and sent his attendants to all the others in search of -information. From several of the churls, and from their wives, he learned that his -son had been seen taking an affectionate leave of a lady whom they now supposed to -have been the Lady Isabelle, among the oaks on the knoll, and that he had afterwards -joined his party, waiting for him under the trees by the river’s side, whilst the -lady seemed to turn back, as if to take the way to the Castle. With this new scent, -Sir Patrick made his panting horse breast the hill, and, assisted by his men, beat -the ground in close traverse, backwards and forwards, from one side to another, with -so great care and minuteness that the smallest object could not have escaped their -observation. They tried all the by-routes that might have been taken, but all without -success; though they spent so much time in the search that darkness had already begun -to descend over the earth ere they were compelled to desist from it as hopeless. -</p> -<p>They returned towards the Castle, still catching at the frail chance, as they hurried -thither, that though they had been unsuccessful, some one else might have been more -fortunate, and that probably the Lady Isabelle had been already brought back in safety. -But unhappily the guards, who crowded round them at the gate, and to whom both master -and men all at once opened in accents of loud inquiry, had no such heart-healing tidings -to give them. They obtained such intelligence, however, as had awakened a spark of -hope. Sir John Assueton had returned a short time before Sir Patrick, with the horse -he had ridden so exhausted that the wretched animal had dropped to the ground, and -died instantly after his rider had quitted the saddle. He had called loudly for fresh -horses and a party of spearmen, and had then rushed into the Castle to arm himself -in haste; and a number of those who had gone to search independently having fortunately -by this time come in one by one, <span class="pageNum" id="pb114">[<a href="#pb114">114</a>]</span>some fifteen or twenty bowmen, spearmen, and billmen had been hastily got together, -and provided with brisk and still unbreathed horses. Without taking time, however, -to give the particulars of what he had gathered, or to say whither he was bound, Sir -John had merely called out to the guard, as he was mounting, to tell Sir Patrick, -if he should return before him, that he had heard some tidings of the Lady Isabelle, -and that he would bring her safely back, or perish in the attempt; and after having -said so, he had given the word to his men and scoured off at the head of them in a -southern direction. -</p> -<p>The miserable father was more than ever perplexed by this information. From the preparations -Sir John had so effectually though hastily made, it was evident that the scene of -the enterprise he went on was distant; and that it was not without doubt or danger, -appeared from the few words he had let fall. Could Sir Patrick have had any guess -whither to go, he would have instantly armed himself, and such men as he could have -got together, to follow and aid Sir John Assueton; but such a chase was evidently -more wild and hopeless than the fruitless search he had just returned from; and the -pitchy darkness which by this time prevailed was in itself an insurmountable obstacle -to his discovering the route that Sir John had taken. He was compelled, therefore, -most unwillingly and most sorrowfully, to give up all idea of further exertion for -the present; but he resolved to start in the morning long ere the first lark had arisen -from its nest, and, if he should hear nothing before then that might change his determination, -to ride towards England. He accordingly gave orders to his esquires to have a body -of armed horsemen ready equipped to accompany him, an hour before the first streak -of red should tinge the eastern welkin. -</p> -<p>Old Gabriel Lindsay, his dim eyes filled with tears, and altogether unable to take -comfort to himself, came to make the vain attempt to administer it to his master, -and to try to persuade him to take some rest. But all the efforts of the venerable -seneschal were ineffectual, and the heartbroken father continued to pace the hall -with agitated steps among his people, despatching them off by turns, and often running -down to the gate, or to the ramparts, whenever his ear caught, or fancied it caught, -a sound that might have indicated Assueton’s return. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb115">[<a href="#pb115">115</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch14" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e345">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XIV.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Pursuit—Surprising the Camp.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">But it is now time to state the circumstances of Assueton’s search, as well as the -cause of his abrupt departure. If Sir Patrick, on first starting from the Castle, -had been so little master of himself as to lose time by galloping over ground where -it was next to impossible his daughter could be found, it was not at all likely that -Sir John and his people, strangers as they were to the neighbourhood, could make a -better selection. But it not unfrequently happens that chance, or (which is a much -better word for it) Providence, does more than human prudence in such cases. After -making two or three wild and rapid circles through the woods in the immediate vicinity -of the Castle, like a stone whirled round in a sling, he flew off at a tangent southwards, -and accidentally hit upon a solitary cottage about a couple or more miles from the -Castle, where he learned that a small body of English spearmen had halted that morning, -and that the leader had made a number of inquiries about the late and future motions -of his friend the younger Sir Patrick Hepborne, and himself. These were well enough -known, for the arrival of their young lord had excited universal joy among the population -of his father’s estate; the coming of the herald, with Hepborne’s departure, were -also matters too interesting to escape circulation; and the churl of the cottage had -told, without reservation, all the circumstances to the strangers. He also learned -that the party had gone on to reconnoitre the Castle; and that afterwards, as the -rustic was making faggots at some distance from his dwelling, he had seen them sweeping -by towards England. Assueton could not elicit from the peasant whether it had appeared -to him that the Lady Isabelle was with them, because the man had had but an indistinct -view of them as they rode through the woodlands; but he and his people were agreed -that these must have been the perpetrators of the outrage. His judgment, now that -it had a defined object, began to come into full play. He saw that his own horse and -the horses of his attendants were too much spent to enable him to pursue on the spur -of the moment, and, had it not been so, that it would be vain to go on such an expedition -so slenderly accoutred and accompanied. He therefore galloped back to the Castle as -hard as the exhausted animal could carry him, followed <span class="pageNum" id="pb116">[<a href="#pb116">116</a>]</span>at a distance by his straggling men; and there he made those rapid preparations and -that hasty outset which we have already noticed. -</p> -<p>The night became extremely dark before Assueton had gone many miles; but, luckily -for him, Robert Lindsay, the head forester, happened to be one of his company, for -without him, or some other guide equally well acquainted with the country he had to -travel over, his expedition must have been rendered abortive. Even as it was, he found -difficulty enough in threading the mazes of the Lammermoors; and although Lindsay -knew every knoll, stone, bog, flow, and rivulet that diversified their surface, they -made divers deviations from the proper line, and were much longer in crossing the -ridge than they should have been if favoured by the light of the moon. Towards morning -they judged it prudent to halt on the brow of the hills, ere they began to descend -into the lower and more level country, that they might make observations by the first -light, and determine both as to where they were and as to their future movements. -</p> -<p>As objects below them began to grow somewhat distinct, they found that they had posted -themselves immediately over the hollow mouth of a glen, opening on the flat country, -where a rivulet wound through some green meadows; and they soon began to descry several -tents, pitched together in a cluster, with a number of horses picquetted around them. -</p> -<p>“By’r Lady,” said Assueton, “yonder lie the ravishers. Let’s down upon them, my brave -men, ere they have time to be alarmed and fly.” -</p> -<p>He gave his horse the spur, and galloped down the slope at a fearful pace, followed -by his party, and having gained the level, they charged towards the little encampment -with the swiftness of the wind. The morning’s mist that hung on the side of the hill, -and the imperfect grey light, had prevented the sentinels who were on the watch from -seeing the horsemen approaching until they had descended; but they no sooner observed -them coming on at the <i>pas de charge</i>, than the alarm was given and a general commotion took place among them. Out they -came pouring from the tents to the number of forty or fifty; and there was such a -hasty putting on of morrions and skull-caps, and seizing of weapons, and loosing of -halters, and mounting of the few that had time to get on horseback, and such a clamouring -and shouting, and so much confusion, as assured Assueton an easy victory, though their -numbers were so much greater than his. He came on them at the head of his small body -like a whirlwind, and before half of them had <span class="pageNum" id="pb117">[<a href="#pb117">117</a>]</span>time to turn out, he was already within a hundred yards of their position. A few of -them, armed with spears, had formed in line before the tents, apparently with the -resolution of standing his charge, and at the head of these was an old man, hastily -armed in a cuirass. He stood boldly planted with a lance in his hand, though his head -was bare, and his white hairs hung loosely about his determined countenance. Sir John -Assueton was on the very eve of bearing him and his little phalanx down before the -irresistible fury of his onset, when he suddenly pulled up his reins, and halted his -men. -</p> -<p>“Sir Walter de Selby!” exclaimed he with astonishment, and raising his visor, that -he might the better behold him. -</p> -<p>“Sir John Assueton!” cried Sir Walter, “I crave truce and parley.” -</p> -<p>“Thou hast it, Sir Walter,” said Assueton, “but only on one condition, that I see -not any one attempt to escape hence, or stir from the position he is now in, until -all matters be explained betwixt us. Pledge me thine honour that this shall be so, -and I shall parley with thee in friendship, till I shall see just cause for other -acting. But, by the Rood of St. Andrew, if a single knave shall seek to steal him -away, or to quit the spot of earth that now bears him, I will put every man to death, -saving thee only, whose white hairs and recent hospitality are pledges for thy security. -Advance, Sir Walter; I swear by my knighthood that thy person shall take no hurt from -my hands, or from the hands of any of my people.” -</p> -<p>“Thou comest, doubtless,” said Sir Walter, “to seek after the Lady Isabelle Hepborne, -the fair sister of thy friend Sir Patrick Hepborne.” -</p> -<p>“I do,” said Sir John Assueton, eagerly; “and, by the blessed Virgin, an she be not -immediately delivered up scathless into my custody, I will put every man but thyself -to instant death. Shame, foul shame on thee, Sir Walter, to be the leader in a foray -so disgraceful as this. Is this thy requital to Sir Patrick Hepborne for——? But, hold—I -will not in my friend’s name cast in thy teeth what he himself would scorn to throw -at thee.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Sir John Assueton, judge not so hastily, I entreat thee. What didst thou see -in my behaviour at Norham that should lead thee to suspect me of the foul deed thou -art now so ready to charge me withal? Were I capable of any such, perdie, thou mightest -well pour out all this wrath and wrekery on this old head of mine. Listen to me, I -beseech thee, with temper, and thou shalt soon know that I have had no hand in <span class="pageNum" id="pb118">[<a href="#pb118">118</a>]</span>this unknightly outrage, the which nobody can more deplore than I do. It was Sir Miers -de Willoughby who carried off the lady—God pity me for being related to one who could -so disgrace me! But on him be the sin and the shame of the act.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Sir Knight,” cried Assueton, hastily, “seeing that he did it in thy company, -thou canst not, methinks, shake thyself free of a share of both. But where is the -recreant, that I may forthwith chastise him? And where is the lady? By all the saints -in the kalendar, if she is not instantly produced, I will make every man in thy troop -breakfast upon cold steel.” -</p> -<p>“As God is my judge, Sir Knight,” said Sir Walter, “as God is my judge, mine own afflictions -weigh not more heavily on my old heart at this moment than does the thought that I -have been in some sort, though innocently, the occasion of this outrage having been -done against the sister of the very knight for whom, of all others, gratitude would -make me think it matter of joy to sacrifice this hoary head to do him service. There -are some honourable gentlemen here present who can vouch for me that, forgetful of -mine own bereavement, and the direful consequences that may follow it, I had resolved -to abandon my own quest, and to go forward this morning to Hailes Castle to inform -Sir Patrick Hepborne in person of all I know of this ill-starred and wicked transaction; -and if thou wilt but listen to me, I shall tell it thee in as few words as may be.” -</p> -<p>“But the lady, Sir Knight, the lady?” cried Assueton, in a frenzy; “produce the lady -instantly, else the parley holds not longer.” -</p> -<p>“By mine honour as a knight,” cried the old man,<span id="xd31e2256"></span> “she is not here.” -</p> -<p>“Not here!” exclaimed Sir John Assueton, “not here! What, hast thou sent her forward -to Norham? By the blessed bones of my ancestors,” said he, digging his spurs through -mere rage into his horse’s sides, and checking him again, till he sprang into the -air with the pain, “I shall not leave a stone of it together. Its blaze shall serve -to light up the Border to-night in such fashion that every crone on Tweedside shall -see to go to bed by it.” -</p> -<p>“She is not at Norham, Sir Knight,” said Sir Walter, calmly; “she is not in my keeping, -I most solemnly protest unto thee.” -</p> -<p>“Where is she then, in the name of St. Giles?” cried Assueton. “Tell me instantly, -that I may fly to her rescue. Trifle no more with me, old man; thou dost wear out -the precious minutes. Depardieux, my patience is none of the strongest e’en now; it -won’t hold out much longer, I tell thee, <span class="pageNum" id="pb119">[<a href="#pb119">119</a>]</span>for I am mad, stark mad; so tell me at once where she is, or my rage may overcome -my better feelings.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Sir John Assueton,” said Sir Walter de Selby, with a forbearance and temper -that, old as he was, he could never have exercised had it not been for the feeling -of what he owed to Sir Patrick Hepborne and the consciousness that present appearances -warranted the suspicion of his having been accessory to the outrage committed against -the Lady Isabelle; “I beseech thee, Sir John Assueton, command thyself so far as to -listen to me for but a very few minutes; hadst thou done so earlier, thou hadst ere -this known everything. Interrupt me not, then, I implore thee, and thou shalt be the -sooner satisfied. This is now the third morning since—unfortunate father that I am—I -discovered the sad malure which hath befallen me, and that I was bereft of my daughter, -the Lady Eleanore, who had been mysteriously carried off during the night. Certain -circumstances———” -</p> -<p>“Nay, but, Sir Knight,” said Assueton, interrupting him, “what is thy daughter to -me? What is she to the Lady Isabelle Hepborne? Ay, indeed, wretch that I am, what -is she in any way to the point?” -</p> -<p>Sir Walter de Selby went on without noticing this fresh interruption. -</p> -<p>“Certain circumstances led some of the people about me to believe that thy friend, -Sir Patrick, had had some hand in the rapt, and that he, or some of his people, had -returned at night, and, by some unexampled tapinage, found means unaccountable to -withdraw my daughter from the Castle. In the frenzy I was thrown into by mine affliction, -I was easily induced to believe anything that was suggested to me; and, getting together -my people in a haste, I———” -</p> -<p>“So,” cried Assueton, “I see how it is; a vile thrust of vengeance led thee to make -captive of the Lady Isabelle. Oh, base and unworthy knight!” -</p> -<p>“Nay, indeed, not so,” said Sir Walter, eager to exculpate himself; “I have already -vowed I had no hand in anything so base. ’Tis true, I set out with the mad intent -of besieging Hailes Castle, and demanding the restoration of my daughter. To this -I was much encouraged by Sir Miers de Willoughby, who happened to be at Norham at -the time, and who offered to accompany me. I got no farther than this place that night; -and having had time to reflect by the way on the nature of the enterprise I was boune -on, as well as on the great improbability of so foul suspicion being verified against -a knight of thy friend <span class="pageNum" id="pb120">[<a href="#pb120">120</a>]</span>Sir Patrick’s breeding and courtesy, I resolved to proceed with the utmost caution, -lest I should even give cause of offence where no offence had been rendered. As the -most prudent measure I could adopt, and as that least likely to excite alarm, I resolved -to pitch my little camp in this retired spot, and to send forward Sir Miers de Willoughby, -who readily volunteered the duty, towards Hailes Castle, to make such inquiry of the -peasants as might satisfy me of the truth or falsehood of my suspicions; and this, -thou must grant me, Sir John Assueton, was as much delicacy as could be observed by -me, in the anguished and bleeding state of my heart for the loss of my only child, -and the impatience which I did naturally feel to gain tidings of her.” Here the old -man’s voice was for some moments choked by his tears; and Sir John Assueton was so -much moved by them that he spake not a word. Sir Walter proceeded— -</p> -<p>“De Willoughby returned here last night about sunset. He came to my tent alone, and -he did tell me that, from all he could learn, he believed that my daughter had not -been carried thither, either by Sir Patrick or any other person. ‘But,’ added he, -‘be Sir Patrick Hepborne guilty or innocent of this outrage against thee, I have made -a capture that will be either paying off an old score, or scoring the first item of -a new account against these Scots, for I have carried off the Lady Isabelle Hepborne.’ -Struck with horror, and burning with rage to hear him tell this, I insisted on her -being instantly brought to my tent, that I might forthwith calm her mind, and take -immediate steps to return her in safety, with honourable escort, to her father. ‘Give -thyself no trouble about her,’ said the libertine, treating all I said with contempt, -‘for ere this she bounes her over the Border, on a palfrey led by my people.’ I was -thunderstruck,” continued the old man; “and ere I had time to recover myself so far -as to be able to speak or act, de Willoughby sprang to the door of the tent, and I -heard the clatter of his horse’s heels as he galloped off. I was infuriated; I felt -that he had basely made me the scape-goat to his own caitiff plans, which I now began -to suspect were not of recent hatching. I despatched parties in every direction after -him, but all of them returned, one by one, without having gained even the least intelligence -of him. And all this is true, on the word of an old knight. God wot how well I do -know to feel for the father of the damosel, sith I do suffer the same affliction myself.” -</p> -<p>The old knight was overpowered by his emotions; and <span class="pageNum" id="pb121">[<a href="#pb121">121</a>]</span>Assueton, who had been at length prevailed on to hear his tale to an end, gave way -at the conclusion of it to a paroxysm of rage and grief, which might have well warranted -the bystanders in believing he was really bereft of reason. He threw himself from -his horse to the ground, in despair. Roger Riddel, his esquire, a quiet, temperate, -and, generally, a very silent man, did all he could to soothe his master; and even -old Sir Walter de Selby, sorrowful as he himself was, seemed to forget his wretchedness -in endeavouring to assuage that which so unmanned the Scottish knight. -</p> -<p>After giving way for some time to ineffectual ravings, the offspring of intense feeling, -and having then vented his rage in threats against Sir Miers de Willoughby, Assueton -began by degrees to become more calm, and seeing the necessity of exerting his cool -judgment, that he might determine how to act, he was at length persuaded by Sir Walter -de Selby to go into his tent for a short time, till the horses and men could be refreshed. -Sir Walter had no disposition to screen his unworthy relative from the wrath with -which Assueton threatened him; or, if he had, he conceived himself bound to make it -give way to a sense of justice. He therefore readily answered the Scottish knight’s -hasty questions, and told him that it was more than likely that the lady had been -carried to a certain castle belonging to de Willoughby, situated about the Cheviot -hills. -</p> -<p>Assueton’s impatience brooked no longer delay. Accordingly, with a soul agonized by -the passions of love, grief, rage, and revenge, he summoned his party to horse, and -set off at a furious pace on his anxious and uncertain quest. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch15" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e355">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XV.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Norham Castle again—The Ancient’s Divination—Sir Walter Bewitched—The Franciscan Friar -to the Rescue.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Sir Walter de Selby, who was enduring all the bitterness of grief that a father could -suffer, whose only child, a daughter too, on whose disposal hung a whole legion of -superstitious hopes and fears, had been rent from him in a manner so mysterious, broke -up his little camp with as much impatience as Assueton had exhibited. But age did -not admit of his motions being so rapid as those of the younger knight. He moved, -however, with all the celerity he could exert, for he remembered the warning flame -which had appeared on the fatal shield; and the very <span class="pageNum" id="pb122">[<a href="#pb122">122</a>]</span>thought of his daughter’s disappearance, with the frightful consequences which might -result from her being thus beyond his control, filled his heart with horror and dismay. -He was also exceedingly perplexed how the wizard, Master Ancient Haggerstone Fenwick, -could have so erred in his divination as to occasion him the fruitless and mortifying -expedition into Scotland; for Sir Walter, in the first fever of distraction he was -thrown into by the discovery of his daughter’s disappearance, had immediately made -his way to the aerial den of the Ancient. The cunning diviner instantly recollected -that he had seen Sir Patrick Hepborne going towards the rampart, where he had reason -to know the Lady Eleanore de Selby had been walking, from which he was led to suspect -an appointment between them. He was too artful to make Sir Walter aware of this circumstance, -but, proceeding upon it, he enacted some hasty farce of conjuration, and then with -all due solemnity boldly and confidently pronounced that Sir Patrick Hepborne had -secretly returned, and, obtaining possession of the person of the Lady Eleanore, had -carried her over the Border. -</p> -<p>Some time after Sir Walter de Selby had gone into Scotland, however, a discovery was -accidentally made that seemed to throw light on the disappearance of his daughter. -The mantle she usually wore had been found by a patrole, at several miles’ distance -to the south of Norham, lying by the way-side leading towards Alnwick—a circumstance -which left no doubt remaining that she had been carried off in that direction. But -ere this could be communicated to Sir Walter on his return, his impatience for an -interview with his oracle was so great that, putting aside all obstructions, he hastened -to climb to the den of the monster on the top of the keep. -</p> -<p>“What sayest thou, Master Ancient Fenwick?” said the old man, as he entered the cap-house -door, his breath gone with the steepness of the ascent and the anxiety of his mind; -“for once thy skill seemeth to have failed thee.” -</p> -<p>The Ancient was seated in his usual corner, immersed in his favourite study: a large -circle was delineated on the floor, and in the centre of it lay the Lady Eleanore’s -mantle. -</p> -<p>“Blame, then, thine own impatience and haste,” said the Ancient. “The signs were drawn -awry, and no wonder that the calculations were erroneous; but thou wert not gone half-a-day -until I discovered the error; and now thou shalt thyself behold it remedied. Dost -see there thy daughter’s mantle?” -</p> -<p>The old man instantly recognized it; and, looking at it in silence for some moments, -the feelings of a sorrowing and bereft <span class="pageNum" id="pb123">[<a href="#pb123">123</a>]</span>parent came upon him with all the strength of nature; his heart and his eyes filled, -and burst into a flood of tears. He stepped forward to lift it up and imprint kisses -upon it; but the stern and unfeeling Ancient called out, in a harsh voice,— -</p> -<p>“Touch it not, on thy life, else all my mystic labours have been in vain. Stand aloof -there, and, if thou wilt, be a witness of the power I possess in diving into secrets -that are hid from other men.” -</p> -<p>Sir Walter obeyed. The Ancient arose and struck a light; and having darkened the loophole -window, he lighted his lamp and put it into a corner. He then approached the circle, -and squatting down, he with much labour and difficulty drew his unwieldy limbs within -its compass, and, kneeling over the mantle, he proceeded to mutter to himself, from -a book of necromancy which he held in his hand, turning the pages over with great -rapidity, and making from time to time divers signs with his forefinger on his face -and on the floor. After this he laid his head down on the pavement, covered it with -the mantle, and continued to mutter uncouthly, and to writhe his body until he seemed -to fall into a swoon. He lay motionless for a considerable time; but at length he -appeared to recover gradually, the writhing and the muttering recommenced, and raising -up his body with the mantle hanging over his head and shoulders, he exposed his horrid -features to view. To the inexpressible terror of Sir Walter, the forehead blazed with -the same appalling flame which he had seen it bear on the night of his long interview -with the wizard. -</p> -<p>“Seek thy daughter in the South,” said the Ancient, in a hollow voice; “seek her from -Sir Rafe Piersie. Remember thy destinies. The balance now wavers—now it turns against -thee and thy destinies. If but an atom of time be lost, they are sealed, irrecoverably -sealed.” -</p> -<p>Quick as the lightning of heaven did the ideas shoot through the old man’s mind, as -the Ancient was solemnly pronouncing this terrific response. He remembered that Sir -Rafe Piersie had left Norham, in a litter, the very day preceding the night his daughter -had disappeared; and it flashed upon him that some of the grooms had remained behind -their master, under pretence of one of his favourite horses having been taken ill, -and had afterwards followed him during the night. That they must have found means -to carry the Lady Eleanore off with them, was, he thought, but too manifest. The very -name of Piersie, when uttered by the Ancient, had made Sir Walter’s blood run cold, -from his superstitious belief of the impending <span class="pageNum" id="pb124">[<a href="#pb124">124</a>]</span>fate that was connected with it; and the weight of his feelings operating on a body -oppressed with fatigue and want of sleep, and on a mind worn out with the agitation -and affliction it had undergone, became too much for nature to bear. He grew deadly -pale. He made an effort to speak, but his tongue became dry and cleaved to the roof -of his mouth, and his lips refused their office; an indistinct, mumbling, moaning -sound was all that they could utter—his cheeks became rapidly convulsed—one corner -of his mouth was drawn up to his ear, and he fell backwards on the floor in a state -of perfect insensibility. -</p> -<p>Fenwick became alarmed. He started up with the ghastly look of a newly-convicted felon, -and the fear of being accused of the murder of Sir Walter came upon him. He crept -towards the knight, and raising him up, made use of what means he could to endeavour -to restore him to life; but all his efforts were unsuccessful. Trembling from the -panic he was in, he then lifted the old knight in his arms, and with great difficulty -conveyed him down the narrow stair to his own apartment. Horror was depicted in the -faces of the domestics when they beheld the hated but dreaded monster bearing the -bulky and apparently lifeless body of their beloved master. A wild cry of grief and -apprehension burst from them. The Ancient laid Sir Walter on the bed, and, as the -attendants stood aloof and aghast, he took up a small knife that lay near and pierced -the veins of both temples with the point of it. The blood spouted forth, and the knight -began to show faint symptoms of life. Never negligent of any circumstance that might -raise his reputation for supernatural power, the Ancient now began to employ a number -of strange necromantic signs, and to utter a jargon of unintelligible words in a low -muttering tone, laying his hand at one time on the face, and at another on the breast, -of the semi-animate body, that he might impress the bystanders with the idea of his -magic having restored Sir Walter to life; for, seeing the blood flow so freely, he -anticipated the immediate and perfect recovery of the patient. But he was mistaken -in the extent of his hopes. Sir Walter opened his eyes, stared wildly about him, and -moved his lips as if endeavouring to speak; but he continued to lie on his back, altogether -motionless, and quite incapable of uttering a word. -</p> -<p>The dismayed Ancient shuffled out of the apartment, and hastily retired to his lofty -citadel. A murmur of disapprobation broke out among the domestics the moment he was -supposed to be beyond hearing. They crowded about their master’s bedside, every one -eager to do something. All manner of restoratives <span class="pageNum" id="pb125">[<a href="#pb125">125</a>]</span>were tried with him, but in vain. He seemed to be perfectly unconscious of what they -did, and he lay sunk in a lethargy, from which nothing could rouse him. -</p> -<p>Sir Walter was the idol of his people and garrison. By degrees the melancholy news -spread through the keep of the Castle, and thence into its courts, barracks, stables, -guardhouses, and along its very ramparts, until every soldier and sentinel in the -place became aware of the miserable condition of their beloved Governor, as well as -of the immediate share which Master Ancient Haggerstone Fenwick, the sorcerer, had -had in producing it. General lamentations arose. -</p> -<p>“Our good Governor is bewitched!”—“The monster Ancient hath bewitched him!”—“The villain -Fenwick drew his very blood from him to help his sorcery!”—“What can be done?”—“What -shall we do?”—“Let us send forthwith for some holy man.”—“Let us send for the pious -clerk of Tilmouth Chapel; he hath good lore in sike cases.” -</p> -<p>The suggestion was approved by all, and accordingly a horseman was instantly despatched -to bring the clerk with all possible haste. The messenger speedily returned, unaccompanied, -however, by the pious priest of Tilmouth, who chanced to be sick in bed, but who had -sent them a wayfaring Franciscan monk, of whose potent power against magic he had -largely spoken. The holy man was immediately ushered into the Governor’s apartment. -Having previously taken care to inform himself of all the particulars of the case, -from the horseman behind whom he had been brought, he approached the bed with a solemn -air and surveyed Sir Walter for some time, as if in deep consideration of his state -and appearance, with intent to discover his malady. He looked into his eyes, felt -him carefully all over, and moved his helpless legs and arms to and fro. Meanwhile -the officers of the garrison, the attendants, and even some of the soldiers, were -awaiting anxiously in the room, about the door, on the stairs, and on the bridge below, -all eager to learn the issue of his examination. -</p> -<p>“Sir Walter de Selby is bewitched,” said the Franciscan at length, “and no human power -can now restore him, so long as the wretch, whoever he may be, who hath done this -foul work on him shall be permitted to live. If he be known, therefore, let him be -forthwith seized and dragged to the flames.” -</p> -<p>An indignant murmur of approbation followed this announcement, and soon spread to -those on the stairs, and from them to the soldiers in the court-yard below. Fortified -by the spiritual <span class="pageNum" id="pb126">[<a href="#pb126">126</a>]</span>aid of a holy friar, the most superstitious of them lost half of their dread of the -Ancient’s supernatural powers. -</p> -<p>“Burn the Ancient!” cried one.—“Burn Haggerstone Fenwick!” cried another.—“Burn the -Wizard Fenwick!” cried a third.—“Faggots there—faggots in the court-yard!”—“Raise -a pile as high as the keep!”—“Faggots!”—“Fire!”—“Burn the Ancient!”—“Burn the Wizard!” -flew from mouth to mouth. All was instant ferment. Some ran this way, and others that, -to bring billets of wood, and to prepare the pile of expiation; so that, in a short -time, it was built up to a height sufficient to have burnt the Ancient if his altitude -had been double what it really was. -</p> -<p>This being completed, the next cry was—“Seize the Ancient—seize him, and bring him -down!” But this was altogether a different matter; for although every one most readily -joined in the cry, no one seemed disposed to lead the way in carrying the general -wish into effect. The friar assumed an air of command— -</p> -<p>“Let no one move,” said he, “until I shall have communed with the wretch. I shall -myself ascend to his den, and endeavour to bend his wicked heart to undo the evil -he hath wrought on the good Sir Walter. But let some chosen and determined men be -within call, for should I find him hardened and obdurate, he must forthwith be led -out to suffer for his foul sorcery. Meanwhile let all be quiet, let no sound be uttered, -until I shall be heard to pronounce, in a loud voice, this terrible malison, ‘<i>Body and soul, to the flames I doom thee!</i>’ Then let them up without delay on him, and he shall be straightway overcome.” -</p> -<p>The Franciscan was listened to with the most profound deference, his commands were -implicitly obeyed, and every sound, both within and without the Castle, was from that -moment hushed. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch16" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e365">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XVI.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Raising the Devil—Delivered to the Flames.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The Ancient Haggerstone Fenwick had been by no means comfortable in his thoughts after -he had retreated to the solitude of his cap-house, and had in fact anticipated in -some degree the effect which would result from the state of insensibility that Sir -Walter had been thrown into. He was aware that the very mummery he had enacted over -him, when he expected his immediate <span class="pageNum" id="pb127">[<a href="#pb127">127</a>]</span>resuscitation, instead of operating, as in that event it would have done, to raise -his fame as a healing magician, would now be the means of fixing on him the supposed -crime of having produced his malady, and strengthened it by wicked sorcery. But he -by no means expected that the irritation against him would be so speedy or so violent -in its operation as it really proved, and he perhaps trusted for his safety from any -sudden attack to the dread with which he well knew his very name inspired every one -in the garrison. -</p> -<p>He had crept into the farther corner of his den, where, in the present distracted -state of his mind, it did not even occur to him to extinguish the lamp he had left -burning, or to let in the daylight he had excluded. There he sat, brooding over the -unfortunate issue of his divination, in very uneasy contemplation of the danger that -threatened him in consequence, distant though he then thought it. A coward in his -heart, he began to curse himself for having tried schemes which now seemed likely -to end so fatally for himself. He turned over a variety of plans for securing his -safety, but, after all his cogitation, flight alone seemed to be the only one that -was likely to be really available. But then Sir Walter might recover; in which case -he might still obtain the credit of his recovery, and his ambitious schemes be yet -crowned with success. Thus the devil again tempted him; and he finally resolved to -wait patiently until night, which was by this time at hand, and then steal quietly -down to ascertain Sir Walter’s state, and act accordingly. Should he find him worse, -or even no better than when he left him, he resolved to go secretly to the ramparts, -there to undo some of the ropes of the warlike engines that defended the walls, and -to let himself down by means of them at a part where he knew the height would be least -formidable, and so effect his escape. -</p> -<p>Occupied as the Ancient was with these thoughts, although he had heard the clamours -and shouts rising from below, yet, buried in the farthest corner of his den, they -came to his ear like the murmurs of a far-distant storm; and, accustomed to the every-day -noise of a crowded garrison, they did not even strike him as at all extraordinary. -</p> -<p>To divert these apprehensions which he could by no means allay, he opened one of his -favourite books, and endeavoured to occupy himself in his usual study; but his mind -wandered in spite of all his exertions to keep it fixed, and he turned the leaves, -and traced the lines with his eyes without being in the least conscious of the meaning -they conveyed. He roused himself, <span class="pageNum" id="pb128">[<a href="#pb128">128</a>]</span>and began reading aloud, as if he could have talked himself into quiet by the very -sound of his own voice. He went on without at first perceiving the particular nature -of the passage he had stumbled on; but his attention being now called to it, he was -somewhat horrified to observe that it contained the form of exorcism employed for -raising the devil in person. By some unaccountable fatality, he went on with it, wishing -all the while that he had never begun it, but yet more strangely afraid to stop; until -at length, approaching the conclusion, he ended with these terrible words—<span class="corr" id="xd31e2342" title="Not in source">“</span><i>Sathanas, Sathanas, Sathanas, Sathanas, Prince of Darkness, appear!</i>” -</p> -<p>He stopped, and looked fearfully around him, as soon as they had passed his lips. -The door of the place slowly opened, and the head of the very Franciscan monk who -had formerly visited him, the face deeply shaded by the projecting cowl, was thrust -within the doorway. -</p> -<p>“I am here—what wouldst thou with me?” said he, in a deep and hollow voice. -</p> -<p>The Ancient threw himself upon his knees, and drew back his body into the corner. -His teeth chattered in his head, and he was deprived of speech. He covered his eyes -with his hands, as if afraid to look upon the object of his dread. He now verily believed -that he had been formerly visited by the Devil, and that the Arch-Fiend had again -returned to carry him away. The Franciscan crouched, and glided forward into the middle -of the place. -</p> -<p>“What becomes of him, lossel,” said he, in a tremendous voice, “what becomes of him -who takes the Devil’s wages, and doeth not his work? What becomes of him who vainly -tries to deceive the Devil his master? Fool! didst thou not believe that I was the -Prince of Darkness?” -</p> -<p>The terrified Ancient had now no doubt that he was indeed the Devil; still he kept -his hands over his eyes, and drew himself yet more up, in dread that every succeeding -moment he should feel himself clutched by his fiery fangs. -</p> -<p>“Hast thou not tried to cheat me, wretch—me, who cannot but know all things?” continued -the Franciscan. -</p> -<p>“Oh, spare me, spare me! I confess, I confess. Avaunt thee, Sathanas!—Spare!—Avaunt!—Spare -me, Sathanas!” muttered the miserable wretch, altogether unconscious of what he uttered. -</p> -<p>“Spare thee, thou vile slave!” cried the Franciscan with bitterness, “I never spared -mortal that once roused my vengeance, and thou hast roused mine to red-hot fury. Answer -<span class="pageNum" id="pb129">[<a href="#pb129">129</a>]</span>me, and remember it is vain to attempt concealment with me. Didst thou not fail of -thy promise to rouse Sir Walter de Selby to my purpose, as it affected Sir Rafe Piersie?” -</p> -<p>“Oh, I did, I did—Oh, spare me, spare me, Sathanas!” cried the Ancient. -</p> -<p>“Didst thou not rather stir him up to reject and spurn the noble knight?” demanded -the Franciscan. -</p> -<p>“Oh, yes, I did—Oh yes—Spare me, spare me!—Avaunt thee, Sathanas!—Spare me—Oh, spare -me!” -</p> -<p>“Spare thee!” cried the Franciscan, with a horrid laugh of contempt; “spare thee! -What mercy canst thou hope from me? No, thou art given to my power, not to be spared, -but to be punished. Thine acts of sorcery, which have murdered Sir Walter de Selby, -have put thee beyond the pale of mercy, nor canst thou now look elsewhere for aid. -Thou art fitting food for hell,” continued he, with a fiend-like grin of satisfaction; -and retreating slowly out of the doorway, and raising his voice into a shriek, that -re-echoed from every projection and turret of the building, he pronounced the last -fatal words, “<i>Body and soul, to the flames I doom thee!</i>” -</p> -<p>An instantaneous shout arose from the court-yard below, and a clamour of many voices -came rapidly up the stairs in the interior of the keep. -</p> -<p>It quickly swelled upon the ear, and the clattering noise of many feet was heard approaching. -Out they came on the platform of the keep, one by one, as they could scramble forth; -and as the stoutest spirits naturally mounted first, the Franciscan was instantly -surrounded by a body of the most determined hearts in the garrison. -</p> -<p>“In on the servant of Sathanas,” cried he; “in on the cruel sorcerer, who hath bewitched -thine unhappy Governor, and who refuseth to sayne again; in on the monster, tear him -from his den, and drag him to the flames. Fear him not; his supernatural powers are -quenched. Behold!” and pulling a wooden crosslet from his bosom, he held it up to -their view—“In on him, I say, and seize him.” -</p> -<p>The door was instantly forced open, and one or two of the boldest entered first; then -two or three more followed, to the number of half a dozen in all, for the place could -hardly contain more. The Ancient had now become frantic from terror, and his reason -so far forsook him that he saw not or knew not the faces of those who came in on him -to attack him, though many of them were familiar to him; he was fully possessed with -the idea that a legion of devils were about to assail him, to drag him <span class="pageNum" id="pb130">[<a href="#pb130">130</a>]</span>down to eternal punishment. They sprang upon him at once by general concert. The Ancient -was an arrant coward; but a coward so circumstanced will fight to the last, even against -an infernal host; and so he did, with the desperation of a maniac. In the interior -of the place, the scuffle was tremendous; the very walls and roof of it seemed to -heave and labour with its tumultuous contents. The keep itself shook to its foundation, -and the shrieks, groans, and curses that came from within appalled the bystanders. -</p> -<p>“Pick-axes, crows, and hatchets!” cried the friar; and the implements were brought -with the utmost expedition at his command. -</p> -<p>“Unroof his den,” cried he again; and two or three of the stoutest mounted forthwith -on the flags of the roof, and by means of the crows and pick-axes began to tear them -up with so much expedition, that they very soon laid the wood bare, and following -up their work of devastation with the same energy, speedily and entirely demolished -the roof, letting in the little light that yet remained of day upon the combatants. -</p> -<p>The ancient Fenwick was now discovered lying on his back, his jaws wide open, his -huge tusks displayed, and his mouth covered with foam, while his opponents were clustered -over him like ants employed in overpowering a huge beetle. All their efforts to drag -him out at the door had been quite unavailing. Though there were no weapons of edge -or point among the combatants, many severe wounds and blows had been given and received, -and blood flowed on the pavement in abundance. The Ancient’s teeth seemed to have -done him good service after his arms had been mastered and rendered ineffectual to -him, for many of his assailants bore deep and lasting impressions of his jaws on their -hands and faces. -</p> -<p>“In on the savage wizard now, overwhelm and bind him,” cried the Franciscan, with -a devilish laugh of triumph. -</p> -<p>At his word they scaled the roofless walls, and jumped down on the miserable wretch -in such numbers that the place was literally packed. But the more that came on him -the more furiously the Ancient defended himself, kicking, and heaving, and tossing -some of them, till one of their number, laying his hand on a huge folio, made use -of his code of necromancy against himself, and gave him a knock on the head that stunned -him, and rendered him for some time insensible. Taking advantage of this circumstance, -cords were hastily employed to bind his arms behind him; and a set of ropes being -passed under him, he was with great difficulty hoisted from his den, and laid out -at <span class="pageNum" id="pb131">[<a href="#pb131">131</a>]</span>length upon the platform of the keep. There he lay, breathing, to be sure, but in -a temporary state of perfect insensibility. -</p> -<p>Availing themselves of the swoon into which he had fallen, the assailants began to -hold counsel how they were to get his unwieldy and unmanageable carcase down to the -court-yard. To have attempted to carry it by the stairs would have been hopeless; -a week would have hardly sufficed to have manœuvred it through their narrow intricacies. -The only possible mode, therefore, was to let him down by means of ropes, over the -outside walls of the keep. Accordingly strong loops were passed around his legs and -under his arm-pits; and by the united exertions of some dozen of men, he was lifted -up and projected over the battlements. -</p> -<p>As they were lowering him down slowly and with great care, the wretched Ancient, recovering -from his swoon, found himself dreadfully suspended between sky and earth; and looking -upwards, and beholding the grim faces of the men who managed the ropes scowling over -the battlements, strongly illuminated by the light of the torches they held, he was -more than ever convinced that they were demons, nor did he doubt that he was already -in the very commencement of those torments of the nether world which he had been condemned -to undergo for his iniquity. He shrieked and kicked, and made such exertions, that -the very ropes cracked, so that he ran imminent risk of breaking them, and of tumbling -headlong to the bottom. Afraid of this, the people above began to lower him away more -quickly, and the darkness below not permitting them to see the ground, so as to know -when he had nearly reached it, his head came so rudely in contact with it that he -was again thrown into a state of insensibility. -</p> -<p>The whole men of the garrison, both within and without the keep, having now assembled -around him, a white sheet was brought out by order of the Franciscan, and he was clothed -in it as with a loose robe. A black cross was then painted on the breast, and another -on the back of it, from the charitable motive of saving his soul from the hands of -the Devil, after it should be purified from its sins by the fire his body was destined -to undergo. A parchment cap of considerable altitude, and also ornamented with crosses, -was next tied upon his head; and two long flambeaux were bound firmly, one on each -side, above his ears. He was then carried to the pile of wood, and extended at length -upon the top of it. The torches attached to his head were lighted, and the Franciscan, -approaching the pile with a variety of ceremonies, set fire to it with much solemnity<span class="pageNum" id="pb132">[<a href="#pb132">132</a>]</span>—a grim smile of inward satisfaction lighting up his dark and stern features as he -did so. -</p> -<p>“Thus,” said he, “let all wizards and sorcerers perish, and thus let their cruel enchantments -end with them.” -</p> -<p>The anticipation of the horrific scene which was to ensue operated so powerfully on -the vulgar crowd around, that a dead silence prevailed; and even those who, a few -minutes before had shouted loudest and fought most furiously against the Ancient, -now that they beheld the wretched victim laid upon the pile, and the fire slowly gaining -strength, and rising more and more towards him—already hearing in fancy the piercing -agony of his screams, and beholding in idea the horrible spectacle of his half-consumed -limbs writhing with the torture of the flames—stood aloof, and, folding their sinewy -arms and knitting their brows, half averted their eyes from the painful spectacle. -</p> -<p>Up rose the curling smoke, until the whole summit of the broad and lofty keep was -enveloped in its murky folds; while the flames, shooting in all directions through -the crackling wood, began already to produce an intolerable heat under the wretched -and devoted man, though they had not yet mounted so high as to catch the sheet he -was wrapt in. Life began again to return to him. He stretched himself, and turned -his head round first to the right, and then to the left; and, beholding the dense -group of soldiers on all sides of him, their eyes glaring red on him, from the reflection -of the flame that was bursting from beneath him, and being now sensible of the intolerable -heat, and half suffocated with the gusts of smoke that blew about him, his belief -that he was in the hands of demons, and that his eternal fiery punishment was begun, -was more than ever confirmed. He bellowed, writhed, and struggled; and his bodily -strength, which was at all times enormous, being now increased tenfold by the horrors -that beset him, he made one furious exertion, and, snapping the cords which bound -his arms behind, and which, fortunately for him, had been weaker than they otherwise -would have been, had those who tied them not believed that he was already nearly exanimate, -he sprang to his feet and rent open the front of the white robe they had put round -him. Down came the immense and loosely-constructed pile of faggots, by the sheer force -of his weight alone, and onward he rushed, with the force and fury of an enraged elephant, -overturning all who ventured to oppose him, or who could not get out of his way, the -flambeaux blazing at his head, and his long white robe streaming behind him, and exposing -the close black frieze dress he usually wore. The guards and sentinels at the first -gate, <span class="pageNum" id="pb133">[<a href="#pb133">133</a>]</span>aware of what was going on, and conceiving it impossible for human power to escape, -after the precautions which had been taken, when they saw the terrible figure advancing -towards them, with what appeared to them to be a couple of fiery horns on his head, -abandoned their posts and fled in terror. Those at the outer gate were no less frightened, -and retreated with equal expedition. But the drawbridge was up. Luckily for the Ancient, -however, he, like many other fortunate men, was on the right side for his own interest -on this occasion. Without hesitation he put the enormous sole of one foot against -it—down it rattled in an instant, chains and all, and he thundered along it. -</p> -<p>By this time the panic-stricken soldiers of the garrison had recovered from their -alarm, and started with shouts after the fugitive, being now again as eager to take -him, and much more ready to sacrifice him when taken, than they had even been before. -On they hurried after him, yelling like a pack of hounds, and cheered to the chase -by the revengeful and bloodthirsty Franciscan, their pursuit being directed by the -flaming torches at his head; and forward he strode down the hollow way to the mead -of Norham, and, dreading capture worse than death itself, be darted across the flat -ground, flaming like a meteor, and, dashing at once into the foaming stream of the -Tweed, began wading across through a depth of water enough to have drowned any ordinary -man; until at length, partly by swashing and partly by swimming, during which last -operation the lights he bore on his head were extinguished, he made his way fairly -into Scotland. -</p> -<p>His pursuers halted in amazement. The whole time occupied in his escape seemed to -have been but as a few minutes. Fear once more fell upon them, and they talked to -one another in broken sentences and half-smothered voices. -</p> -<p>“Surely,” said one, “the Devil, whose servant he was, must have aided him.” -</p> -<p>“Ay, ay, that’s clear enow,” said another. -</p> -<p>“He was stone-dead, and came miraculously alive again,” said a third. -</p> -<p>“Nay,” said a fourth, “he came not alive again; ’twas but the Devil that took possession -of his dead body.” -</p> -<p>“In good troth thou hast hit it, Gregory,” said a fifth, with an expression of horror; -“for no one but the Devil himself could have broken the cords that tied his hands, -or kicked down the drawbridge after such a fashion.” -</p> -<p>“Didst see how he walked on the water?” cried a sixth. -</p> -<p>“Ay,” said a seventh, “and how he vanished in the middle o’ Tweed in a flash o’ fire -that made the very water brenn again?” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb134">[<a href="#pb134">134</a>]</span></p> -<p>Having thus wrought themselves into a belief that the spectre they had been following -was no other than the Devil flying off with the already exanimate body of Ancient -Fenwick, they trembled at the very idea of having pursued him; and they crept silently -back to the garrison, the blood in their veins freezing with terror, and crossing -themselves from time to time as they went. -</p> -<p>As for the Franciscan, he disappeared, no one knew how. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch17" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e376">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XVII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Sir John’s Pursuit in Quest of the Missing Lady—The Forester’s Hunting Camp—Sir Miers -de Willoughby’s Border Keep.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Sir John Assueton’s fury and distraction carried him on with great rapidity, until -he reached the banks of the Tweed, and his own horse, as well as the horses of his -small troop of spearmen, were right glad to lave their smoking sides in its cool current, -as he boldly swam them to the English shore. He tarried but short time by the way, -to refresh either them or his men; and towards nightfall, found himself winding into -a green glen, thickly wooded in some parts, opening in smooth pasture in others, and -watered by one of those brisk streams that descend into Northumberland from the Cheviot -hills. -</p> -<p>The sight of those lofty elevations, now so near him, brought the object of his hasty -march more freshly to his mind, too much agitated hitherto by the violence of the -various passions that possessed it, to permit him to act or think coolly. But he began -now to reflect that, although he had learned that the Castle of Burnstower, to which -Sir Miers de Willoughby was supposed to have carried off the Lady Isabelle, lay somewhere -among the intricacies of these hills, his rage and impatience had never allowed him -to inquire farther, or to advert to the very obvious circumstance that the extent -of the hilly range was so great that he might search for many days before he could -discover the spot where it was situated. It was therefore absolutely necessary that -he should avail himself of the very first opportunity which might occur of procuring -information, both as to the Castle he was in search of, and the owner of it, of whom -he had in reality as yet learned nothing. He rode slowly up the glen, therefore, in -expectation of seeing some cottage, where he might halt for a short time to gain intelligence, -or of meeting some peasant, from whom he might adroitly gather the information <span class="pageNum" id="pb135">[<a href="#pb135">135</a>]</span>he wanted, without exciting suspicion as to the nature of his errand. -</p> -<p>Fortune seemed to be so far favourable to him, that he had not ridden any great distance -ere he descried a forester, standing under a wide-spreading oak, by the side of a -glade, where the glen was narrowest. He had a cross-bow in his hand, and appeared -to be on the watch for deer. -</p> -<p>“Ho, forester,” cried Assueton to him, “methinks thou hast chosen a likely pass here -for the game; hast thou sped to-day?” -</p> -<p>“Not so far amiss as to that,” said the forester, carelessly leaving his stand, and -lounging towards the party, as if to reconnoitre them. -</p> -<p>“Dost thou hunt alone, my good fellow,” said the knight. -</p> -<p>“N—nay,” said the forester, with hesitation; “there be more of us in company a short -way off.” -</p> -<p>“Hast thou any cottage or place of shelter hereabouts, where hungry travellers might -have a mouthful of food, with provender, and an hour’s rest for our weary beasts?” -demanded Assueton. “Here’s money for thee.” -</p> -<p>“As to a cottage like,” replied the forester, “I trow there be not many of them in -these wilds; but an thou wilt yede thee wi’ me, thou shalt share the supper my comrades -must be cooking ere this time; and as for thy beasts, they canna be muckle to dole -for, where the grass grows aneath their feet. Thy money we care not for.” -</p> -<p>“Thine offer is fair and kind, good forester,” said Assueton; “we shall on with thee -right gladly, and give thee good thanks for thy sylvan hospitality, such as it may -be. Lead on then.” -</p> -<p>The forester, without more words, walked cleverly on before Sir John Assueton, who -followed him at the head of his party. As they advanced a little way, the wooding -of the glen became much more dense, and rocks projecting themselves from the base -of the hills on either side, rendered the passage in the bottom between them and the -stream excessively narrow, so that the men of the party could only move on singly, -and were more than once obliged to dismount and lead their horses. The way seemed -to be very long, and night came on to increase its difficulties. Assueton’s impatience -more than once tempted him to complain of it; but he restrained himself, lest his -eagerness might excite suspicion that he had some secret and important hostile object -in view, and that he might thus lose all chance of gaining the information he so much -wanted. He kept as close as he possibly could to his guide, however, for he began -to have <span class="pageNum" id="pb136">[<a href="#pb136">136</a>]</span>strange doubts that he might be leading him into some ambush; and he had resolved -within his own mind to seize and sacrifice him the instant he had reason to be convinced -he had betrayed them. -</p> -<p>After forcing their way through a very wild pass, where the rocks on both sides towered -up their bold and lofty fronts, the glen widened, and the party entered a little gently-sloping -glade or holme, bounded by the high and thickly-wooded banks, which here retired from -the side of the stream, and swept irregularly around it. A blazing fire appeared among -the trees. -</p> -<p>“Ay,” said the forester, “these are my comrades: I reckon we come in good time, for -yonder be the supper a-cooking.” -</p> -<p>The party now crossed through the luxuriant pasture, that, moistened with the evening -dew, was giving out a thousand mingled perfumes from the wild flowers that grew in -it, and speedily came within view of about a dozen men, clad in the same woodland -garb worn by their guide. Some of them were sitting about the fire, engaged in roasting -and broiling fragments of venison; while others were loitering among the trees, or -sitting under their shade. A number of cross-bows and long-bows hung from the branches, -several spears rested against their stems; and these, with swords, daggers, and anelaces, -seemed to compose the arms of this party of hunters. They appeared to have had good -success, for six or eight fat bucks were hanging by the horns from the boughs overhead. -</p> -<p>“Here is a gallant knight and his party,” said their guide to a man who seemed to -be a leader among them, “who would be glad of a share of our supper.” -</p> -<p>The person he addressed, and who came forward to receive Assueton, was a tall and -uncommonly handsome man; and although his dress differed in no respect from that of -the others, except that he wore a more gaudy plume in his hat, and that his baldrick, -the sword suspended from it, his belt and dagger, and the bugle that hung from his -shoulder, were all of more costly materials and rarer workmanship. But there was something -in his appearance and mien that might have graced knighthood itself. He bowed courteously -to Assueton. -</p> -<p>“Sir Knight,” said he, “wilt thou deign to dismount from thy steed, and partake with -us in our woodland cheer? Here,” said he, turning to the people around him, “let more -carcases be cut up; there is no lack of provisions. Will it please thee to rest, Sir -Knight?” -</p> -<p>“I thank thee, good forester, for thy willing hospitality,” said Assueton, alighting, -and giving his horse to his squire; “I <span class="pageNum" id="pb137">[<a href="#pb137">137</a>]</span>will rest me on that green bank under the holly busket there, and talk with thee to -wile away time and beguile my hunger. This is a merry occupation of thine,” added -he, after they had sat down together. -</p> -<p>“Ay,” replied the forester, “right merry in good sooth, were we left at freedom to -enjoy it. But, by the mass, that is not our case here, for there wons in this vicinage -a certain discourteous knight, who letteth no one kill a deer on his ground that he -may know of; so we be forced to steal hither, at times when we may ween that he is -absent, or least on the watch. The red and roe deer do much abound in these glens; -and, by the Rood, ’tis hard, methinks, that the four-footed game should be given by -nature for man’s food, and that he should be reft of his right to take it.” -</p> -<p>“And who may this discourteous knight be?” said Assueton, wishing to feel his way -with the stranger. -</p> -<p>“His name,” said the forester, “is Sir Miers de Willoughby, of a truth a most cruel -and lawless malfaitor, and as bold a Borderer as ever rode through a moss. He rules -everything here, and gives honest folks the bit to champ, I promise thee. Would that -some such gallant knight as your worship might meet with him and humble him, for verily -he is a scourge to the country.” -</p> -<p>Sir John Assueton inwardly congratulated himself upon his good luck in having thus -so fortunately stumbled on a man, who, having himself suffered from de Willoughby’s -oppression, was manifestly so inimical to him: he felt much inclined to speak out -at once, but he checked himself, and thought it wiser to proceed with caution. -</p> -<p>“Is he so very wicked, then, this Sir Miers de Willoughby of whom thou speakest?” -said he to the forester. -</p> -<p>“By the mass is he, Sir Knight,” replied the forester. “He will soar ye from his Border-keep -like a falcon, and pounce on any prey that may come within his ken; and als he be -so stark as to others using his lands for their honest and harmless occupation of -hunting, by’r Lady, he minds not on what earth he stoops, if so be that there be anything -to cluth from off its surface. ’Twas but some three days ago that he yode hence on some wicked emprise, for ’twas his absence that led us hither; and this -morning, as we lay concealed in these wood shaws, we saw him and his men ride by this -very spot, bearing home with him some worthy man’s gentle cosset he had stowne away.” -</p> -<p>Assueton perfectly understood the forester to have used the <span class="pageNum" id="pb138">[<a href="#pb138">138</a>]</span>word cosset—a pet lamb—in a metaphorical sense; but, to draw him on, he pretended -to have taken him up literally. -</p> -<p>“A cosset!” cried he, with feigned surprise. “A poor pet lamb was but a wretched prey -indeed for so rapacious a lorrel as thou wouldst make this same Sir Miers to be, good -forester.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay, Sir Knight,” replied the forester, “I meant not in very simplicity a pet -lamb, but a fair damosel, who looked, meseemed, as if she had been the gentle cosset -of some fond father. ’Twas a damosel, Sir Knight, a right fair and beauteous damosel; -and she shrieked from time to time in such piteous fashion, that, by the Rood, it -was clear she went not with him willingly.” -</p> -<p>Assueton’s blood boiled, so that it was with difficulty he could longer restrain his -fury. He, however, kept it within such bounds as it might well enough pass for the -indignation natural to a virtuous knight upon hearing of such foul outrage done to -any damsel. -</p> -<p>“Unworthy limb of knighthood,” said he, “thus to play the caitiff part of a vile lossel? -Show me the way to his boure, and by the blessed bones of the holy St. Cuthbert, he -shall dearly rue his traiterie.” -</p> -<p>“Marry, ’tis no wonder to see a virtuous knight so enchafed at such actings,” said -the forester; “yet can the damosel be little to thee; and ’twere scarce, methinks, -worth thy while to step so far from thy path. Had she been thine own lady, indeed———” -</p> -<p>“Nay,” said Assueton, hastily, but endeavouring to conceal his emotion, “thou knowest, -good forester, that ’tis but my duty as a true knight to redress this foul wrong; -and whosoever this lady may be, and wheresoever I may be bound, I must not scruple -to step a little out of my way to punish so wicked a coulpe.” -</p> -<p>“Right glad am I, Sir Knight,” said the forester, “to see thee so ready to do battle -against this caitiff, Sir Miers, and full willing should I be to conduct thee to the -sacking of his tower; but, in good verity, ’twere vain to go accoutred and attended -as thou art. He keeps special good watch and ward, I promise thee, and he is too much -wont to have his quarters beat up, not to be for ever on the alert. He hath scouts -stationed all around him, in such a manner that no one may approach his stronghold -of Burnstower by day or by night withouten ken, and he is straightway put on the alert -long ere he can be reached. If those who come against him be strong and well armed, -more than his force than overcome, then he hies him away to the fastnesses <span class="pageNum" id="pb139">[<a href="#pb139">139</a>]</span>of his mosses and hills, where no one but the eagle may follow him, and leaves only -his barren walls to the fury of the besiegers. But if the party be small, and such -as his wiles may master, he is sure to lead them into some ambush, and to put every -man of them to the sword. Trust me, were thou to go clad in steel, and with such a -party of spearmen at thy back, he would take the alarm, and thou wouldst either have -thy journey and thy trouble for thy guerdon, or thou and thy people might fall by -cruel traiterie.” -</p> -<p>“Then what, after all, may be the best means of coming at him?” said Assueton; “for -thou hast but the more inflamed my desire to essay the adventure.” -</p> -<p>The forester seemed to consider for a time—“In truth,” said he at length, “I see no -other way than one, the which thou wouldst spurn, Sir Knight.” -</p> -<p>“Name it,” said Assueton; “depend on’t, I shall not be over nice in this affair.” -</p> -<p>“Wert thou,” said the forester, “and, it might be, no more than two of thy people, -to venture thither in disguise, with one or two of us to guide thee, thou mightest -peradventure pass thither without begetting alarm, and be received into the Castle -as lated and miswent travellers, lacking covert for the night. But then all that would -be but of small avail, for what couldst thou do with thy single arm, and so small -a force to aid it?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, good forester,” said Assueton, “be it mine to see to that, and be it thine to -bring me thither. Knights are but born to conquer difficulties, and, perdie, I have -never yet seen that which did not, with me, give greater zest to the adventure I went -upon. By the blessed Rood, I shall go with thee. Let us forthwith have our disguises, -then, and these two men of my company,” pointing to Riddel and Lindsay, “shall share -the glory of mine emprise. So let us, I pr’ythee, snatch a hasty meal, and set forward -without delay.” -</p> -<p>“By the mass, but thou art a brave knight,” said the forester; “yet it doth grieve -me to see thee go on so hopeless an errand. Nathless, I shall not baulk thee nor back -of thy word; verily I shall wend with thee, to show thee the way thither. But I would -fain persuade thee even yet to leave this undertaking untried.” -</p> -<p>“Nay,” said Assueton, “I have said it, and by God’s aid I will do it, let the peril -be what it may; so let us use despatch if it so please thee.” -</p> -<p>Seeing that the bold and dauntless knight was resolved, the forester ordered some -of the venison, that was by this time <span class="pageNum" id="pb140">[<a href="#pb140">140</a>]</span>cooked, to be set before Assueton, and some also to be served to those who were to -accompany him; and after all had satisfied their hunger, Assueton doffed his armour, -clad himself in a suit of plain Lincoln green, such as the foresters wore, and, unperceived -by any one, slipped his dagger into his bosom. He then openly girt his trusty sword -by his side, and leaving orders with his party to remain with the friendly foresters -until they should see him, or hear from him, he and his two people, who were also -disguised, mounted their horses, and set off under the guidance of the leader of the -hunting party and two of his men, whom he took with them, as he said, to bear him -company on his return. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch18" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e386">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Horrors of the Dungeon.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Their route lay up the glen, and the darkness of the night, with the roughness of -the way, very much impeded their progress. At one time they were led along the very -margin of the stream, and, at another, they climbed diagonally up the steep sides -of the hills that bounded it, and wound over far above, to avoid some impediment which -blocked all passage below. Now they penetrated extensive thickets of brushwood, and -again wound up among the tall stems of luxuriant oaks, or passed, with greater ease -to themselves and their weary horses, over small open glades among the woods. At length -they began to rise over the sides of the hills, to a height so much beyond any that -they had hitherto mounted, that Assueton thought the deviation strange and unaccountable, -and was tempted to put some question to his guide. -</p> -<p>“Whither dost thou lead us now, good forester?” said he; “thou seemest to have abandoned -the glen altogether, and methinks thou art now resolved to soar to the very clouds. -I much question whether garron of mosstrooper ever climbed such a house-wall as this.” -</p> -<p>“Sir Knight,” replied the forester, “I but intend to lead thee over the ridge of a -hill here, by a curter cast. The glen maketh a wicked wide courbe below, and goeth -miles about. This gate will save us leagues twayne, at the very shortest reckoning. -Trust me I am well up to all the hills and glens of these parts, by night as well -as by day.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, good forester,” said Assueton, “I doubt thee not; but, <span class="pageNum" id="pb141">[<a href="#pb141">141</a>]</span>by our Lady, this seemeth to me to be a marvellous uncouth path.” -</p> -<p>“T’other, indeed, is better, Sir Knight,” said the forester; “but bad as this may -be, ’twill haine us a good hour’s time of travel.” -</p> -<p>Assueton was satisfied with this explanation, and the ground getting more level as -they advanced, he soon discovered that they were crossing a wild ridge of moorland, -and hoped that the impediments to a speedier progress would be fewer. But the way -seemed, if possible, to be even more puzzling and difficult than ever. They wound -round in one direction, and then went zig-zag to the opposite point of the compass; -then they wormed their way through bogs and mosses—then stretched away Heaven knew -whither, and then, making a little detour, they (as it seemed to Assueton) returned -again in a line nearly parallel to that which they had just pursued. Hours appeared -to glide away in this wearisome and endless maze, and Assueton’s impatience became -excessive. -</p> -<p>“Good forester,” said he, “methinks we are never to get out of this enchanted labyrinth.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Sir Knight,” replied the forester, “’tis an enchanted labyrinth in good soberness; -for, verily, full many a goodly steed hath been ygraven in the flows that surround -us. There be quaking bogs here that would swallow a good-sized tower. Nay, halt thee, -Sir Knight, thou must of needscost turn thee this gate again.” -</p> -<p>“By St. Cuthbert,” said Assueton, “meseems it a miracle that thou shouldst have memory -to help thee to thread the intricacies of so puzzling a path, maugre the darkness -that yet prevails.” -</p> -<p>“’Tis indeed mirk as a coal mine,” said the forester, “but I look for the moon anon.” -</p> -<p>After better than half-an-hour more of such travelling as we have described, they -at length wound down a very precipitous hill, where their necks were in considerable -peril, and found themselves again in the glen, and by the side of its stream. As well -as Assueton could guess, they had now travelled fully three or four hours, the greater -part of which time they had spent on the high ground. The state of their horses, too, -bore out his calculation, for they showed symptoms of great exhaustion, from this -so large addition to the previous severe journey. They pushed them on, however, as -fast as the nature of the ground would admit, the glen presenting the same variety -of woods, glades, and thickets, as it had formerly done. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb142">[<a href="#pb142">142</a>]</span></p> -<p>At length they came to a place where the hills approached on each side, and the glen -narrowed to a wild gorge, where all passage was denied below, except for the stream, -and they were consequently again compelled to ascend the abrupt banks by a diagonal -path. But they had no sooner gained the summit than the moon arose, and threw its -silver light full over the scene into which they were about to advance. Above the -gorge, the valley was split into two distinct glens, or rather deep ravines, each -pouring out its stream, and these, uniting together, formed that which they had so -long traced upwards. Above the point of their union arose a green-headed eminence, -swelling from among the rich woods that everywhere clothed it, and all the other lower -parts of the space within their view. The round top of the eminence was crowned with -a rude Border Tower; and the whole was backed, a good way behind, by a semi-circular -range of hilly ridges. The moonlight shone powerfully on the building, the keep of -which seemed to be of no great size, but very strong in itself; and the outworks, -consisting of massive walls defended here and there by round towers, showed that it -was a stronghold where determined men might make a powerful resistance. -</p> -<p>“Yonder is the peel of Burnstower,” said the forester, pointing to it; “thou must -ford the stream there below, under the hill whereon it stands, and so make thy way -up through the woods by a narrow path, that will lead thee to the yett. I shall yet -go with thee as far as the ford, to show thee the right gate through the water; but -I must then bid thee farewell, nor canst thou lack mine aid any longer.” -</p> -<p>“Good forester,” said Assueton, “certes thou hast merited the guerdon of my best thanks -for thine obliging and toilsome convoy. When I join thee again, trust me they shall -be cheerfully paid thee, together with what more solid warison thou mayest see fit -to accept, in token of my gratitude. Meanwhile, I beseech thee to take good charge -of my brave men.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, fear me not in that, Sir Knight,” said the forester; “they shall be well looked -after, I promise thee. My men have doubtless already taken good care of them, and -of their steeds too.” -</p> -<p>Having descended the hill, they pushed their way through the opposing brushwood, and -reached the bank of one of the streams, immediately above the spot where it united -itself to the other. The forester indicated the ford to Assueton, and then took an -abrupt leave, diving into the thicket with his two followers. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb143">[<a href="#pb143">143</a>]</span></p> -<p>Assueton stood for a moment on the brink of the stream before he entered, and took -that opportunity of telling his two attendants to be particularly on their guard, -to watch his eye, attend to his signals, and be ready to act as these might appear -to suggest to them. They were also to bear in mind that for the present they were -to pass as equals. He then cautiously entered the ford, and, followed by Riddel and -Lindsay, soon reached the farther bank. -</p> -<p>They now found themselves on a low grassy tongue of land, which shot out between the -two streams from the woods at the base of the eminence the Castle stood on, and which, -though of considerable length, was nowhere more than a few yards wide. Along this -they pushed their horses, as fast as the weary animals could advance. A few trees -struggled down over it at the farther extremity, where it united itself to the base -of the hill; and just as they had entered among these, all their horses were at one -and the same moment tumbled headlong on the ground. An instant shout arose from the -thickets on either side, and about a dozen men sprang from them on the prostrate riders; -and, after a short and ineffectual struggle on their part, Assueton and his two attendants -were bound hand and foot, and blindfolded. All this time not a word was spoken; and -excepting the shouts that were the signal of the onset, not a sound was heard. But -the prey was no sooner fairly mastered, than a loud bugle blast was blown from the -thickets near them, and it was immediately answered by another, that rang through -the woods at some distance. The horses were then extricated from the toils of ropes -which had been so treacherously though ingeniously employed to ensure their prostration, -and on regaining their legs, their late riders were lifted up and laid across them -like sacks, and they were led by the villains who had captured them up the steep and -devious ascent, through the thick wood to the Castle. The party then entered the gateway, -as Assueton judged from the noise made in raising the portcullis, and the prisoners -being lifted from their horses, were carried each by two men into the main tower. -</p> -<p>Whither they took his two attendants, Assueton had no means of guessing; but he was -borne up a long and winding stair, as he supposed to the top of the building, and -then through several passages. There he heard the withdrawing of rusty bolts, and -the heavy creaking of hinges; and, being set down on the floor of his prison, his -arms and legs were unbound, his eyes uncovered, and he was left in utter darkness -and amazement. -</p> -<p>After sitting for some moments to recover from the surprise <span class="pageNum" id="pb144">[<a href="#pb144">144</a>]</span>occasioned by this sudden and unlooked for annihilation of all his plans and of all -the hopes he had cherished from them, he arose, and, before yielding to despair, groped -his way to the walls, and felt them anxiously all round. Not a crevice or aperture -could he discover but the doorway, and that was blocked by an impregnable door, crossed -and recrossed by powerful bars of iron, so that he saw no hope of its being moved -by any strength of human arm, unassisted by levers or other such instruments. The -walls and floor were of the most solid masonry in every part; yet he felt the balmy -air of a soft night blow upon his face, and, on looking upwards, he could just descry -a faint glimmer of light, that broke with difficulty through the enormous thickness -of the building, by a narrow window immediately over where he then stood. This opening, -however, was quite beyond his reach, being at least a dozen feet above him. -</p> -<p>As he moved backwards to get from under the wall where the window was, that he might -obtain a better view of it, his head came in contact with something hanging behind -him. He turned round, but his eyes were not yet sufficiently accustomed to the obscurity, -to enable him to discover anything more than that there was some dark object suspended -from above. He put up his hands to ascertain what it was, and, to his inexpressible -horror, felt the stiffened legs of a corpse, which swung backwards and forwards at -his touch. Bold and firm as he was, Assueton started involuntarily back, and his heart -revolted at the thought that he was to be so mated for the night. He retired to a -corner, where he had discovered a heap of straw with a coarse blanket, and he sat -him down on it; but it immediately occurred to him that this had probably been the -bed of the unfortunate man who now dangled lifeless from the centre of the vault, -and he could sit on it no longer. That the poor wretch had been put to death in the -very chamber which had been his prison, seemed to argue a degree of hardened cruelty -and summary vengeance in those in whose power he had now himself the misfortune to -be, that left him little room to hope for much mercy at their hands. -</p> -<p>Having moved to an opposite corner, nearly under the little window, he seated himself -on the floor, and gave up his mind to the full bitterness of its thoughts. The first -recollection that presented itself was that of the Lady Isabelle, torn from her home, -her father, and himself, by an unprincipled and abandoned villain. His reflections -on this painful theme banished every thought of his own captivity, as well as every -speculation as to what its result might be, excepting, indeed, in so far as it might -<span class="pageNum" id="pb145">[<a href="#pb145">145</a>]</span>affect the fate of her who was now the idol of his heart. He ran over his past conduct, -and seeing that he could now have no hope of being the instrument of her rescue, he -blamed himself in a thousand ways. He accused himself bitterly for not having sent -back a messenger from the place where he had met Sir Walter de Selby, to inform Sir -Patrick Hepborne the elder of the intelligence he had obtained from the Captain of -Norham; then unavailing regrets and self-accusations arose within him for having neglected -to obtain more full information from Sir Walter, when he had it in his power to do -so; but, above all, he cursed his folly for having abandoned his stout-hearted spearmen, -who would have backed him against any foes to the last drop of their blood. He turned -over the circumstances of his rencontre with the foresters, and, recalling the whole -conduct of their leader, he now began to be more than half suspicious that they had -played him false. This last reflection made him tremble for the fate of his people -whom he had left with them; and remembering his guide’s parting assurance, “that they -should be well looked after,” he felt disposed to interpret it in a very opposite -sense to that he had put upon it the moment it was uttered. -</p> -<p>He then again recurred to the Lady Isabelle. Why had he gone a-hunting on the day -she was carried off, when he had been repeatedly warned, by something within his own -breast, that he ought to stay at home with her? Alas! where was she now? The question -was agony to him. Could she be within these walls? To know that she, indeed, really -was so, would have been cheering to him even in his present state of desponding uncertainty, -as it might have given him some frail hope of yet being of use to her. He listened -for distant sounds. Faint female shrieks came from some part of the building far below. -Again he heard them yet more distinctly; and, full of the maddening idea that they -came from the Lady Isabelle, he started up, unconscious of what he was doing, flew -like a madman to the door, and began beating it with his fists, screaming out, “Villains! -murderers!” But his voice, and the noise of his furious knocking, returned on his -ear with a deadened sound, and speedily convinced him that nothing could be heard -from the lofty, solitary, and massive-walled prison in which he was immured. -</p> -<p>With a heart torn and distracted, and almost bereft of reason, he paced the floor -violently backwards and forwards. His ear then caught, from time to time, the distant -and subdued shouts of merriment and laughter. These again stung him to fury. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb146">[<a href="#pb146">146</a>]</span></p> -<p>“What!” cried he aloud, “do they make sport of her purity and her misery? Villains! -demons! hell-hounds!” And he again raved about his prison with yet greater fury than -before, a thousand horrible ideas arising to his heated and prolific imagination. -</p> -<p>At length he flung himself on the floor, utterly exhausted both in body and mind by -the intensity of his sufferings, and lay for some moments in a state of quiet, from -absolute inability to give further way to the extravagance of action excited by his -feelings. He had not been long in this state, however, when the distant and faint -chanting of a female voice fell upon his ear. He started, and raising himself upon -his elbow, listened anxiously that he might drink in the minutest portion of the sound -which reached him. Though evidently coming from some far-off chamber below, he distinctly -caught the notes, which he recognized to be those of a hymn to the Virgin, from the -vesper service. The melody was sweet and soothing to his lacerated soul. Again it -stole on him. -</p> -<p>“The voice,” said he to himself, “that can so employ itself must come from one who -may be unhappy, but who cannot suppose herself to be in any very immediate peril; -nor, if her mind had been so lately suffering urgent alarm, could she have by this -time composed it so far as to be able to lift it to Heaven in strains so gentle and -placid.” -</p> -<p>Though immediately afterwards convinced of the folly of such an idea, he, for a moment, -almost persuaded himself that he recognized the voice of the Lady Isabelle Hepborne -in that of the pious chantress. He threw himself upon his knees, and offered up his -fervent orisons for help in his affliction. The voice came again upon him—and again -he fancied he knew it to be that of her he loved; but although he found himself, in -sound reason, obliged to discard all idea of the possibility of such a recognition, -yet it clung to his broken spirit, and was as a healing balm to it, in despite of -reason. -</p> -<p>It produced one happy effect, however, by causing his agonizing thoughts to give way, -at last, to the immense bodily and mental fatigue he had undergone. He dropped asleep -on the bare pavement, notwithstanding the horrors that hung over him, the uncertain -fate that awaited him, and the complication of misery by which he was oppressed. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb147">[<a href="#pb147">147</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch19" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e397">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XIX.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Dawn in the Dungeon—An Appalling Sight—Rough Visitors.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Sir John Assueton’s sleep was deep and uninterrupted until the first dawn of morning, -when he awoke and rubbed his eyelids, having, for a moment, forgotten where he was, -and all that had befallen him. The first object that presented itself when he looked -upwards was the figure and countenance of the dead man, hanging almost immediately -over the spot where he lay. The features were horribly distorted and discoloured, -by the last agonies of the violent death he had died; the tongue was thrust out, and -the projected eyeballs were staring fearfully from their sockets. The sight was appalling -and heart-sickening. -</p> -<p>He could now observe that the dress of the unfortunate man was that of a forester. -The arms were rudely tied behind the back, and the body was suspended from a huge -iron ring, that hung loose in an enormous bolt of the same metal, strongly built in -vertically between the keystones of the vault, the height of which was very considerable. -It seemed as if the wretched man had been dragged from his couch of straw to instant -punishment, or rather perhaps murder; for portions of the straw yet littered the floor -as if dragged along with him in his ineffectual struggles, and some fragments of it -still adhered between his ankles, to the rough woollen hose he wore, as if retained -there by the last dying convulsion that had pressed and twisted the limbs unnaturally -together. Then the fatal rope was not like one intended for such a use. It was thicker -than seemed necessary, and looked as if it had been hastily taken, as the readiest -instrument for the murderous deed. After passing through the ring, where it was fastened -by two or three turns, it stretched down diagonally to one corner of the place, where -it lost itself in an immense coil. It had manifestly been hastily brought there, to -effect the destruction of the unfortunate wretch, and afterwards left on the floor -uncut, that it might not be rendered unfit for the purpose to which it had been originally -dedicated. -</p> -<p>It may seem strange that Assueton should have derived anything like pleasure from -a spectacle so truly appalling; but it is nevertheless true, that a faint gleam of -hope broke upon the miserable despair that had possessed him. He saw that the coil -of rope was of sufficient extent to give him good reason to believe that, when untwisted, -it might reach to the base of the <span class="pageNum" id="pb148">[<a href="#pb148">148</a>]</span>tower, at the top of which he was now confined, if he could only detach it from what -went upwards, and conceal it until night. But how was he to sever it? He remembered -that he had concealed his dagger in his bosom at the time he put on his disguise. -Those who seized and bound him had immediately deprived him of his sword, but they -had not suspected his being possessed of any other weapon, and his dagger, therefore, -had escaped their notice. He drew it joyfully forth; but just as he was about to divide -the rope, he paused, and observing that there were at least fourteen or sixteen feet -stretching diagonally between the coil and the ring, he hesitated to cut it. To throw -away so considerable a portion of it, when perhaps that very piece might be essential -to the preservation of his life, would have been the height of imprudence; yet, to -get at that portion, there was but one way, and this was so disgusting, and so repugnant -to his feelings, that the very idea of it made him shudder. -</p> -<p>But liberty, and perhaps life depended on it; and what will not the desire of liberty -and life compel human nature to attempt? To him both were now more precious than ever, -since they might yet be the means of saving her without whom he could value neither. -He hesitated not a moment longer, but screwing up his resolution to the revolting -alternative, he laid hold of the legs of the dead man, swung himself up from the ground, -and, catching at his clothes, at last got the rope within his gripe, and thus continued -to climb, hand over hand, until he reached the fatal ring. Holding by one sinewy arm, -he drew forth his dagger, and was again on the eve of cutting the rope close to the -ring when prudence once more stopped him. He had been from the first aware that it -was absolutely necessary to leave the dead body hanging, lest, when his jailors should -visit him, they might have their suspicions awakened by its removal. What made him -hesitate then, whilst hanging by one arm to the ring and bolt to the arch in the vault, -was the idea, that by loosening the turns that were made in it, he might be enabled -to hoist up the body a few feet higher, then to fasten the turns of the rope again, -and thus gain so many more feet of rope. All this, with immense fatigue of arm, he -effected, and then dividing the rope with his dagger, and descending to the floor, -he lifted up the large coil, and removing the straw of the bed, he hid it underneath, -covering it up with the greatest care. He was fully aware of the possibility of its -being missed from its place, sought for, and removed from the concealment he had put -it into; but it was also possible that the wretches who had done the deed might not -be among those who should come <span class="pageNum" id="pb149">[<a href="#pb149">149</a>]</span>to visit him, in which case its absence could never attract their observation. -</p> -<p>He now sat down to consider and arrange his plans. He at once saw that it would be -useless to attempt his descent while daylight remained, or, indeed, while the people -in the Castle might be supposed to be still stirring, as, if he did try it then, he -must do so with hardly a chance of escaping detection. To lessen the risk of being -observed and seized, therefore, it was absolutely essential that he should postpone -his enterprise until night. But then the risk of his rope being discovered before -night crossed his mind: his judgment wavered, and he was filled with the most cruel -and perplexing doubts. He remembered that the state of the moon, which left the earlier -part of the night excessively dark, made that by far the most favourable time to risk -his fate; and he at length determined that, a descent in day-light being perfectly -hopeless, he must be content to take his chance of the other alternative. But what -was he to do if the rope should be missed, sought for, and detected? After some consideration, -he resolved that in that event he would draw his dagger, spring unawares on those -who might visit him, and so make a desperate endeavour to effect his escape, by striking -down all that might oppose him. -</p> -<p>But another and a different thought now occurred to him. What if the very first visit -that might be paid him should be for the purpose of taking down the murdered body -from the ring, only to hang him up in its place? Brave as he was he shuddered at the -contemplation of such a fate. He had already often faced death in bloody field, led -on by glory and the laudable thirst of fame; but to be hung up like a dog by the hands -of murderous ruffians in this lone chamber, far from every human ear or eye but those -of his clownish and unfeeling executioners, who would take so small account of him, -after witnessing his passing agonies, as perhaps to leave him, as they had done the -wretch who had gone before him, till his place was wanted for a successor, and then -throw his half consumed body into some unholy spot, over which his perturbed ghost -might hover, seeking in vain for repose, this was to strip death of the fascinating -drapery which men have contrived to throw over him, and to unveil all his terrors, -But he steeled himself for the worst, and, resolving to wait firmly, and to act as -circumstances might suggest, he determined that, happen what might, he would sell -his life dearly, should he be reduced to the unhappy alternative of doing so. -</p> -<p>With his mind thus wound up, he sat him down on the couch of straw, that he might -appear unconcerned to any one <span class="pageNum" id="pb150">[<a href="#pb150">150</a>]</span>who might enter; and there he remained, waiting patiently for the issue. He had been -seated in this way about a couple of hours, when he heard the heavy tread of feet -approaching along the passages. The key was inserted in the lock of the door, and -considerable force exerted before it could be turned. -</p> -<p>“Be quick with you, old churl,” cried an impatient voice; “thou wilt be all day working -at it.” -</p> -<p>The door half opened, and two or three heads were thrust in at once. Seeing their -prisoner calmly seated on the straw at the farther wall, four men entered. One of -these, a thick, squat, large-headed old man, with a rough, cloddish, unfeeling countenance, -and long, thick, grizzled hair hanging about it, was clad in a close woollen jerkin -and hauselines, appeared to be the jailor, for several enormous keys hung from divers -straps attached to his leathern belt. He stationed himself with his back at the door. -The other three men were younger, but the expression of their features betrayed such -depraved and lawless spirits, as might make them ready instruments to perpetrate any -cruelty or crime at the mere nod of a master. Their dress was similar to that in which -the murdered body was clothed. Two of them, armed with short swords in their hands, -placed themselves at the door, in front of the old jailor, while the third, with a -pewter-covered dish under his left arm, an earthen jug of ale in his left hand, and -his naked sword in his right, advanced a little way, and deposited the provisions -on the pavement. Turning his eyes round, he beheld the dead body hanging. -</p> -<p>“Heyday, Daniel Throckle,” said he, with a careless laugh, to the jailor, “how camest -thou to leave our comrade Tim Ord here, to keep watch over this young man all night? -By the mass, methinks he was but a triste companion for him.” -</p> -<p>“’Twas none o’ my doing, Master Ralpho Proudfoot; ’twas Wat Withe that did the deed -himsell. He got the key from me, and thou knowest he doth not ever care overmuch, -so he gets his job done, whether the workshop be cleaned out or no. He thinks that -be none o’ his business.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, but, fine fellow as he thinks himself, he may come and take down his own rubbish -for me,” said Ralpho Proudfoot; “I clean out after no sike cattle, I promise thee. -An thou likest to do his dirty work thou mayest, seeing thou art custodier of the -place.” Then, turning to Assueton, who had sat quite still all this time, “Here, sir,” -said he, “is thy morning’s meal—better eat it whiles it be hot—thou mayest not have -a many deal of sike like;” and as he said so, he threw his eye sideways up towards -the dead man. “Thou seest we be <span class="pageNum" id="pb151">[<a href="#pb151">151</a>]</span>sometimes rather more curt than courteous; thou canst not tell when it may be thy -turn.” -</p> -<p>“Young man,” said Assueton, composedly, and still without rising from his sitting -posture, “canst thou tell me why I have been so traitorously seized and conveyed hither, -and why I am thus immured, and treated like a foul felon?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, as to being treated like a felon, <i>young man</i>,” replied Ralpho Proudfoot, evading his question, and laying particular emphasis -on the words in italics, “meseems ’tis but ungrateful of thee to say so, seeing I -have brought thee a dish of hot steaks, cut from the rump of a good Scottish ront; -and then for ale, never was better brewed about the roots of the Cheviots, as well -thou knowest, honest Daniel Throckle.” -</p> -<p>The jailor replied by a significant chuckle, indicating his perfect acknowledgment -of Proudfoot’s assertion. -</p> -<p>“Well,” continued Proudfoot, “we may e’en leave thee, <i>young man</i>, to the full enjoyment of this pleasing sunshiny day, such as thou mayest have on’t -through yonder window on high, for thou mayest see even less on’t to-morrow.” And, -wheeling round, he was on the eve of departure, when he suddenly stopped—“But hold,” -said he, “had we not better ripe him, to see that he hath nothing of weapon sort about -him? Come forward, young man; and do thou, old Daniel, approach, and feel his hide -all over, as thou wouldst do a fat sheep fed for the slaughter. And who knows how -soon it may be his lot? Approach, I say: we shall stand by here, and see that he doeth -thee no harm.” -</p> -<p>Assueton perceived that resistance would be vain, and he also knew that it was unnecessary. -Before they entered, he had taken the precaution to remove his dagger from his bosom, -and conceal it among the straw near where he sat, yet in such a manner as he could -have easily seized it had he seen any necessity for using it. He arose indignantly, -and then, with assumed carelessness, submitted to be searched; not, however, without -considerable inward alarm that they might not be contented with the mere examination -of his person, but proceed to rummage the straw also. Should they do so, all his hopes -were gone; but his heart kept firm, and he stood with so easy and indifferent an air, -that the villains were soon satisfied. -</p> -<p>“No, no,” cried Proudfoot, “I see all is sicker. So a jolly morning to thee, young -man. Come, lads, let us be trooping. We have work before us, as ye well know.” -</p> -<p>“Had I not better shake up his straw for him?” said one of the others; “he may not -be used to make his own bed.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb152">[<a href="#pb152">152</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Nay, nay,” said Proudfoot, “he may learn to make it, then; he can never learn younger, -I ween. Besides, hath he not Tim Ord there to help him?—ha! ha! ha! By St. Roque, -but they will have pleasant chat together.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Daniel Throckle,” said the other man, “but thee shouldst come back ere long, -and remove this grim mate from his dorture.” -</p> -<p>“Umph,” said Throckle, as if in doubt; “it’s a plaguey long stair to climb, and I -may not get hands to help me. But, nathless, I’ll see what may be done. Wat Withe -may peraunter——” -</p> -<p>“Come, come,” cried Proudfoot, impatiently, “we are wanted ere this. Off, I say—off;” -and with these words they all four left the prison; the door was bolted and barred -with the utmost precaution, and their heavy lumbering steps were heard retreating -along the passages. -</p> -<p>It was strange perhaps, but it was most true, that the shutting of the rusty bolts -sounded almost as sweetly in Assueton’s ear as if they had been opened to give him -liberty. The relief he felt at the retreat of the four men was so great, that, like -a pious knight, he knelt down and offered up his heartfelt gratitude, in fervent thanksgivings -to Heaven, that his plans were as yet unfrustrated. He took up the food that had been -left with him, and made a hearty and cheerful meal. He then began turning in his mind -the circumstances that were likely to occur to him before night, and again some cruel -anticipations obtruded themselves. Were Throckle to return to remove the body, perhaps -it might be of little consequence; but if, as he seemed to hint at when he was interrupted—if -he should call in the aid of Wat Withe, as they had nicknamed the executioner, then -all his schemes for escape must be ruined. Nay, what if the coil of rope, the villain -had so hastily taken, should happen to be wanted before night for the purpose it had -been originally intended for? The thought was most alarming. Assueton immediately -removed the straw from it, that he might examine it narrowly, and his mind was very -much relieved when he discovered that it was everywhere quite rough and new, as if -it had never been used. But still nothing presented itself to him, to rid him of the -apprehension of the return of Wat Withe, who could not fail to mark the disappearance -of the coil. A thousand times during the day he fancied he heard steps approaching, -and more than once he grasped his dagger to prepare for bloody work. But it was all -fancy. The only sound he heard was that of the trampling of horses, the jingling of -bridles, and the clattering <span class="pageNum" id="pb153">[<a href="#pb153">153</a>]</span>of weapons, mingled with the voices of men, as if some party was riding forth. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch20" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e407">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XX.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>A Dreadful Situation—Daniel Throckle the old Jailor.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The time passed slowly and heavily until within about an hour of nightfall, when steps -were again distinctly heard approaching Assueton’s prison. Much to his relief, however, -they seemed to be those of a single person; something was put down on the pavement -on the outside; the bolts were tardily withdrawn, and the great head of Daniel Throckle -alone appeared through the partially opened door, as if to ascertain in what part -of the chamber his prisoner was, ere he should venture farther. Seeing Assueton seated -as formerly, on the straw, he hastily pushed within the door-way vessels containing -food and drink, as before, and instantly retreating, turned the bolts behind him, -and departed without uttering a word. -</p> -<p>Now Assueton’s hopes beat high, and again on his knees he returned his fervent thanks -to Heaven. He then determined to avail himself of the small portion of day-light which -yet remained, to make everything ready for his escape. -</p> -<p>Disgusting and revolting as it had been to him, on the first discovery of the murdered -body, that it should have been left as his nightly and daily companion, he had now -good reason to be glad that it had been so; for even if its removal had not occasioned -the discovery of his appropriation of the coil of rope, without it he could have had -no means of reaching the ring in the centre of the vault, the only thing within it -to which he could have attached the end of his rope, and it would have been there -only to have mocked his hopes. -</p> -<p>After he had succeeded in making it fast, he had still an appalling difficulty before -him; for the window was so high above the floor of the vault that it was quite beyond -all reach. There was, to be sure, a small fragment of rusty iron, that projected an -inch or two from the centre of the sole of it, like the decayed remains of a stanchion, -that had once divided the space vertically within; but it was little better than a -knob. It yet remained to be proved, therefore, whether he should succeed in throwing -a part of his rope over this frail pin of iron, so as to furnish him with the means -of pulling himself up to the window; and he lost no time in making the experiment. -But this, so <span class="pageNum" id="pb154">[<a href="#pb154">154</a>]</span>absolutely essential part of his operations, he found most difficult to effect. He -threw, cast, and jerked the rope, trying every possible way he could think of; but -the piece of iron was so short that, although he often succeeded in throwing the rope -over it, he could never manage to make it hold. The day-light ebbed away fast, and -still he laboured, but without success. At length he grew desperate, and threw the -rope up time after time with mad and senseless rapidity. It became darker and darker -till pitchy night closed in, yet still he persevered in throwing furiously and at -random; but it was the perseverance of despair, all attempt at skill being utterly -abandoned. At length, when he had almost become frantic, it caught as he pulled back -after an accidental throw; he felt it hold against him, and keeping it down to the -floor tight with one foot, to prevent it from slipping, he laid the whole weight of -the coil upon it, and then, dropping on his knees, returned thanks to Heaven for his -success. It was but a small matter throwing a coil of rope over a projecting fragment -of iron; yet on that trifle depended all his hopes, for by means of that small piece -of iron alone could he escape. -</p> -<p>He now sat him down on the coil to wait patiently for the hour when he might think -it safe to make his bold attempt. -</p> -<p>Judging at length that the night was sufficiently far advanced for his purpose, he -offered up a prayer for divine aid and protection, and tying the blanket of the bed -around him in case of need, laid hold of the rope and hoisted himself up by his arms, -until he had reached the window. Having lodged himself fairly in its aperture, he -discovered that the wall was at least six or eight feet thick. He now laid himself -on his side, with his feet hanging inwards, and by slow degrees pulled up the rope, -until he got the whole coil deposited safely within the small area of the window. -The space was barely sufficient to admit of his creeping easily through. Altering -his position, therefore, and advancing his feet, he wormed himself forward, when, -just as he expected to thrust them into the open air, he felt them suddenly arrested -by a vertical bar of iron. His heart was chilled by its touch. He tried the width -of the vacancies on either side of it, but neither afforded space enough to admit -of the passage of his body. -</p> -<p>Much disheartened by this unexpected obstruction, he withdrew himself, and with great -difficulty again changed his position, and advanced head foremost until he brought -his hands near enough the bar to feel it all over. It was much decayed by rust, but -yet by far too strong to be broken by the mere force of his <span class="pageNum" id="pb155">[<a href="#pb155">155</a>]</span>arm. After a little consideration, he drew his dagger, and making use of its point, -worked away the lead and the stone where the lower end of the stanchion was inserted; -and after labouring unceasingly for a considerable time, he found he had weakened -the stone and removed the lead so much that he had some hopes of assailing it successfully -with his feet. He was now, therefore, obliged to retreat again and change his position, -so that he again projected his feet till they came in contact with the bar. Having -fixed himself firmly in the place by means of his arms, that he might bring all his -force to bear against it, he was about to strike violently at it with the soles of -his feet when he remembered that the sound might be heard below. His situation made -him fertile in expedients. He slipped forward a part of the blanket, and, adjusting -two or three folds of it over the bar, he began to drive his feet furiously against -it. It gradually gave way before them, and then it suddenly yielded entirely. He ceased -working for an instant, and, to his no small alarm, heard a piece of the stone he -had driven off fall in the court-yard below. He listened anxiously for a time, but -no alarm seemed to have been excited. He again felt at the bar with his feet, and -recommencing his attack upon it, after a succession of hard blows, he bent it so far -outwards as to leave no doubt that he could pass himself through the aperture. -</p> -<p>Commending himself to God, then, he slipped himself forward, and, committing his weight -gently to the rope, he began his descent by shifting his hands alternately and slowly -one below the other, always pulling out more and more of the coil of rope as he wanted -it, until, the end of it being unwound, it fell perpendicularly below him. Still he -went on descending till, to his no small dismay, he found that he had reached the -last foot of his length. For an instant he hung in awful doubt. He cast his eyes below, -but the night was so dark that the ground beneath was invisible, and he could not -possibly calculate the height that yet remained. He thought for a few moments; and -finally, resigning himself to the care of Providence, he loosened his grasp of the -rope and fell. His fall was dreadful, and his death would have been certain had not -his descent been interrupted by a fortunate circumstance. The blanket he had wrapped -round him caught in the branches of a yew tree growing close to the wall, and although -it did not keep its hold, yet the force of the fall was so much broken that he escaped -comparatively uninjured. -</p> -<p>He lay stunned for some moments under the tree; and then, recovering himself, he was -about to rise, when, reflecting that <span class="pageNum" id="pb156">[<a href="#pb156">156</a>]</span>he must proceed with caution, he crept silently forth from his covert, and listened -to hear if there was any one stirring. All was quiet. He then moved forward, and dark -as the night was, he could yet perceive the outer walls and towers of the building -rising against the pale glimmer of the sky. His first step was to steal around the -base of the keep, that he might reconnoitre it in all directions; and, as he did so, -he passed by its entrance, which he found open. Wishing to examine farther, he went -on listening, but all was silent around. At length, as he moved onwards to another -side of the building, he descried a light breaking from a loop-hole window near the -foundation of the keep, and heard the sound of human voices, with now and then a peal -of boisterous laughter. He approached with extreme caution and silence, until he was -near enough to see and hear all that passed within. -</p> -<p>The place he looked down into appeared to be a sort of cellar, being surrounded with -huge barrels placed against the walls, near one of which, on an inverted tub, sat -the old jailor, Daniel Throckle, with a great wooden stoup of ale on his knee, and -with no small quantity of the fumes of the same fluid in his brain, as was evident -from the manner in which his eyes ogled in his head. Almost close by him stood a good-looking -wench in conversation with him; and the group was lighted by a clumsy iron lamp placed -on the top of one of the largest of the tuns. -</p> -<p>“Coum, coum, Daeniel Throckle,” said the girl, “thee hast had enow o’ that strong -stuff; that stoup but accloyeth thee. Blessed Mary! but thine eyes do look most fearsome -askaunce already.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay, my bellebone,” replied Throckle, “I mun ha’ a wee drop more yet. Coum, -now, do sit thee down, and be buxom a bit—a—a—. Thee knawest—a—that I loves thee dearly—he! -he! he! Sit thee down, I say—a—a; sit thee down, my soft, my soote virginal!—By St. -Cuthbert, there be not a he that yalt the gate through sun and weet—a—a—that—a—a—he! -he! he!—that loveth thee more than I do.—Sit thee down, I say—a—a—and troll a roundel -with me. Here ye, now, do but—a—a—do but join thy sweet voice with mine.—Nay then, -an thou wont, I mun e’en—a—a—sing by mysell—a—a— -</p> -<div class="lgouter"> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line xd31e2067">O I am the man -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">That can empty a can, -</p> -<p class="line">And fill it again and again, ah! -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">A—a—And empty and fill, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">And the barley-juice swill, -</p> -<p class="line">Till a tun of the liquor I drain, ah! -</p> -</div> -<p><span class="pageNum" id="pb157">[<a href="#pb157">157</a>]</span></p> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line xd31e2067">A—a—Then it lightens mine eye, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">And my liard jokes fly, -</p> -<p class="line">And warms my old blood into pleasure, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">A—a—Then out comes my song, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Trolling glibly a—along, -</p> -<p class="line">And merrily clinks in the measure. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Oh—a—a—a—And then should I see -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">A sweet pusell like thee, -</p> -<p class="line">She catches mine eye, as I cock it; -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">And then at her, gadzooks! -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">I throw such winning looks, -</p> -<p class="line">As soon turn both of hers in the socket.</p> -</div> -</div> -<p class="first">A murrain on’t! how should I forget the rest on’t! -</p> -<div class="lgouter"> -<p class="line">So then I—a—a—then—a</p> -</div> -<p class="first">The red fiend catch, it, for I can’t!—So, my bonnie mistress, Betty Burrel, do thee—a—do -thee sit thee down here, whiles I but drink this single can of double ale; and, sin’ -we canna sing the rest o’ the stave—a—a—sit thee down, and let me kiss thee.” -</p> -<p>“Na, na, Daeniel Throckle,” said the girl; “thee knawest thou’rt ower auld for me—thou’rt -ower auld to be mate o’ mine”——— -</p> -<p>“Ower auld!—a—a—thou scoffing—thou scoffing giglet thou!” cried Throckle; “thou’ll -find me—a—kinder—a—thou’lt find me kinder at least than that cross-grained, haughty -knave, Ralpho Proudfoot. A pestilent rascal!—Thou knawest—a—a—a—thou knawest, I say, -how ill he used thee—a—but last night—no farther gone. Did he not beat thee—a—yestreen—a—till -he made thee rout out like any Laverdale cow, when—a—she hath been driven—a—across -the Border—a—and hath left her calf behind her?” -</p> -<p>“In troth, Daeniel Throckle,” said the wench, “he did use me hard enow, that’s certain, -now when a’s done. But rise thee up, Daeniel. Bethink thee, thou’rt a’ that be left -to guard the Castle, and it be na mysel, and auld Harry Haddon standing sentry at -the yett. Ise warrant he’s asleep or this time:—And what ’ud coum o’ us an the prisoners -were to break out?” -</p> -<p>“Phoo!” said Daniel, sticking one arm akimbo, and assuming the most ridiculous air -of importance—“Phoo! I would not care that—a—a—snap of my finger, look you now, for—a—a—for -the whole bunch of ’em. A stout, able-bodied—a—courageous—a—warlikesome—a—Southron -like me—well fortified and charged with potent double ale—against three lousy Scottish -louns! Phoo! I’d put ’em all down with my thumb. But—a—a—but look ye here, my bonnie -Betty Burrel; here they are<span class="pageNum" id="pb158">[<a href="#pb158">158</a>]</span>—a—a—all safe at my girdle. This mockel knave here,” continued he, laying hold of -the keys that hung from his belt, “this mockel knave—a—I call Goliath; he—a—a—he locks -me up and maketh me sicker—a—the tall dark wight—a—that hath been put in durance in -the hanging vault at the top o’ the keep: he’s—a—he’s fast enow, I warrant thee, and, -ha! ha! ha! hath got jolly company with him, I wot. Poor Tim Ord, thou knawest—a—was -strung up for traiterie; and ha! ha! ha!—sure I canna help loffen to but think on’t; -ha! ha! ha! ha! he hangs yonder aside the poor Scottish Knight they took yestreen—a -bonnie jolly comrade for him to spend the night wi’, I trow.” -</p> -<p>“Poor Tim Ord!” said the girl, “thou gar’st mine heart creep to think hoo hasty they -waur wi’ ’im.” -</p> -<p>“Hasty,” cried Throckle, “ay, I trow, he lay not among his straw an hour—a—till Wat -Withe and his mates broke his dreams, to send him to a sounder sleep, ha! ha! ha! -But—a—a—’tis the gate, wench—a—’tis the gate that a’ sike traitorous faitours should -yede them.” -</p> -<p>“But what key is that other wi’ the queer courbed handle?” inquired the curious Betty -Burrel. -</p> -<p>“Wilt thou—a—a—wilt thou gie me a buss, then, and I’ll tell thee?” said Throckle. -</p> -<p>Betty Burrel advanced her head within his reach. Old Throckle kissed her, and endeavoured -to detain her, but, after some little romping, she escaped. -</p> -<p>“Tell me now,” said she, “sin I gied thee the kiss.” -</p> -<p>“That courbe—hafted key,” said Throckle, lifting it up; “that—a—a—I call—a—a—a—I call -Crooked-hold-him-fast: he locks the donjon vault at the end of the passage—a—the passage -aneath the stair. There—a—there lies the tway rogues wha were cotched i’ the same -trap wi’ the wight in the hanging vault. This third key—a—this here is called Nicholas-nimble-touch: -he—a—he openeth the range of vaults on the north side. They are tenantless; but an -the Knight and his bandon have good luck, they may be filled ere the morn’s night. -This—a—this other key—a—I call Will-whirl-i’-the-wards—a: he opens—a—opens the dark -vault i’ the middle, in which—a—in which is the mouth o’ the donjon pit.” -</p> -<p>“An’ what be that sma’ tiny key?” said Betty Burrel. -</p> -<p>“That,” said Trockle, “that—a—a—that is merry Mrs. Margery-of-the-mousetrap, though—a—a—that -is but an ill-bestowed name, seeing that—a—a—it be’s more of a bird-cage, I wot. But—a—a—Mrs. -Margery keeps—she—a—she keeps the door—a—the door of the ladies’ room—the ladies’ -room off <span class="pageNum" id="pb159">[<a href="#pb159">159</a>]</span>the passage—a—the passage leading to the hall, them knawest—a—thou knawest there be’s -a linnet bird there encaged. The Knight—a—the Knight can’t at no rate make her warble—a—warble -as he would ha’ her. But she’s but new caught—a—and she may sing another measure—a—ay, -ay, and dance too, when he comes back again. Nay, but now I ha’ told thee all—a—sweet -Mistress Betty Burrel—a—sweet Betty, sit thee down—a—a—a—and sing—a—a—sing one roundel. -Coum! here’s to thy health, my—a—a—my bonny blossom.” -</p> -<p>He put the wooden stoup to his head, and drained it to the bottom. -</p> -<p>“A—a—” said he then, attempting to rise and lay hold of Betty; “a—a—coum—a—a—sit thee—a—a—a—sit -thee down—sit thee down—a—one roundel—one kiss—a—a—.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay,” cried Betty Burrel, moving off; “I maun to my bed i’ the kitchen, Master -Throckle; I be wearisome tired and sleepy.” -</p> -<p>“Now, see,” cried Throckle, standing up, “now see—a—see what it is—a—see what it is -to be between liquor and love—a. Wise as thou art, Master Daniel Throckle, thou be’st -but as the ass i’ the fable between the tway haycocks—a.—Shalt thou after the Rownsyvall -jade now?—or shalt thou—a—shalt thou have one stoup more—ay—one stoup more?—Daniel, -one stoup more will make thee—a—will make thee—a—one stoup the stouter. Coum, then—a.” -</p> -<p>He opened the spigot, and, holding the stoup with both hands, tried to catch the ale -as it spouted forth, gallons of it spilling on the floor for the drops that entered -the mouth of the vessel. -</p> -<p>“A murrain—a—a—a murrain on it, I say—a. May I die—a—die of thirst—a—if the barrel -be not dronkelew—a. It canna—a—a—it canna stand fast—a—a—stand fast only till I—a—a—till -I fill mine stoup—a—a. But hold!—a—a—hold, I say—it runs over now—a—a—over now like -a fountain. Oh! I am the man—a—a—to empty a can—a—a—and fill it—a—a—(hiccup)—fill -it again and again—ah!—a—a—so here goes.” -</p> -<p>And, leaving the spigot to run as it might, he put the stoup to his head, and drinking -it out, staggered forward a step or two towards the door, and, losing his feet and -his balance at the same moment, fell backwards with a tremendous crash on the pavement, -where he lay senseless in a sea of ale that deluged the floor. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb160">[<a href="#pb160">160</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch21" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e417">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XXI.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Crooked-hold-him-fast—Making a Lantern of Burnstower Castle.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Assueton had no sooner witnessed the prostration of Master Daniel Throckle than he -hastened round to the door of the keep; and, having noted the part of the building -where the cellar lay, he slipped down a stair, and, groping along a passage, was soon -led to it by the light of the lamp. He entered hastily, and, unbinding the belt from -the drunken beast’s body, made himself master of the keys. He then seized the lamp, -stole silently out by the door, and, taking the directions Throckle had so gratuitously -given him, explored a passage at the end of which he found a stair leading upwards. -Beneath it was the strongly-barred door of a vault. Having singled out the key called -Crooked-hold-him-fast, he applied it to the door, and found it answer perfectly to -the lock. He turned the bolt, and, to his no small delight his lamp showed him his -esquire Roger Riddel and Robert Lindsay, both sound asleep on separate heaps of straw. -He gently waked first one, and then the other; and, laying his finger on his lips, -he cautioned them to be perfectly silent. The poor fellows were so confounded by their -unexpected deliverance, that they rubbed their eyes, and could hardly believe that -they were really awake. -</p> -<p>“Bestir thee, but not a word,” said the knight to them; “the Castle is all our own. -There are but two men within the walls. One I have left in a cellar, senseless as -a hog, rucking and wallowing in his ale; from him we have nothing to fear, but the -other yet standeth sentinel at the outward gate. So we must approach him cautiously; -and, when I whistle, pounce on him like falcons. But there is yet a woman in the place, -whom we must first secure, to prevent all chance of alarm.” -</p> -<p>“Yea,” said Roger Riddel gravely, “woman’s tongue be’s a wicked weapon.” -</p> -<p>The knight and his followers hastened to find out the kitchen, and, having peeped -in, they descried Betty Burrel either asleep or pretending to be so; and, remarking -that the windows were strongly barred, so that she could not escape that way, they -gently shut the door, and turned the key in the lock. -</p> -<p>They now ascended the stair, and having set down the lamp, Assueton, to guard against -all possibility of accident, took the <span class="pageNum" id="pb161">[<a href="#pb161">161</a>]</span>large key from the door of the keep, as they passed out. They then stole towards the -gateway, where, after prying about for some time, they discovered the watchful warder -of the garrison, lying within a doorway, sound asleep, on the steps of the stair leading -up to a barbican that overlooked the gate. Assueton immediately sprang on him, and -threw the blanket over his head; and, having taken the keys of the gate from him, -they muffled him so completely up as to stop his utterance, and, crossing his arms -behind his back, bound all tightly together with Master Throckle’s leathern belt. -They then hoisted the knave on the broad back of Roger Riddel, who marched merrily -away with his burden, and deposited him in the vault, on the very straw from which -he had himself so lately risen. Proceeding next to the cellar, they lifted up the -drunken jailor, who, being perfectly senseless, had run no small risk of being drowned -externally, as well as internally, by a flood of ale; and, having carried him also -to the vault, and put him among the straw that had been Robert Lindsay’s bed, they -turned Crooked-hold-him fast upon both of them. -</p> -<p>Lighting another lamp, which they had found extinguished, the two squires then went -to the stables to look for horses. Meanwhile Assueton ascended the stairs alone, to -discover the ladies’ chamber of which Throckle had spoken, and by attending to the -description the jailor had given, soon discovered it. He tapped gently at the door;—a -deep sigh came from within;—he tapped again. -</p> -<p>“Who knocks there at this hour?” said a female voice. -</p> -<p>The voice made Assueton’s heart bound with joy, for it was the voice of the Lady Isabelle -Hepborne. -</p> -<p>“Who knocks there?—who comes thus to break the hour of rest, the only one I have been -blest with since I entered these wicked and impure walls? If it be thou, false and -traitorous knight, know thou mayest kill, but thou canst never subdue me.” -</p> -<p>“Lady Isabelle,” cried Assueton, in transport, “it is no traitor; it is I, who will -dare to call myself thy true and humble slave, thine own humble slave, thine own faithful -knight, who, by God’s blessing, has come to undo the bars of thy prison and to set -thee free. -</p> -<p>“Sir John Assueton,” cried the fair Isabelle, overpowered by amazement and joy—“Sir -John Assueton!—Blessed Virgin!—and how camest thou here?—But thou art in dreadful -danger. For mercy’s sake—for my sake—I entreat thee not to speak so loud,” continued -she, tripping lightly towards the door, and whispering softly through the keyhole; -“speak not so loud, lest <span class="pageNum" id="pb162">[<a href="#pb162">162</a>]</span>thou shouldst be overheard and surprised by some of the caitiff knight’s cruel followers. -I will brave all danger to fly with thee.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, fairest lady,” said Assueton, “thou hast now but little cause of dread. The -Castle, and everything in it, is in my power; but I am rather meagrely attended, and -’twere better we should lose as little time as may be. I shall unlock thy door, and -keep watch for thee in the hall hard by, until thou art ready to wend with me.” -</p> -<p>The knight accordingly passed into the hall, where he found a long board, covered -with the wrecks of feast and wassail, everything in the apartment betokening the riotous -and reckless life that was led by the libertine owner of the place. The walls were -hung round with arms of various kinds, and, to his great surprise, he perceived the -very armour he had worn, and which he had left with his people when he changed his -dress, together with his shield, lance, and trusty sword, all forming a grand trophy, -at one end. He soon removed them from their place, and speedily equipped himself like -a knight as he was; and he had hardly done so, when his eye caught the very baldrick -and bugle worn by the leader of the foresters who had acted as his guide. He took -them also down, and hung them from his own neck, in memorial of the treachery he had -suffered. He then stood anxiously listening, nor did he wait long until he heard the -light step of the Lady Isabelle dancing merrily along the passage. He flew to meet -her, and the joy of both was too great to be controlled. Yet they trifled not long -to give way to their feelings. Assueton gave his arm to the fair prisoner, and they -descended the stair together. On reaching the courtyard, he found Riddel and Lindsay -busy in the stable. His squire was employed in putting the furniture and harness on -the very steed the knight had ridden from Hailes; but what gave rise to most unpleasant -speculation in the mind of Assueton, was the discovery that the horses and equipments -of his whole party were there. As he looked at the steeds and trappings of his brave -spearmen, his heart sank within him at the thought of the cruel death that treachery -had probably wrought on the gallant fellows who had used them. A palfrey was soon -selected and prepared for the Lady Isabelle; and the other three horses being ready, -Assueton ordered them to be led out. Before they mounted, however, Roger Riddel, who -never gave himself the trouble of speaking except when he had something of importance -that compelled him to use his tongue, addressed his master. -</p> -<p>“Methinks, your worship,” said he, “we should be the <span class="pageNum" id="pb163">[<a href="#pb163">163</a>]</span>better of a lantern to light us on our way till the moon rises.” -</p> -<p>“Go seek one then,” said Assueton; “but do not lose time, for it is but a chance thou -shalt find one.” -</p> -<p>“Fasten the horses to that hook, then, Bob,” said Riddel to Lindsay; “I shall want -thee to help me to light it.” -</p> -<p>The two men went into the keep-tower together, where they remained some time, and -at length they came out, each bearing a burden on his back. -</p> -<p>“What, in the name of St. Andrew, bearest thou there?” demanded Assueton. -</p> -<p>“’Tis but the dronkelew jailor and the watchful warden,” said Riddel; “methinks they -will lie better in the stable.” -</p> -<p>“Tut!” said Assueton peevishly, “why waste our time with them?” -</p> -<p>But Roger and his comrade deposited their burdens quietly in the stable, and then -returned again into the keep-tower, where they remained so very long that Assueton -lost all patience. By and by female shrieks were heard from within. They became louder, -and seemed to approach the door of the keep, when out stalked Roger Riddel with much -composure, carrying Betty Burrel like any infant in his arms. The damsel, who was -in her night attire, was wrapped in a blanket, and was screaming, kicking, and tearing -the squire’s face with her nails, like any wild cat. But the sedate Roger minded her -not, nor did her scratching in the least derange the gravity of his walk. -</p> -<p>“This is too much, Riddel,” said Assueton, losing temper: “What absurd whim is this? -Is the Lady Isabelle Hepborne to be kept standing here all night, till thou shalt -find a new bed for Betty Burrel?” -</p> -<p>Roger turned gravely about, with the kicking and scratching Betty Burrel still in -his arms——— -</p> -<p>“Surely,” said he, “Sir Knight, thou hast too much Christian charity in thee to see -the poor pusell burnt alive?” -</p> -<p>“Burnt!” cried Assueton with astonishment; “what mean ye?” -</p> -<p>But now came the explanation of all Roger had said and done; for volumes of smoke -began to burst from the different open loop-holes of the keep, and to roll out at -the door, sufficiently explaining what Roger Riddel had meant by a lantern. The squire -hastily deposited the kicking and screaming Betty Burrel in the stable, to which there -was no risk of the fire communicating, and locking the door, put the key quietly into -his pocket. The Lady Isabelle and Assueton mounted, while the squire and Lindsay went -before them, to raise the portcullis and <span class="pageNum" id="pb164">[<a href="#pb164">164</a>]</span>open the gates; and the whole party sallied forth from the walls, right glad to bid -adieu to Burnstower. Their two attendants went before them, leading their own horses -down the hill, and along the narrow tongue of land, towards the ford, lest there might -have been any such trap in their way as they formerly fell into. But all was clear, -and they got through the ford with perfect safety. -</p> -<p>From the summit of the rising ground above the ford, that is, from the same spot where -the moon had given Assueton the first and only view of Burnstower, on the night of -his approach, they now looked back, and beheld the keep involved in flames, that broke -forth from every opening in its sides, and forced their way through various parts -of its roof. The reader is already aware of the grandeur of the surrounding scene, -closely shut in all around by high backing hills, and the two deep glens with their -streams uniting under the green-headed eminence, that arose from the luxuriant forest, -which everywhere covered the lower grounds: let him conceive all this, then, lighted -up as it was by Roger Riddel’s glorious lantern, which, as they continued to look, -began to shoot up jets of flame from its summit, so high into the air that it seemed -as if the welkin itself was in some danger from its contact, and he will have in his -imagination one of the most sublime spectacles that human eye could well behold. -</p> -<p>The party, however, stopped not long to look at it, but urged onwards through the -thickets and sideling paths of the glen, now losing all sight of the burning tower, -and now recovering a view of it, as they occasionally climbed upwards to avoid some -impassable obstruction below. At length a turn of the glen shut it altogether from -their sight, and the place where it lay was only indicated by the fiery-red field -of sky immediately over it. -</p> -<p>Assueton resolved to follow the course of the glen, and in doing so he found that -the forester had completely deceived him in regard to the path, that below having -occupied about one-tenth part of the time which was consumed the former night in unravelling -the mazes of the hill road. The moon now arose to light them cheerily on their way; -objects became more distinct; and, as they were crossing a little glade, they observed -a man running, as if to take shelter under the trees. -</p> -<p>“After him, Riddel,” cried Assueton; “we must know who and what he is.” -</p> -<p>The squire and Lindsay charged furiously after the fugitive, and ere he could gain -the thicket, one rode up on each side of him, and caught him. The knight and Lady -Isabelle immediately <span class="pageNum" id="pb165">[<a href="#pb165">165</a>]</span>came up, when, to their no small delight, they discovered that it was a trooper of -Assueton’s party, and, on interrogating him, they learnt that all the others were -lodged safely among the brushwood at no great distance. The man was instantly despatched -for them, and, when they appeared, the whole villainy of the pretended foresters was -explained. The knight and his two attendants had no sooner left them than they were -largely feasted with broiled venison, after which liberal libations of potent ale -had been administered to them; and they now firmly believed that the liquor had been -drugged with an opiate; for, though the excessive fatigue they had undergone might -have accounted for their being immediately overcome with drowsiness, yet it could -have furnished no adequate explanation of their sleeping for the greater part of next -day, as they had all done to a man, without once awakening. When at length they did -arise from their mossy pillows, their horses and accoutrements, as well as the knight’s -armour, had vanished with the foresters, and nothing remained but part of the carcase -of a deer, left, as it appeared, to prevent them from starving. In this helpless state -the men were quite at a loss what to do. To advance with the hope of meeting their -leader, even if he were not already the victim of a worse treachery than they had -experienced, would have been vain; yet, unarmed as they were, the brave fellows could -not entirely abandon him, and after much hesitation, they had at last resolved, towards -evening, to wander up the glen to see what discoveries they could make. They had got -thus far, when the darkness of the night compelled them to halt until the moon rose; -and the man whom Assueton first descried had been sent out by the rest as a scout, -to ascertain whether they were yet safe in proceeding. -</p> -<p>Assueton’s mind being now relieved as to the safety of the party, he resolved to send -back Lindsay to guide the spearmen to Burnstower, that they might horse and arm themselves -in the stables. Meanwhile, he proposed that he, the Lady Isabelle, and the squire, -should halt in the thickets, near the spot where they then were, and wait patiently -for their return. -</p> -<p>“Stay,” said Roger Riddel to one of the men, as soon as he had heard his master’s -arrangement, “stay, here is the key, and be sure thou shuttest the stable door after -thee. Thou canst not mistake the way, even hadst thou no guide, for there is a lantern -burning in the Castle of Burnstower that enlighteneth the whole valley.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb166">[<a href="#pb166">166</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch22" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e427">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XXII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Waiting for the Spearmen—The Lady Isabelle’s Tale—The Fight.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The party led by Robert Lindsay marched off, and Roger Riddel proceeded to seek out -a retired spot where the Lady Isabelle might enjoy a little rest. A mossy bank within -the shelter of the wood was soon discovered, and the knight and his fair companion -seated themselves, whilst the squire secured their horses at no great distance. Assueton -was extremely desirous to learn the history of the lady’s capture, and she proceeded -to satisfy him. -</p> -<p>As she was passing through the woodlands, on her return towards Hailes Castle, after -parting from her brother, she was suddenly surrounded by Sir Miers de Willoughby’s -party, seized, put on horseback, and carried rapidly off. She was compelled to travel -all that day and next night, halting only once or twice for a very short time, to -obtain necessary refreshment for the horses and the people; and early next morning -they arrived with her at the Castle of Burnstower, where, although every comfort was -provided for her, she was subjected to confinement as a prisoner. Sir Miers de Willoughby -had taken every opportunity that so rapid a journey afforded, to tease her with offers -of love and adoration; and after they reached Burnstower he had spent several hours -in making his offensive addresses to her. The lady had repulsed him with a spirit -and dignity worthy the daughter of Sir Patrick Hepborne, called upon him boldly to -release her at his peril, and made a solemn appeal to Heaven against his treachery -and baseness. At length she was relieved of his presence by his being called on some -expedition, from which, fortunately for her peace, he did not return till a very late -hour, and she saw no more of him that night. But next morning he came again to her -apartment, where he compelled her to listen for some hours to addresses which she -treated with scorn and indignation. He became enraged, and, in his fury, talked of -humbling her pride by other means than fair speeches if he did not find her more compliant -on his return from an expedition he was about to proceed upon. She trembled to hear -him; but fortunately his immediate absence saved her from further vexation, until -she was finally rescued from the villain’s hands by Sir John Assueton. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb167">[<a href="#pb167">167</a>]</span></p> -<p>Having completed her narrative, the Lady Isabelle anxiously demanded a similar satisfaction -from Assueton, who gave her all the particulars of his adventures, the recital being -characterized by the modesty which was natural to him. The lady shuddered and trembled -alternately at the perils to which he had been exposed on her account, and her eyes -gave forth a plenteous shower of gladness and of gratitude when he had finished. He -seized the happy moment for making a full declaration of his passion, and he was repaid -for all his miseries, fatigues, dangers, and anxieties, by the soft confession he -received from her. -</p> -<p>After their mutual transports had in some degree subsided, Assueton called Roger Riddel -from the spot where, with proper attention to decorum, he had seated himself beyond -earshot of their conversation, and interrogated him as to what had occurred to him -and Lindsay. Their story was short, and Roger, who was always chary of his words, -did not add to its length by circumlocution. -</p> -<p>“Why, Sir Knight,” said he, “they carried us like bundles of straw to a drearisome -vault, and locked us up in the dark. Next day came one Ralpho Proudfoot, with divers -rogues—caitiff lossel had some old pique at good Rob Lindsay—swore he would now be -ywreken on him—threatened him with hanging—and would have done it with his own hands -then, but they would not let him till he got his master’s warrant—swore that he would -get the warrant and do execution on Rob to-morrow. So we got beef and ale to breakfast -and supper, and slept till your honour wakened us to wend with thee.” -</p> -<p>Sir John now prevailed upon the Lady Isabelle to take a short repose, whilst he and -Riddel watched over her safety. In a little time afterwards, Robert Lindsay returned -at the head of his remounted cavalry. Assueton was now himself again, and, with spirits -light as air, he and the lady got into their saddles, and proceeded slowly down the -glen. To prevent all chance of surprise, Robert Lindsay preceded them with half the -party as an advance guard, whilst Roger Riddel brought up the rear with the remainder. -</p> -<p>The night was so far spent that day dawned ere they had threaded the pass that formed -the entrance into the territory of Sir Miers de Willoughby. The sun rose high in all -its glory, and threw a flood of golden light over the romantic scenery they were passing -through. All nature rejoiced under the benignant influence of his cheering rays; a -thousand birds raised their happy wings and melodious voices to heaven; nay, all vegetable -<span class="pageNum" id="pb168">[<a href="#pb168">168</a>]</span>as well as animal life seemed to unite in one general choir to pour out their grateful -orisons. Nor did the souls of the lovers refuse to join the universal feeling. They -each experienced inwardly a joy and a gratitude that surpassed all the power of expression, -but which was, perhaps, best uttered in that silent, but not less fervent language -used by the devout spirit, when, impressed with a deep sense of the blessings it has -received, it rises in secret thanksgivings to its Creator. Each being thus separately -occupied in thought, they rode gently on until they had cleared the defiles, and were -entering the wider pastures, where the space in the bottom was more extended, and -the trees that clothed the sides of the hills, or dropped down occasionally on the -more level ground, grew thinner and more scattered. -</p> -<p>As they were entering one of those little plains through which the stream they had -followed meandered, they were surprised by the appearance of a party of armed horsemen -approaching from the other extremity of it. Assueton immediately called forward his -esquire. -</p> -<p>“Riddel,” said he, “we know not as yet whether those who come towards us may prove -friends or foes; but be they whom they list, to thy faithful charge do I consign the -care and protection of the Lady Isabelle; leave not her bridle-rein, whatever may -betide. Take three of the spearmen, and let her be always kept in the midst. Should -that bandon yonder, that cometh so fast, prove to be hostile, remember thou art in -no wise to act offensively unless the lady be attacked; but be it thy duty, and that -of those I leave with thee, to think only of defending her to the last extremity. -I shall myself ride forward with the rest, to see who these may be.” -</p> -<p>The Lady Isabelle grew pale with alarm, partly because her lover was probably about -to incur danger, but even yet more, if possible, because, in the knight who was approaching -at the head of the troop, she already recognized the figure and arms of him from whose -power she had so lately escaped. -</p> -<p>“Blessed Virgin protect us,” cried she, “’tis the caitiff knight de Willoughby who -advanceth!” -</p> -<p>“Is it so?” cried Assueton, his blood boiling at the intelligence; “then, by the Rood -of St. Andrew, he shall not hence until I shall have questioned him for his villainy.” -</p> -<p>He stayed not to say more, but, galloping forward, he reined up his steed in the middle -of the way, and instantly addressed the opposite leader. -</p> -<p>“Halt!” cried he, in a voice of thunder; “halt, Sir Knight, if yet thou mayest deserve -a title so honourable; for, of a truth, <span class="pageNum" id="pb169">[<a href="#pb169">169</a>]</span>thou dost not, if thou art he whom I take thee to be. Say, art thou, or art thou not, -that malfaitour Sir Miers de Willoughby?” -</p> -<p>“Though I see no cause why I should respond to a rude question rudely put, yet will -I never deny my name,” replied the other, “I am so hight. And now, what hast thou -to say to Sir Miers de Willoughby?” -</p> -<p>“That he no longer deserves to be called a knight, but rather a caitiff robber,” replied -Assueton. -</p> -<p>“Robber!” retorted the other; “dost thou call me robber, that dost wear my baldrick -and bugle hanging from thy shoulder?” -</p> -<p>“Thine!” replied Assueton; “if they be thine, ’tis well thou hast noted them so; I -wear them as the gage of my revenge; and I have sworn to wear them until thou payest -dearly for the wrong thou hast done to the virtuous Lady Isabelle Hepborne, for I -speak not of the base treachery thou didst use towards myself.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, then,” replied de Willoughby, “it seems thou art determined that we shall do -instant battle. Come on, then.” -</p> -<p>And so saying, he put his lance in the rest and ran his course at Assueton. The Scottish -Knight couched his, and, exclaiming aloud, “May God and St. Andrew defend the right,” -he put spurs to his horse and rushed at his opponent. They met nearly midway. Sir -Miers de Willoughby’s lance glanced aside from Assueton’s cuirass, without doing the -firmly-seated knight the smallest injury; but Assueton’s point entering on one side, -between the joinings of Sir Miers’ helmet and neck-piece, bore him headlong from his -saddle, and stretched him, grievously wounded, on the plain. Meanwhile, before Assueton -had time to recollect himself, on came the party of de Willoughby, and, with the natural -impression that he would dismount to put their leader to death, charged him <i>en masse</i>. His own spearmen rushed to his rescue, but, before they came, he had so well bestirred -himself that he had prostrated three or four of the enemy. The battle now became general; -but though the numbers were on the other side, yet the victory was very soon achieved -by the prowess of Assueton and his people, who left not a man before them; all, save -one only, being either thrown to the ground or forced to seek safety in flight. -</p> -<p>That one, however, was Ralpho Proudfoot, who at the first onset had singled out Robert -Lindsay, with a bloody thirst of long-cherished hatred. Their spears having been splintered -in the shock, he had grappled Lindsay by the neck, and the latter seizing his antagonist -in his turn, they were both at once dragged <span class="pageNum" id="pb170">[<a href="#pb170">170</a>]</span>from their horses. Rising eagerly at the same moment, however, they drew their swords -and attacked each other. Some of Lindsay’s comrades having now no antagonist of their -own to oppose, were about to assist him. -</p> -<p>“Keep off,” cried he immediately, “keep off, my friends, if ye love me; one man is -enow, in all conscience, upon one man; so let him kill me if he can, but interfere -not between us.” -</p> -<p>They rained down their blows upon each other with tremendous force, and the combat -hung doubtful for a considerable time. Proudfoot’s expression of countenance was savage -and devilish. He tried various manœuvres to break through Lindsay’s cool determined -guards, but without effect; and, being more desirous of wounding his adversary than -of saving himself, he received some severe thrusts. At length, as he attempted to -throw his point in on Lindsay’s body, he received a cut from him that laid his arm -open from the shoulder to the wrist, and at once rendered it useless. The sword dropped -from his hand, and, fainting from the loss of blood that poured from his other wounds, -he staggered back a few paces, and fell senseless on the ground. The generous Lindsay, -forgetting the brutal threats Proudfoot had uttered against him, ran up to his assistance. -</p> -<p>“He was my companion when we were boys,” cried he; “oh, let me save him if I can.” -</p> -<p>And so saying, he ran to the stream, filled his morion with water, and poured it on -Proudfoot’s face. He then bathed his wounds, and bound up his arm, and tried to staunch -the bleeding from the thrusts he had given him. Nor were his pious and merciful exertions -unattended with success. Proudfoot opened his eyes, and, his senses returning to him, -he gazed with silent wonder in the face of the man who had, a moment before, fought -so manfully against him, and who was now so humanely employed in endeavouring to save -his life, and assuage the acuteness of his pains. His own villainous and cruel determinations -against Lindsay, which he had been contemplating, the having it in his power to carry -into execution that very night, now rushed upon his mind. His conscience, long hardened -by guilt and atrocity, was at once melted by that single, but bright ray of goodness, -which darted on it from the anxious eye of Lindsay; and days long since past recurring -to his memory, he remembered what he had been, and burst into an agony of tears. -</p> -<p>Assueton had no sooner rid himself of his enemies than he went to assist the wounded -and discomfited Sir Miers de Willoughby; and on unlacing his helmet, discovered, to -his no small <span class="pageNum" id="pb171">[<a href="#pb171">171</a>]</span>surprise, the features of the very forester who guided him to Burnstower. -</p> -<p>The evidence of Sir Miers de Willoughby’s villainy was now complete; yet was not the -gallant Assueton’s compassion for his hapless state one atom diminished by the discovery. -The wound in his neck, though not mortal, bled most profusely, and he lay in a swoon -from the quantity of blood he had already lost. The Lady Isabelle and the esquire -now coming up, every means were used to stop the effusion, and, happily, with success, -but he still remained insensible. Assueton therefore ordered his people to catch some -of the horses of those who had fallen; and having placed de Willoughby, Proudfoot, -and one or two others of whose recovery there seemed to be good hope, across their -saddles, they proceeded charily onwards, and after some hours’ slow travel, brought -them safely to Carham, and lodged them under the care of the Black Canons of its Abbey. -</p> -<p>Having rested and refreshed themselves and their horses there, they crossed the Tweed, -and being impatient to return to Hailes, that they might relieve the anxious mind -of the elder Sir Patrick Hepborne, they arrived there by a forced march. -</p> -<p>The joy of Sir Patrick at the unexpected return of his daughter may be conceived. -He had, as he resolved, gone in pursuit of Assueton, and had used every means in his -power to discover the direction in which the Lady Isabelle had been carried; but all -his efforts had been fruitless, and they found him in the deepest despair. It is easy -to guess what happiness smiled upon that night’s banquet. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch23" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e438">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Sir Patrick Hepborne’s Journey North—Passes through Edinburgh—King Robert II.—The -Wilds of the Highlands—The Celtic Host.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Our history now returns to the younger Sir Patrick Hepborne, whom we left about to -commence his journey towards the North. He had no sooner parted from his sister, the -Lady Isabelle, and joined his esquire and cortege, under the trees by the side of -the Tyne, than he espied a handsome youth, clad in the attire of a page, who came -riding through the grove towards a ford of the river. He was mounted on a sorry hackney, -carrying his valise behind him, and was guided by a clown, who walked by his bridle. -The boy showed symptoms of much <span class="pageNum" id="pb172">[<a href="#pb172">172</a>]</span>amazement and dismay on finding himself thus so unexpectedly surrounded by a body -of armed men; and he would have dropped from his horse, from sheer apprehension, had -not Sir Patrick’s kind and courteous salutation gradually banished his alarm. -</p> -<p>“Who art thou, and whither goest thou, young man?” demanded the knight, in a gentle -tone and manner. -</p> -<p>“I am a truant boy, Sir Knight,” replied the youth, in a trembling voice; “I have -fled from home that I might see somewhat of the world.” -</p> -<p>“And where may be thy home?” demanded Sir Patrick. -</p> -<p>“On the English bank of the Tweed,” replied the boy. -</p> -<p>“Ha!” exclaimed Sir Patrick, “and why hast thou chosen to travel into Scotland, rather -than to explore the Southern parts of thine own country?” -</p> -<p>“Verily, because I judged that there was less chance of my being looked for on this -side the Border,” replied the boy. “Moreover, the peace that now prevails hath made -either side safe enow, I hope, for travel.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, that as it may happen,” said the knight. “But why didst thou run away from thy -friends, young man? Was it that thou wert evil-treated.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, rather, Sir Knight, that I was over charily cockered and cared for,” replied -the boy; “more especially by my mother, at home, who, for dread of hurt befalling -me, would give me no license to disport myself at liberty with other youths. I was, -as it were, but a page of dames. But, sooth to say, I have been long tired of dames -and damosels, and knitting, and broidery, and all the little silly services of women.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, in truth, thou art of an age for something more stirring,” replied Sir Patrick; -“a youth of thine years should have to do with gay steeds, and armour, and ’tendance -upon knights.” -</p> -<p>“Such are, indeed, the toys that my heart doth most pant for,” replied the boy; “and -such is mine excuse for quitting home. I sigh for the gay sight of glittering tourneys, -and pageants of arms, and would fain learn the noble trade of chivalry.” -</p> -<p>“If thou hast no scruple to serve a Scottish Knight,” replied Sir Patrick, “that is, -so long as until the outbreak of war may call on thee to appear beneath the standard -of thy native England, I shall willingly give thee a place among my followers; and, -by St. Genevieve, thou dost come to me in a good time, too, as to feats of arms, being -that I am now on my way to the <span class="pageNum" id="pb173">[<a href="#pb173">173</a>]</span>grand tournament to be held on the Mead of St. John’s. So, wilt thou yede with me -thither, my young Courfine?” The boy made no reply, but hung his head, and looked -abashed for some moments. “Ha! what sayest thou?” continued the knight; “wilt thou -wend with me, or no? Thine answer speedily, yea or nay, young man, for I must be gone.” -</p> -<p>“Yea, most joyfully will I be of thy company, Sir Knight,” replied the boy, his eyes -glistening with delight; “and while peace may endure between our countries, I will -be thy true and faithful page, were it unto the death.” -</p> -<p>“’Tis well, youth,” replied Sir Patrick; “but thou hast, as yet, forgotten to possess -me of thy name and parentage.” -</p> -<p>“My name, Sir Knight,” replied the boy, with some confusion and hesitation—“my name -is Maurice de Grey—my father, Sir Hargrave de Grey, is Captain of the Border Castle -of Werk—and the gallant old Sir Walter de Selby, Captain of the other Border strength -of Norham, is mine uncle.” -</p> -<p>“Ha! is it so?” exclaimed Hepborne, with great surprise and considerable agitation—“Then -thou art cousin to the La——? then thou art nevoy to Sir Walter de Selby, art thou? -Nay, now I do look at thee again, thou hast, methinks, a certain cast of the features -of his family. Perdie, he is a most honourable sib to thee. Of a truth thou art come -of a good kindred, and if thou wilt be advised by me, sweet youth, thou wilt straightway -hie thee back again to thine afflicted mother, doubtless ere this grievously bywoxen -with sorrow for loss of thee.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, good Sir Knight, I dare not now adventure to return,” replied the boy; “and -sith thou hast told me of that tourney, verily thou hast so much enhanced my desire -to go with thee, that nothing but thy refusal of what thou hast vouchsafed to promise -me shall now hinder me.” -</p> -<p>“Had I earlier known of whom thou art come, youth,” replied Sir Patrick gravely, “I -had been less rash in persuading thee with me, or in ’gaging my promise to take thee; -but sith that my word hath already passed, it shall assuredly be kept; nor shall thy -father or mother have cause to regret that thou hast thus chanced to fall into my -hands. Come, then, let us have no more words, but do thou dismiss thy rustic guide, -and follow me without more ado.” -</p> -<p>The youth bowed obedience, and taking the peasant aside, gave him the reward which -his services had merited, and, after talking with him for some little time, sent him -away, and prepared to follow his new master. Meanwhile, Sir Patrick called <span class="pageNum" id="pb174">[<a href="#pb174">174</a>]</span>Mortimer Sang, and gave him strict charges to care for the boy. -</p> -<p>“Be it thy duty,” said he to him, “to see that the young falcon be well bestowed by -the way. Meseems him but a tender brauncher as yet; he must not be killed in the reclaiming. -Let him be gently entreated, and kindly dealt with, until he do come readily to the -hand.” -</p> -<p>All being now in readiness, the troop moved forward; and Sir Patrick Hepborne, who -wished to know something more of his newly-acquired page, made the boy ride beside -him, that they might talk together by the way. Maurice displayed all the bashfulness -of a stripling when he first mixes among men. He hung his head much; and although -the knight’s eye could often detect his in the act of gazing at him, when he thought -he was himself unobserved, yet he could never stand his master’s look in return, but -dropped his head on his bosom. The knight, however, found him a lad of intelligence -and good sense much beyond his years, and ere they had reached Edinburgh, the boy -had perfectly succeeded in winning Sir Patrick’s good affections towards him. -</p> -<p>On their arrival in the capital, Sir Patrick bestowed on the page a beautiful milk-white -palfrey, of the most perfect symmetry of form and docility of temper, and added rich -furniture of velvet and gold to complete the gift. He accoutred him also with a baldrick, -and sword and dagger, of rare and curious workmanship—presents which seemed to have -the usual effect of such warlike toys on young minds, when the boy is naturally proud -of assuming the symbols of virility. He fervently kissed the generous hand that gave -them, and blushed as he did so; then mounting his palfrey, he rode with the knight -up the high Mercat Street, to the admiration of all those who beheld him. The very -populace cheered them as they passed along, and all agreed that a handsomer knight -or a more beautiful page had never graced the crown of their causeway. -</p> -<p>Yet though the boy seemed to yield to the joy inspired by the possession of these -new and precious treasures, his general aspect was rather melancholy than otherwise, -and Hepborne that very evening caught him in tears. He dried his eyes in haste, however, -as soon as he saw that he was observed, and lifting his long dark eye-lashes, beamed -a smile of sunshine into the anxiously inquiring face of his master. -</p> -<p>“What ails thee, Maurice?” said Hepborne, kindly taking his hand—“what ails thee, -my boy? Thy hand trembles, and thy cheeks flush—nay, the very alabaster of thine unsullied -<span class="pageNum" id="pb175">[<a href="#pb175">175</a>]</span>forehead partake of the crimson that overrunneth thy countenance. ’Tis the fever of -home-leaving that hath seized thee, and thou weepest for thy mother, whom thou hast -left behind thee; silly youth,” said he, chuckling him gently under the chin, “’tis -the penalty thou must pay for thy naughtiness in leaving them. Doubtless, thou hast -made them weep too. But say if thou wouldst yet return? for if thou wouldst, one of -mine attendants shall wend with thee, and see thee safe to Werk; and——” -</p> -<p>“Nay, good Sir Knight,” cried the boy, interrupting him, “though I weep for them, -yet would I not return to Werk, but forward fare with thee.” -</p> -<p>“Nay,” said Hepborne, “unless thou shouldst repent thee of thy folly, sweet youth, -I shall leave thy disease to run its own course, and to find its own cure. And of -a truth, I must confess, I should part with thee with sorrow.” -</p> -<p>“Then am I happy,” cried the boy, with a sudden expression of delight: “Would that -we might never part!” -</p> -<p>“We shall never part whilst thou mayest fancy my company,” said Hepborne, kissing -his cheek kindly, and infinitely pleased with the unfeigned attachment the boy already -showed him. “But youth is fickle, and I should not choose to bind thy volatile heart -longer than it may be willing; for it may change anon.” -</p> -<p>The boy looked suddenly to heaven, crossed his hands over his breast, and said earnestly, -“I am not one given to change, Sir Knight; thou shalt find me ever faithful and true -to thee.” -</p> -<p>After leaving Edinburgh, Hepborne travelled by St. Johnstoun, and presented himself -before King Robert the Second at Scone, where he then happened to be holding his court. -The venerable monarch received him in the most gracious and flattering manner. -</p> -<p>“Thy renommie hath outrun thy tardy homeward step, Sir Knight,” said His Majesty, -“for we have already heard of thy gallant deeds abroad. Perdie, we did much envy our -faithful ally and brother of France, and did grudge him the possession of one of the -most precious jewels of our court, and one of the stoutest defences of our throne. -We rejoice, therefore, to have recovered what of so good right belongeth to us, and -we hope thou wilt readily yield to our command that thou shouldst remain about our -royal person. Since old age hath come heavily upon us, marry, we the more lack such -staunch and trusty props.” -</p> -<p>“My Most Gracious Liege,” said Hepborne, “I shall not be wanting in my duty of obedience -to your royal and gratifying <span class="pageNum" id="pb176">[<a href="#pb176">176</a>]</span>mandate. At present I go to attend this tourney of my Lord of Moray’s, and I go the -more gladly, that I may have an opportunity of meeting with my peers of the baronage, -of Scottish chivauncie, whom my absence in France hath hitherto prevented my knowing. -Having your royal leave to follow out mine intent, I shall straightway render myself -in your grace’s presence, to bow to your royal pleasure.” -</p> -<p>“By doing so, Sir Patrick,” said the King, “thou wilt much affect us to thee. We have -of late had less of thy worthy father’s attendance on our person than we could have -wished. Mansuete as he is in manners, sage in council, and lion-hearted in the field, -we should wish to see him always in our train. But we grieve for the sad cause of -his retirement. Thy virtuous mother’s sudden death hath weighed heavily on him, yet -must he forget his grief. Let a trental of masses be said for her soul;—he must bestir -himself anon, and restore to us and to his country the use of those talents, of that -virtue and bravery with which he hath been so eminently blessed, and which were given -him for our glory and Scotland’s defence. If thou goest by the most curt and direct -way into Moray Land, thou wilt pass by our son Alexander Earl of Buchan’s Castle of -Lochyndorbe. Him must thou visit, and tell him that we ourselves did urge thee to -claim his hospitality.” -</p> -<p>Hepborne readily promised that he would obey His Majesty’s injunctions in that respect, -and took his leave, being charged with a letter for the Earl, from the King, under -his private signet. -</p> -<p>His route lay northwards, through the centre of Scotland. As he journeyed onwards, -through deep valleys and endless forests, and over high, wide, and barren wastes, -he compared in his own mind the face of the country with the fertile regions of France, -which he had so lately left. But still, these were the mountains of his fatherland -that rose before his eye, and that name allied them to his heart by ties infinitely -stronger than the tame surface of cultivation could have imposed. His soul soared -aloft to the summits of the snow-topt Grampians, where the hardy and untameable spirit -of Scotland seemed to sit enthroned among their mists, and to bid him welcome as a -son. -</p> -<p>He made each day’s journey so easy, on account of the tender page, that a week had -nearly elapsed ere he found himself in the upper part of the valley of the Dee. It -was about sunset when he reached a miserable-looking house, which had been described -to him as one accustomed to give entertainment to travellers. It was situated under -some lofty pines on the edge of the forest. The owner of this mansion was a Celt; -a tall, <span class="pageNum" id="pb177">[<a href="#pb177">177</a>]</span>stout, athletic man of middle age, clad in the garb of the mountaineers. Having served -in the wars against the English, he had acquired enough of the Southron tongue to -enable Hepborne to hold converse with him. The knight and the page (whom, notwithstanding -his injunction to Mortimer Sang, he had yet kept always within his own eye) were ushered -together into a large sod-built apartment, where a cheerful fire of wood burned in -the middle of the floor. The squire and the rest of the party were bestowed in a long -narrow building of the same materials, attached to one end of it. The night had been -chilly on the high grounds they had crossed, and the fire was agreeable. They sat -them down, therefore, on wooden settles close to it, and the rude servants of their -host hastened to put green boughs across the fire, and to lay down steaks of the flesh -of the red-deer to be cooked on them. -</p> -<p>Meanwhile the host entered with a wooden stoup in his hand, and poured out for them -to drink, into a small two-eared vessel of the same material. The liquor was a sort -of spirit, made partly from certain roots and partly from grain; and was harsh and -potent, but rather invigorating. Hepborne partook of it, but the page would on no -account taste it. -</p> -<p>“Fu?” said Duncan MacErchar, for that was their host’s name, “fu! fat for will she -no drink?” -</p> -<p>“He is right,” said Hepborne; “at his age, water should be his only beverage.” -</p> -<p>The host then went with his stoup to offer some of its contents to the knight’s followers, -most of whom he found less scrupulous than the page. During his conversation with -the men, he soon learned who was their master; but he had no sooner heard the name -of Hepborne than he became half frantic with joy, and hastily returned into the place -where Sir Patrick was sitting. -</p> -<p>“Master Duncan MacErchar,” said Hepborne to him as he entered, “thou must e’en procure -me some mountaineer who may guide me into Moray Land. I be but a stranger in these -northern regions, and verily our way among the mountains hath been longer than it -ought, for we have been often miswent. Moreover, I am altogether ignorant of thy Celtic -leden, so that when we have had the good fortune to meet with people by the way, we -have not been able to profit by the information they could give us.” -</p> -<p>“Ugh!” cried MacErchar, with a strong expression of joy, and rubbing his hands as -he spoke; “but she’ll go with her hersel, an naebody else can be gotten to attend -her. Ugh ay, surely <span class="pageNum" id="pb178">[<a href="#pb178">178</a>]</span>she’ll do that and twenty times more for ony Hepborne, and most of all for the son -of the noble, and brave, and worthy Sir Patrick, and weel her part. Och ay, surely!” -</p> -<p>“And how comest thou to be so very friendly to the Hepbornes, and, above all, to our -family?” demanded Sir Patrick. -</p> -<p>“Blessings be upon her!” said MacErchar, “she did serve mony a day with her father, -the good and the brave Sir Patrick, against the English, and mony was the time she -did fight at her ain back. She would die hersel for Sir Patrick, or for ony flesh -o’ his.” -</p> -<p>Hepborne’s heart immediately warmed to the honest Celt; he shook him cordially by -the hand, and MacErchar’s eyes glistened with pleasure. -</p> -<p>“Depend on it, Master MacErchar,” said he, “my father shall know thine attachment -to him.” -</p> -<p>“Ou fye,” said MacErchar, “it would be an honour and a pleasure for her to see Sir -Patrick again, to be sure!—ugh ay!” And he stopped, because he seemed to lack language -to express all he felt. -</p> -<p>“Thou livest in a wild spot here,” said Hepborne; “but thou art a soldier, and hast -travelled.” -</p> -<p>“Ou ay, troth she hath done that,” said Duncan, with a look of conscious pride; “troth -hath she travelled mony a bonny mile in England, not to talk o’ Ireland, where she -did help to take Carlinyford. Troth she hath seen Newcastle, and all there-abouts, -for she was with the brave Archembald Douglas, the Grim Lord of Galloway. Och! oich! -it was fine sport!—She lived on the fat o’ the land yon time; and, u-hugh! what spuilzie!—ay, -ay, he! he! he!” -</p> -<p>“Thou didst march into England, then, with the French auxiliaries who came over to -St. Johnstoun under Jean de Vian, Comte de Valentinois?” demanded Sir Patrick. -</p> -<p>“Ou ay, troth she was with the Frenchmens a long time,” said MacErchar—“<i lang="fr">Peut Parley Frenchy</i>, hoot ay can she. Fair befall them, they helped to beleaguer and to sack two or three -bonny castles. Ugh! what bonny spuilzie! sure, sure!” -</p> -<p>He laid his finger with great significancy against his nose, and, having first shut -the door, he lifted a brand from the fire, and went to one end of the apartment. There -he removed a parcel of faggots that lay carelessly heaped up against the wall, and, -lifting a rude frame of wattle that was beneath them, uncovered an excavation in the -earthen floor, from which he brought out a massive silver flagon, one or two small -silver mazers, and several other pieces of valuable spoil; and besides these, he produced -<span class="pageNum" id="pb179">[<a href="#pb179">179</a>]</span>a plain black bugle-horn, and two or three coarse swords and daggers. -</p> -<p>“Troth she would not show them to everybody,” said he; “but she be’s an honourable -knight, and Sir Patrick’s son;—she hath no fear to show the bonny things to her. But -she has not had them out for mony a day syne.” -</p> -<p>Hepborne bestowed due admiration on those well-earned fruits of Master Duncan MacErchar’s -military hardships and dangers. Though of less actual value to the owner than the -wooden vessel from which he had so liberally dealt out his hospitable cup at meeting, -yet there was something noble in the pride he took in showing them. It was evident -that the glory of the manner of their acquisition gave them their chief value in his -eyes; for it was not those of most intrinsic worth that were estimated the highest -by him. -</p> -<p>“See this,” said he, lifting the plain black bugle-horn; “this be the best prize of -them all. She took this hersel off a loon that fought and tuilzied with her hand to -hand; but troth she tumbled him at the hinder-end of the bicker. Fye, fye, but he -was a sorrowful mockel stout loon.—This swords, an’ this daggers, were all ta’en off -the loons she killed with her nain hand.—But uve, uve! she maunna be tellin’ on her, -though troth she needna fear Sir Patrick Hepborne’s son. But if some of the folks -in these parts heard of these things, uve, uve! they wouldna be long here.” -</p> -<p>Saying this, he hastily restored the articles of spoil to the grave that had held -them, and putting down the wattle over them, he threw back the billets into a careless -heap against the wall. -</p> -<p>“Thy treasure is so great, Master MacErchar,” said Hepborne, “that thou art doubtless -satisfied, and wilt never again tempt thy fate in the field?” -</p> -<p>“Hoot toot!” cried MacErchar, “troth she’ll be there again or lang; she maun see more -o’ the Southrons yet or she dies. But uve, uve! what for is there nothing for her -to eat?” -</p> -<p>He then burst out in a torrent of eloquence in his own language, which soon brought -his ragged attendants about him, and the best that he could afford was put on a table -before Sir Patrick and the page. Cakes made of rough ground oatmeal, milk, cheese, -butter, steaks of deer’s flesh, with various other viands, with abundance of ale, -appeared in rapid succession, and both knight and page feasted admirably after their -day’s exercise. Hepborne insisted on their host sitting down and partaking with them, -which he did immediately, with a degree <span class="pageNum" id="pb180">[<a href="#pb180">180</a>]</span>of independent dignity that impressed Sir Patrick yet more strongly in his favour. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch24" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e448">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Savage-looking Visitors—Night in the Highland Hostelry—Wolf-Dogs.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">As they sat socially at their meal, they were suddenly interrupted by the door being -burst open, when two gigantic and very savage-looking men entered, in most uncouth -and wild drapery. They were clothed in woollen plaids of various colours and of enormous -amplitude, and these were wrapt round their bodies and kept tight by a belt of raw -leather with the hair on it, leaving the skirts to hang half-way down their naked -thighs, while the upper part above the belt was thrown loosely over the shoulder, -so as to give their muscular arms and hairy knees the full freedom of nakedness. Their -heads also were bare, except that they had the copious covering which Nature had provided -for them, the one having strong curly black hair, and the other red of similar roughness, -hanging in matted locks over their features and about their ears. The forests which -Nature had planted on their faces, chins, and necks too, had been allowed to grow, -untamed by shears; their legs were covered half-way to the knee by strips of raw skin -twisted round them, and their feet were defended by a kind of shoes made of untanned -hides. Each had a dirk in his girdle, and a pouch of skin suspended before, while -across their backs were slung bows and bunches of arrows. In their hands they brandished -long lances, and several recently-taken wolves’ skins were thrown over their shoulders, -but rather for carriage than covering. Five or six large wiry-haired wolf-dogs entered -along with them. -</p> -<p>MacErchar instantly started up when they appeared, and began speaking loudly and hastily -to them in their own tongue, waving them from time to time to retire, and at length -opened the door, and showed them the way to the other apartment. -</p> -<p>“Who may be these two savage-looking men?” demanded Hepborne of his host as he entered. -</p> -<p>“Troth, she no kens them, Sir Patrick,” replied MacErchar, “she never saw them afore; -but they tells her that they be’s hunters from the north side of this mountains here.” -</p> -<p>“Live they in the way that I must needs wend to-morrow towards Moray Land?” asked -Hepborne. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb181">[<a href="#pb181">181</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Uch, ay,” replied MacErchar; “but mind not that, Sir Patrick, for hersel will go -wi’ her the morn.” -</p> -<p>“Nay,” said Hepborne, “that may not be, that is, if these men are to return whence -they came, and that their road and mine run nearly in the same direction. Perdie, -I cannot in that case suffer thee to yede so far with me unnecessarily, when their -guidance might suffice. Thou shalt give them knowledge of the point I wish to reach, -together with all necessary directions touching the places where we may best halt, -and spend the night; and they shall receive a handsome guerdon from me when they shall -have brought me and mine in safety to the Castle of Lochyndorbe, whither I am first -bound.” -</p> -<p>“Uch-huch! of a truth she would like to go with her,” said MacErchar; “but troth, -after all, she must confess that she kens but little o’ the way beyond her ain hills -there. Weel would it be her part to wend wi’ her; but if yon loons ken the gate into -Moray Land (as doubtless they have been there mony a time, and she does not mistake -them) they will be better guides, after all. But what an she should ask some questions -at them?” -</p> -<p>“Thou hadst better do so,” said Hepborne; “best ask them whence they come, and what -parts of the country they know, before thou dost teach them the object of thy questions.” -</p> -<p>“Troth, and she’s right there,” said Duncan MacErchar; “this salvage loons are not -just to lippen till; weel does she ken them; and, uve, uve! she maun tak special care -to look sharp after them gin she should yede wi’ them; they are but little chancy, -in troth. But she’ll call them in now, and see what the loons will say.” -</p> -<p>The two uncouth-looking men were accordingly brought in. They made no obeisance, but -stood like a couple of huge rocks, immovable, with all their thickets and woods upon -them. They even beetled over the tall and sturdy form of Duncan MacErchar, who, though -above the middle size, might have passed as a little man when placed beside those -gigantic figures. Duncan put several questions to them in their own language, which -they answered, but always before doing so, they seemed to consult each other’s countenances, -and then both answered in the same breath. They eyed the knight and his page from -time to time, as the inhabitants of all secluded and wild regions are naturally apt -to stare at strangers. After a good deal of colloquy had passed, MacErchar turned -to Hepborne— -</p> -<p>“Sir Patrick,” said he, “these men ken every inch of the country from here to the -Firth of Moray. Shall she now ask <span class="pageNum" id="pb182">[<a href="#pb182">182</a>]</span>them if they be willing to guide her honour to Lochyndorbe?” -</p> -<p>“Do so, I beseech thee,” said Hepborne, “and tell them I will give them gold when -they bring me thither.” -</p> -<p>MacErchar again addressed them in their own language. The men seemed to nod assent -to the proposals he made them; and after a few more words had passed between them— -</p> -<p>“Uch, Sir Patrick,” said he, “they be very willing for the job. They’ll bring her -there in two days. They say that she must be off by sunrise in the morning.” -</p> -<p>This Sir Patrick readily undertook; and Duncan MacErchar having wet the treaty with -a draught of the spirits from his stoup, of which he poured out liberally to each, -the men retired. Sir Patrick Hepborne then signified a wish to go to his repose. Two -heather-beds, of inviting firmness and elasticity, were already prepared at the two -extremities of the chamber where they were; and the knight having occupied the one, -and the page the other, both were very soon sound asleep. -</p> -<p>About the middle of the night Sir Patrick was awakened by a noise. He raised himself -suddenly, and, looking towards the door, whence it seemed to have proceeded, he saw -that it was open. One or two of the great rough wolf-dogs came slowly in, looking -over their shoulders, as if expecting some one to follow them—and, making a turn or -two round the expiring fire, and smelling about them for a little while, walked out -again. Hepborne arose and shut the door, and then threw himself again within his blankets. -He lay for some time awake, to see whether the wolf-dogs would repeat their unpleasant -intrusion; and finding that there was no appearance of their doing so, he again resigned -himself to the sweets of oblivion. -</p> -<p>He had lain some time in this state when he was a second time awakened, he knew not -how, but he heard as if there were footsteps in the place. The fire had now fallen -so low that he could see nothing by its light, but by a glimmering moonbeam that made -its way in he saw that the door was again open. As he looked towards it, he thought -he perceived something like a dog glide outwards. He started up, as he had done before, -and, going to the door, he again shut it; and, that the wolf-dogs might no more torment -him, he piled up the rustic table he had supped on, and some of the stools and settles -against it. The precautions he thus took were effectual, for the dogs were no more -troublesome to him all night; and the first interruption his slumbers experienced -was from the overthrow of the whole materials of his barricado, and the exclamation -of “Uve! uve!” that burst from Duncan MacErchar, who came for the purpose <span class="pageNum" id="pb183">[<a href="#pb183">183</a>]</span>of rousing him to prosecute his journey. Hepborne explained the cause of his having -so fortified the door. -</p> -<p>“Uch ay,” said MacErchar, “they be’s powersome brutes—powersome brutes, in troth, -and plaguy cunning. I’se warrant they smelt the smell of the rosten deer’s flesh, -and that brought them in. But they got little for their pains, the ragged rascals—not -but they are bonny tykes, poor beasts! and troth, ’tis better to have ane o’ them -in the house than the wolves themselves, that we’re sometimes plagued with.” -</p> -<p>The host approached the side of Hepborne’s couch, with his everlasting stoup in his -right hand, and the wooden cup in his left, and poured him out of the spirits it contained. -The knight sipped a little, and then MacErchar retired to see that his morning’s meal -was properly provided. It was no less copiously and comfortably supplied, according -to his means, than the supper of the previous evening had been. -</p> -<p>At length Mortimer Sang came to receive his master’s orders; and when Hepborne asked -him how he and his people had fared, he learned that they had been treated with every -thing the good host could procure for them. Oats were not to be had for the horses; -but, in addition to the grass that was cut for them, Master MacErchar had himself -carried a large sack of meal to the stables and out-houses of turf, where the animals -had with some difficulty been forced in, and he had most liberally supplied them with -his own hands. He went round all the men of Hepborne’s party, and gave each his morning’s -cup of spirits. In short, he seemed to think that it was impossible he could do enough -from his small means, for the knight and every person and animal belonging to him. -</p> -<p>When the horses were brought out, Hepborne called MacErchar to him, and offered him, -from his purse, ten times as much money as the value of his night’s entertainment -and lodging would have cost. -</p> -<p>“Uve! uve!” said Duncan, sore hurt, and half offended; “uve! uve! Sir Patrick! Hoot -no. What! take money from the son of Sir Patrick Hepborne, the son o’ the noble brave -knight that she has followed mony a days!—take money from his son for a bit paltry -piece and a drink!—Na! na!—Uve! uve!—Ou fye! ou fye!—na, na!—Troth, she’s no just -so poor or so pitiful as that comes to yet. Uve! uve! Surely!” -</p> -<p>Hepborne at once saw the mischief he had done. He would have rather put his hand in -the fire than have hurt feelings that were so honourable to Duncan MacErchar; and -he almost began to wish that his purse had been there, ere it had been the means <span class="pageNum" id="pb184">[<a href="#pb184">184</a>]</span>of giving pain to so noble a heart. He did all he could, therefore, to remedy the -evil; for, putting his purse sheepishly into his pocket, he called for the stoup of -spirits, and, filling the cup up to the brim, drank it off, to the health, happiness, -and prosperity of Master Duncan MacErchar; then shaking the mountaineer heartily by -the hand— -</p> -<p>“May we meet again, my worthy friend,” said he; “and wherever it may be, let me not -pass by thee unnoticed. Meanwhile, farewell, and may the blessing of St. Andrew be -about thee!” -</p> -<p>This courteous and kind behaviour completely salved the wound Hepborne had so unwittingly -inflicted. Duncan was overjoyed with it, and gratified beyond measure. He tried to -express his joy. -</p> -<p>“Och, oich! God’s blessing and the Virgin’s blessing be about her. Och, och! Sir Patrick! -uu-uch! God’s blessing and the Virgin’s blessing—and uch-uch!—and, Sir Patrick—Sure, -sure! ou ay—uu—u!” -</p> -<p>His English failed him entirely, and he resorted to that language in which he was -most fluent. Hepborne mounted his horse, and, waving him another farewell, rode on -to overtake his guides, who were standing on a distant eminence waiting for him; and -as he receded from the humble mansion of Master Duncan MacErchar, he for several minutes -distinguished his voice vociferating in pleased but unintelligible accents. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch25" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e458">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XXV.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Wild Scottish Bisons—Fight with a Bull—Cold and Fatigue.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Sir Patrick Hepborne and the page, followed by Mortimer Sang and the rest of the party, -rode slowly on after their savage guides, along sideling paths worn in the steep acclivities -of the mountains, by the deer, wild bisons, and other animals then abounding in the -wilderness of Scotland. The fir forests appeared endless; the trees were of the most -gigantic stature, and might have been of an age coeval with that second creation that -sprang up over the surface of the renovated and newly-fructified earth, after the -subsiding waters had left their fertilising mud behind them. Long hairy moss hung -streaming from their lateral branches, which, dried by the lack of air and moisture, -occasioned by the increasing growth of the shade above, had died from the very vigour -of the plant they were <span class="pageNum" id="pb185">[<a href="#pb185">185</a>]</span>attached to. As Hepborne beheld the two mountaineers striding before them in their -rough attire, winding among those enormous scaly trunks, or standing on some rocky -point above, leaning against one of them, to wait for the slow ascent of himself and -party, he could not help comparing them with those vegetable giants, and indulging -his fancy in the whimsical notion that they were as two of them, animated and endowed -with the powers of locomotion. The ground they travelled was infinitely rough and -varied in surface, hills and hollows, knolls, gullies, rivers, and lakes; but all -was forest, never-ending forest. Sometimes, indeed, they crossed large tracks of ground, -where, to open a space for pasture, or to banish the wolves, or to admit a more extended -view around for purposes of hunting, or perhaps by some accidental fire, the forest -had been burnt. There the huge trunks of the trees, charred black by the flames, and -standing deprived of everything but a few of their larger limbs, added to the savage -scenery around. -</p> -<p>Before entering one of these wastes, in a little plain lying in the bottom of a valley, -where the devastation had been arrested in its progress by some cause before it had -been carried to any great extent, their guides descried a herd of the wild bisons, -which were natives of Scotland for ages after the period we are now speaking of. The -animals were feeding at no very great distance, and the mountaineers were instantly -all eagerness to get at them. Pointing them out to Hepborne, they made signs that -he and his party should halt. He complied with their wishes; and they immediately -secured their dogs to the trees, to prevent the risk of giving any premature alarm, -and, setting off with inconceivable speed through the skirting wood that grew on the -side of the mountain, were soon lost to view. Hepborne kept his eye on the herd. They -were of a pure milk-white hue, and, as the sun was reflected from their glossy hides, -they appeared still more brilliant, from contrast with the blackened ruins of the -burnt pines among which they were pasturing. At their head was a noble bull with a -magnificent mane. -</p> -<p>As Hepborne and the page were admiring the beauty and symmetry of this leader of the -herd, noting the immense strength indicated by the thickness and depth of his chest -with the lightness and sprightliness of his head, and his upright and spreading horns, -of a white rivalling that of ivory in lustre, and tipt with points of jet black, they -observed a fat cow near to him suddenly fall to the ground, by an arrow from the covert -of the trees, while another having been lodged in his flank at <span class="pageNum" id="pb186">[<a href="#pb186">186</a>]</span>the same moment, he started aside, and bounded off in a wide circuit with great swiftness, -and the whole herd, being alarmed, darted after him. Out rushed the mountaineers from -their concealment, and, making for the wounded cow, soon despatched her with their -spears. -</p> -<p>They then attempted to creep nearer to the herd, and even succeeded in lodging more -than one arrow in the bull; but as none of them took effect in a vital part, they -only served to madden the animal. He turned, and, ere they wist, charged them with -a fury and speed that left them hardly time to make their escape. They ran towards -the place where Hepborne and his party were concealed, and, just as the knight moved -forward into the open ground, they succeeded in getting up into trees. Sir Patrick’s -manœuvre had the desired effect in checking the attack of the bisons, for they stopped -short in the middle of their career, gazed at the party, and then, led by the bull -at their head, again galloped off in a wide circle, sweeping round a second time towards -the knight, and coming to a sudden stand beyond bow-shot. After remaining at rest -for some minutes, with their heads all turned towards the party, the bull began pawing -the ground and bellowing aloud, after which he charged forward the half of the distance, -and then halted. -</p> -<p>Hepborne, seeing him thus detached from his followers, put his lance in the rest, -and was preparing to attack him; but just as he was rising in his stirrup, and was -about to give his horse the spur, the page, with a countenance pale as death, and -a hand trembling with apprehension, seized his bridle-rein, and looking anxiously -in his face— -</p> -<p>“Do not peril thy life, Sir Knight,” said he—“do not, I beseech thee, peril thy life -against a vulgar beast, where thou canst gain no honour; do not, for the sake of the -blessed Virgin—do not essay so dangerous and unprofitable an adventure.” -</p> -<p>“Pshaw,” said Hepborne, vexed with the notion that the boy was betraying pusillanimity; -“is that the face, are those the looks, and is that the pallid hue of fear thou dost -mean to put on as the proofs of thy fitness for deeds of manhood and warlike encounter?” -</p> -<p>The page dropped his head, ashamed and hurt by his master’s chiding; but still he -did not let go the rein— -</p> -<p>“Nay, Sir Knight,” said he calmly, “I did but argue that thy prowess, shown upon a -vile brute, were but lost. Rather let me attempt to attack yonder salvage; he better -befits mine <span class="pageNum" id="pb187">[<a href="#pb187">187</a>]</span>unpractised arm than thine honoured lance, which hath overthrown puissant knights.” -</p> -<p>“Tush, boy,” said Sir Patrick, somewhat better pleased to see the spirit that lurked -in the youth, “thou art much too young, and thine arm is as yet too feeble to fit -thee for encounter with yonder huge mass of thews and muscles. Stand by, my dear boy, -and let me pass.” -</p> -<p>He gave the palfrey the spur, and sprang forward against the bull. The page couched -his slender lance, to which a pennon was attached, and bravely followed the knight -in the charge, as fast as his palfrey could gallop. The bull, seeing Hepborne coming -on him, bellowed aloud, and, putting down his nose to the ground, he shut his eyes, -and darted forward against his assailant. Hepborne wheeled his horse suddenly out -of his way, and, with great adroitness, ran his lance through him as he passed him. -But his manœuvre, though manifesting excellent judgment, and admirable skill and horsemanship, -had nearly proved fatal to the page, whose palfrey, coming up in a straight line behind -that of the knight, and seeing the bull coming directly upon him, sprang to the side, -and by that means unhorsing the boy, left him lying on the ground, in the very path -of the infuriated beast. In agony from his wound, the creature immediately proceeded -to attack the youth with his horns. But the page having kept hold of his spear, with -great presence of mind, ran its point, with the flapping pennon attached to it, right -into the animal’s eyes. The creature instantly retreated a few steps, and before he -could renew his attack he was overpowered by the knight and his party, who immediately -surrounded him, and was killed by at least a dozen spear-thrusts at once. A general -charge was now made against the rest that still stood at a distance, crowded together -in a knot; when the whole of them, wheeling suddenly round, galloped off with the -utmost swiftness, and were lost in the depths of the forest. -</p> -<p>Hepborne leaped from his horse and ran anxiously to assist Maurice de Grey, who still -lay on the ground, apparently faint from the fall he had had, and perhaps, too, partly -from the alarm he had been in. He raised him up, upon which the boy burst into tears. -</p> -<p>“Art thou hurt, Maurice?” demanded Hepborne, with alarm. -</p> -<p>“Nay,” said the boy, “I am not hurt.” -</p> -<p>“Fye on thee, then,” said Hepborne; “let not tears sully the glory thou has but now -earned by thy manly attempt in so boldly riding to my rescue. Verily thou wilt be -a brave lad <span class="pageNum" id="pb188">[<a href="#pb188">188</a>]</span>anon. Be assured, my beloved boy,” continued he, as he warmly embraced him, “I feel -as grateful for thine affectionate exertions in my behalf as if I now owed my life -to them. But dry up thy tears, and let them not henceforth well out so frequently, -lest thy manhood and courage may be questioned.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Sir Knight,” said the boy, “these are not the tears of cowardice; they are the -tears of gratitude to heaven for thy safety; and methinks they are less dishonourable -to me,” continued he, with an arch smile of satisfaction, “since I see that thine -own manly cheek is somewhat moistened.” -</p> -<p>Hepborne said no more, but turned away hastily, for he felt that what the boy said -was true. He had experienced very great alarm for Maurice’s life, and the relief he -received by seeing him in safety, operating in conjunction with the thought that the -danger the page had thrown himself into had been occasioned by a mistaken zeal to -defend him from the bull, grappled his generous heart, and filled his eyes with a -moisture he could not restrain. -</p> -<p>The two mountaineers proceeded to skin the animals, a work which they performed with -great expertness; then cutting off the finer parts of the flesh, and carefully extracting -the tallow, they rolled them up in the hides; and each lifting one of them on his -brawny shoulders, proceeded on their journey, after allowing their hungry dogs to -gorge themselves on the remainder. -</p> -<p>The knight and his party were now led up some of those wild glens which bring down -tributary streams to the river Dee, and they gradually began to climb the southern -side of that lofty range of mountains separating its valley from that of the Spey. -They soon rose above the region of forest, and continued to ascend by zigzag paths, -where the horses found a difficult and precarious footing, and where the riders were -often compelled to dismount. The fatigue to both men and animals was so great, that -some of the latter frequently slipped down, and were with great labour recovered from -the hazard they were thrown into. At length, after unremitting and toilsome exertions, -they found themselves on the very ridge of the mountain group, from which they enjoyed -a view backwards over many leagues of the wild but romantic country they had travelled -through during the previous day. -</p> -<p>They now crossed an extensive plain, the greatest part of which was covered with a -hardened glacier, while two high tops reared themselves, one on either side, covered -with glazed snow, that reflected the sunbeams with dazzling brightness. The passage -across this stretch of table-land was difficult, the horses <span class="pageNum" id="pb189">[<a href="#pb189">189</a>]</span>frequently slipping and often falling, till, at length, they came suddenly on the -edge of a precipice, whence they looked down into one of the most sublime scenes that -nature can well present. -</p> -<p>The long and narrow trough of the glen, bounded on both sides by tremendously precipitous -rocks, rising from a depth that made the head giddy to overlook it, stretched from -under them in nearly a straight line, for perhaps six or seven miles, being cooped -in between the two highest points of the Grampians. The bottom of the nearer and more -savage part of this singular hollow among the mountains was so completely filled with -the waters of the wild Loch Avon, as to leave but little shore on either side, and -that little was in most places inclined in a steep slope, and covered with mountainous -fragments, that had fallen during a succession of ages from the overhanging cliffs. -A detachment of pines, from the lower forests, came straggling up the more distant -part of the glen, and some of them had even established themselves here and there -in scattered groups, and uncouthly-shaped single trees, along the sides of the lake, -or among the rocks arising from it. The long sheet of water lay unruffled amidst the -uninterrupted quiet that prevailed, and, receiving no other image than that of the -sky above, assumed a tinge of the deepest and darkest hue. The glacier they stood -on, and which hung over the brow of the cliff, gave rise to two very considerable -streams, which threw themselves roaring over the rocks, dashing and breaking into -an infinite variety of forms, and shooting headlong into the lake below. -</p> -<p>The sun was now sinking rapidly in the west, and night was fast approaching. The great -elevation they had gained, and the solitary wilderness of alpine country that surrounded -them, almost excluded the possibility of any human habitation being within their reach. -Hepborne became anxiously solicitous for the page Maurice de Grey, who had for a considerable -time been manifesting excessive fatigue. Their dumb guides seemed to stand as if uncertain -how to proceed, and Hepborne’s anxiety increased. He endeavoured to question them -by signs, as to where they intended the party to halt for the night. With some difficulty -he succeeded in making them understand him, and they then pointed out a piece of green -ground, looped in by a sweep of the river, that escaped from the farther end of the -lake. The spot seemed to be sheltered by surrounding pine trees, and wore in every -respect a most inviting aspect. But if they had been endowed with wings and could -have taken the flight of eagles from the region of the clouds where they then were, -the distance must have been five or six miles. Taking <span class="pageNum" id="pb190">[<a href="#pb190">190</a>]</span>into calculation, therefore, the immense circuit they must make with the horses in -order to gain the bottom of the glen beyond the lake, which must necessarily quadruple -the direct distance, together with the toilsome nature of the way, Sir Patrick saw -that Maurice de Grey must sink under the pressure of fatigue before one-twentieth -part of it could be performed. He was therefore thrown into a state of the utmost -perplexity, for the cold was so great where they then were, that it was absolutely -impossible they could remain there during the night, without the risk of being frozen -to death. -</p> -<p>One of the guides, observing Hepborne’s uneasiness and doubt, approached him, and -pointed almost perpendicularly downwards to a place near the upper end of the lake, -where the masses of rock lay thickest and hugest. The knight could not comprehend -him at first, but the man, taking up two or three rough angular stones, placed them -on the ground close to each other in the form of an irregular circle, everywhere entire -except in one point, where the space of about the width of one of them was left vacant; -and then, lifting up a stone of a cubical shape, and of much greater size, he placed -the flat base of it on the top of the others, so as entirely to cover them and the -little area they enclosed. Having made Hepborne observe that he could thrust his hand -in at the point where the circle had been left incomplete, and that he could move -it in the cavity under the flat base of the stone, he again pointed downwards to the -same spot he had indicated near the upper end of the lake, and at last succeeded in -calling Hepborne’s attention to one of the fallen crags, much larger than the rest, -but which, from the immensity of the height they were above it, looked liked a mere -handful. The guide no sooner saw that the knight’s eye had distinguished the object -he wished him to notice, than he turned and pointed to the mimic erection he had formed -on the ground, and at length made him comprehend that the fallen crag below was similarly -poised, and afforded a like cavernous shelter beneath it. At the same time he indicated -a zigzag path that led precipitously down the cliffs, like a stair among the rocks, -between the two foaming cataracts. This was altogether impracticable for the horses, -it is true, but it was sufficiently feasible, though hazardous enough, for active -pedestrians. The guide separated Hepborne and Maurice de Grey from the rest of the -party, and then, pointing to the men and horses, swept his extended finger round from -them to the distant green spot beyond the end of the lake; and this he did in such -a manner as to make the knight at once understand he meant to propose that the party -<span class="pageNum" id="pb191">[<a href="#pb191">191</a>]</span>should proceed thither by a circuitous route, under the guidance of his companion, -whilst he should himself conduct Hepborne and his already over-fatigued page directly -down to the Sheltering Stone below, where they might have comfortable lodging for -the night. He further signified to Hepborne that the horses might be brought for a -considerable way up the lake to meet him in the morning. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch26" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e468">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Evening Encampment—Treachery.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">So much time had been lost in this mute kind of conversation, that the night was fast -approaching, and Sir Patrick saw that he must now come to a speedy decision. The plan -suggested by the guide seemed to be the best that could be followed, under all the -circumstances, and he at once determined to adopt it. At the same time, he by no means -relished this division of his forces, and, remembering the caution he had received -from Duncan MacErchar, he called Mortimer Sang aside, and gave him very particular -injunctions to be on the alert, and to take care that his people kept a sharp watch -over the mountaineer who was to guide them, and to be sure to environ him in such -a manner as to make it impossible for him to dart off on a sudden, and leave them -in the dark, in the midst of these unknown deserts. Had they once safely arrived at -the green spot, where there was a temporary, though uninhabited, hunting-hut, and -plenty of grass for the horses, he had no fear of his being able to join them with -the page next morning; for the trough of the glen was so direct between the two points -where they were separately to spend the night, that it was impossible to mistake the -way from the one to the other. Mortimer Sang engaged to prevent all chance of the -savage mountaineer escaping. He produced from one of the baggage-horses a large wallet, -containing provisions enough for the whole party, which the good and mindful Master -Duncan MacErchar had provided for them, altogether unknown to Hepborne. From it he -took some cakes, cheese, butter, and other eatables, with a small flask filled from -the host’s stoup of spirits; these were added to their guide’s burden of the flesh -of the wild bisons they had slain; and, bidding one another God speed, the party, -under Sang, with one of the Celts, and all the dogs, departed to pursue their long -and weary way. -</p> -<p>Maurice de Grey had sat all this while on the ground, very <span class="pageNum" id="pb192">[<a href="#pb192">192</a>]</span>much exhausted; and when he arose to proceed he had become so stiff that Hepborne -began to be alarmed for him. The poor boy, however, no sooner remarked the unhappy -countenance of his master than he made an attempt to rouse himself to exertion, and, -approaching the edge of the precipice, he commenced his descent after the guide, with -tottering and timid steps, dropping from one pointed rock to another, and steadying -himself from time to time as well as he could by means of his lance, as he quivered -on the precarious footing the rough sides of the cliffs afforded. The height was sufficiently -terrific when contemplated from above; but, as they descended, the depth beneath them -seemed to be increased, rather than diminished, by the very progress they had made. -It grew upon them, and became more and more awful at every step. The crags, too, hung -over their heads, as if threatening to part from their native mountains, as myriads -had done before, and to crush the exhausted travellers into nothing beneath their -ruins. They went down and down, but the lake and the bottom of the valley appeared -still to recede from them. The way became more hazardous. To have looked up or down -would have required the eye and the head of a chamois. A projecting ledge increased -the peril of the path, and the page, tired to death, and giddy from the terrific situation -he saw himself fixed in, clung to a point of the rock, and looked in Hepborne’s face, -perfectly unable to proceed or to utter a word. There he remained, panting as if he -would have expired. The knight was filled with apprehension lest the boy should faint -and fall headlong down, and the guide was so much in advance as to be beyond lending -his assistance, so that he alone could give aid to the page. Yet how was he to pass -the boy, so as to put himself in a position where he could assist him? He saw the -path re-appearing from under the projecting ledge, a little to one side of the place -where the page hung in awful suspense, and, taking one instantaneous glance at it, -he leaped boldly downwards. He vibrated for a moment on the brink; and his feet having -dislodged a great loose fragment of the rock, it went thundering downwards, awakening -all the dormant echoes of the glen. He caught at a bunch of heath with both his hands; -and he had hardly recovered his equilibrium, when Maurice de Grey, believing, in his -trepidation, that the noise he had heard announced the fall and destruction of his -master, uttered a faint scream, and dropped senseless from the point of rock he had -held by. Hepborne sprang forward, and caught him in his arms. Afraid lest the boy -might die before he could reach the Sheltering Stone, he shouted to the guide, <span class="pageNum" id="pb193">[<a href="#pb193">193</a>]</span>and, waving him back, took from him the bottle, and put it to the page’s lips. The -spirits revived him, and he opened his eyes in terror, but immediately smiled when -he saw that Hepborne was safe. -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick now put his left arm around the page’s body, and, swinging him upwards, -seated him on his left shoulder, keeping him firmly there, whilst, with his right -hand, he employed his lance to support and steady his ticklish steps. The timorous -page clasped the neck of his master with all his energy, and in this way the knight -descended with his burden. Many were the difficulties he had to encounter. In one -place he was compelled to leap desperately over one of the cataracts, where the smallest -slip, or miscalculation of distance, must have proved the destruction of both. At -length he reached the bottom in safety, and there the page, having recovered from -his terror, found breath to pour forth his gratitude to his master. He now regained -his spirit and strength so much, that he declared himself perfectly able to proceed -over the rough ground that lay between them and the Sheltering Stone; but Hepborne -bore him onwards, until he had deposited him on the spot where they were destined -to halt for the night. The grateful Maurice threw himself on his knees before the -knight, as he was wiping his manly brow, and embraced his athletic limbs from a feeling -of fervent gratitude for his safety. -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick now proceeded to examine the curious natural habitation they were to be -housed in. The fallen crag, which had appeared so trifling from the lofty elevation -whence they had first viewed it, now rose before them in magnitude so enormous, as -almost to appear capable of bearing a castle upon its shoulders. The mimic copy of -it constructed by the guide furnished an accurate representation of the mode in which -it was poised on the lesser blocks it had fallen upon. These served as walls to support -it, as well as to close in the chamber beneath; and they were surrounded so thickly -with smaller fragments of debris, that no air or light could penetrate between them, -except in one or two places. On one side there was a narrow passage, of two or three -yards in length, leading inwards between the stones and other rubbish, and of height -sufficient to permit a man to enter without stooping very much. The space within, -dry and warm, was capable of containing a dozen or twenty people with great ease. -It was partially lighted by one or two small apertures between the stones, and the -roof, formed of the under surface of the great mass of rock, was perfectly even and -horizontal. It presented a most inviting place of shelter, and <span class="pageNum" id="pb194">[<a href="#pb194">194</a>]</span>it seemed to have been not unfrequently used as such, for in one corner there was -a heap of dried bog-fir, and in another the remains of a heather-bed. -</p> -<p>The mountaineer carefully deposited his burdens within the entrance, and then set -about collecting dry heather and portions of drift-wood, which he found about the -edges of the lake; and he soon brought together as much fuel as might have kept up -a good fire for two or three days. Having piled up some of it in a heap, he interspersed -it with pieces of the dry bog-fir, and then, groping in his pouch, produced a flint -and steel, with which he struck a light, and soon kindled up a cheerful blaze. He -then began to cut steaks of the flesh of the wild bison, and when the wood had been -sufficiently reduced to the state of live charcoal, he proceeded to broil them over -the embers, on pieces of green heather plucked and prepared for the purpose. Meanwhile -the knight and the page seated themselves near the fire. -</p> -<p>“How fares it with thee now, Maurice?” demanded Sir Patrick kindly, as he watched -the cloud that was stealing over the boy’s fair brow, and the moisture that was gathering -under his long eyelashes, as he sat with his eyes fixed in a fit of absence upon the -ground—“What ails thee, my boy? Say, dost thou repent thee of thy rashness in having -exchanged the softer duties and lighter labours of a page of dames, for the toils, -dangers and hardships befalling him who followeth the noble profession of arms? Trust -me, thy path hath been flowery as yet, compared to what thou must expect to meet with. -Methinks thou lookest as if thy spirit had flown homewards, and that it were hovering -over the gay apartment where thy mother and her maidens may be employed in plying -the nimble needle, charged with aureate thread, or sowing pales upon their gorgeous -paraments.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Sir Knight,” said Maurice de Grey, “my thoughts were but partly of those at -home. Doubtless they have ere this ceased to think of their truant boy!” He sighed -heavily, and tears rolled down his cheeks. -</p> -<p>“But why dost thou sigh so?” demanded Sir Patrick, “and what maketh thy brow to wear -clouds upon it, like yonder high and snow-white summit? and why weepest thou like -yonder mountain side, that poureth down its double stream into the glen? Perdie! surely -thou canst not be in love at so unripe an age? Yet, of a truth, those mysterious symptoms -of abstraction and sorrow thou dost so often display, when thou art left alone to -thine own thoughts, would all persuade me that thou art.” -</p> -<p>The page held down his head, blushed, and sighed deeply, but said nothing. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb195">[<a href="#pb195">195</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Is silence, then, confession with thee, Maurice?” demanded Hepborne. -</p> -<p>The page wiped his streaming eyes, and raised them with a soft and melancholy smile, -till they met those of his master, when he again sighed, and, dropping them with renewed -blushes to the ground, “I am indeed in love,” said the boy, “most unhappily in love, -since I burn with unrequited passion. I did indeed believe, vainly believe, that I -was beloved; but, alas! how cruelly was I deceived! I found that what I had mistaken -for the pure flame was but the wanton flashing of a light and careless heart, that -made no account of the pangs it inflicted on mine that was sincere.” -</p> -<p>The page’s eyes filled again, and he sighed as if his heart would have burst. Sir -Patrick Hepborne sighed too; for Maurice, whilst telling of his unhappy love, had -touched his own case most nearly. -</p> -<p>“Poor boy,” said he kindly, and full of sympathy for the youth; “poor boy, I pity -thee. I do indeed most sincerely feel for thee, that thou shouldst have already begun, -at so early an age, to rue the smart of unrequited or unhappy love. Trust me,” continued -the knight sighing deeply, “trust me, I know its bitterness too well not to feel for -thee.” And again he sighed heavily. -</p> -<p>“Then thou too hast loved unhappily, Sir Knight?” inquired the page earnestly. -</p> -<p>“Ay, boy,” said Hepborne sadly, “loved!—nay, what do I say?—loved!—I still love—love -without hope. ’Tis a cruel destiny.” -</p> -<p>“And hast thou never prospered in love?” asked Maurice; “hast thou never fancied that -thou hadst awakened the warm flame of love, and that thou wert thyself an object adored?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, boy,” said Hepborne, “thou inquirest too curiously. Yet will I confess that -I have had vanity enough to believe that I had excited love, or something wearing -its semblance; but then she that did shew it was altogether heartless, and I valued -the cold and deceitful beam but as the glimmering march-fire.” -</p> -<p>Maurice de Grey made no reply, but hung down his head in silence upon his breast, -and again relapsed into the dream he had been indulging when Hepborne first roused -him. The knight, too, ceased to have any desire to prolong the conversation. His mind -had laid hold of the end of a chain of association, that gradually unfolded itself -in a succession of tender remembrances. He indulged himself by giving way to them, -and consequently he also dropped into a musing fit. Both were <span class="pageNum" id="pb196">[<a href="#pb196">196</a>]</span>disturbed by their savage guide, who, having finished his unsophisticated cookery, -now made signs to them to approach and eat. -</p> -<p>Love, however fervent, cannot starve, but must give way to the vulgar but irresistible -claims of hunger. The day’s fatigue had been long, they were faint for want, and the -odour of the smoking hot steaks was most inviting. They speedily obeyed the summons, -therefore, and made a very satisfactory meal. Maurice de Grey had no sooner satisfied -the cravings of nature, than, worn out by his exertions and overpowered by sleep, -he wrapped himself up in his mantle, and throwing himself on the heather, under the -projecting side of the huge rock, his senses were instantly steeped in sweet oblivion. -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick Hepborne regarded the youth with envy. His own thoughts did not as yet -admit of his yielding to the gentle influence of sleep. He tried to divert them by -watching the decline of the day, and following the slow ascent of the shadows as they -crept up the rugged faces of the eastern precipices, eating away the light before -them. A bright rose-coloured glow rested for a time on the summits, tinging even their -glazed snows with its warm tint; but in a few minutes it also departed, like the animating -soul from the fair face of dying beauty, leaving everything cold, and pale, and cheerless; -and darkness came thickly down upon the deep and gloomy glen. In the meantime the -mountaineer had been busying himself in gathering dry heath, and in carrying it under -the Shelter Stone, for the purpose of making beds for the knight and the page. -</p> -<p>While the guide was thus employed, Hepborne sat musing at the fire, listlessly and -almost unconsciously supplying it with fuel from time to time, and gazing at the fragments -of wood as they were gradually consumed. His back was towards the entrance-passage -of the place where the mountaineer was occupied, and the page lay to his right hand, -under the shadow of the rock. -</p> -<p>As Sir Patrick sat thus absorbed in thought, he suddenly received a tremendous blow -on his head, that partly stunned him, and almost knocked him forwards into the flames. -The weight and force of it was such that, had he not had his steel cap on it, his -brains must have been knocked out. Before he could rise to defend himself, the blow -was repeated with a dreadful clang upon the metal, and he was brought down upon his -knees; but ere it fell a third time on him, a piercing shriek arose, and a struggle -ensued behind him. Having by this time gathered his strength and senses sufficiently -to turn round, he <span class="pageNum" id="pb197">[<a href="#pb197">197</a>]</span>beheld the horrible countenance of their savage guide glaring over him, his eyeballs -red from the reflection of the fire, his lips expanded, his teeth set together, and -a ponderous stone lifted in both hands, with which he was essaying to fell him to -the earth by a third blow. But his arms were pinioned behind, and it was the feeble -page who held them. Hepborne scrambled to get to his feet, but, weakened by the blows -he had already received, his efforts to rise were vain. The murderous ruffian, furious -with disappointment, struggled hard, and at length, seeing that he could not rid himself -of the faithful Maurice whilst he continued to hold the stone, he quickly dropped -it, and, turning fiercely round on the boy, groped for his dirk. Already was it half -unsheathed, when the gleam of a bright spear-head came flashing forth from the obscurity -on one side, and with the quickness of thought it drank the life’s blood from the -savage heart of the assassin. Down rolled the monster upon the ground, his ferocious -countenance illumined by the light from the blazing wood. In the agony of death his -teeth ground against each other; his right hand, that still clenched the handle of -the dirk, drew it forth with convulsive grasp, and, raising it as if for a last effort -of destruction, brought it down with a force that buried the whole length of its blade -in the harmless earth. Hepborne looked up to see from what friendly hand his preservation -and that of the courageous boy had so miraculously come, when to his astonishment -he beheld Duncan MacErchar standing before him. -</p> -<p>“Och, oich!” cried the worthy Highlander<span class="corr" id="xd31e3039" title="Source: ,">.</span> “Och, oich! what a Providence!—what a mercy!—what a good lucks it was that she was -brought here!” -</p> -<p>“A Providence indeed!” cried Hepborne, crossing himself, and offering up a short but -fervent ejaculation of gratitude to God; “it seems indeed to have been a most marked -interposition of Providence in our favour. Yet am I not the less grateful to thee -for being the blessed instrument, in the hands of the Almighty, in saving not only -my life, but that of the generous noble boy yonder, who had so nearly sacrificed his -own in my defence. Maurice de Grey, come to mine arms; take the poor thanks of thy -grateful master for his safety, for to thy courage, in the first place, his thanks -are due. Trust me, boy, thou wilt one day be a brave knight; and to make thee all -that chivalry may require of thee shall be mine earnest care.” -</p> -<p>Whether it was that the boy’s stock of resolution had been expended in his effort, -or that he was deeply affected by his master’s commendation, it is not easy to determine; -but he <span class="pageNum" id="pb198">[<a href="#pb198">198</a>]</span>shrank from the knight’s embrace, and, bursting into tears, hurried within the Shelter -Stone. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch27" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e478">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Another Night Attack—A Desperate Encounter.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“By what miracle, good mine host,” said Sir Patrick Hepborne to Master Duncan MacErchar—“by -what miracle do I see thee in this wilderness, so far from thine own dwelling?” -</p> -<p>“Uch! uch! miracle truly, miracle truly, that she’s brought here; for who could have -thought that the false faitours and traitrous loons would have led her honour this -round-about gate, that they might knock out her brains at the Shelter Stone of Loch -Avon? An it had not been for Donald and Angus, her two cushins, that hunts the hills, -and kens all the roads of these scoundrels, she would never have thought of coming -round about over the very shoulders of the mountains to seek after them. But—uve! -uve!—where’s the t’other rascals? and where’s her honour’s men and beasts?” -</p> -<p>Hepborne explained the cause and circumstances of their separation. -</p> -<p>“Uch! uch!” cried MacErchar; “uve! uve!—then, Holy St. Barnabas, I wish that the t’others -scoundrels may not have them after all; so she shall have more miles to travel, and -another villains to stickit yet! uve! uve!” -</p> -<p>And then changing his tongue, he began with great volubility to address, in his own -language, his cousins, who now appeared. They replied to him in the same dialect, -and then he seemed to tell them the particulars of the late adventure, for he pointed -to the dead body of the ruffian on the ground, while his actions corresponded with -the tale he was telling, and seemed to be explanatory of it. The two men held up their -hands, and listened with open mouths to his narration. He then took up a flaming brand -from the fire, and, followed by his two cousins, proceeded to explore the passage -leading into the chamber of the Shelter Stone, whence they soon returned with the -burden of wolf-skins which the ruffian guide had carried. Duncan MacErchar threw it -down on the ground near the fire, and as it fell— -</p> -<p>“Troth,” said he, with a joyful expression of countenance—“troth but she jingles; -she’ll swarrants there be’s something in her. Sure! sure!” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb199">[<a href="#pb199">199</a>]</span></p> -<p>With this he went on his knees, and began eagerly to undo the numerous fastenings -of hide-thongs which tied the wolf-skins together, and which, as Hepborne himself -had noticed, had been closely bound up ever since they started in the morning, though -the other guide carried his hanging loose, as both had done the night before. The -knots were reticulated and decussated in such a manner as to afford no bad idea of -that of Gordius. -</p> -<p>“Hoof!” said Master MacErchar impatiently, after working at them with his nails for -some minutes without the least effect; “sorrow be in their fingers that tied her; -though troth she needs not say that now,” added he in parenthesis. “Poof! that will -not do neither; but sorrow be in her an she’ll not settle her; she’ll do for her, -or she’ll wonders at her.” And, unsheathing his dirk, he ripped up the fastenings, -wolf-skins and all, and, to the astonishment of Hepborne, rolled out from their pregnant -womb the whole of the glittering valuables, the fruit of his English campaigns. -</p> -<p>“Och, oich!” cried MacErchar with a joyful countenance, forgetting everything in the -delight he felt at recovering his treasure—“och, ay! blessings on her braw siller -stoup, and blessings on her bony mazers; she be’s all here. Ay, ay!—och, oich!—ou -ay, every one.” -</p> -<p>The mystery of Master Duncan MacErchar’s hasty journey and unlooked-for appearance -at Loch Avon was now explained. His sharp-eared cousin, Angus MacErchar, had been -loitering about the door at the time of the departure of the knight and his attendants -in the morning, and had heard something clinking in the Celt’s bundle of wolf-skins -as he passed, but seeing no cause to suspect anything wrong, as regarded his kinsman’s -goods, he neglected to notice the circumstance until some time after they were gone, -when he happened to mention, rather accidentally than otherwise, that he thought the -rogues had been thieving somewhere, for he had heard the noise of metal pots in the -bundle of one of them. Duncan MacErchar took immediate alarm. Without saying a word, -he ran to his secret deposit, and having removed the heap of billets and the wattle -trap-door, discovered with horror and dismay that his treasures were gone. It was -some small comfort to him that they had not found it convenient to carry away what -he most valued; and he bestowed a friendly kiss upon the black bugle, and the swords -and daggers that were still there; but the whole of the silver vessels were stolen. -What was to be done? He was compelled to tell his cousins of his afflicting loss, -that he might consult them as to what steps were to be taken. They <span class="pageNum" id="pb200">[<a href="#pb200">200</a>]</span>advised instant pursuit; but well knowing the men and their habits, they felt persuaded -that the thieves would carefully avoid the most direct path, and guessed that, in -order to mislead their pursuers, they would likely take the circuitous and fatiguing -mountain-route by Loch Avon. Taking the advice and assistance of his cousins, therefore, -Master Duncan MacErchar set off hot foot after the rogues, and he was soon convinced -of the sagacity of his cousins’ counsels, for they frequently came upon the track -of the party where the ground was soft, or wet enough to receive the prints of the -horses’ feet; and when they came to the ridge of the mountains, they traced them easily -and expeditiously over the hardened snow. It was dark ere they reached the brink of -the precipice overhanging the lake; but Angus and Donald were now aware of their probable -destination, and the fire they saw burning near the Shelter Stone made them resolve -to visit it in the first place. They lost no time in descending, the two lads being -well acquainted with the dangerous path; and no sooner had Master Duncan MacErchar -set his foot in the glen, than, eager to get at the thief, he ran on before his companions. -And lucky was it, as we have seen, that he did so; for if he had been but a few minutes -later, both Sir Patrick Hepborne and Maurice de Grey must have been murdered by the -villain whom he slew. -</p> -<p>Hepborne now became extremely anxious about the safety of the party under the guidance -of the other ruffian. For the attack of one man against so many he had nothing to -fear; but he dreaded the possibility of the traitor escaping from them before he had -conducted them to their destined place of halt for the night, and so leaving them -helpless on the wild and pathless mountain to perish of cold. He had nothing for it, -however, but to comfort himself with his knowledge of Sang’s sagacity and presence -of mind. -</p> -<p>Master Duncan MacErchar, with his two cousins, now hastened to cut off a supper for -themselves from the bison beef, which they quickly broiled; and, after their hunger -had been appeased, the whole party began to think of bestowing themselves to enjoy -a short repose. Before doing so, however, Hepborne proposed that they should bury -the dead body. This was accordingly done, and from the debris of the fallen rocks -a cairn was heaped upon it, sufficiently large to prevent the wolves from attacking -it. -</p> -<p>The page, wrapped in his mantle, was already sound asleep within the snug chamber -of the Shelter Stone, and Sir Patrick lost no time in seeking rest in the same comfortable -quarters; <span class="pageNum" id="pb201">[<a href="#pb201">201</a>]</span>but the three hardy Highlanders, preferring the open air, rolled themselves up, each -in his web of plaiding, and then laid themselves in different places, under the projecting -base of the enormous fallen rock, and all were soon buried in refreshing slumber. -</p> -<p>It happened, however, that Duncan MacErchar had by accident chosen the spot nearest -the passage of entrance. The fire had fallen so low as to leave only the red glow -of charcoal; but the night, which was already far spent, was partially illuminated -by the light of the moon, which had now arisen, though not yet high enough to show -its orb to those in the bottom of the glen. He was suddenly awakened by a footstep -near him, and, looking up, beheld a dark figure approaching. With wonderful presence -of mind, he demanded, in a low whisper, and in his native language, who went there, -and was immediately answered by the voice of the other guide, who had gone forward -with Hepborne’s party, and who, mistaking MacErchar for his companion in iniquity, -held the following dialogue with him, here translated into English. -</p> -<p>“Hast thou done it, Cormack?” -</p> -<p>“Nay,” replied Duncan, “it is but now they are gone to sleep, and I fear they are -not yet sound enough. What hast thou done with the party of men and their horses?” -</p> -<p>“I left them all safe at the bothy,” replied the other, “and if we had this job finished, -we might go that way, and carry off two or three of the best of their horses and trappings -while they are asleep, and we can kill the others, to prevent any of them from having -the means of following us when they awake. But come, why should we delay now?—they -must be asleep ere this; let us in on them—creep towards them on our knees, and stab -them without noise: then all their booty is our own.” -</p> -<p>“You foul murderer!” cried Duncan MacErchar, springing at him, his right hand extended -with the intention of making him prisoner. The astonished ruffian stepped back a pace, -as Duncan rushed upon him, and seizing his outstretched hand, endeavoured to keep -him at a distance. Both drew their dirks, and a furious struggle ensued. Each endeavoured -to keep off the other, with outstretched arm, and powerful exertion, yet each was -desirous to avail himself of the first favourable chance that might offer, and to -bury the lethal weapon he brandished in the bosom of his antagonist. The ruffian had -the decided advantage, for it was his right hand that was free, while MacErchar held -his dirk with his left. They tugged, and pushed stoutly against each other, and each -alternately <span class="pageNum" id="pb202">[<a href="#pb202">202</a>]</span>made a vain effort to strike his opponent. The brave MacErchar might have easily called -for help, but he scorned to seek aid against any single man. They still struggled, -frequently shifting their ground by the violence of their exertions, yet neither gaining -the least advantage over the other, when, all at once, MacErchar found himself attacked -behind by a new and very formidable enemy. This was one of the great rough wolf-dogs, -which, having come up at that moment, and observed his master struggling with Duncan, -sprang upon his back, and seized him by the right shoulder. The ruffian, seeing himself -supported, and thinking that the victory was now entirely in his hands, bent his elbow -so as to permit him to close upon his adversary, and made an attempt to stab MacErchar -in the breast; but the sturdy and undaunted hero, in defiance of the pain he experienced -from the bites of the dog, raised his left arm, and after receiving the stab in the -fleshy part of it, instantly returned it into the very heart of his enemy, who, uttering -a single groan, fell dead upon the spot. But the dog still kept his hold, until MacErchar, -putting his hand backwards, drove the dirk two or three times into his body, and shook -him off dead upon the lifeless corpse of his master. -</p> -<p>“Heich!” cried he, very much toil-spent—“Foof!—Donald—Angus—Uve, uve!—Won’t they be -hearing her?” -</p> -<p>His two cousins, who had been fast asleep at the end of the Shelter Stone, now came -hastily round, making a great noise, which roused Sir Patrick, who instantly seized -his sword, and rushed out to ascertain what the alarm was. -</p> -<p>“Oich, oich!” continued Duncan, much fatigued, “oich! and sure she has had a hard -tuilzie o’t!” -</p> -<p>“What, in the name of the blessed Virgin, has happened?” cried Hepborne, eagerly. -</p> -<p>“Fu! nothing after all,” cried Duncan, “nothing—only that t’other villains came up -here from t’others end of the loch, and wanted to murder Sir Patrick and his page; -and so she grabbled at her, and had a sore tuilzie with her, and sure she hath stickit -her dead at last. But—uve! uve!—she was near worried with her mockell dog; she settled -her too, though, and yonder they are both lying dead together. But troth she must -go and get some sleep now, and she hopes that she’ll have no more disturbance, wi’ -a sorrow to them.” -</p> -<p>“But, my good friend,” said the knight, “thine arm bleeds profusely, better have it -tied up; nay, thy shoulder seems to be torn too.” -</p> -<p>“Fu, poof!” said MacErchar carelessly, “her arm be’s naething <span class="pageNum" id="pb203">[<a href="#pb203">203</a>]</span>but a scart; she has had worse before from a thorn bush; and her shoulder is but a -nip, that will be well or the morn.” -</p> -<p>So saying, he wrapped his plaid around him, and rolling himself under the base of -the stone where he had lain before, he composed himself to sleep again, and the others -followed his example. The knight also retired to his singular bed-chamber, and all -were very soon quiet. -</p> -<p>As MacErchar had hoped, they lay undisturbed until daybreak, when they arose, shook -themselves, and were soon joined by Hepborne from within. The sun had just appeared -above the eastern mountain-tops, and was pouring a flood of glory down among the savage -scenery of the glen. MacErchar and his two cousins were busily engaged in renovating -the fire; and as Sir Patrick was about to join them, his ears were attracted by the -low moans of a dog, which, beginning at the bottom of the scale of his voice, gradually -ascended through its whole compass, and ended in a prolonged howl. He cast his eyes -towards the spot whence it proceeded—there lay the dead body of the ruffian murderer -with the dog that died with him in his defence stretched across him stiff; and by -his side sat two more of the dogs, that, having followed some chase as he came up -the glen, had not fallen upon his track again until early in the morning, and had -but just traced it out, when it brought them to his inanimate corpse. There they sat -howling incessantly over him, alternately licking his face, his hands, and his death-wound. -Their howl was returned from the surrounding rocks, but it was also answered from -no great distance; and on going round the end of the Shelter Stone, he beheld another -dog sitting on the top of the cairn they had piled over the dead body of the first -man who was killed, scraping earnestly with his feet, and moaning and howling in unison -with the two others. Hepborne went towards him, and did all he could to coax him away -from the spot; but the attached and afflicted creature would not move. The howling -continued, and would have been melancholy enough in any situation; but in a spot so -savage and lonely, and prolonged as it was by the surrounding echoes, it increased -the dismal and dreary effect of the scenery. Hepborne called the MacErchars, and proposed -to them that they should bury the dead body which lay exposed on the ground. They -readily assented, and approached it for the purpose of lifting and carrying it to -the same spot where they had deposited the other; but Angus and Donald had no sooner -attempted to lay hold of it, than both the dogs flew at them, and they were glad to -relinquish the attempt, seeing they could <span class="pageNum" id="pb204">[<a href="#pb204">204</a>]</span>carry it into effect by no other means than that of killing the two faithful animals -in the first place, and this Hepborne would on no account permit. -</p> -<p>“Verily he was a foul traitorous murderer,” said the knight; “but he was their master. -His hand was kind and merciful to them, whatever it might have been to others. Of -a truth, a faithful dog is the only friend who seeth not a fault in him to whom he -is attached. Poor fellows! let them not be injured, I entreat thee.” -</p> -<p>Some food was now prepared for breakfast, and Maurice de Grey, who had made but one -sleep during the night, was called to partake of it. They repeatedly tried to tempt -the dogs with the most inviting morsels of the meat, but none of them would touch -it when thrown to them, and, altogether regardless of it, they still continued to -howl piteously. -</p> -<p>Hepborne now resolved to proceed to join his party. Duncan MacErchar had already ordered -his cousin Angus, who was perfectly well acquainted with the way, to go with the knight -as his guide, and not to leave him until he should see him safe into a part of the -country where he would be beyond all difficulty. Sir Patrick was much grieved to be -compelled to part with him who had been so miraculously instrumental in saving his -life. He took off his baldrick and sword, and putting them upon Duncan— -</p> -<p>“Wear this,” said he, “wear this for my sake, mine excellent friend—wear it as a poor -mark of the gratitude I owe thee for having saved me from foul and traitorous murder. -I yet hope to bestow some more worthy warison.” -</p> -<p>“Och, oich!” cried Duncan, “oich, this is too much from her honour—too much trouble -indeed. Fye, but she’s a bonny sword; but what will hersel do for want of her? Ou, -ay—sure, sure!” -</p> -<p>“I have others as good among my baggage,” said Hepborne. -</p> -<p>“But thou didst save two lives,” said Maurice de Grey, running forward, and taking -Duncan’s hand; “thou didst save mine twice, by saving Sir Patrick’s. Receive my poor -thanks also, most worthy Master MacErchar, and do thou wear this jewelled brooch for -my sake.” -</p> -<p>“Och, oich!” said Duncan, “too much trouble for her—too much trouble, young Sir Pages—too -much trouble, surely; but an ever she part with the sword or the bonny brooch, may -she pairt with her life at the same time.” -</p> -<p>They now prepared themselves for taking their different routes, and Hepborne reminding -MacErchar of the injunction <span class="pageNum" id="pb205">[<a href="#pb205">205</a>]</span>he had formerly given him, to be sure to claim his acquaintance, wherever they should -meet, and giving him a last hearty shake of the hand, they parted, and waving to each -other their “Heaven bless thee!” and “May the blessed Virgin be with her honour!” -set out on their respective journeys. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch28" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e489">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Meeting the Wolfe of Badenoch</i>—<i>The Cavalcade.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Hepborne and his page proceeded slowly down the margin of the lake, preceded by their -new guide; and as they looked back, they saw the bright plaids of Duncan and Donald -MacErchar winding up among the rocks, and appearing on the face of the precipitous -mountain like two tiny red lady-bird beetles on a wall. The way towards the lower -end of the lake was rough and tiresome; but in due time they reached the place where -the party had spent the night, and where they found Mortimer Sang looking anxiously -out for their arrival. He had almost resolved to go himself in quest of the knight, -for he had strongly suspected treachery, as his guide had more than once manifested -symptoms of an intention to escape from them during the previous night’s march, and -had been only prevented by the unremitting watch kept upon him by the squire, and -two or three of his most active and determined people, to whom he had given particular -instructions. This circumstance, coupled with the subsequent discovery that the villain -had gone off in the night, the moment he had found an opportunity of doing so, had -made Sang so apprehensive of some villainy, that nothing would have kept him with -the party so long, had it not been for the remembrance of his master’s strict orders -to permit no consideration whatever to detach him from them. -</p> -<p>Poor Maurice de Grey was considerably fatigued, and required to be indulged with a -little rest ere they could set forward. At length the whole party mounted and got -in motion, and, taking their way slowly down the glen, under their new and intelligent -guide, they soon found themselves buried in the endless pine forests. Game, both fourfooted -and winged, of every description, crossed their path in all directions. Red deer, -and roe deer, and herds of bisons, were frequently seen by them; now and then the -echoes were awakened by the howling of a rout of gaunt and hungry wolves, sweeping -across the glen in pursuit of their prey; and often the trampling of their horses’ -feet disturbed <span class="pageNum" id="pb206">[<a href="#pb206">206</a>]</span>the capercailzie, as he sat feeding on the tops of the highest firs, while their palfreys -were alarmed in their turn at the powerful flap of his sounding wings, as they bore -him rapidly away. -</p> -<p>Leaving the deeper forests for a time, they climbed the mountain sides, and, crossing -some high ridges and elevated valleys where the wood was thin and scattered, they -again descended, and began to penetrate new wildernesses of thick-set and tall-grown -pine timber; until, after a very long march, they arrived on the banks of the rapid -Spey, where they rested for a time, to refresh themselves and their horses. There -Angus procured a guide of the country for them, on whose fidelity he could depend, -and, having received a handsome remuneration from Sir Patrick, returned the way he -came. -</p> -<p>They now crossed the river by a broad ford, and began winding through the forests -that stretched from its northern banks, and continued gradually rising over its pine-covered -hills. The day was approaching its close as they were winding along the side of a -steep hill, that rose over the head of a deep but narrow glen, surrounded by fantastic -rocks shooting here and there from amongst the oak woods that fringed its sides. Sir -Patrick’s attention was attracted by the sight of some white tents that were pitched -on a small level area of smooth turf in the bottom, where it was divided by the meanders -of a clear rill. -</p> -<p>“She be the <span class="sc">Wolfe of Badenoch</span> yonder,” said his guide, pointing downwards with a face of alarm. -</p> -<p>“The Wolfe of Badenoch!” cried Sir Patrick eagerly; “what, are those the tents of -the Earl of Buchan?” for he knew that the King’s son, Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan -and Lord of Badenoch, whom he was about to visit, had obtained that <i>nom de guerre</i> from his ferocity. -</p> -<p>“Ay, ay,” said the guide, “she’s right; tat’s the Earl of Buchan—tat’s the Wolfe of -Badenoch. Troth she’s at the hunts there. Uve, uve!” -</p> -<p>“Then, mine honest fellow,” said Hepborne, “if those be indeed the tents of the Earl -of Buchan, thy trouble with us shall be soon ended. Do but lead me down thither, and -thou shalt be forthwith dismissed, with thy promised warison.” -</p> -<p>The guide paused and hesitated for a time, his countenance betraying considerable -uneasiness and apprehension; but at length he began slowly to retrace his steps along -the side of the hill, and, turning off into a path that led down through the wood -over a gentle declivity, he finally brought them out into the bottom of the glen, -about a quarter of a mile below the spot <span class="pageNum" id="pb207">[<a href="#pb207">207</a>]</span>where they had seen the tents. As they issued from the covert of the trees into the -narrow glade, the winding of a bugle-mot came up the glen, and Sir Patrick halted -for a few moments, to listen if it should be repeated. By and by the neighing of steeds, -and a loud laughing and merry talking, announced the approach of a crowd of people, -who very soon appeared, filing round the turning of a rock. -</p> -<p>“Mercy be about her! yon’s ta Wolfe now,” cried the guide, in the utmost trepidation; -and, without waiting for reward or anything else, he darted into the adjoining thicket -and disappeared. -</p> -<p>At the head of the numerous party that advanced came a knight, mounted on a large -and powerful black horse. And well was it indeed for the steed that he was large and -powerful, for his rider was as near seven as six feet in height, while his body and -limbs displayed so great a weight of bone and muscle, that any less potent palfrey -must have bent beneath it. But the noble animal came proudly on, capering as if he -felt not the weight of his rider. The knight wore a broad bonnet, graced with the -royal hern’s plume, and a hunting-dress of gold-embroidered green cloth, over which -hung a richly ornamented bugle, while his baldrick, girdle-stead, hunting pouch, anelace, -and dirk, were all of the most gorgeous and glittering materials. His boots were of -tawny buckskin, and his heels armed with large spurs of the most massive gold. The -furniture of his horse was equally superb, the bits in particular being heavily embossed, -and the whole thickly covered over with studs and bosses of the same precious metal. -His saddle and housings were of rich purple velvet, wrought with golden threads, and -the stirrups were of solid silver. -</p> -<p>But, accustomed as Sir Patrick Hepborne had been to all the proud pomp and splendid -glitter of chivalry, he minded not these trifling matters beyond the mere observance -of them. It was the head and face of the person who approached that most particularly -rivetted his attention. Both were on a great scale, and of an oval form. The forehead -was high and retreating, and wore on it an air of princely haughtiness; the nose was -long and hooked; the lips were large, but finely formed; and the mouth, though more -than usually extended, was well shaped, and contained a set of well-arranged teeth, -of uncommon size and unsullied lustre. The complexion was florid, and the hair, beard, -whiskers, and moustaches, all ample and curling freely, were of a jet black, that -was but slightly broken in upon by the white hairs indicating the approaching winter -of life. But the <span class="pageNum" id="pb208">[<a href="#pb208">208</a>]</span>most characteristic features were the eyes, which would have been shaded by the enormous -eyebrows that threw their arches over them, had it not been for their extreme prominence. -They were fiery and restless, and although their expression was sometimes hilarious, -yet they generally wore the lofty look of pride; but it was easy to discern that they -were in the habit of being perpetually moved by an irritable and impatient temper, -that was no sooner excited than their orbs immediately assumed a fearful inclination -inwards, that almost amounted to a squint. -</p> -<p>This knight, whom Sir Patrick immediately recognized, by the description he had often -heard of him, to be Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan, the Wolfe of Badenoch, was -about the age of fifty, or perhaps a few years younger. By his side rode a lady, clad -in a scarlet mantle, profusely embroidered with gold, and seated on a piebald palfrey, -covered with trappings even more costly than those of the horse that carried the Wolfe -of Badenoch himself. She seemed to be approaching the age of forty, and was slightly -inclining to <i>embonpoint</i>, fresh in face and complexion, and very beautiful. Behind them rode five gay and -gallant young knights, the eldest of whom might have been about twenty. They were -all richly apparelled, and accoutred in a taste somewhat similar to that of the elder -knight who rode before them, and were mounted on magnificent horses, that came neighing -and prancing along, their impatience of restraint adding to the pleasure of their -youthful riders, especially of the younger, who were boys. -</p> -<p>A large train of attendants followed, partly on horseback and partly on foot. These -were variously armed with hunting-spears, cross-bows, and long-bows: and many of the -pedestrians, who were coarsely clad, and some of them even barefooted as well as bareheaded, -led a number of alloundes, raches, and sleuth-hounds, whilst others carried carcases -of red deer and roebucks, suspended on poles borne between two, as also four-footed -and feathered animals of chase, which had fallen victims to the sport of the day. -</p> -<p>All this, which has taken so much time to describe, was seen by Sir Patrick Hepborne -at a single glance, or at least he had sufficient leisure to make himself master of -the particulars ere the cavalcade came up to him. As the Wolfe of Badenoch drew near, -Sir Patrick dismounted, and, giving his horse to his esquire, advanced towards him, -and paid him the respectful obeisance due to the King’s son. -</p> -<p>“Ha!” cried the Wolfe, reigning up his curvetting steed; “who, in the fiend’s name, -may this be?” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb209">[<a href="#pb209">209</a>]</span></p> -<p>“My noble Lord of Buchan,” said Hepborne, “I wait upon your Highness by the especial -desire of His Majesty the King, your royal father. Being on my way to Moray Land, -to be present at the tournament to be held by the Earl of Moray on the Mead of St. -John’s, I passed by Scone, to pay mine humble duty at his Grace’s Court after my return -from France, where I have been for some of these late years; and knowing mine intent -of visiting these northern parts, your royal father did kindly bid me seek your well-known -hospitality as I should pass into Moray Land. Moreover, he did honour me so far as -to charge me with a letter under his own signet, addressed for your Highness.—My name -is Sir Patrick Hepborne.” -</p> -<p>The Wolfe fidgetted to and fro upon his horse, and displayed very great impatience -until the knight had finished. -</p> -<p>“Ha!” said he, the moment he had done speaking—“ha! ’tis well. By my trusty burly-brand, -thou art welcome, Sir Patrick Hepborne. Thy name hath a sweet savour with it for stark -doughtiness in stiff stour, since thou be’st, as I ween, the son of the bold Sir Patrick -Hepborne of Hailes. By my beard, thou art welcome,” said he again, as he stretched -out his hand to him. “As for the old man’s letter, we shall see that anon when better -place and leisure serve. Know this lady, Sir Patrick,” continued he, turning towards -her who rode with him; “she is the Lady Mariota Athyn (of whom peraunter thou mayst -have heard), and mother to those five sturdy whelps who ride at my back, and who are -wont to call me father. But get thee to horse, Sir Patrick; the feast waits for us -ere this, and we can talk anon with our wine wassail. If thou hadst done as much to-day -as we have, and been as long from thy trencher, the red fiend catch me but thou wilt -think more of eating than of talking. Get thee to horse, then, and on with us, I say; -we are now but a short space from the tents. To horse, then, to horse!” -</p> -<p>Mortimer Sang brought up his master’s steed, Sir Patrick vaulted into the saddle, -and, being beckoned by the Wolfe to take his place beside him, immediately obeyed. -The Lady Mariota Athyn, who had eyed the handsome Maurice de Gray, gave him a condescending -signal to come to her right hand, and in this order they rode up the glen, towards -the place where the tents were pitched, the knight’s party mingling as they went with -that of Lord Badenoch, according to the various conditions of the persons who composed -it. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb210">[<a href="#pb210">210</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch29" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e499">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Wolfe of Badenoch’s Hunting Encampment—Letter from King Robert—Arrival at the -Wolfe’s Stronghold.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The spot chosen for the Wolfe of Badenoch’s hunting encampment was beautiful. The -little rill came welling forth in one great jet, like a copious fountain, from a crevice -in the rocks that, rising like a mimic castle, terminated the glen at its upper extremity. -The bright greens of the ivy, honeysuckle, and various creeping plants and shrubs -that climbed over its surface, blended with the rich orange, brown, and yellow tints -of the lichens that covered it. On the smooth flat sward, a little in advance of this, -was pitched the pavilion of the Wolfe himself, with his banner waving before it. It -consisted of three apartments, the largest of which, occupying the whole front, was -used as the banqueting place, whilst the two others behind were devoted to the private -convenience and repose of the Earl and the Lady Mariota. -</p> -<p>To the right and left of this central pavilion were the tents of the five young knights. -Of these the eldest, Sir Alexander Stewart, afterwards Earl of Mar, had all the violence -of his father’s temper; Sir Andrew, the second, was cool, crafty, and designing; and -Walter, James, and Duncan, who were too young to have anything like fixed characters, -had all the tricks and pranks of ill-brought-up and unrestrained youths, though Duncan, -the youngest, had naturally rather a more amiable disposition than any of the others. -</p> -<p>Besides these tents, there were several more on the two flanks, extending towards -the extremity of the horns of the semi-circle, occupied by squires, and the principal -people of the Earl’s retinue. Within a rocky recess at one side, almost shut out from -view by the embowering trees, a number of temporary huts were erected for culinary -purposes, as well as for lodging the great mass of the lower order of attendants; -and on the opposite side were extensive pickets, to which the horses were attached -in lines. -</p> -<p>The night dropped fast down on that low and narrow spot, and, as the cavalcade arrived, -the people were already engaged in lighting a huge bonfire in the centre of it, quite -capable of restoring an artificial day, and this immense blaze was to be kept up all -night, partly for purposes of illumination, and partly <span class="pageNum" id="pb211">[<a href="#pb211">211</a>]</span>to keep off the wolves. The Earl no sooner appeared, than all was clamour, and running, -and bustle, and confusion. He halted in front of the tents—the bugles blew, and the -squires and attendants ran to hold his stirrup. But he waited not for their assistance. -Ere they could reach him he sprang to the ground, and lifting the Lady Mariota from -off her palfrey, carried her into the pavilion. -</p> -<p>“Sir Patrick,” said he to Hepborne, as an esquire ushered him in, “thou must bear -with such rustic entertainment as we have to offer thee here to-night. To-morrow we -move to Lochyndorbe, where thou shalt be better bestowed.” -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick bowed; but he saw no lack of provision for good cheer as he cast his eyes -over the ample board, which was covered with a profusion of silver utensils of all -kinds, among which were strangely mingled pewter, and even wooden trenchers, and where -there were not only silver flagons and mazers, but leathern black-jacks, wooden stoups, -and numerous drinking-horns, the whole being lighted by a silver lamp that hung over -the centre. -</p> -<p>“What, in the fiend’s name, makes the feast to tarry?” cried the Wolfe impatiently: -“do the loons opine that we have no stomachs, or that we are blocks of wood, that -we can stand all day i’ the passes, and yet do at night without feeding? The feast, -I say—the feast! Nay, send me that rascal cook here.” -</p> -<p>The cook, sweating from his fiery occupation, was instantly brought before him, trembling, -carrying a stew-pan in one hand, and a long iron gravy-ladle in the other, with his -sleeves tucked up, and clothed in a white apron and night-cap. -</p> -<p>“Villain!” said the Wolfe, in a tremendous voice, “why are not the viands on the table? -By all the fiends of the infernal realms, thou shalt be forthwith spitted and roasted -before thine own fire, an we have not our meal ere I can turn myself.” -</p> -<p>The cook bowed in abject terror, and, as soon as he was beyond the tent door, ran -off, bawling to his assistants; and in a few minutes, a crowd of lacqueys bearing -the smoking-hot dishes came pouring into the pavilion, heaping the board with them -till it groaned again. -</p> -<p>“Blow the bugle for the banquet,” cried the impatient Earl, seating himself at the -head of the table. “Sit thee down, Mariota, on my right hand here; and do thou, Sir -Patrick Hepborne, sit here on my left. The boys and the rest may find places for themselves.” -</p> -<p>“But where is thy gentle page, Sir Knight?” said the Lady Mariota to Hepborne. “I -pray thee let him sit down with us. <span class="pageNum" id="pb212">[<a href="#pb212">212</a>]</span>Certes, he doth appear to be come of no mean blood. Make me to know how the doced -youth is hight, I do beseech thee?” -</p> -<p>“Lady,” said Sir Patrick, smiling, “he is called Maurice de Grey, a truant boy of -a good English house. His father is a gallant knight, who governs the border strength -of Werk. Tired of soft service as a page of dames, he left his indulgent mother to -roam into the world, and chancing to encounter me, I adopted him as my page. In truth, -though young, he is prudent, and perdie, he hath more than once showed a good mettle, -and some spirit, too, though his thewes and muscles have hardly strength enow, as -yet, to bear it out.” -</p> -<p>“Oh, fye on thee, Maurice de Grey,” said the lady, smiling graciously on the page, -as he entered among the crowd—“fye on thee, Maurice, I say. Art thou so naughty as -to wish to shun the converse of women at thine age? Oh, shame to thy youth-hed. Parfay, -I shall myself undertake thy punishment, so sit thee down by me here, that I may school -thee for thy folly and want of gallantry.” -</p> -<p>Maurice bowed respectfully, and immediately occupied the proffered seat, where the -lady did all in her power to gratify him by putting the nicest dainties on his plate, -and prattling many a kind and flattering speech in his ear. Sir Alexander Stewart -placed himself next to Sir Patrick, and, though naturally fierce and haughty in his -air, showed every disposition to exert hospitable and knightly courtesy towards his -father’s guest. Below them, on both sides of the table, sat his brothers; and the -rest of the long board was filled up by the esquires and other retainers, who each -individually occupied the first room he could find. For some time there was but little -conversation, and nothing interrupted the clinking of knives upon the trenchers but -an occasional pledge called for by the Wolfe, who, as he ate largely and voraciously, -drank long draughts too, to promote the easy descent of the food into his capacious -stomach. He continued to eat long after every one else at table had ceased. -</p> -<p>“Ha!” said he at length, as he laid down his implements of carving; “quick! clear -away those offensive fragments. Hey! what stand ye all staring at? Remove the assiettes -and trenchers, I say—Are ye deaf, knaves?” -</p> -<p>Every servile hand was upon the board in an instant, and the dishes and plates disappeared -as if by magic. -</p> -<p>“Wine—Rhenish!—Malvoisie! Wine, I say!” vociferated the Wolfe. “What, ye rogues, are -we to perish for thirst?” -</p> -<p>The silver flagons, stoups, and black-jacks were replenished <span class="pageNum" id="pb213">[<a href="#pb213">213</a>]</span>with equal celerity, and deep draughts went round, and the carouse became every moment -more fierce and frequent. The Lady Mariota Athyn rose to retire to her own private -quarter of the pavilion. -</p> -<p>“Young Sir Page,” said she to Maurice de Grey, “wine wassail is not for thee, I ween; -thou shalt along with my boys and me, thou naughty youth; thou shalt with me, I say. -Verily, I condemn thee to do penance with me and my damsels until the hour of couchee. -Come along, Sir Good-for-Nothing.” -</p> -<p>The page arose, and went with the lady and her three younger sons, but he seemed to -go very unwillingly. In truth, he had received her little attentions rather coldly; -so much so, indeed, that Hepborne had felt somewhat hurt at his seeming indifference. -</p> -<p>After much wine had been swallowed, and a great deal of conversation had passed about -hunting and deeds of chivalry— -</p> -<p>“And so thou goest to this tourney of my brother-in-law, the Earl of Moray’s, Sir -Patrick?” said the Wolfe. -</p> -<p>“Such is the object of my journey, my Lord,” replied Hepborne. -</p> -<p>“By St. Hubert! I have a mind to go with thee, were it only to show my boys the sport,” -replied the Wolfe. “But, by the thunder of Heaven! I am not over well pleased with -this same brother-in-law. The old man, my doting liege-father, hath refused to add -Moray Land to my lieutenantship, which now lacketh but it to give me broad control -from the Spey to the Orcades; and, by my beard, I cannot choose but guess that Earl -John hath had some secret hand in preventing him. My sister Margery denies this stoutly; -but she would deny anything to keep fire and sword from her lord’s lands. Yet may -the hot fiend swallow me if I ween not that I have hit the true mark in so suspecting.” -</p> -<p>“By the red Rood, then, I would straightway tax him with it,” said Sir Alexander Stewart. -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay, meddle thou not, Sandy,” said the Wolfe. “I lack not thine advice. This -matter concerns not thee.” -</p> -<p>“Concerns not me!” exclaimed Sir Alexander, hotly—“by the martyrdom of St. Andrew, -but it does though—it concerneth me mightily; yea, it enchafeth me to see thee, my -father, pusillanimously suffer thyself to be agrutched and hameled in the extent of -thy flight, an if thou wert a coistril hawk, to be mewed by any he of the mark of -Adam.” -</p> -<p>“I tell thee, boy, thou art a silly fool,” roared out the Wolfe, gnashing his teeth -in a fury. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb214">[<a href="#pb214">214</a>]</span></p> -<p>“If I am a fool, then,” said Sir Alexander, in no less a rage, “I am at least wise -enough to know from whom I have had my folly.” -</p> -<p>The ferocious Wolfe could stand this no longer. His eyes flashed fire, and, catching -up a large silver flagon of wine, from which he had been going to drink, he hurled -it at his son’s head with so much celerity and truth of aim that had not Hepborne -raised his left arm and intercepted it in its flight, though at the expense of a severe -contusion, the hot Sir Alexander would never have uttered a word more. Heedless of -the escape he had made, he rose to return the compliment against his father; but Hepborne, -and some of those nearest to him, interfered, and with some difficulty the anger of -both father and son was appeased. It was a feature in the Wolfe’s character, and one -also in which his son Alexander probably participated, that, although his passion -was easily and tremendously excited on every trifling occasion, so as to convert him -at once into an ungovernable wild beast, capable of the most savage and cruel deeds, -yet there were times when he was not unapt to repent him of any atrocious act he might -have been guilty of, particularly where his own family was concerned. He loved his -son Alexander—with the exception of the child Duncan, indeed, he loved him more than -any of the others, perhaps because he more nearly resembled himself in temper. After -the fray had been put an end to he sat for some moments trembling with agitation; -but, as his wrath subsided, and he became calmer, he began to picture to himself his -son stretched dead at his feet by a blow from his own hand. His countenance became -gloomy and oppressed; he fidgetted upon his seat, and at length starting hurriedly -up— -</p> -<p>“Depardieux, I thank thee, Sir Patrick,” said he, taking Hepborne’s right hand, and -squeezing it heartily—“depardieux, I thank thee for having arrested a blow I should -have so much repented—Alexander,” continued he, going up and embracing his son, “forgive -me, my boy; but provoke not mine ire in the same way again, I beseech thee.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, father,” said Sir Alexander, “perhaps I went too far; but, by the mass, I was -irritated by the thought that John Dunbar, Earl of Moray, should have got between -thee and the King with his silky curreidew tongue.” -</p> -<p>“Right, boy,” cried the Wolfe, relieved by finding a new outlet for his rage, and -striking the table furiously with his fist as he resumed his seat—“right, boy: there -it is. If I but find that my suspicions are true, by the beard of my grandfather his -being my sister Margery’s husband shall not save him from <span class="pageNum" id="pb215">[<a href="#pb215">215</a>]</span>my wrekery. But, Sir Patrick,” continued he, after a short pause, “so please thee, -let me see the old man’s letter thou wert charged with, Knowest thou aught of its -contents?” -</p> -<p>“No, my good lord,” said Hepborne, taking the embroidered silken case that contained -the King’s epistle from his bosom. “His Majesty put it himself into my hands as I -kissed his, to take my duteous leave, and here it is as he gave it to me.” -</p> -<p>The Wolfe glanced at the royal signet, and then, with his wonted impatience, tore -up the silk, and began to read it to himself. His brow darkened as he went on, his -teeth ground against each other, and his lip curled with a growing tempest. At length -he dashed down the King’s letter on the table, and struck the board with his clenched -fist two or three times successively— -</p> -<p>“Ha! see, Sir Knight, what it is thou hast brought me,” cried he, in a fury so great -that he could hardly give utterance to his words. “Read that, read that, I say. By -all the fiends, ’tis well I read it not at first, ere I knew thee better, Sir Knight, -or thou mightest have had but a strange reception. Read it—read it, I say!” -</p> -<p>Hepborne took up the letter, and read as follows:— -</p> -<blockquote> -<p class="first salute">“To the High and Noble, our trusty and well-beloved son, Alexander Stewart. Earl of -Buchan, Earl of Ross, Lord of Badenoch, and our faithful Lieutenant over the northern -part of our kingdom, from the bounds of the county of Moray to the Pentland Frith, -these greeting— -</p> -<p>“<span class="sc">Son Alexander</span>,—We do hope these may find thee well. It hath reached our ears that thou dost still -continue to keep abiding with thee thy leman, Mariota Athyn. Though she, the said -Mariota, be the mother of thy five boys, yet is the noble Lady Euphame, Countess of -Ross, thy true and lawful wife; with her, therefore, it behoveth thee to consort, -yea, and her it behoveth thee to cherish: yet are we informed, and it doleth us much -that it should be so, that thou dost still leave her to grieve in loneliness and solitude. -Bethink thee that thou yet liest under the threatened ban of holy Mother Church, and -under the penalty laid on thee by the godly Bishops of Moray and Ross for having cruelly -used her, and that thou dost yet underly, and art bound by their sentence to live -with her in a virtuous and seemly manner. Let not gratitude permit thee to forget, -also, that she did bestow upon thee rich heritages in land, and <span class="pageNum" id="pb216">[<a href="#pb216">216</a>]</span>that it is through her thou dost hold thy title of Earl of Ross, which we did graciously -confirm to thee. Return, then, from thy wicked ways, and cleave unto thy lawful wife, -to her cherisaunce, as thou wouldst value our good favour, and as thou wouldst give -jovisaunce to these our few remaining years of eld. And so, as thou dost obey these -our injunctions, may God keep thee and thine in health, and soften thine heart to -mercy and godliness. So prayeth thy loving father and King, -</p> -<p class="signed">“<span class="sc">Robert Rex</span>.”</p> -</blockquote><p> -</p> -<p>Hepborne laid down the King’s letter without venturing a single comment on it, and -it was instantly snatched up by Sir Alexander Stewart. -</p> -<p>“What!” cried he with indignation, after glancing it over, “is our mother, or are -we, to be turned adrift from our father’s house like ragamuffin quistrons, to beg -our way through the world, to please a doting old man?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, sooner shall I pluck out every hair of this beard from my face,” shouted the -Wolfe in a fury, and tugging out a handful of it unconsciously as he said so. “What! -am I to be schooled by an old bigoted prater at my time of life, and to be condemned -to live with a restless intriguing hag, who hath been the cause of so much vexation -to me! The red fiend shall catch me then! Not for all the bishops in Mother Church, -with the Orders four to boot, shall I submit me to such penance. But, by all the powers -of darkness, the split-capped Bishop of Moray, Alexander Barr, shall suffer for this. -He it is who hath been at the bottom of it all; he it is who hath stirred up the King; -and by the infernal fires, he shall ere long undergo my wrekery. He hath been an eternal -torture to me; but, by my trusty burly-brand, I shall make the craven, horrow lossel -rue that ever he roused the <i>Wolfe of Badenoch</i>.” -</p> -<p>He struck the table tremendously with his fist as he concluded. His calling himself -by his <i>nom de guerre</i> was with him like Jupiter swearing by the river Styx. His people moved on their seats, -put on stern brows, and looked at one another, as if each would have said, “Brother, -we shall have something to do here.” The Earl himself snatched up a flagon of Rhenish, -and took a deep draught to cool his ire; then turning to Hepborne— -</p> -<p>“I bid thee good night, Sir Patrick,” said he; “thou hast no fault in this matter; -good night, I say.” Then turning to the rest—“See that Sir Patrick Hepborne have the -best quarters <span class="pageNum" id="pb217">[<a href="#pb217">217</a>]</span>that may be given him. Good night. By all the fiends, the white-faced hypocrite shall -pay for it.” And so saying, he disappeared into the inner apartment of the pavilion. -</p> -<p>Immediately afterwards, the page and the three younger Stewarts came forth. Sir Alexander -still continued to fret and broil with the fury which the King’s letter had excited -in him; yet he neglected not the civilities due to their guest. He gave orders that -the youngest boy’s tent should be prepared for Sir Patrick Hepborne, and that his -brothers, Duncan and James, should occupy one tent for the night; and, leaving Sir -Andrew Stewart to see that the stranger Knight was properly accommodated, he made -an exit similar to his father’s. -</p> -<p>“’Tis an unfortunate weakness,” said Sir Andrew Stewart, as he accompanied Hepborne -to his tent, “’tis an unhappy weakness that so cruelly besets my father and my brother -Alexander; half the hours of their lives are spent in temporary frenzy. It would be -well for them if they could bridle their passions.” -</p> -<p>Hepborne found it difficult to reply; so changing the subject adroitly, and thanking -Sir Andrew for his courteous attention, he bade him good night, and was glad to take -refuge in the quiet of the tent that had been prepared for him. Being indisposed for -sleep, he called his page, whose couch was in the outer apartment, and, ere they retired -to rest, their conversation ran as follows:— -</p> -<p>“Maurice,” said the knight, “why didst thou show thyself so backward in receiving -the Lady Mariota’s favours? She seemed anxious to show thee all manner of kind attention, -yet thou didst repel her by thy very looks.” -</p> -<p>“Sir Knight,” said the page, “I like not that woman; she is not the wife of the Earl -of Buchan, and meseems it a foul thing to see her sit in the seat of so honourable -and virtuous a lady as the Countess of Ross, queening it where she hath no claim but -the base one that may spring from her own infamy.” -</p> -<p>“Thou art right, boy,” said Hepborne, “thou art right, in good truth; but ’tis not -for us to read moral lessons to our seniors. Where we see positive harm, or glaring -injury, done to any one by another, then it behoveth a true knight to stay not his -hand, but forthwith to redress the grievance at peril of his life. But though he is -not to court the society of those who sin grossly, yet cannot he always eschew it, -and it falleth not within the province of a knight to read moral lectures and homilies -to every one he meeteth that may offend against God’s <span class="pageNum" id="pb218">[<a href="#pb218">218</a>]</span>laws; else might he exchange the helmet for the cowl. And, verily, he should have -little to do but to preach, since the wickedness of man is so great, and so universal, -that there is no one who might not call for his sermons; yea, and while zealously -preaching to others, he would certainly fall into guilt himself. No, Maurice; let -us take care to live irreproachably; then let us suffer no one to do tyranny or injustice -to another; and having secured these important things, let us leave all else to a -righteous God, who will Himself avenge the sins committed against His moral law. Yet -do I much commend that virtuous indignation in thee; and if thy love should ever haply -run smooth, as I sincerely pray that it may, I trust that thou wilt be a mirror of -virtuous constancy.” -</p> -<p>The page clasped his hands on his breast, and, throwing up his eyes to Heaven, “Grant -but that my love may yet prosper,” said he, fervently; “grant but that, ye blessed -Virgin, and the sun shall not be more constant to the firmament, than I shall be in -the attachment to the object of my affection! But couldst thou be constant, Sir Knight?” -added he, with a sigh. -</p> -<p>“’Tis an odd question, boy,” said Hepborne, laughing. “I think I know so much of myself -as to say boldly that I could; and, verily, I would never mate me where I weened there -might be risk of temptation to aught else. But, of a truth, I have not yet seen the -woman of whom I might think so highly as to risk chaining my virtue to her side.” -</p> -<p>The page sat silent for some moments, and at length, turning to Hepborne, “I have -seen knights,” said he, “who did roune sweet speeches in the ears of foolish maidens, -who did swear potent oaths that they did love them, and yet, when the silly pusels -believed them, they would laugh at their facile credence, and then, leaping into their -saddles, ride away, making mirth of the sad wounds they had caused. Say, Sir Knight, -couldst thou do this?” -</p> -<p>“Depardieux, mon bel ami Maurice de Grey,” said the knight, laughing, “methinks thou -hast made thyself my father confessor to-night. What meanest thou by these questions?” -</p> -<p>“In truth, my dear master,” said the boy, “I do but ask, that I may better myself -by the wisdom of thine answers. How should I, an untaught youth, ever become an honour -to knighthood, as I hope one day to be, save by thy sage precept and bright example?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, then, sweet page,” said the knight, kindly, “I shall <span class="pageNum" id="pb219">[<a href="#pb219">219</a>]</span>not deny to answer thee. In good sooth, I have never yet been so base, nor could I -ever be guilty of so much wickedness.” -</p> -<p>The page’s eyes brightened for a moment at the knight’s virtuous assertion. -</p> -<p>“There be women indeed,” continued Sir Patrick, “to whom it is even dangerous for -a courteous knight to address the common parlance of courtly compliment, without instilling -into them the vain belief that their charms have wrought a conquest. Of such an innocent -fault the folly of many maidens may have made me guilty. Never, save once, did I seriously -love, and then, alas, I discovered that my heart had been affected by an unworthy -object, so that I did forthwith tear myself from her.” -</p> -<p>“Unworthy, didst thou say, Sir Knight?” cried the boy, earnestly; “and who, I pray -thee, could be so unworthy to thee?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, my good Maurice,” said Hepborne, “that were truly to ask too much. Were she -as worthy as I did once esteem her, I would proudly publish her name to the world; -but after having said so much to her dishonour, and now that she cannot be mine, her -name shall never more escape these lips whilst I think of her as I at present do, -save when ’tis brought in accidentally by others, or when ’tis murmured in my secret -despair. But what ails thee, boy? Thou weepest. Tell me, I pray thee, why thou shouldst -now be thus drent in dreriment? What hast thou to do with my love-griefs?” -</p> -<p>“I but cry for pity, Sir Knight,” said the boy. “Thy tale, too, doth somewhat touch -mine own, and so doth it, peraunter, affect me the more. May Heaven in its mercy clear -away those cruel clouds that do at present so darken our souls!” -</p> -<p>“Amen!” said the knight fervently. “Then get thee to thy couch, Maurice, for I will -to mine.” -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick Hepborne had already slept for a considerable time, when he was awakened -by the clamour of voices. This, perhaps, would have excited little astonishment, had -he not previously remarked the uncommon degree of quietness that had been preserved -in the little encampment, the probable effect of the stern character and alert discipline -of him who was at the head of it. He sat up, and leaning for some moments on his elbow -to listen, he by and by heard the trampling of steeds, and the bustle of preparation, -as if for a departure. He then called to the page, who answered him so immediately, -that Hepborne suspected, what was really the case, that he had not as yet slept. -</p> -<p>“What noise is that we hear, Maurice?” said he. -</p> -<p>“Methinks,” said the page, “it is some party that sets forth. <span class="pageNum" id="pb220">[<a href="#pb220">220</a>]</span>Perhaps it may be one moiety of the retinue who go before, to prepare those of the -Castle for the Earl’s coming.” -</p> -<p>This very natural explanation satisfied Hepborne. He soon heard the noise increase, -and the neighing and prancing of the horses, with the voices of many men, though their -words were not intelligible; then he heard a loud command to march, and the gallop -of the troop died away upon his ear, and then again all was quiet, and his repose -was uninterrupted until morning. -</p> -<p>He was hardly dressed when Sir Andrew Stewart came courteously to offer the usual -morning compliments, and to conduct him to the great pavilion. -</p> -<p>“My father,” said he, “hath been called on urgent business into Badenoch; he left -this yesternight, to ride thither sans delay: my brothers, Alexander, Walter, and -James, also went with him; but he left me here to do thee what poor hospitality I -may until his return. To-day, with thy good leave, we shall hie us to Lochyndorbe, -and to-morrow I hope he will be there to do the honours of the Castle in his own person.” -</p> -<p>This sudden departure of the Wolfe of Badenoch accounted to Hepborne for the disturbance -he had met with in the night. The Lady Mariota received him graciously. -</p> -<p>“But where is my handsome good-for-nothing page?” eagerly inquired she. “Ah, there -comes the naughty boy, I see. Come hither, Sir Scapegrace; I trow I did school thee -to some purpose yestreen; but parfay, thou shalt have more on’t anon. Come hither, -I say. Verily, the young varlet hangeth his ears like a whelp that feareth the rod; -but i’faith I am not come to that yet,—though, never trust me,” added she, laughing, -“but thou shalt have it ere long, an’ thou be’st not more docile. Sit thee down here, -I say. And see now how, in hopes of thine amendment, I have carved for thee the tenderest -and whitest part of this black grouse’s breast; yea, Sir Good-for-Nothing—with mine -own fair fingers have I done it.” -</p> -<p>Maurice de Grey appeared more than half inclined to keep aloof from the lady, notwithstanding -all her kind raillery; but he caught his master’s eye, and seeing that Sir Patrick -seemed to wish that he should receive her notice with a good grace, he put on the -semblance of cheerfulness, and took his seat by her accordingly. -</p> -<p>The morning’s meal passed over without anything remarkable, the lady devoting all -her attention and all her trifling to Maurice de Grey, and Hepborne being engaged -in conversation with Sir Andrew Stewart; there being no one else present but the boy -Duncan. Soon afterwards, orders were issued for the <span class="pageNum" id="pb221">[<a href="#pb221">221</a>]</span>encampment to break up, and the attendants to prepare themselves and their steeds -for their departure. Much time was lost until all the necessary arrangements were -made. The sturdy sullen loons were aware of the absence of the Wolfe, and revelled -in the enjoyment of the power, so seldom theirs, of doing things leisurely. Besides, -all the most active and intelligent persons of the suite were gone. At length a string -of little batt horses, pressed from the neighbouring churls, were despatched with -the most valuable and more immediately necessary part of the moveables, and a few -more were left to bring up the tents and heavier articles, when additional aid should -arrive. -</p> -<p>Meanwhile, the palfrey of the Lady Mariota was brought out, together with two others -for her maids; and the horses of the rest of the party also appeared. Hepborne assisted -the lady to mount, but though she thanked him graciously for his courtesy, she was -by no means satisfied. -</p> -<p>“That white palfrey of thine, Sir Page Maurice,” said she, “seemeth to have an affection -for my pyeball; let them not be separated, I pr’ythee. Mount thee, and be thou the -squire of my body for this day. Allons.” -</p> -<p>Maurice was obliged to comply, and rode off with the lady at the head of the cavalcade, -followed by her son Duncan, and attended by the two damsels, who seemed, by their -nods and winks to each other, to imply something extremely significant, yet understood -by themselves alone. Sir Patrick Hepborne rode next, with Sir Andrew Stewart. Their -train was meagre compared to that which Hepborne had seen the previous evening; indeed, -his own attendants formed by far the greater part of the cortege that now accompanied -them. Their route was by the same path that Hepborne had approached the glen, until -they reached the steep side of the hill overhanging the head of it, whence he had -first peeped into it. They then continued onwards through the forest in the same northern -direction in which the guide was conducting the knight, at the time he was diverted -from his way by discovering the Wolfe’s hunting camp. -</p> -<p>They travelled through a great and elevated plain, covered by pine trees so thickly -as almost to exclude the sun, and even the hills that bounded it were wooded to their -very tops. At length they turned towards an opening that appeared in the hills to -their left, and, winding over some knolls, began to catch occasional glimpses of an -extensive sheet of water, when the dark green fir tufts, now and then receding from -one another, permitted the party to look beyond them. In a short time they <span class="pageNum" id="pb222">[<a href="#pb222">222</a>]</span>reached the shore of the eastern end of Lochyndorbe, about four miles in length, and -of an oblong form. The hills bounding it on the north and south arose with gentle -slope. A considerable island appeared near the upper or western extremity of the lake, -a short way from its southern shore, and entirely covered with the impregnable Castle, -of the same name with the sheet of water surrounding it. In the vista beyond, a sloping -plain appeared, with high hills rising over it. The whole scene was one continued -pine forest, and as solitary and wild as the most gloomy mind could desire. A group -of firs, more ancient and enormous than the rest, occupied a point of land, and were -tenanted by a colony of herons; and the lonely scream of these birds, and their lagging -heavy flight, added to, rather than enlivened the sombre character of the loch. -</p> -<p>As they made their way up the southern shore, the enormous strength of the Castle -became more apparent at every step. It was, in fact, a royal fortress, constructed -for the purpose of sustaining regular and determined siege. It occupied the whole -island to the very margin of the water, and its outer walls running, in long unbroken -lines, from one point to another, in successive stretches, embraced a space of something -more than two acres within them. On a low, round projection of land, immediately opposite -on the southern shore, and within about two hundred yards of it, was situated an outwork, -or sconce, erected for the purpose of preserving the communication with the terra -firma, but yet of too little importance to be of any great benefit to an enemy that -might chance to possess himself of it, or to enable him to do much injury to the Castle, -even with the most powerful engines then in use—particularly as the massive walls -opposed to it presented a straight, continuous, unbroken, and unassailable front. -Here they found several large and small boats in waiting for them; but there appeared -to be a great want of people to serve them. -</p> -<p>“Methinks thou hast but a paltry crew for thy navy to-day, Master Bruce?” said the -Lady Mariota to an old grey-headed squire-seneschal, who came to receive her. -</p> -<p>“Madame,” said he, “my lord the Earl sent orders here last night for the spears, axemen, -and bowmen, to meet him early this morning on Dulnan side. About an hundred good men -of horse and foot marched thither long ere the sun saw the welkin, so that we be but -meagrely garrisoned, else thou shouldst have been received with more honour.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, then, since it is so,” said the lady, “let us cross as we best may. That small -boat will do for us, so lend me thine arm, <span class="pageNum" id="pb223">[<a href="#pb223">223</a>]</span>Sir Page Maurice.” And immediately entering the boat, she made the youth sit beside -her. Hepborne and Sir Andrew Stewart also embarked, and, leaving the horses and attendants -to follow at leisure, were pulled rapidly towards the Castle by a couple of old boatmen. -They landed on the narrow strip of beach, extending hardly a yard from the walls, -and that only when the water was low, and were admitted through all the numerous and -potent defences of the deep gateway, by the warder, and one or two men who kept watch. -They then traversed the courts intervening between the outer and inner walls, which -were defended at all the salient angles by immensely strong round towers, one of them -completely commanding the entrance. Then passing onwards, they came to the inner gateway, -through which they ascended into the central area of the Castle, forming a large elevated -quadrangle, surrounded by the buildings necessary in such a garrison. -</p> -<p>The Lady Mariota, still leaning on the arm of Maurice de Grey, led them into that -part of the square occupied by the Earl’s mansion, and soon introduced them into a -banqueting-hall of magnificent proportions, hung round with arms, and richly furnished -for the times we speak of, and where, notwithstanding the draft made that morning -on the forces of the place, there was still a considerable show of domestics in waiting. -</p> -<p>“Let us have the banquet immediately,” said the Lady Mariota to the seneschal. “Sir -Knight,” said she, turning to Hepborne, “if our hospitality should lack its wonted -comfort to-day, thou must lay it to the account of our late absence from the Castle; -and if it should want its usual spirit, it must be set down to the score of the Earl’s -absence. But to-morrow both these wants shall be supplied. Andrew, thou wilt see Sir -Patrick Hepborne rightly accommodated. As for this naughty page, Maurice de Grey, -I shall myself see him fittingly bestowed in a chamber near mine own, that I may have -all proper and convenient opportunity of repeating those lessons I have already endeavoured -to impress upon him. Come along then, good-for-nothing boy; come along, I say.” -</p> -<p>The page cast an imploring look at his master, who regarded it not; then hanging his -head, he followed the Lady Mariota with an unwilling step, like a laggard schoolboy -who dreads the ferula of his pedagogue; whilst Hepborne was ushered to his apartment, -where, having procured the attendance of the faithful Mortimer Sang, he proceeded -to array himself in attire suitable to the evening. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb224">[<a href="#pb224">224</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch30" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e510">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XXX.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Castle of Lochyndorbe—An Evening Episode on the Ramparts—The Wolfe’s Raid on the -Bishop’s Lands.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The evening’s banquet in the Castle of Lochyndorbe passed away pretty much as the -morning’s meal had done in the hunting pavilion, that is to say, without anything -very remarkable. The Lady Mariota, still devoting all her attention to the page, left -her son, Sir Andrew Stewart, to entertain Sir Patrick Hepborne. Neither of the knights -were disposed to quaff those draughts of wine which the Wolfe of Badenoch himself -seemed to consider as essential to the comfort of life, and they soon separated. Hepborne -sat in his apartment for some time after Mortimer Sang had left him, and then, falling -into a train of reflection on the events which had occurred to him since his return -from France, and perceiving that his clue of association must be fully unwound ere -he could hope to sleep, he walked forth to enjoy the balmy freshness of the evening -air, that he might give freer vent to his thoughts. -</p> -<p>He got upon the rampart that looked out over the broader part of the lake, and as -he entered on one end of it, he was confounded—he could not believe his eyes—but it -certainly was the figure of the Lady Eleanore de Selby that he beheld, leaning against -one of the balistæ near the farther angle of the wall. The waning moon shed a dim -and uncertain light; yet it was sufficient to convince him that the figure he saw -before him was the same that had made so powerful an impression on his mind at Norham. -She was wrapped in a mantle, with her head bare, and her beautiful tresses flowing -down in the same manner he had seen them when blown by the breezes from the Tweed; -and she seemed to look listlessly out upon the wavelets that flickered under the thin -and scanty moonbeam, as they lifted themselves gently against the bulwark stones under -the wall. Apparently buried in thought, she was so perfectly without motion that he -began to doubt whether it was not a phantom he beheld; nay, it was impossible she -could be there in substance—she whom he had left at Norham affianced as a bride. In -those days of superstition it is no wonder, therefore, that he should have believed -it was the Lady Eleanore de Selby’s spirit he saw, or, in the peculiar language of -his own country, her wraith. His manly blood ran cold, and he hesitated for a moment -whether <span class="pageNum" id="pb225">[<a href="#pb225">225</a>]</span>he ought to advance. The figure still remained fixed. Again the thought crossed him, -that it might possibly be the Lady Eleanore, and love urged him to approach and address -her; but then prudence came to caution him not to seem to see her, lest he might be -again subdued, and forget what he had discovered at Norham. Thus tossed by doubt, -until he could bear suspense no longer, both superstitious awe and prudence yielded -to the influence of love, and, unable to restrain himself, he walked along the rampart -towards the figure. It seemed not to hear his step—it moved not till he was within -three or four paces, when it started at the sound of his steps, and, turning suddenly -towards him, displayed the countenance of—the page, Maurice de Grey. -</p> -<p>“Ah, Sir Patrick!” said the boy, and instantly applying his taper fingers to his hair, -he began twisting it up into a knot over his head, accidentally assuming, as he did -so, the very attitude in which Hepborne had seen the lady when similarly employed -on the rampart at Norham. -</p> -<p>“Maurice de Grey!” exclaimed Hepborne with extreme astonishment, “is it you I see? -Verily, thine attitude, boy, did so remind me of that in which I once beheld thy cousin, -the Lady Eleanore de Selby, that for a moment I did almost believe it was really she -who stood before me. I did never remark before that thou dost wear thy hair so womanishly -long.” -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick’s astonishment had been too great to permit him to remark the page’s trepidation -when first surprised by him, and before his amazement had subsided, Maurice de Grey -had time to recover himself. -</p> -<p>“’Tis true,” said he, “Sir Knight, that I have always worn my hair long, and put up -in a silken net, being loth to cut it away, seeing it was the pride of my mother’s -heart; but, nathless, if thou dost think it unmanly in me to wear it so, verily it -shall be cut off before to-morrow morning, that it may no longer offend thee. Yet -I marvel much what could possibly make thee to think that my cousin, the Lady Eleanore, -could be here in the Castle of Lochyndorbe; or how hast thou perchance set thine eyes -on her, so as to have so perfect a remembrance of her figure as thou dost seem to -preserve? I know that her father, Sir Walter, doth take especial care that she shall -never be seen by any Scottish knight. Then by what accident, I pray thee, didst thou -behold her?” -</p> -<p>Hepborne was considerably puzzled and perplexed by these naif questions from the page. -To have refused to reply to them at all would have been the very way to have excited -a thousand <span class="pageNum" id="pb226">[<a href="#pb226">226</a>]</span>suspicions in the boy’s mind; he, therefore, thought it better to answer him, and -he wished to do so in a calm and indifferent manner. But it was a subject on which -he could not think, far less talk, with composure, and, ere he wist, he burst into -an ecstacy of feeling that quite confounded the page. -</p> -<p>“See her!” said he; “alas, too often have I seen the Lady Eleanore de Selby for my -peace. Never, never, shall peace revisit this bosom. She is another’s; yet, nathless, -must this torn heart be hers whilst it shall throb with life.” And saying so, he covered -his face with his hands, and retreated some steps to hide the violence of his emotions; -but becoming ashamed of having thus exposed his secret to the page, and made him privy -to the extent of his weakness, he returned to the boy, and found him weeping bitterly, -apparently from sympathy. -</p> -<p>“Maurice,” said Hepborne, calmly addressing him, “accident hath made thee wring from -me the secret of my love, as chance did also make me tell thee yesternight, that I -had cause to fear that the demoiselle who hath so deeply affected me was not in truth -altogether what she at first appeared to me. As she is thy cousin, and so dear to -thee as thou dost now say she is, I would not willingly allow thee to suppose that -I have been estranged from her by mere caprice. I shall therefore tell thee that the -Lady Eleanore de Selby did give me good cause to believe that my ardent protestations -of love were not unpleasing to her; nay, she even held out encouragement to the prosecution -of my suit; and yet, after all this ground of hope I did discover that she was affianced -to another knight, in whose arms I did actually behold her, as they parted from each -other, with many tears at the keep-bridge of Norham, on the very morning when I and -my friend left the place. Her emotions were too tender to be mistaken. She it was -who sported lightly with my heart, not I with hers, for, had she not been faithless, -I would have sacrificed life itself for her love, and would have considered the wealth -of a kingdom but as dross compared with the possession of a jewel so precious. Even -as it is, I am doomed to love her for ever. I feel it—I feel it here!” said he, passionately -striking his heart—“I can never, never cease to love her.” -</p> -<p>The page seemed petrified with the charge brought against his cousin. He grew faint, -and staggered back a pace or two, until he was stayed by the support he received from -the balistæ; then panting for a moment he was at length relieved by a flood of tears. -</p> -<p>“Thou seest, Maurice,” said Hepborne, “the facts are too damning. It would have been -better for thee to have inquired <span class="pageNum" id="pb227">[<a href="#pb227">227</a>]</span>less curiously. But what figure is that which cometh yonder from the farther end of -the rampart?” -</p> -<p>“Blessed Virgin,” cried Maurice de Grey, “’tis my perpetual torment, the Lady Mariota. -What shall I do? Methought I had escaped from her importunity for this night at least.” -</p> -<p>“Why shouldst thou not be able to bear with her?” said the knight; “’tis a part of -thy schooling, young man, to submit to mortification, and, above all, to bear with -unpleasant society, without losing a jot of thy courtesy, especially where women are -in question.” -</p> -<p>“True, Sir Knight,” said the page, half whimpering, “but the Lady Mariota hath actually -made violent love to me. Oh, I cannot bear the wretch.” -</p> -<p>Hepborne could not help laughing at the ludicrous distress of the youth, and he had -hardly time to compose himself ere the Lady Mariota came within speaking distance -of them. -</p> -<p>“So, so, thou art there, runaway?” said she to the page, as she passed by Hepborne -with a mere bow of acknowledgment, to get at Maurice, who retreated towards the balistæ -with his head down—“so thou art there, art thou, Sir Scapegrace? Thou art a pretty -truant, indeed,” continued she, hooking him under one arm, and giving him a gentle -slap on one cheek. “But, thank my lucky stars, I have caught thee now, and verily -thou shalt not again escape me. I’faith thou shalt have thy wings clipt, my little -tom-tit; I shall have thee tied to my apron string, that thou hop thee not away from -me thus at every turning. I did but let thee out of my sight for an instant, and whisk -I find thee at the very outermost verge of my circle. Nay, had it not been for these -walls and waters, in good truth thou mightest have been beyond my search ere this. -Come away, Sir Good-for-Nothing. Allons, make up thy mind to thy chain; let me lead -thee by it, and do not thou pull so.” -</p> -<p>“Lady,” said Hepborne, “thou must have some mercy on the poor youth. He hath so lately -escaped from female thrall at home, that as yet he can but ill brook anything that -resembleth it. Leave him to me, I beseech thee. At present he joys in the newly-acquired -society of men; by degrees he will come to feel how much more sweet and soothing are -the delights of women’s converse, and——” -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay, Sir Knight,” said the Lady Mariota, interrupting him hastily, “I shall -not yield my control over the renegado, I promise thee; he shall with me this moment. -Come, along, Sir Page Maurice—come along, I say. Thou art a pretty youth indeed! I -have searched for thee through every apartment, nay, <span class="pageNum" id="pb228">[<a href="#pb228">228</a>]</span>through every creek and cranny in the Castle; and now that I have found thee, by my -troth, I shall not yield thee up so easily. Come along, I say.” And like a bitch-fox -dragging off an unhappy kid, so did the Lady Mariota drag away the hapless Maurice -de Grey, in defiance of his lagging step, his peevish replies, his hanging head, his -pouting lip, and the numerous glances of vexation he darted from under his eyelashes -at his tormentor. -</p> -<p>Hepborne retired to his repose, half amused and half angry with the persecution inflicted -on his poor page. Early next morning, Mortimer Sang came to him with a courteous message -from Sir Andrew Stewart, begging to know if it was his pleasure to hunt for a few -hours; and Hepborne having cheerfully agreed to the proposal, the two knights met -alone at breakfast, and then crossed to the mainland with their horses, hounds, hunting-gear, -and a few attendants, to scour the neighbouring forest for deer. -</p> -<p>As they were returning homewards towards evening, they heard the echoing sound of -bugles. -</p> -<p>“’Tis my father,” said Sir Andrew; “’tis the Earl returning with his party from Badenoch; -see, there they come, breaking forth from yonder woodshaws.” -</p> -<p>It was indeed the Wolfe of Badenoch; but he was now in a very different array from -that which he had first appeared in to Hepborne. He was clad from head to foot in -a complete suit of bright plate armour, and his height and bulk seemed to be increased -by the metamorphosis. He rode at the head of a gallant troop of well-mounted and well-equipped -spearmen, after which marched a company of footmen, consisting of pole-axe-men, and -bowmen. His sons, Sir Alexander, Walter, and James, rode proudly by his side. The -cavalcade went at a foot pace, because a rabble of bare-legged and bare-headed tatterdemalion -mountaineers ran before them, armed with clubs, goads, and pikes, and driving along -a promiscuous herd of cows, bullocks, sheep, and goats, of all different ages and -descriptions, which considerably retarded their march. A bugle-man preceded the whole, -bearing aloft an otter-skin purse on the point of a spear. His banner waved in the -middle of the clump of spears; and in the rear of all followed a tired and straggling -band of men, women, and children, who were grieving loudly, and weeping sadly, for -some dire injury they had sustained, and vociferating vain appeals in their own language -to the stern Wolfe, who, with his vizor up, and his brows knit, rode on unheeding -them. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb229">[<a href="#pb229">229</a>]</span></p> -<p>Ere the parties met, the two boys, Walter and James, galloped up to meet their brother, -Sir Andrew, and both began at once to shout out their news to him— -</p> -<p>“Oh, brother Andrew, brother Andrew, we have had such sport!” cried the one. -</p> -<p>“Nay, thou knowest not what thou hast lost, brother Andrew, by not being with us,” -cried the other. -</p> -<p>“Father hath seized——” shouted Walter. -</p> -<p>“The Earl hath taken possession of——” interrupted James. -</p> -<p>“Tut, hold thy gabbling tongue, James, and let me tell,” responded Walter. -</p> -<p>“Nay, but I will tell it,” cried James lustily. -</p> -<p>“By the holy Rood, but I will not be interrupted,” screamed out Walter. -</p> -<p>“By the Bishop’s mass, then, but I will tell out mine own tale in spite of thee,” -bellowed James; “the Earl hath seized, I say——” -</p> -<p>“Confound thee, then!” roared out Walter in a frenzy, and at the same time bestowing -a hearty thwack with the shaft of his spear across his brother’s shoulders—“confound -thine impudence, take that for thine insolence.” -</p> -<p>The no less irascible James was by no means slow in returning the compliment, and -they began to beat one another about the head with great goodwill; nay, it is probable -that their wrath might have even induced them to resort to the points of their weapons, -had they been equal to the management of their fiery steeds; but the spirited animals -became restive in the bicker, and plunging two or three times, the youths, more attentive -to mauling each other than to their horsemanship, lost their seats, and in one and -the same instant both were laid prostrate on the plain. Some of the followers of the -hunting party caught their palfreys, and raised the enraged boys, who would have renewed -their fight on foot had they not been held back. -</p> -<p>“Oh, ye silly fools,” said Sir Andrew, smiling coolly and contemptuously upon them; -“as the old cock croweth, so, forsooth, the chicks must needs ape his song. Have done -with your absurd and impotent wrath.” And leaving them in the hands of the attendants, -he rode slowly forward with Hepborne to meet his father. -</p> -<p>“What!” demanded the Wolfe, laughing heartily, “were those cockerals pecking at each -other?” -</p> -<p>“Yea,” replied Sir Andrew, “a trifling dispute between them, which I have quashed.” -</p> -<p>“Pshaw,” replied the Wolfe, “by the beard of my grandfather, <span class="pageNum" id="pb230">[<a href="#pb230">230</a>]</span>but I like to see their spirit; let not thy drowsy control quell it in them, son Andrew. -I would not have them tame kestrels like thee, for all the broad lands of my father’s -kingdom; so leave them to me to tutor, son Andrew, dost hear?—Sir Patrick,” said he, -turning to Hepborne, “I hope thou hast not suffered in thine entertainment by mine -absence? I should crave thy pardon, I wis, for leaving thee so suddenly, and perhaps -so rudely; but I have let off my dammed-up wrath since I last saw thee, and shall -now be better company. By this trusty burly-brand, I have shorn off the best plumes -from the plump Bishop Barr; I have seized the fat lands he held in the very midst -of my Badenoch territory. By the infernal fiends, I swore that he should pay for his -busy intermeddling in my family affairs, and by all the powers of darkness and desolation, -I have faithfully kept mine oath. I have hameled his pride, I trow. He shall know -what it is to have to do with the Wolfe of Badenoch. He holds earth no more there. -These are the custom-cattle of his lands, and there dangleth the rent and the grassums -gathered from his knave tenants. Such of the churls who were refractory I have driven -forth, and put good men of mine own in their room. Begone with ye, ye screaming pewits,” -cried he, angrily turning towards the wretched train of men and women who followed -his party, and couching his lance as if he would have charged furiously at them—“begone -with ye, I say, or, by the fires of the infernal realms, I will put every he and she -of ye instantly to the sword!” -</p> -<p>The miserable wretches, without a house to go to, ran off into the woods at his terrible -threat, and the ferocious Wolfe rode on with his party. When they came to the water’s -edge, the bugles sounded, and a boat being instantly manned by six rowers, the Wolfe -called to Sir Patrick Hepborne to go along with him, and they were wafted across in -a few strokes of the oar, leaving Sir Alexander Stewart and his brothers to superintend -the embarkation of the booty. All in the Castle was stir and bustle the moment the -owner of it appeared. The oldest man in it seemed to be endowed with additional muscular -action at the very presence of the Wolfe. They were all ranked up to receive him as -he entered the gateway, and they followed him, and darted off one by one, like arrows, -in various directions, as he gave his hasty orders. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb231">[<a href="#pb231">231</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch31" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e520">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Lady Mariota and the Page—The Fury of the Wolfe.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The Wolfe and Sir Patrick Hepborne had no sooner entered the banquet-hall than they -were surprised by the appearance of the Lady Mariota, who approached them from a room -beyond it, drowned in tears. -</p> -<p>“Eh!” cried the Wolfe, setting his teeth against each other; “ha! <i lang="fr">mort de ma vie</i>, what is this I behold? Mariota in tears? Say, speak, why art thou thus bywoxen? -What, in the fiend’s name, is the matter? Who hath caused these tears? Speak, and -by all the infernal demons, I will have him flayed alive.” -</p> -<p>“My Lord,” replied the Lady Mariota, hiding her face in her kerchief, “I can hardly -speak it—the page—the page Maurice de Grey———” -</p> -<p>“Say, lady, what of him? I beseech thee, what of him?” cried Sir Patrick anxiously. -“Hath any ill befallen him?” -</p> -<p>“Nay,” said the lady; “would that had been all I had to tell!—Oh, how shall I speak -it?—the wretch, taking advantage of my being left alone, dared to insult me. I fled -forth from the apartment where I had unconsciously received him, and, having called -the attendants, I had him secured, and he is now a prisoner in the dungeon.” -</p> -<p>Hepborne was petrified with horror and amazement at this accusation against Maurice -de Grey. -</p> -<p>“Ha!” cried the Wolfe, “by my beard, thou didst bravely indeed, my girl.—The red fiend -catch me, but he shall forthwith swing for it. A gallows and a halter there in the -court-yard! By all the grim powers of hell, he shall dangle ere we dine.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay, my Lord,” said Hepborne, sternly yet calmly, “that may not be without a -trial. The youth is mine, and I am thy guest. I demand a fair trial for him; if he -be guilty, then let him suffer for his coulpe; but until his guilt be proved, depardieux, -I shall stand forth his defender.” -</p> -<p>“By the holy Rood, but thou speakest boldly, Sir Knight,” cried the Wolfe, gnashing -his teeth in ire. “Art thou then prepared to fight at outrance for thy minion?” -</p> -<p>“My Lord,” said Hepborne coolly, “I am here as thy guest. Whilst I am under thy roof -I trust the common rules of hospitality will bind us both; but shouldst thou rid thyself -of their salutary shackles, I must prepare myself to do my best to resist <span class="pageNum" id="pb232">[<a href="#pb232">232</a>]</span>oppression, as a good and true knight ought to do. I ask but fair trial for the boy, -which, in justice thou canst not and wilt not refuse me.” -</p> -<p>The Wolfe paced the room backwards and forwards for some time with a hurried step, -whilst the Lady Mariota sat sobbing in a chair. -</p> -<p>“Mariota,” said he at length, “thou wert alone when the page came to thee?” -</p> -<p>“I was, my good Lord,” replied the lady; “My damsels had gone forth at the time he -entered my chamber.” -</p> -<p>“Now, Sir Patrick Hepborne,” exclaimed the Wolfe, “now thou must of needscost see -that all proof here is out of the question. Where can proof be had where there hath -been no witnesses?” -</p> -<p>“Yea, my Lord,” said Hepborne temperately, “what thou sayest is true, in good faith; -and it is also true that without proof there can be no just condemnation.” -</p> -<p>The Wolfe began again to pace the room, hastily, his eyes flashing fire. -</p> -<p>“What, Sir Knight,” exclaimed he, “dost thou go so far as to doubt the word of the -Lady Mariota? By the devil’s mass, but thou art bold indeed.” -</p> -<p>“I say not that I doubt the word of the Lady Mariota,” replied Hepborne; “but were -the Lady Mariota my sister, and the page Maurice de Grey my greatest enemy, I would -not condemn him capitally on her simple saying.” -</p> -<p>“Mariota,” cried the Wolfe in a rage, “leave the apartment; get thee to thy chamber. -By the martyrdom of St. Andrew, but thou dost beard me, Sir Knight. Thou presumest -on my old dotard father’s introduction of thee, and on the frail laws of hospitality, -which may indeed bind me to a certain point; but beware thou dost push me beyond it, -or, by my beard, neither he nor they shall protect thee.” -</p> -<p>“Most noble Earl of Buchan,” replied Hepborne, with perfect temper and <i>sang froid</i>, “again I say, that all I ask is justice. To that point only do I wish to push thee, -nor do I fear but thou wilt go so far. I do confess, it seemeth somewhat strange to -me to hear so foul a charge against a boy who hath ever sought to fly the Lady Mariota’s -advances. Nay, ’twas but yesternight that she came herself to seek him on the rampart, -where the youth held idle parlance with me; and though he tried to shun her, verily -these eyes beheld her as she did court him to go with her, the which the boy did most -unwillingly.” -</p> -<p>The Wolfe of Badenoch knit his brows, and strode two or <span class="pageNum" id="pb233">[<a href="#pb233">233</a>]</span>three times through the long hall, the arched roof ringing again to the clang of his -heel as he moved. He seemed to be pondering within himself what to resolve, an operation -to the fatigue of which he rarely ever subjected his mind, his general practice being -to act first, and then, if ever he thought at all, to think afterwards. At length -he stopped short in his career, opposite to where Hepborne was standing, with his -arms calmly folded across his breast; and, stretching out his hand to him— -</p> -<p>“Sir Patrick,” said he, “thou art right. I have perhaps been a little hasty here. -There is much in what thou hast said; and I honour thee for thy cool and determined -courage and temper. Listen to me then. If the page Maurice de Grey confesseth the -coulpe of which he is charged, thou wilt not call it injustice if he be instantly -ordered for execution. If he denies it, then let him, or some one for him, do duel -with me to-morrow, as soon as light may serve us; and may God and the Blessed Virgin -defend the right, and make his innocence clear if he be sans coulpe.” -</p> -<p>“Agreed,” said Hepborne. “I stand forth the boy’s defender, and will cheerfully appeal -to wager of single combat in his behalf. Let him straightway be sent for, then, and -let him be questioned with regard to his guilt or innocence; all I ask for him is -full and free speech.” -</p> -<p>“He shall have it,” cried the Wolfe; “I swear by my beard, he shall have full power -to speak as he lists. Pardieux, ’tis well we determined this matter one way or other -forthwith, for I long to dine.” -</p> -<p>“What is this I hear?” cried Sir Alexander Stewart, entering in a fury; “what is this -I hear? My mother insulted by a minion page! By the ghost of my grandfather, the miscreant -shall die ere I eat a morsel. Why doth he not swing even now? What hath delayed his -execution?” -</p> -<p>“Silence, Sandy,” cried the Wolfe angrily; “the matter is already arranged without -thine interference. The youth comes anon to be questioned. If he confesses, the popinjay -shall straightway grace the gallows in the court-yard; if he denies, then is Sir Patrick -Hepborne prepared to do battle in his cause against me, by to-morrow’s sun.” -</p> -<p>“Let that glory be mine, then, I beseech thee, my noble father,” cried Sir Alexander -eagerly; “I claim the right of doing battle in defence in my mother’s cause.” -</p> -<p>“Well, Alexander,” said the Wolfe gruffly, “if it so please Sir Patrick Hepborne, -I scruple not to yield him to thee.” -</p> -<p>“My appeal,” said Sir Patrick, “is against one and all who <span class="pageNum" id="pb234">[<a href="#pb234">234</a>]</span>may singly choose to challenge mine arm, and who may be pleased to succeed one another -in the single combat I am willing to wage in defence of the youth Maurice de Grey.” -</p> -<p>“Hey day!” cried the Wolfe; “gramercy, Sir Knight, then, by mine honest and trusty -burly-brand, thou shall have thy bellyful of it, and I shall not resign the first -place to my son Alexander. We shall tilt it first, so please thee. At sunrise we shall -bestir ourselves, and on the open lawnde beyond the land sconce we shall try the metal -of our armour and lance heads. If thou escapest mine arm, Sandy may have thee, if -he likes; but the red fiend’s curse upon it if it fail me. Ha! here comes the prisoner.” -</p> -<p>The page Maurice de Grey now entered, wearing his chains about his wrists. His countenance -was placid and composed, and he advanced with a firm step and undisturbed manner. -</p> -<p>“Knowest thou, Sir Page, of what coulpe thou art accused?” demanded the Wolfe sternly. -</p> -<p>“I do,” replied the youth calmly. -</p> -<p>“Dost thou admit or deny the charge the Lady Mariota hath made against thee?” -</p> -<p>“I most solemnly deny it,” replied the page. -</p> -<p>“Ha!” cried the Wolfe, “then is there no more to be said. Let him be removed; and -let everything be prepared for a single combat to-morrow between Sir Patrick Hepborne -and me—the place to be the lawnde beyond the land sconce; and the time, the moment -the welkin sees the sun. ’Tis well ’tis so soon settled. Now let us dine, Sir Patrick, -We may be merry companions to-night, though we be to fight like fiends i’ the morning. -The banquet, I say—the banquet. Why dost thou tarry with thy prisoner?” -</p> -<p>“One word, I pray,” said Maurice de Grey, now thrown into extreme agitation by hearing -that his master’s life was to be put in jeopardy for him—“I crave one word ere I go.” -</p> -<p>“My Lord,” said Sir Patrick to the Wolfe, “I claim thy solemn behote; thou didst promise -free and ample speech for the youth; hear him, then, I beseech thee.” -</p> -<p>“Well, youth, well,” cried the Wolfe, very impatiently, “what hast thou to say? Be -quick, for time wears, and hunger galls me; be quick, I say.” -</p> -<p>“I demand a private conference, noble Earl,” said the page. “I have something to unfold -that will altogether change the complexion of this case. If I do not make the Lady -Mariota clear me of all guilt, I hereby agree to hold myself as condemned <span class="pageNum" id="pb235">[<a href="#pb235">235</a>]</span>to instant death, and shall patiently submit to whatever fate thou mayest award me.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay, dear Maurice,” cried Hepborne anxiously, and putting more faith in his -own prowess than in anything the page could urge to convince the Lady Mariota, of -whose villainous falsehood in the foul charge she had brought against the youth he -had been fully convinced from the first—“nay, nay, dear Maurice, rather leave the -matter as it is; rather——” -</p> -<p>“By the bloody hide of St. Bartholomew,” cried the Wolfe, with evident joy, “but the -boy shall have his way. We shall thus have this mysterious affair cleared up, and -settled forthwith, instead of delaying till to-morrow. By the mass, but he hath excited -queer thoughts in my mind. But we shall see anon. Come then, let him along with me, -that I may show him to the Lady Mariota’s apartment. I swear by the Holy Rood, Sir -Patrick, that the youth shall have justice—justice to the fullest extent of what he -hath demanded. Clear the way, then, I say; come, Sir Page, come along; thou shalt -dance hither anon at freedom, or thou shalt dangle it and dance it on the gallows-tree -below, where many as brave and stout a youth as thou hath figured before thee. Come -on, I say.” -</p> -<p>After the Earl and the page were gone, Sir Alexander Stewart paced the hall in gloomy -silence, his fiery soul boiling within him, so that he could with difficulty restrain -his rage. Every now and then a stamp on the pavement louder than the rest proclaimed -the excess of his internal agitation. The cool Sir Andrew sat him quietly down, without -uttering a word, or appearing to be much interested in the matter at issue. The three -boys had not yet come in, but a crowd of the retainers, who were usually admitted -to sit below the salt, stood in groups whispering at the lower end of the hall. Sir -Patrick Hepborne had been rendered so unhappy by the turn the affair had taken, and -was so oppressed with distress, anxiety, and dread as to the result, that he thrust -himself into the deep recess of one of the windows, to hide those emotions he felt -it impossible to repress. Not a word passed between the chief persons of the scene. -The time, which was in reality not in itself long, appeared to Hepborne like an age; -and yet, when at length he did hear steps and voices approaching along the passage, -leading from the Lady Mariota’s apartment into the banqueting-hall, brave as he was, -he trembled like a coward, lest the moment should have come too soon for the unhappy -page. -</p> -<p>The door opened, and the Wolfe entered, frowning and gnashing his teeth. Then came -the page, freed from his fetters. <span class="pageNum" id="pb236">[<a href="#pb236">236</a>]</span>The Wolfe of Badenoch’s red eye was disturbed from recent ire, which he seemed even -yet to keep down with difficulty; yet he laughed horribly from time to time as he -spoke. -</p> -<p>“Ha! well,” said he, “the page Maurice de Grey hath proved his innocence beyond further -question. By the blood of the Bruce—ha! ha! ha!—but it is ridiculous after all. The -red fiend catch me if I—but pshaw!—let us have the banquet,” cried he, hastily interrupting -himself in something he was going to say—“the banquet, I tell thee. Give me thy hand, -Sir Patrick. Thou wert afraid to trust thy beauteous page with me, wert thou?—ha! -ha! ha! Thou wouldst rather have fought me at outrance. By’r Lady, but thou art a -burly knight; but I like thee not the worse. Depardieux, but thou art safe enow in -my hands; trust me, thou shalt hear no more on’t. Ha! ha! ha! I confess that thy page -is as innocent—I hereby free him from guilt. The banquet, knaves—the banquet. Ha! -the curse of the devil’s dam on me, if I could have looked for this.” -</p> -<p>“What strange mystery is here?” said Sir Alexander Stewart impatiently. “Where is -the Lady Mariota, my mother?” -</p> -<p>The Wolfe had all this time been reining in his wrath with his utmost power; it was -all he could do to curb it; and it was ready to burst all bounds at the first provocation -that offered. -</p> -<p>“Better hold thy peace, Sir Alexander,” cried he, darting an angry glance at him. -“By the infernal flames, I am in no humour to listen to thy folly. I have pledged -my sacred word as a knight to secrecy, and thou nor no one else shall know aught of -this mystery, as thou callest it. Be contented to know that the boy Maurice is innocent.” -</p> -<p>“And am I to be satisfied with this?” cried Sir Alexander, his wrath kindling more -and more as he spoke; “am I to remain satisfied with this, without my mother’s word -for it?” -</p> -<p>“Nay,” said the Wolfe, hastily, “by the holy Rood, thou shalt have no word from thy -mother to-night.” -</p> -<p>“No word from my mother!” exclaimed Sir Alexander. “What! dost thou treat me as a -child? By all the fiends, but I shall see her, though. Where is she? Why doth she -not appear? By the holy mass, I must see her, and that instantly.” -</p> -<p>“By the martyrdom of St. Andrew, then,” cried the Wolfe, gnashing his teeth, and foaming -at the mouth from very ire—“by the martyrdom of St. Andrew, but thou shalt not see -her. I have sent her to cool her passions in the dungeon to which she consigned the -page; and hark ye, son Alexander, if thou darest to prate any more about her, by all -the fiery fiends of <span class="pageNum" id="pb237">[<a href="#pb237">237</a>]</span>Erebus, but thou shalt occupy the next chamber to that assigned her, there to remain -during my pleasure. Ha! what sayest thou to that, Sir Alexander?” -</p> -<p>“I say thou art a tyrant and a beast,” exclaimed his son, boiling with rage; “and -if thou dost not instantly liberate my mother, by all the powers of darkness, I will -choke thee in thine armour;” and he strode across the banquet-hall in a frenzy, to -put his threat into immediate execution. -</p> -<p>“Halt!” cried Sir Patrick Hepborne, in a voice like thunder, as he stepped before -the Earl, and planted himself directly in the assailant’s way—“halt. Sir Alexander -Stewart—halt, I say. Let reason come to thine aid, and let not ungovernable passion -lead thee to lay impious hands on him to whom thou owest thine existence.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, let him come on,” cried the Wolfe, his eyes glaring ferociously. -</p> -<p>“Stand aside, Sir Patrick Hepborne,” cried Sir Alexander, “or, by all the fiends of -perdition, thou shalt suffer for thine interference; stand back, I say, and leave -us to——” -</p> -<p>“Nay,” cried Hepborne, firmly, “I will not back; and by St. Baldrid I swear, that -thou shalt do no injury to thy sire until thou shalt have stepped over my body.” -</p> -<p>“Sayest thou so?” cried Sir Alexander, his eyes flashing like firebrands—“then have -at thee, Sir Knight;” and, catching up a truncheon that lay near, he wielded it with -both hands, and aimed a blow at Sir Patrick’s head, that would have speedily levelled -a patent way for his fury over the prostrate body of the knight, had he not dodged -alertly aside, so that it fell harmless to the ground; and then, with one tremendous -blow of his fist, he laid the raging maniac senseless on the floor of the hall. -</p> -<p>“Bind him,” cried the Wolfe, “bind him instantly, I say, and carry him to the dungeon -under the northern tower; he is a prisoner until our pleasure shall pronounce him -free.” -</p> -<p>His orders were instantly and implicitly obeyed, and Sir Alexander was carried off, -without sense or motion, under the charge of his jailors. Sir Patrick was shocked -at the outrageous scene he had witnessed, in which he had been driven to interfere. -Though satisfied of the justice of the Earl’s sentence against his son, yet he was -concerned to think that he had been instrumental in effecting it, and he conceived -he was bound to endeavour to mediate in his behalf. -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay,” said the Wolfe hastily, “I thank thee heartily for the chastisement thou -hast given the whelp. To loose him now, were to deprive him of all its salutary effects. -By the <span class="pageNum" id="pb238">[<a href="#pb238">238</a>]</span>blessed Rood, he shall lie in his dungeon until he comes so far to his senses as to -make a humble submission both to thee and to me.—What! am I to be bearded at every -turning by my boys?—The red fiend catch me, but they and the callet that whelped them -shall down to the deepest abyss of Lochyndorbe, ere I shall suffer myself to be so -disgraced by her, and snarled at by her litter.” -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick looked towards Sir Andrew Stewart for aid in his attempt to soften the -Earl; but, cool and cautious, he had never stirred from his seat during the fray, -and still sat there unmoved, turning a deaf ear to his father’s stormy threats, and -averting his eye from Hepborne’s silent appeal. -</p> -<p>“Come, come, the banquet, knaves,” cried the Wolfe. “Why stand ye all staring like -gaze-hounds? The red fiend catch me, but I will hang up half-a-dozen of ye like a -string of beads, an we have not our meal in the twinkling of an eye!” -</p> -<p>The lacqueys and attendants had hitherto been standing in silence and horror, but -they were all put instantly in motion. The banquet appeared. The Wolfe ate more voraciously -than usual, and swallowed deeper draughts of wine also than he ordinarily did; but -it was evidently rather to wash down some vexation that oppressed him than from anything -like jollity. His conversation was hasty and abrupt, and after drinking double his -wonted quantity in half the usual time, he broke up the feast and retired to his apartment. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch32" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e530">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Maurice’s Song—The Franciscan Friar—Excommunication.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">As Sir Patrick Hepborne retired to his apartment, he called Maurice de Grey, to inquire -into the mysterious means by which he had so effectually defeated the false charge -which had been brought against him; but the youth hung his head in answer to his master’s -inquiries, and hesitated in replying to them. -</p> -<p>“Sir Knight,” said he at length, “there hath been a mutual promise passed on both -sides, that neither the Earl of Buchan nor I shall reveal what did pass in the converse -held between him, the Lady Mariota, and myself at our conference. I am therefore compelled -to refuse thee that satisfaction which I should otherwise be glad to yield to thee.” -</p> -<p>With this answer Hepborne was compelled to remain satisfied, and the page being suffered -to depart, he retired to rest. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb239">[<a href="#pb239">239</a>]</span></p> -<p>Next morning the Wolfe and he met at breakfast, where were also Sir Andrew and the -younger brothers, but the Lady Mariota, with her eldest son, Sir Alexander, were absent. -</p> -<p>“My Lord of Buchan,” said Sir Patrick, as they sat together, “I presume not to touch -thee on the subject of the Lady Mariota, because, with regard to her, I can have no -plea or right to interfere; but wilt thou suffer me to entreat thee again in behalf -of thy son Sir Alexander Stewart? It grieveth me much that I should in any way have -contributed to his punishment, however greatly he may have merited thy chastisement. -Forgive me, I beseech thee, for being thus solicitous; but as an especial boon granted -to myself, I crave his liberation.” -</p> -<p>“Ha! well, Sir Patrick,” said the Wolfe, after listening to him with more patience -and moderation of aspect than he usually exhibited; “it is somewhat strange that thou -and the child Duncan are the only two persons who have had the heart to make any appeal -to me, either about my son Alexander or his mother.” And as he said so, he darted -an indignant and reproachful glance towards Sir Andrew, who, as if nothing amiss had -occurred, had been talking of the weather, and of hunting, and was at that moment -helping himself largely to venison pasty. “As for Sir Andrew there, he cares not who -suffereth, so that his craven bouke be well fassed with food, like a kite as he is. -True indeed is the saying, that misfortunes try hearts. But trust me, I thank thee -as heartily for the tenderness thou hast displayed, as for the spirit thou didst show -yesternight in checking that foolish boy Alexander. Let me but finish my meal, then, -and I shall hie me straight to the dungeons of the prisoners, and observe in what -temper they may now be, after a night’s cooling, when I shall judge and act accordingly.” -</p> -<p>The Earl having gone in pursuance of this resolution, returned, after a considerable -absence, followed by the Lady Mariota and his son. Both seemed to have been effectually -humbled. The lady’s face bore ample trace of the night of wretchedness she had spent. -She curtseyed with an air, as if she hoped that the forced smile she wore would melt -away all remembrance of what had passed; and then, without saying a word, sidled off -to her apartment. Sir Alexander Stewart came forward manfully. His brow still bore -the black mark of Hepborne’s fist that had prostrated him on the floor, “as butcher -felleth ox,” yet the blow seemed to have been by this time effaced from his remembrance. -</p> -<p>“Sir Patrick,” said he, stretching out his hand, “my father tells me that I owe my -liberation to thee. Thou hast behaved <span class="pageNum" id="pb240">[<a href="#pb240">240</a>]</span>generously in this matter. The Earl hath given me to know such circumstances as sufficiently -explain his seeming harshness to my mother. I now see that I was hasty, and I am sorry -for it.” -</p> -<p>Hepborne readily shook hands with the humbled knight. -</p> -<p>“And now let us hunt,” cried the Wolfe. “Horses and hounds there, and the foresters, -and gear for the chase!” and away went the whole party, to cross to the mainland. -</p> -<p>They returned at night, after a successful day’s hunting, and the Wolfe of Badenoch -was in peculiarly good spirits. The banquet was graced by the Lady Mariota, as usual, -tricked out in all her finery, and wearing her accustomed dimpling smiles; and the -Earl seemed to have forgotten that he had ever had any cause of displeasure against -her. Instead of the marked attention she had formerly paid to Maurice de Grey, however, -she now, much to his satisfaction, treated him with politeness, free from that disgusting -and offensive doating which had heretofore so much tormented the poor youth. The Wolfe -ate voraciously, and drank deeply; and his mirth rose with the wine he swallowed to -so great a pitch of jollity, that he roared out loudly for music. -</p> -<p>“Can no one sing me a roundelay?” cried he. “Mariota, thou knowest not a single warble, -nor is there, I trow, one in the Castle that can touch even a citrial or a guittern, -far less a harp. Would that our scoundrel, Allan Stewart, were here, but—a plague -on him!—he hath gone to visit his friends in Badenoch. He could have given us romaunces, -ballads, and virelays enow, I warrant thee.” -</p> -<p>“My Lord Earl,” said the page modestly, “had I but a harp, in truth I should do my -best to pleasure thee, though I can promise but little for my skill.” -</p> -<p>“Well said, boy,” cried the Wolfe. “By the mass, but thou shalt have a harp. Ho, there!—bring -hither Allan Stewart’s harp. The knave hath two, and it is to be hoped he hath not -carried both with him.” -</p> -<p>The harp was brought, and Maurice de Grey having tuned it, began to accompany himself -in the following ballad:— -</p> -<div class="lgouter"> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">There was a damsel loved a knight, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">You’ll weep to hear her story, -</p> -<p class="line">For he ne’er guess’d her heart’s sad plight, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Nor cared for aught but glory. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">Lured by its bright and dazzling gleam, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">He left the woe-worn maiden, -</p> -<p class="line">Nor in her eyes beheld the beam -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Of love, from heart o’erladen. -</p> -</div> -<p><span class="pageNum" id="pb241">[<a href="#pb241">241</a>]</span></p> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">She sigh’d; her sighs ne’er touch’d his ear, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">For still his heart was bounding -</p> -<p class="line">For neighing steeds, and clashing spear, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">And warlike bugle sounding. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">She wept; but though he saw her tears, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">He dreamt not he had wrought them, -</p> -<p class="line">But ween’d that woman’s idle fears, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Or silly woes, had brought them. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">He left her then to weep alone, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">And droop in secret sadness, -</p> -<p class="line">Like some fair lily early blown, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">’Reft of the sunbeam’s gladness. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">But love will make e’en maidens dare -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">What most their sex hath frighten’d— -</p> -<p class="line">Beneath a helm she crush’d her hair, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">In steel her bosom brighten’d. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">She seized a lance, she donn’d a brand, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">A sprightly war-horse bore her, -</p> -<p class="line">She hied her to the Holy Land, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Where went her Knight before her. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">She sought him out—she won his heart— -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Amidst the battle’s bluster; -</p> -<p class="line">As friends they ne’er were seen to part, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Howe’er the foes might cluster. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">But ah! I grieve to tell the tale! -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">A random arrow flying, -</p> -<p class="line">Pierced through her corslet’s jointed mail, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">And down she fell a-dying. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">He bore her quickly from the field, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Through Paynim ranks opposing, -</p> -<p class="line">But when her helmet was unseal’d, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Her maiden blush disclosing. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">He cried, “Blest Virgin be our aid! -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">What piteous sight appals me! -</p> -<p class="line">It is—it is that gentle maid, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Whose lovely form still thralls me. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">“Lift, lift those heavy drooping eyes, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">And with one kind look cheer me!” -</p> -<p class="line">She smiled like beam in freezing skies, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">“Ah, Rodolph, art thou near me? -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">“My life ebbs fast, my heart’s blood flows, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">That long hath beat for thee, love; -</p> -<p class="line">And still for thee my bosom glows, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Though death’s hand is on me, love. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">“For thee in secret did I sigh, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Nor ween’d that love could warm thee, -</p> -<p class="line">Nor that my lustre-lacking eye -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Could e’er have power to charm thee.” -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">“Nay, Angeline,” cried Rodolph then, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">“I wist not that I loved thee, -</p> -<p class="line">Till left my home, and native glen, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Remembrance of thee moved me. -</p> -</div> -<p><span class="pageNum" id="pb242">[<a href="#pb242">242</a>]</span></p> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">“Let him who woos not health nor joy, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Till lost are both the treasures, -</p> -<p class="line">My heart held love as childish toy, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Nor cared to sip its pleasures. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">“But follow’d by the form so fair, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">I saw it on each billow; -</p> -<p class="line">I saw it float in empty air— -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">It hover’d o’er my pillow. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">“And e’en when hardy deeds I wrought, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">’Midst murderous ranks contending, -</p> -<p class="line">Thy figure ever filled my thought, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Mine arm new vigour lending. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">“And then the fame of deeds of arms -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Had lost all power to cheer me, -</p> -<p class="line">Save that, methought, its dazzling charms -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">To thee might yet endear me. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">“And have I pluck’d these laurels green, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">To deck thy dying brow, love? -</p> -<p class="line">Oh, lift for once those lovely een, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">To hear my plighted vow, love!” -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">“I’m happy now,” she faintly said, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">“But, oh, ’tis cruel to sever!”— -</p> -<p class="line">Upon his breast her head she laid, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">And closed her eyes for ever.</p> -</div> -</div> -<p class="first">“Sir Page,” cried the Wolfe, at the close of this ballad, “by my knighthood, but thou -dost sing and harp it better than Allan Stewart himself, though thy lays are something -of the saddest. Meseems if thou didst ween that our mirth had waxed somewhat too high, -and that it lacked a damper. In sooth,” continued he, turning to Hepborne with an -arch look, “thou art much to be envied, Sir Patrick, for the possession of this lovely, -this accomplished—ha! ha! ha!—this—this boy of thine—ha! ha! ha!—this Maurice de Grey.—Come, -Maurice, my sweet youth,” said he, addressing the page, “essay again to tune thy throat, -and let it, I beseech thee, be in a strain more jocund than the last. Here, quaff -wine, boy, to give thee jollier heart.” -</p> -<p>“Thanks, my noble Lord,” replied Maurice de Grey, “I will exert my poor powers to -fulfil thy wishes without drinking.” -</p> -<p>And, taking up the harp again, he ran his fingers nimbly over the strings, with great -display of execution, in a sprightly prelude, enlivening his auditors, and preparing -them to sympathize with something more in unison with the highly-screwed chords of -the Earl’s heart, when he was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a new personage. -</p> -<p>A tall monk of the order of St. Francis suddenly entered, and, gliding like a spirit -into the middle of the hall, darted <span class="pageNum" id="pb243">[<a href="#pb243">243</a>]</span>a pair of keen searching eyes towards the upper end of the festive board. -</p> -<p>“What, ha! brother of St. Francis,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, “what wouldst thou? -If thou be’st wayfaring, and need cheer, sit thee down there at the end of our festive -board, and call for what thou lackest.” -</p> -<p>The Franciscan stood mute and unmoved, with his cowl over his head, and his arms folded -across his breast. The silver lamps threw a pale light upon his face, and his shadow -rose gigantically upon the wall. -</p> -<p>“Whence comest thou?—Speak!” cried the Wolfe, impatiently. “Are we to be kept waiting -all night, till thou dost choose to effunde the cause of thy strange visitation?” -</p> -<p>“Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan, and Lord of Badenoch,” said the Franciscan slowly, -and in a deep solemn tone; “Alexander Stewart, I come here as the messenger of the -Bishop of Moray, to tell thee that the tidings of thy daring, outrageous, and sacrilegious -seizure of the lands belonging to the Holy Church, have reached him: the cries alswa -of the helpless peasants, whom thou hast ousted from their dwellings, have sounded -in his ears. Thy cruelties are bruited abroad from one end of the kingdom to the other, -and it is now time that thy savage career should be arrested. The godly Bishop doth, -through me, his organ of speech, call on thee to give up the lands thou hast sacrilegiously -seized in Badenoch; to restore the plundered herds and flocks, and the rents thou -hast theftuously taken by masterful strength; to replace those honest and innocent -peasants, who, resisting thy aggression, like true vassals, were, with their wives -and little ones, driven from their homes and possessions by thee in thy brutish fury; -and, finally, to make such reparation to Holy Mother Church, by fine to her treasuries, -and personal abasement before her altars, as may stay her just wrath against thee. -In default of all which, the Holy Bishop hath commanded me to announce to thee, that -the lesser and greater excommunications shall go forth against thee; and that thou -shalt be accursed as a vagabond on the face of this earth, and damned to all eternity -in the next world.” -</p> -<p>The fiery and ferocious Wolfe of Badenoch was so utterly confounded by what he considered -the unexampled audacity of this denunciation, that amazement kept him silent from -absolute want of words, otherwise his limited stock of patience could not have endured -the Franciscan till he had uttered the tenth part of his long speech. He gnashed his -teeth, curled up his nose, and foamed at the mouth; and striking <span class="pageNum" id="pb244">[<a href="#pb244">244</a>]</span>the table furiously, as was his custom when violently moved, he shouted out— -</p> -<p>“Ha! Devils! Furies! Fiends of Erebus! What is this I hear? The Earl of Buchan—the -son of a King—the Wolfe of Badenoch—to be thus insulted by a chough! Out, thou carrion-hooded -crow! Thinkest thou to brave me down with thine accursed crawing? By the beard of -my grandfather, but thou shalt swing twenty ell high, an thou voidest not the Castle -of thy loathsome carcase in less time than thou didst ware in effunding one-fourth -part of thy venomous and impudent harangue.” -</p> -<p>The monk stood motionless, in the same fixed and composed attitude he had at first -assumed, altogether unmoved by these tremendous threats. -</p> -<p>“Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan, and Lord of Badenoch,” he again repeated in the -same slow and solemn manner, “I call upon thee again to declare whether thou be’st -disposed to submit thyself patiently to the healthful discipline of our Holy Mother -Church? or whether thou be’st resolved that she shall cut thee off, like a rotten -and diseased branch, to fall headlong into the pit where eternal fire shall consume -thee? Already, ere this, hadst thou incurred her just vengeance by living in abominable -adultery with Mariota Athyn, thy wanton leman, who now sitteth in abomination beside -thee; and by the abandonment of thy leal, true and virtuous wife, whom thou hast left -to mourn in a worse than widowhood. In addition to the solemn appeal I have already -made, I am commanded to call on thee now to fulfil the sentence of the Bishops of -Moray and Ross, to pay down two hundred broad pieces of gold as the mulct of thine -offence, and forthwith to discharge thy foul and sinful mate, and recal to thy bosom -her who hath the true and lawful claim to lay her head there. Wilt thou do these things, -yea or not?” -</p> -<p>This ripping up of the old feud not only redoubled the rage of the Wolfe of Badenoch, -but roused that of the Lady Mariota and her sons. She burst into a flood of tears, -a violent fit of sobbing followed, and she finally rushed from the banquet hall. The -hot and fierce Sir Alexander was broiling with fury; but the Wolfe took the speech -of him—— -</p> -<p>“Ha! so thou hast come to the kernel of this matter at last, thou ape of Satan, hast -thou? Now I do clearly ken how far I was right in guessing at the tale-pyet that chattered -in the ear of the King, my father. But, by the blood of the Bruce, I have revenged -his impertinent meddling, by ousting him from the <span class="pageNum" id="pb245">[<a href="#pb245">245</a>]</span>roost he had in my lands; and, by all the hot fiends of perdition, if he rouseth the -Wolfe of Badenoch more, his neck shall be twisted about. Art content with my answer -now, thou hooded-carrion-crow?” -</p> -<p>“Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan, and Lord of Badenoch,” said the Franciscan, with -the same imperturbable gravity, firmness, and composure, “hast thou no better response -than this to make to the holy Bishop of Moray? Bethink thee well———” -</p> -<p>“Scoundrel chough, begone!” cried the Wolfe, interrupting him. “Thou hast already -more than outstaid my patience, which hath in itself been miraculous. If thou wouldst -escape hence in safety, avoid thee instantly; for if thou goest not in the twinkling -of an eye, may infernal demons seize me if thou shalt have leave to go at all.” -</p> -<p>“Then, Alexander Stewart,” said the Franciscan, “the Bishop’s curse be upon thee and -upon thine; for thou shalt be an outcast from our Holy Mother Church, and———” -</p> -<p>“And the red fiend’s curse be upon thee and the split-crowned Bishop!” cried the Wolfe, -interrupting him. “Why stand these kestrel rogues to see their lord, to see the Wolfe -of Badenoch flouted by that stinking and venomous weasel! Seize the vermin, knaves, -and let him be tossed into the Water Pit Vault; if I mistake not, the loch is high -enow at present to keep him company there; but, let him sink or swim, I care not; -away with the toad, I say. He may thank his good stars that I gave him a chance for -his life. By the infernal host, I was much tempted to string him up, without more -ado, to the gallows in the court-yard, that he might dance a bargaret for our sport, -sith he hath spoilt our mirth and music by his ill-omened croaking. Away with him, -I say!” -</p> -<p>“Beware of touching the servant of Heaven,” cried the firm and undismayed Franciscan; -“whosoever dareth to lay impious hands on me, shall be subjected to the same curse -as the sacrilegious tyrant who sitteth yonder.” -</p> -<p>“Why stand ye hesitating, knaves?” roared the Wolfe. “Let him not utter another word, -or, by the pit of darkness, I shall have ye all flayed alive.” -</p> -<p>The Franciscan’s threat had operated too strongly on the lacqueys to permit them to -secure the monk with their own hands, yet, afraid to risk their master’s hasty displeasure, -one or two of them had not scrupled to fly off for the jailors and executioners of -the Castle, men who, like tutored bears, had neither fears nor hopes, nor, indeed, -thoughts of aught else but obedience to the will of a master, engrafted upon their -savage natures by early <span class="pageNum" id="pb246">[<a href="#pb246">246</a>]</span>nurture and long usage. Four or five of these entered as the Wolfe of Badenoch was -speaking. They appeared like creatures that had inhabited the bowels of the earth; -bulky of bone and muscle; their hair and beards were long and matted, their eyes inanimate -and unfeeling, and their hands, features, and garments alike coarse and begrimed with -filth, as if the blood of their murderous trade still adhered to them. -</p> -<p>“Ha! ay! there ye come, my trusty terriers; seize that polecat there in the cowl, -and toss him into the Water Pit Vault. Quick, away with him!” -</p> -<p>The bold Franciscan had trusted to the sanctity of his character, but he had presumed -too far on its protecting influence; these reckless minions of the Wolfe had him in -their fell gripe in an instant, and dragged him unresisting towards the door of the -banquet hall, as if he had been but a huge black goat. There, however, his eyes happened -to catch the figure and countenance of the page, Maurice de Grey; he started, and, -in spite of the nervous exertions of the ruffians who had him in charge, he planted -his feet so firmly on the pavement, that he compelled them to halt, while he stood -for a moment fixed like a Colossus, darting a keen look at the page. The boy’s eyes -sunk beneath the sternness of his gaze. -</p> -<p>“Thou here!” exclaimed he with an expression of extreme surprise; “by what miracle -do I behold thee here? Would that I had seen thee before—would that I had known——” -</p> -<p>But the sturdy and callous knaves who held him, noticed his sudden halt and mysterious -speech no otherwise than they would have done the voice or struggles of the goat we -have compared him to; they only put forth a little more strength, and, before he could -get another word out, whirled him through the door-way, and lugged him sprawling down -the stair. Hepborne had been more than once on the eve of interceding for the monk, -but he saw that anything he could have said would have been of little avail, amidst -the general fury that prevailed against him, and might have even provoked a more immediate -and fatal vengeance; so that all thoughts of running a hopeless tilt in his behalf, -against the highly excited ferocity of the Stewarts, were abandoned by him for the -present. -</p> -<p>The Wolfe of Badenoch was too much unhinged in temper, by the visit of the Franciscan -monk, to be in a humour to prolong the feast. -</p> -<p>“Caitiff! carrion! corby!” cried he after he was gone; “the red fiend swallow me, -but the bold Bishop shall bide for the return of his messenger. Ho! bring me that -stoup, knave.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb247">[<a href="#pb247">247</a>]</span></p> -<p>He put the stoup of Rhenish to his head, and quaffing a potent draught from it, set -it down on the table with a violent crash, and calling out, “Lights there—lights for -the apartments,” he broke up the feast. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch33" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e540">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Water Pit Vault—Friar or Devil, which?</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Sir Patrick Hepborne went to his room, determined to leave Lochyndorbe next day, to -proceed to Tarnawa; so calling Maurice de Grey and Mortimer Sang, and intimating his -intention to both of them, he dismissed them for the night and retired to his repose. -</p> -<p>A little past midnight, however, he was suddenly awakened by the page, who came rushing -into his apartment in a state of intense apprehension, and sunk into a chair, overcome -by his terrors. -</p> -<p>“Holy St. Baldrid,” exclaimed Sir Patrick, “what hath befallen thee, Maurice? And -of what art thou afraid? Speak, I beseech thee, and tell me the cause of this strange -alarm?” -</p> -<p>“Oh, Sir Knight,” cried the boy, pale as ashes and ready to faint, “the friar—the -monk—the Franciscan! I was telling my beads by my lamp, as is my custom, being about -to undress to go to bed, when one of the doors of my chamber opened slowly, and the -figure of the Franciscan stood before me. My blood ran cold when I saw him, for methought -murder was in his eye, and I fancied I saw the hilt of a poinard glittering from his -bosom. I waited not to hear him speak, but snatching up my lamp, rushed through the -farther door-way, and fled hither for succour.” -</p> -<p>“Pshaw, Maurice,” said Sir Patrick, “verily thou must have dreamt that thou didst -see the friar. How couldst thou see him, who was plunged by order of the stern Earl -into the deep dungeon called the Water Pit Vault?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Sir Knight,” cried Maurice, “but he may have ’scaped thence, and may be now -wandering about the Castle.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, verily, that were impossible,” replied Sir Patrick; “’tis a terrible place; -I had the curiosity to peep into it, one of the times it happened to be open, as I -passed by the mouth of it. It is so much below the level of the lake, that there is -generally an ell’s-depth of water in the bottom of it; and its profundity is such, -that without ropes, or a ladder, it were vain <span class="pageNum" id="pb248">[<a href="#pb248">248</a>]</span>to hope to emerge from it, even were the heavy stone trap-door that shuts it left -open to facilitate escape; nay, I tell thee it is impossible boy; believe me, the -Franciscan stands freezing there, God help him, among the cold water, for the wretch -cannot lie down without drowning. When I think of the horrors the miserable man was -so hastily doomed to, I cannot help regretting that I did not make some attempt to -soothe the Earl to mercy, though I have strong reason to fear I might have brought -a more hasty fate on his head by my interference; but I shall surely use my endeavours -to move my Lord of Buchan for the poor friar’s liberation in the morning. Trust me, -boy, it could in no wise be the Franciscan thou sawest; and by much the most likely -explanation of thine alarm is, that thou hadst become drowsy over thy beads, and, -dropping asleep, didst dream of the scene thou sawest pass in the banquet hall.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay, Sir Knight,” cried Maurice de Grey, “it was the Franciscan, flesh and blood, -or”—said he, pausing and shuddering, “or—it was his sprite.” -</p> -<p>“Tush, boy Maurice,” said Sir Patrick, “in very truth, ’tis thy dreams which have -deceived thee; and, now I think of it, by St. Baldrid, I wonder not that thou shouldst -have dreamed of the friar, seeing that he looked at thee so earnestly; and then he -seemed to know thee too. Pr’ythee, hast thou ever chanced to see him before?” -</p> -<p>“Not as far as I can remember, Sir Knight,” replied the boy; “but sure I am I shall -not fail to recollect him if I should ever see him again, which the blessed Virgin -forbid, for there is something terrible in his eye.” -</p> -<p>“Tut, boy,” cried Hepborne, “what hast thou to fear from his eye? Methinks thou hast -displayed a wondrous want of courage with this same peaceful friar.” -</p> -<p>“Peaceful!” exclaimed Maurice de Grey. -</p> -<p>“Ay, peaceful,” continued his master; “for a poor Franciscan friar cannot well be -aught else than peaceful. Thou hast played but a poor part to run away from him, thou -who didst attack the bison bull so boldly; yea, thou who didst so nobly wage desperate -strife with the assassin who did attempt the life of thy master, at the Shelter Stone -of Loch Avon. Why didst thou not draw thy sword, and demand the cause of his rude, -intrusion?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Sir Knight,” said the boy, shuddering, “he did verily appear something more -than human.” -</p> -<p>“Well, well,” said Hepborne, laughing, “I will but throw a cloak about me and go with -thee to thy chamber, to see whether he may yet tarry there.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb249">[<a href="#pb249">249</a>]</span></p> -<p>But when they went to the page’s apartment they found not the slightest vestige of -the friar; and Sir Patrick, with the wish of convincing the boy that he had been dreaming, -laughed heartily at his fears. But the youth resolutely maintained his assertion that -he had not slept; and his master, seeing that the vision, or whatever else it might -have been, had taken so strong a hold of the page’s mind, that it would be absolute -cruelty to compel him to sleep alone, admitted him into a small closet adjoining the -apartment he himself occupied; and the boy’s countenance showed that he was sufficiently -grateful for the boon. -</p> -<p>When Sir Patrick Hepborne met the Earl of Buchan at breakfast, he announced to him -his determination to depart that day. -</p> -<p>“Ha!” said the Wolfe, “by the mass, but it doleth me much that thou art going, Sir -Patrick. Thou hast as yet had but small enjoyment in hunting, yea, or in anything -else in Lochyndorbe. Thy visit hath been one continued turmoil. Since thou wilt go, -however, by’r Lady, I will e’en resolve me to go with thee to this same tourney at -Tarnawa. But I must think how to bestow the corby Franciscan friar ere I go; he cannot -be left in the Water Pit Vault until I return hither, for one night of that moist -lodging hath been enow to set many a one ere this to eternal sleep. I must look him -out some drier, though equally secure place of dortoure.” -</p> -<p>“If I might not offend thee by the request,” said Hepborne, “I would ask, as the last -favour thou mayest grant me ere I go, and as it were to put the crown upon the hospitality -thou hast exercised towards me, that thou wouldst give the poor wretch his freedom. -Meseems it thou hast done enough to terrify him, yea, and those also who sent him; -and the return of the ambassador with amicable proposals, may do more than all his -sufferings, or even his death. Forgive these gratuitous advices, my Lord Earl, given -in the spirit of peace and prudence, and with the best intention.” -</p> -<p>Hepborne’s firmness, courage, and temper had in reality gained a wonderful ascendancy -over the ferocious Wolfe, during the short space he had been with him; besides, he -always managed to take the most favourable time for making his rational appeals. The -Earl heard him to an end most patiently, and then pausing for a moment in thought— -</p> -<p>“Well,” said he, “Sir Patrick Hepborne, by the Rood, but there is something right -pleasing in seeing thee always enlist thyself on the side of mercy—thou who so well -knowest how to stand a bicker when it comes, and who refuseth never to place thyself -in the breach when of needscost thou must. Well, we <span class="pageNum" id="pb250">[<a href="#pb250">250</a>]</span>shall see, then; come along with me to the Water Pit Vault, and we shall see what -I can make of the hooded-crow. He may be more tame by this time, and peraunter he -will croak less. Come along with me, I say, so please thee. Here, call the jailor -on duty—call him to the Water Pit Vault.” -</p> -<p>A lacquey ran to obey his commands, and Sir Patrick descended with him to the outer -court-yard. They found the grim and gruff jailor standing ready to raise the stone -at his lord’s command. The vault was entirely under ground, the mouth of it being -immediately within the outer rampart, and opposite to that part of the surrounding -lake which was deepest. -</p> -<p>“Raise the stone trap-door, knave,” cried the Wolfe to the man; “we need not send -for a ladder or ropes until we see how the prisoner behaves.” -</p> -<p>The trap-door was lifted up with considerable difficulty by the sturdy jailor, and -all three cast their eyes downwards into the obscure depth below. It was some moments -ere their sight was sufficiently accommodated to the paucity of light to enable them -to see to the bottom. -</p> -<p>“Ha! what!” cried the Wolfe, “by the beard of my grandfather, but I see him not; dost -thou, Sir Patrick? Nay, by St. Andrew, there is no Franciscan there, alive or dead; -for now I can see even to the bottom of the ell-depth of clear water that covereth -the pavement. Hey! what! by’r Lady, but it is passing strange. Knave,” cried he, turning -to the jailor, who appeared to be as much confounded as the Earl and his guest, “didst -thou see him lodged here yesternight with thine own eyes?” -</p> -<p>“I did put him down myself with a rope, so please thee, my noble Lord,” said the man. -The rest were called, and they all declared they had assisted in lowering him, and -in replacing the stone over the mouth of the vault, and all were equally petrified -to see that the prisoner was gone. -</p> -<p>“By all the powers of Tartarus,” cried the Wolfe, “but this passeth all marvel! Of -a truth, the devil himself must have assisted the carrion corby; and, by my beard, -but I did suspect that he was more the servant of hell than of heaven, as he dared -to call himself. Ha! well, if the wizard caitiff do fall into my hands again, by all -the fiends, but he shall be tried with fire next, sith he can so readily escape from -water.” -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick was not less astonished than the rest of those who beheld the miracle. -He thought of the strange and unaccountable appearance of the Franciscan to the page, -which he now readily believed to have been real, and he <span class="pageNum" id="pb251">[<a href="#pb251">251</a>]</span>shuddered at the narrow escape which the boy had made from murder. -</p> -<p>The news of the friar having vanished from the Water Pit Vault soon spread like wildfire -through the Castle, and many and various were the opinions concerning it. Some few -there were who secretly in their own minds set it down as a miraculous deliverance -worked in favour of the Franciscan, to defeat the impiety and sacrilege of the Wolfe -of Badenoch, who had dared to order violent hands to be laid on a holy man; but the -greater part, who were of the same stamp with their master, thought as he did; and -some of them even went so far as firmly to believe that the Franciscan was in reality -no monk, but the devil himself, disguised under the sanctified garb of a friar. The -boldness he had displayed, and the sudden and irresistible halt he had made, in defiance -of the power of the sturdy knaves who were dragging him away, confirmed them in their -notions. Nay, many of them even declared that at that moment they had actually observed -his cloven foot, pointed from under the long habit, and thrust like iron prongs into -the flag-stones of the banqueting hall. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch34" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e551">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Wolfe of Badenoch and the Earl of Moray.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The Wolfe of Badenoch having once made up his mind to accompany Sir Patrick Hepborne -to the tournament of St. John’s, allowed but little time to be lost by his people -in preparation; and his sons and their attendants, with his own splendid retinue, -were speedily assembled on the lawn beyond the land sconce. Hepborne’s more moderate -cortège was also quickly mustered there, and in less than an hour the two leaders -were at the head of their united trains, marching off with bugles sounding, and banners -and pennons flying. -</p> -<p>Leaving the lake by the same route by which Sir Patrick had approached it, they travelled -northwards through the apparently ceaseless forest, that varied only in the undulations -of the surface it grew upon, and in the trees it produced. The pines were very soon, -in a great measure, exchanged for magnificent birches and oaks, spreading themselves -far and wide over the country, and forming the vast forest of Drummyn. There they -skirted the Findhorn, which thundered through the romantic chasm, yawning between -confined and precipitous <span class="pageNum" id="pb252">[<a href="#pb252">252</a>]</span>crags, until they found themselves on the summit of a bold cliff overhanging the river, -from the base of which it swept in one grand and broad line through the centre of -a beautiful plain of about a mile in diameter, dividing it from south to north into -two nearly equal parts. These were the Meads of St. John, and there the stream seemed -gladly to slumber in a comparatively gentle current, after its boisterous and laborious -passage downwards from its native mountains. Ledges of rock did indeed push themselves -here and there from its enamelled margins, and served to diversify them, as did those -groups of wide-spreading oaks of enormous growth, forming in most places a broad bowery -fringe to either shore; but there was nothing to disturb the perfect continuity and -level of the grassy surface of the meadows, except one or two bosky groves, carelessly -planted by the hand of nature. The high banks retreating on both sides, to bend round -and embrace the Meads, presented an irregularity of form and slope; while the forest, -extending itself everywhere over the upper grounds, sent down some of its most magnificent -representatives to grace their sides. About a mile or more to the left, perched on -a gentle eminence, arose the venerable Castle of Tarnawa, looking far and wide over -its woody domain. Towards the northern extremity of the Eastern Mead, stood the little -chapel dedicated to St. John the Baptist, giving name to the lovely valley that now -stretched in rich verdure beneath their eyes; and over the farther boundaries of the -meadows appeared the fertile plain of Forres, the broad expanse of the Frith, and -the distant mountain-range beyond. -</p> -<p>But these, the mere ordinary and permanent features of the scene, though exquisitely -beautiful in themselves, were at this time rendered tenfold more interesting by the -animation that everywhere pervaded the Meads of St. John, where the whole population -of the North had assembled. Midway down the long stretch of the river was erected -a wide bridge, formed of enormous pillars and beams of wood, intended to give temporary -passage between the opposite banks during the ensuing sports; and it was spanned above -by several triumphal arches, which people were then employed in decorating with boughs -of holly and other evergreens. A promiscuous and motley assemblage of booths, tents, -log-houses, and huts, in number beyond all possibility of reckoning, were seen scattered -like a great irregular village all around the base of those semi-circular banks embracing -the eastern side of the Meads. These fragile tenements were occupied by the populace -not only of the neighbouring town and surrounding country, but by many who had come -<span class="pageNum" id="pb253">[<a href="#pb253">253</a>]</span>from very distant parts of Scotland, some to establish a mart for their wares, others -to exhibit feats of strength, or agility, or juggling, and the greater number, perhaps, -to behold the spectacle, or assist in the labours incident to the preparation for -it. -</p> -<p>The lists were then erecting in the centre of the eastern meadow, while, on the western -side of the river, were observed a number of pavilions, within the recess of a beautiful -glade retiring among the wooded banks. These were brought thither by knights who came -to attend the tournament, the accommodations in the Castle being quite unequal for -more than a chosen few. Such as were already erected had each a banner or pennon flying -before it, and others were pitching with great expedition. In the midst of the whole -was the pavilion of the Earl of Moray, of much greater magnitude than any of those -around it, while his banner unfurled itself to the breeze from the top of a tall pine -fixed in the ground for the purpose. -</p> -<p>Such were the most prominent objects, then, in the Meads of St. John; but the whole -vale swarmed with living beings. Groups of men and horses were seen moving over it -in all directions, and the very earth seemed in motion. -</p> -<p>“By the Holy Rood,” cried the Wolfe, “but it is a noble sight. Methinks my brother-in-law, -Earl John, must have had his hands in the King’s purse ere he could have ventured -on such a show as this. Come, Sir Patrick, let us hasten to see how things may be -in the Castle.” -</p> -<p>They followed a steep and winding path that led them down through the wood into the -valley below, and quickly crossed the level ground towards the bridge. This they found -guarded by a strong party of spearmen and archers. The captain on duty came forward— -</p> -<p>“Sir Knights,” said he courteously, “so please ye to honour me with your names and -titles, that they may be passed forward to the Earl’s pavilion for his inspection.” -</p> -<p>“Morte de ma vie,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch pettishly, “but this is ceremony with -a vengeance. What! shall I not have liberty to approach me to mine own brother-in-law, -until I shall have sent him my name! and am I, or is my horse, to be kept on the fret -here until the return of a tardy messenger from yonder tents? What a fiend, dost thou -not know me, Sir Captain? dost thou not know me for the Earl of Buchan?” -</p> -<p>“My Lord Earl,” replied the captain of the guard with perfect reverence, “I did indeed -know the attence, but mine orders are so imperative, that albeit it doth indeed much -erke <span class="pageNum" id="pb254">[<a href="#pb254">254</a>]</span>me to be so strict with thee, yet must I of needscost subject thee to the same rule -that hath been laid down for all.” -</p> -<p>To prevent further words, Hepborne hastened to give his name and quality, and the -number of his retinue, to the captain of the guard; and observing the growing impatience -of the Wolfe, he managed to avert his coming wrath, by expressing a desire to ride -towards the lists, to see what was going forward there, hoping that, by the time they -had examined all the operations in progress, the passage of the bridge would be open -to them. -</p> -<p>Having contrived to make the Wolfe waste nearly half-an-hour in this way, Hepborne -returned with him to the bridge, where they were informed by the captain of the guard -that the Earl of Moray was coming in person to meet them; and accordingly they beheld -him riding across the bridge towards them, followed by an esquire and a very few attendants. -He was unostentatiously dressed in a light hunting garb; his figure was middle-sized, -his complexion fair, and his countenance fresh, round, and of a mild expression. -</p> -<p>His horse’s hoofs had no sooner touched the sod of the meadow than he dismounted, -and giving the rein to his esquire, advanced to meet his brother-in-law. The Wolfe -of Badenoch leaped from his saddle, and moving one step forward, stood to receive -him. Sir Patrick Hepborne and the five Stewarts having also dismounted, were at his -back. -</p> -<p>“Brother,” said the Wolfe, after their first salutations were over, “this is Sir Patrick -Hepborne.” -</p> -<p>“Sir Patrick,” said the Earl graciously, “I rejoice to see thee here; welcome to thy -country, and to these my domains; I regret to understand that I must cast away all -hope of seeing thine honoured father upon this occasion, and I yet more grieve at -the cause of his present unfitness for mixing in sports in which he was wont to shine -as a bright star. Nevoys,” continued he, saluting Sir Alexander Stewart and his brothers, -“I rejoice to behold ye thus waxing so stout; an ye thrive thus, even the very youngest -of ye will soon be well able to bear a shock. What sayest thou, Duncan, my boy? Your -pardon, Sir Patrick, for a moment, but I must speak a little aside here with my brother, -the noble Earl of Buchan; I shall be entirely at thy command anon.” -</p> -<p>The two Earls retired a few paces to one side, and Moray’s face assuming an air of -great seriousness, he began to talk in an under tone to the Wolfe of Badenoch, whose -brow, as he listened, gathered clouds and storms, which went on blackening and <span class="pageNum" id="pb255">[<a href="#pb255">255</a>]</span>ruffling it, until at length he burst out into one of his ungovernable furies. -</p> -<p>“Ha! by the beard of my grandfather, and dost thou think that I care the value of -a cross-bow bolt for the split-crowned magpie?” cried he. “Excommunicate me! and what -harm, I pr’ythee, will his excommunication do me? But, by’r Lady, he shall suffer -for it. He has already had a small spice of what the Wolfe of Badenoch can do when -he is roused, and, by all the fiends, he shall know more on’t ere long.” -</p> -<p>“Talk not so loud and vehemently, I beseech thee, brother,” said the Earl of Moray; -“publish not the matter thus.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, but I will tell it,” roared out the Wolfe; “I will publish the insolence of -this scoundrel Bishop to the whole world. What think ye,” continued he, turning round -to his sons and Sir Patrick—“what think ye of the consummate impudence of the rascally -Alexander Barr? He hath dared to void his impotent curse on the Earl of Buchan and -Ross—on the son of the King of Scotland—on the Wolfe of Badenoch. My brother here, -the Earl of Moray, hath just had an especial messenger from the croaking carrion, -to tell him the news of my excommunication; but the red fiend catch me, an I do not -make him rue that he ever told the tale beyond his own crowing rookery. Ha! let us -to the Castle, brother—let us to my sister Margery, I say. Depardieux, but thou shalt -see that the hypocritical knave’s anathema shall be but as seasoning to my food. Trust -me, I shall not eat or drink one tithe the less of thy good cheer for it.” -</p> -<p>“Most noble Earl of Buchan, and my most excellent brother,” said the Earl of Moray, -with a hesitating and perplexed air, “it erketh me sore—it giveth me, as thou mayest -readily believe, extreme grief—to be compelled to tell thee that I cannot with propriety -receive thee at present among the nobles who now house them within my walls, nor would -the heralds admit of thy presence at the ensuing tournament, whilst thou liggest under -the bann of the Holy Church, even were I bold enough to risk for thee the Church’s -displeasure against me and mine. Let me, then, I pray thee, have weight with thee -so far as to persuade thee to ride straightway to Elgin, to make thy peace with the -Bishop. Much as I have on my hands at the present time, verily I will not scruple -to haste thither with thee, if thou dost think that I mought in any manner of way -further an accommodation, so that this dread reproach may be forthwith removed from -off thee. We can then return together speedily, ere yet the matter shall have been -bruited abroad (for, so far as I am <span class="pageNum" id="pb256">[<a href="#pb256">256</a>]</span>concerned, it is as yet a secret); and thou shalt then, much to my joy and honour, -take thy due and proper place by the side of thy brother Robert, Earl of Fife and -Menteith, at the head of mine illustrious guests, and——” -</p> -<p>“Ha! what!” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch in a fury; “thinkest thou that I will hie -me straight, to lout myself low, and to lick the dust before the feet of that lorel -Bishop, who hath had the surquedrie to dare thus to insult me? By my trusty burly-brand, -I shall take other means of settling accounts between us. But methinks he is right -hasty in his traffic. No sooner have I settled one score with him, than he runs me -up another in the twinkling of an eye. But, by all the furies, he shall find that -I shall pay him off roundly, and score him up double on my side. And so, brother, -thou dost think that I carry such leprous contamination about my person, as may altogether -unfit me for the purity of thy virtuous house? Gramercy for thy courtesy! But by the -Rood, I do believe that something else lurketh under all these pretences. Thou hast -seen my dotard father the King lately; thou hast held council with him I ween; and, -I trow, my interests have not been furthered by the advices thou hast whispered in -the Royal ear. I still lack the best cantle of my Lieutenantship in lacking Moray -Land, and a bird hath whistled me that John Dunbar, Earl of Moray, hath not been backward -in urging the monarch to refuse it to me. If this be so, Brother Earl——” -</p> -<p>“I swear by my knighthood,” cried the Earl of Moray earnestly interrupting him, and -speaking at once with calmness and firmness—“I swear by my knighthood, that whoso -hath told thee this, hath told thee a black falsehood; and I gage mine honour to throw -the lie in his teeth, and to defy him to mortal debate, should it so please thee to -yield me his name.” -</p> -<p>“Well spoken, brother John,” cried the Wolfe, apparently satisfied with the solemnity -of the Earl of Moray’s denial. “But thou art pretty safe in thy darreigne; I did but -suspect thee, and, in sooth, appearances were infernally against thee. But I must -take it upon thy word and abide the event. Yet do I know of a truth that thou wert -with the King——” -</p> -<p>“That do I most readily confess,” replied the Earl of Moray mildly. “I did indeed -journey to Scone on my private affairs, and, among other things, to crave His Majesty’s -gracious permission to hold this same tourney, and to petition for his royal presence -here. But State reasons, or infirmity, or perhaps both causes conjoined, keep him -back from us; nathless he hath sent his banner hither to wave over the lists, to show -that at least <span class="pageNum" id="pb257">[<a href="#pb257">257</a>]</span>we have his royal good-will with us. I most solemnly vow that I did never meddle or -make with the King in any matter of thine.” -</p> -<p>“The red fiend ride me then,” cried the Wolfe hastily, “but thy reception of me hath -been something of the coolest. Methinks that, putting myself in thy case, and thee -in mine, I should for thee have defied all the lorel coistrils that ever carried crosier. -Ha! by’r Lady, ’tis indeed a precious tale to tell, that the Earl of Buchan was refused -herborow within the Castle of his brother of Moray.” -</p> -<p>“Again I repeat that it doleth me sore,” said the Earl of Moray, “that I should be -compelled to put on the semblance of inhospitality, and, above all, towards thee, -my Lord of Buchan, with whom I am so nearly and dearly allied. But in this case, were -I even to set the Bishop’s threats at defiance in order to receive thee, thou must -be aware that it would only expose thee to certain disgrace; for, of a truth, thy -presence would quickly clear my hall of all the noble guests who are to feast within -its walls. Would, then, that I could incline thee to follow my counsel, and that thou -wouldst be content to ride with me to Elgin, to appease the Bishop’s wrath, that he -may remove his Episcopal curse. We should be back here long ere cock-crow, and——” -</p> -<p>“Thou hast had my mind on that head already, brother John,” cried the Wolfe, interrupting -him, in a rage. “By the mass, but it is a cheap thing for thee to make trade and chevisaunce -of another’s pride; but, by the blood of the Bruce, I promise thee, I shall give up -no title of mine to swell that of the lossel drone of a Bishop; so make thyself easy -on that score. What! to be trampled on by a walthsome massmonger, and then to go cap-in-hand, -that he may put his plebeian foot on my neck! My horse there—my horse, I say. What -stand the knaves staring for? I bid thee goode’en, my Lord of Moray. I’ll to Forres -then, to inn me, sith I may not put my leprous hide within thy pure and unsullied -walls. God be with thee, Sir Patrick Hepborne;” and so saying he sprang into his saddle. -</p> -<p>“But,” said the Earl of Moray, “though I cannot receive thee at present, my Lord of -Buchan, I shall be right glad to do all the honour I may to Sir Alexander Stewart -and the rest of my nevoys.” -</p> -<p>“Gramercy for thy courtesy,” cried the proud and fierce Sir Alexander; “sith thou -dost hold my father as a polluted and pestilential guest, thou shalt have none of -my company, I promise thee.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb258">[<a href="#pb258">258</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Ha! well said, son Alexander,” shouted the Wolfe joyously; “well said, my brave boy; -by my beard, but thou hast spoken bravely. To Forres then, my merry men.” -</p> -<p>And without abiding farther parlance, the hasty Wolfe of Badenoch, with Sir Alexander -and the younger Stewarts, rode off at a hand-gallop, followed by their retinue. Sir -Andrew, however, remained quietly behind, and manifested no inclination to accompany -his father. -</p> -<p>“And now, Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said the Earl of Moray, “I have to crave thy pardon -for having been thus so long neglectful of thee on a first meeting; but, I trow, I -need hardly apologise, since thou hast thyself seen and heard enow, I ween, to plead -my excuse with thee. This matter hath in very sooth most grievously affected me. It -hath truly given me more teene and vexation than I can well tell thee. But I shall -to Forres by times i’ the morning, and then essay to soothe my Lord of Buchan into -greater moderation and a more reasonable temper than he hath just displayed. Meanwhile -the Countess Margery doth abide for us in the pavilion. Let us then hasten thither, -so please thee, for she will not leave it to go to the Castle until I rejoin her, -and verily it waxeth late, and the nobles and barons will ere this be assembling in -Randolph’s Hall.” -</p> -<p>The Earl now led the way across the bridge, and thence towards the pavilions. As they -approached the great one, before which his banner was displayed, a group of squires, -grooms, and caparisoned palfreys appeared promenading in front of it. -</p> -<p>“Yea, I see that her palfrey is ready,” said the Earl; “nay, yonder she issues forth -to meet us.” -</p> -<p>He dismounted, and Hepborne, following his example, was straightway introduced by -him to the Countess, who received him with great kindness and courtesy. -</p> -<p>“Nevoy,” said she to Sir Andrew Stewart, who approached to salute her, “I do most -sincerely grieve at the cause of my brother the Earl of Buchan’s absence. I hope, -however, it will be but short, sith I trust the holy Bishop Barr will not be inexorable, -and that thy father will join our festivities ere long. But where are thy brethren?” -</p> -<p>“We shall talk of that anon,” said the Earl, wishing to get rid of an unpleasant subject; -“meanwhile let us not lose time, for it waxeth late, and our presence at the Castle -is doubtless looked for ere now. Get thee to horse, then, my sweet lady spouse, with -what haste thou mayest.” -</p> -<p>Hepborne advanced and gave his arm to the Countess, and <span class="pageNum" id="pb259">[<a href="#pb259">259</a>]</span>having assisted her into her saddle, the whole party mounted to accompany her to Tarnawa. -During their short ride through the forest, Hepborne enjoyed enough of the conversation -of the Earl and Countess to give him a very favourable impression of both. The lady, -in particular, showed so much sweetness of disposition that he could not help contrasting -her in his own mind with her brother, the savage and ferocious Wolfe, to make up whose -fiery and intemperate character to its full strength, Nature seemed to have robbed -her soft and peaceful soul of every spark of violence that might have otherwise fallen -to its share in the original mixture of its elements. Sound reason and good sense, -indeed, seemed in her to be united with a most winning kindness and sweetness of manner, -and it was quite a refreshment to Sir Patrick to meet with society so tranquil and -rational after that of the ever-raging and tempestuous spirits with whom he had been -lately consorting. The Countess failed not to notice the handsome page, Maurice de -Grey; but her attentions to him were of a very different description from those of -the Lady Mariota Athyn, which had so afflicted him at Lochyndorbe. She spoke to him -with gentleness, and having been made aware of his family and history by Hepborne, -manifested the interest she took in the boy in a manner so delicate that he was already -disposed to cling to her as willingly as he had before wished to avoid the Lady Mariota. -</p> -<p>As they approached the straggling hamlet, through which lay the immediate approach -to the Castle, its inhabitants, as well as the peasants from the neighbouring cottages, -were collected together. Men, women, and children came crowding about them for the -mere pleasure of beholding the Earl and his Countess, and the grateful hearts of these -poor creatures burst forth in showers of blessings on the heads of their benefactors. -</p> -<p>“God bless the noble pair!”—“There they come, God bless them!”—“May the blessing of -St. Andrew—may the holy Virgin’s choicest blessings be about them!”—“What should we -poor folk do an ’twere na for them?”—“What should we do if anything should come over -them?”—“Heaven preserve their precious lives?”—“May Heaven long spare them to be a -comfort and a defence to us all!”—“God bless the noble Earl, and Heaven’s richest -blessings be showered on the angel Countess!” -</p> -<p>Such was the abundant and gratifying reward these noble and generous hearts received -for well fulfilling the duties of the high station their lot had placed them in. They -replied graciously to those simple but sincere benisons, and though in haste, the -Countess more than once reined up her palfrey as she <span class="pageNum" id="pb260">[<a href="#pb260">260</a>]</span>passed along the lane they opened for her, to make inquiries after the complaints, -distresses, and wants of particular individuals; and where the matter admitted of -her relief, she failed not to give an order to attend at the Castle at her daily hour -of audience. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch36" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e561">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Castle of Tarnawa—Distinguished Guests.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The party now climbed the slope, on the summit of which the Castle rose grandly before -them; and they were no sooner within its outer defences than they found every corner -of it alive. Lacqueys and serving-men of all sorts, in all the variety of rich attire, -were seen running about in every direction. Most of the noblemen and knights had already -assembled to prepare for the tournament, and some of these, with their ladies and -daughters, were inmates of the Castle. From the Earl of Moray’s particular regard -and friendship for Sir Patrick Hepborne the elder, an apartment was immediately assigned -to his son; yet those who were favoured with lodgings at Tarnawa were but few in number -compared with the many who were to be accommodated in the pavilions erected on the -margin of the Mead. But as all were expected to assemble at the daily feast at the -Castle, tables were laid for more than an hundred guests in Randolph’s Hall, where -even a company of twice the number might have found ample room—this grand monument -of feudal times covering an area of nearly an hundred feet in length. -</p> -<p>A Squire Usher promptly attended to show Sir Patrick to his chamber, where he unarmed, -dressed, and perfumed himself; and when he had completed his attirement, the Squire -Usher again appeared to conduct him to the great hall. -</p> -<p>“Nobles and chevaliers,” cried a pursuivant stationed at the entrance, “nobles and -chevaliers, place there for Sir Patrick Hepborne, younger of Hailes, a puissant knight, -of good stock and brave lineage, who but the other day overthrew the renowned Sir -Rafe Piersie in single combat, which was nothing to his deeds of arms in France, for -there——” -</p> -<p>“Good pursuivant,” said Hepborne, interrupting him, in an under voice, as he poured -a liberal largess into his cap, “thou hast said enow—no more, I beseech thee.” But -the pursuivant’s tongue was rather oiled than gagged by the unusual magnitude of his -donation. -</p> -<p>“Ay,” cried he aloud, “a brave tree is known by its good <span class="pageNum" id="pb261">[<a href="#pb261">261</a>]</span>fruits, and gentle blood by its generosity. Well may ye ken a noble hand by the gift -that comes from it; and well may ye ken a gallant and well-born knight by his noble -port and presence, and by his liberal largess. Place there, I say, for Sir Patrick -Hepborne—place there for the hero of Rosebarque!” -</p> -<p>“Silence, I entreat thee,” cried Hepborne, advancing with all eyes upon him, to meet -the Earl of Moray, who was approaching to receive him. -</p> -<p>The magnificent Hall of Randolph presented at that moment one of the most brilliant -spectacles that could well be conceived, graced as it then was with some of the flower -of Scotland’s chivalry, who, with their ladies and attendants, shone in all the richest -and gayest variety of silks, velvets, furs, and gaudy-coloured cloths, blazing with -gold and embroidery, sparkling with gems, and heavy with curiously-wrought chains -and other ornaments, while flaunting plumes fluttered about, giving a multiplied effect -of motion, so that the whole area resembled one great tide of gorgeous grandeur, that -was perpetually fluctuating, mixing, and changing. -</p> -<p>“Sir Patrick,” said the Earl to Hepborne, “I believe thy sojournance abroad hath hitherto -permitted thee to see but little of our Scottish chivauncie. It will be a pleasing -task to me to make thee acquainted with such of them as are here; and it will give -me yet greater jovisaunce to teach them to know thy merits. Let me then, first of -all, introduce thee to my brother-in-law, Robert Stewart, Earl of Fife and Menteith, -who, though he be but the King’s second son, is supposed, with some truth, to have -the greatest share of the government of Scotland.” -</p> -<p>So saying, the Earl of Moray led Sir Patrick through the dividing crowd, towards the -upper end of the hall, where a platform, raised about a foot above the rest, marked -it as the place of honour. There they found a circle of knights surrounding a tall -majestic man of commanding presence, whose countenance seemed to wear an expression -of amiability, affability, and even of benignity, apparently put on for the occasion, -like the ornaments he wore, but by no means forming a part of his character. His face -was handsome, and Hepborne could just trace in it a faint likeness to his brother -the Wolfe of Badenoch; but there was a lurking severity about the eye which his gracious -looks could not altogether quench. He appeared to be highly courted by all about him, -and from the smiles that mantled over the faces he successively looked at, he seemed -to carry sunshine on his brow, and to scatter joy wherever he threw his eyes. Hepborne -<span class="pageNum" id="pb262">[<a href="#pb262">262</a>]</span>only caught up the last of his words as he approached the group in the midst of which -he stood. -</p> -<p>——“And if it should so please my liege-father,” said he to an elderly knight who stood -bowing as he spoke,—“if it should so please my liege-father to throw the heavy burden -of government on me, trust me, I shall not forget thy hitherto unrequited services. -The debt thy country doth owe thee is indeed great, and thou hast hitherto been met -with but small mountance of gratitude. But how enorme soever the debt may be, it shall -be faithfully paid thee should I have any control.” -</p> -<p>“My Lord,” said the Earl of Moray, advancing, whilst the circle opened up to make -way for him, “this is Sir Patrick Hepborne, whom I promised thee to introduce to thy -notice.” -</p> -<p>“Thanks, my good brother, for this so speedy fulfilment of thy behote,” replied the -Earl of Fife. “Trust me, it giveth me exceeding joy to have this opportunity of knowing -so valiant a knight, the son, too, of so brave and renowned a warrior, and one so -sage in council, as the highly and justly respected Sir Patrick Hepborne of Hailes, -who, to the great let and hinderance of his country’s weal, hath kept himself too -much of late from the bustle of State affairs. But now that thou hast returned to -thy native soil, Sir Patrick, we shall hope to see thee bear a part of that fardel, -which thy gallant father might have been otherwise called on to support alone; for, -if fame lie not, thy prudence bids fair to render thee as serviceable in the closet -of council as thine arm hath already proved itself fit to defend the fame and rights -of Scotland in the field.” -</p> -<p>“My Lord,” said Hepborne, “I fear much that fame hath done me but a left-handed service, -by trumpeting forth merits the which I do but meagrely possess, and that public expectation -hath been raised high, only to be the more cast down.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, trust me, Sir Patrick, there is small fear of that,” said the Earl of Moray. -</p> -<p>“Fear!” said the Earl of Fife; “I have had mine eyes ever on the branchers of the -true breed, from whom Scotland and my father’s house must look to have falcons of -the boldest and bravest cast; and none hath made promise of fairer flight than thou -hast, Sir Patrick. True it is, that thou hast yet to be reclaimed, as the falconer -would term it; that is, I would say, thou hast yet to learn what game to fly at. But -I shall gladly teach thee, for it will give me real joy to direct the views, and advance -the fortunes, of the son of my worthy old friend Sir Patrick Hepborne.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb263">[<a href="#pb263">263</a>]</span></p> -<p>“My Lord,” said Sir Patrick, “I am indeed much beholden to thy courtesy——” -</p> -<p>“Nay,” said the Earl of Fife, interrupting him, “nay, not to me or my courtesy, I -promise thee, but to thine own worth only; for if the good old King my father, and -my brother John, should force the regency of this kingdom on me, the duty I owe to -them and to my country will never suffer me to give place or office to any but those -who are fit and worthy to fill them; so thou hast to thank thyself and thine own good -conduct, already so much bruited abroad, for the high opinion I have thus so early -formed of thee, as well as for the desire I now feel to foster thy budding honours, -and to bring out all thy latent talents for Scotland’s behoof.<span class="corr" id="xd31e3861" title="Not in source">”</span> -</p> -<p>“I am overwhelmed with your Lordship’s goodness,” said Hepborne, bowing. “Trust me, -mine humble endeavours shall not be wanting to deserve this thy kind and early good -opinion, formed, as I am disposed to guess, for my revered father’s sake, though thou -art pleased to flatter me by assigning another cause.” -</p> -<p>“However that may be,” replied the Earl of Fife, squeezing him warmly by the hand, -“thou mayest rely on me as thy sincere friend, Sir Patrick.—Ho! Sir John de Keith,” -exclaimed he, suddenly breaking off, and joining a knight who bowed to him as he passed -by, “I shall have that matter we talked of arranged for thee anon. The son of my old -friend the Knight-Marischal of Scotland, and one for whom I have so high a personal -regard, shall always command my most earnest endeavours to gratify his wishes. Walk -with me apart, I pray thee. Thou knowest the money hath been——” -</p> -<p>But the rest of his discourse was lost in a whisper, and Hepborne’s attention was -called off by the Earl of Moray, who introduced him to David Stewart, Earl of Stratherne -and Caithness, another son of the King’s, though by a second wife. After a few expressions -of mere compliment had passed between them, and the Earl of Stratherne had moved on, -</p> -<p>“Lindsay,” cried his noble host to a bold and determined-looking knight, who was elbowing -his way through the crowd, with his lady hanging on his left arm, “Lindsay, I wish -to make thee acquainted with Sir Patrick Hepborne, son of the gallant Sir Patrick -of Hailes.—Sir Patrick, this is my brother-in-law, Sir David de Lindsay of Glenesk; -and this is his lady, the Lady Catherine Stewart, sister to my Countess. Sir David -is my most trusty and well-approved brother, and it would give me joy to see the bonds -of amity drawn tight between you.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb264">[<a href="#pb264">264</a>]</span></p> -<p>The lady received Sir Patrick’s compliments most graciously; a cordial acknowledgment -took place between the two knights; and Hepborne felt, that although there was less -of protestation, there was a greater smack of sincerity in Lindsay than in the powerful -Earl of Fife, who had said and promised so much. -</p> -<p>“Welcome to Scotland, Sir Patrick,” said he. “By St. Andrew, but I rejoice to see -thee, for I have heard much of thee. What news, I pray thee, from foreign pa——” -</p> -<p>The word was broken off in the midde, for ere he had time to finish it, to the great -astonishment of his lady, and the no small amusement of Hepborne and the Earl, he -suddenly struck himself a violent blow on the cheek with the palm of his right hand. -A roguish laugh burst from behind him. Lindsay quickly turned round. -</p> -<p>“Aha! Dalzell,” cried he, “so it was thou, wicked wag that thou art?” -</p> -<p>“’Tis indeed Sir William de Dalzell,” said Lady de Lindsay, laughing; “he is always -at his mad tricks. There now, do but see what he is about; he is actually applying -the tip of a long feather from a peacock’s tail to tickle the cheek of my sister Jane’s -husband, the grave Sir Thomas Hay of Errol.” -</p> -<p>“How doth he dare to attack the august cheek of the High Constable of Scotland?” said -the Earl of Moray, with a smile. -</p> -<p>“Nay, do but observe,” said Sir David Lindsay, “do but watch, I beseech thee, what -strange and uncouth grimaces our brother-in-law, the High and Mighty Constable, is -making, as the fibres of the delicate point of the feather titillate the skin of his -cheek. Ah! ha, ha, ha! by the mass, but he hath given himself as hard a blow as I -did, thinking to kill the fly.” -</p> -<p>“And see,” said the lady, “he hath suspected a trick; but he looks in vain for our -waggish friend Dalzell, who hath dived like a duck and disappeared. Ha, ha, ha! see -how strangely the High Constable eyes the solemn Earl of Sutherland near him, as if -he half believed that grave personage was the perpetrator of the espièglerie. ’Twould -be rare sport if he should tax him with it.” -</p> -<p>“’Twould be a rich treat indeed,” said Sir David Lindsay. -</p> -<p>“Sir Patrick,” said the Earl of Moray, “come hither, I pray thee. Yonder comes James -Earl of Douglas and Mar, with his Countess the Lady Margaret Stewart, another sister -of my Margery’s.” -</p> -<p>“He is indeed a knight worth knowing,” said Hepborne. -</p> -<p>“This way, then, and I will introduce thee to him,” said the Earl of Moray. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb265">[<a href="#pb265">265</a>]</span></p> -<p>Hepborne followed his host towards that part of the hall where the bold and Herculean -Earl of Douglas was making his way with his lady slowly through the assembled company, -who crowded eagerly around him to offer him their compliments. His manner was plain -and dignified, and he behaved with kindness and affability to all who addressed him, -though, on his part, he did not by any means seem to court notice. When Hepborne was -brought up to him by his brother-in-law, and his name made known, he gave him a good -soldierlike shake by the hand. -</p> -<p>“I am right glad to see thee in thine own country, Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said he. -“An I mistake not, some storm is a-brewing in England, that may cause us to want all -the good lances which Scotland can muster. When King Dickon doth send these hawk-eyed -ambassadors to talk of peace, depardieux, but I, for my part, am apt to smell war. -My Lord of Fife sayeth that ’tis not so, and he is shrewd enough in common. I have -mine own thoughts; but we shall see who is right, and that too ere many days are gone, -an the signs of the times deceive me not.” -</p> -<p>“’Twere well that we young unschooled soldiers should have something to do, my Lord,” -said Hepborne, “were it only to keep our swords from rusting, and lest we should forget -our exercises, and such parts of the rudiments of war as chance hath taught us.” -</p> -<p>“Thou sayest well, my gallant young friend,” said the Douglas, his eyes flashing as -he spoke, again shaking Hepborne heartily by the hand; “but thou art no such novice -to forget thy trade so easily. Yet sayest thou well; piping times of peace are the -ruin of our Scottish chivauncie, and stiffen the movements of even the most experienced -warriors. Such sentiments as these, seasoned with so much modesty, are but what I -mought have looked for from the son of that knight of sterling proof of heart as well -as hand, my brave old friend Sir Patrick Hepborne, thy father.” -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick was more than gratified by the expressions of respect for his father which -he had heard drop from every mouth. The blush of honest pride, mingled with that of -warm filial affection, rose more that once to his cheek; but it never before mounted -with such a rushing tide of joy as it did when this short panegyric fell from the -lips of the heroic Douglas. He was not permitted time to reply, for all were so eager -to have one word, nay, one glance of recognition from the brave Earl, that his attention -was rifled from Hepborne, and he was <span class="pageNum" id="pb266">[<a href="#pb266">266</a>]</span>carried away before he could open his mouth to speak to him again. -</p> -<p>“Dost thou see yonder group?” demanded the Earl of Moray as he pointed them out to -Sir Patrick. “The elderly knight and dame are William de Vaux, Lord of Dirleton, and -his lady. The fair damosel seated behind them is their daughter, the Lady Jane de -Vaux, held to be the loveliest of all the maidens who have come to honour this our -tournament. Nay, she is indeed esteemed one of the fairest pearls of the Scottish -Court, and a rich pearl she is, moreover, seeing she is the heiress of her father’s -domains. The knight who lieth at her footstool, and sigheth enlangoured at her feet, -effunding soft speeches from his heart, and gazing upwards with a species of adoration -in his eyes, is the gallant Sir John Halyburton, who wears her favours, and bears -her proud merits in high defiance on his lance’s point.” -</p> -<p>“Let me entreat your Lordship, who are those knights who come yonder so bravely arrayed?” -said Hepborne. -</p> -<p>“Those,” replied the Earl, “are the English knights who lately came on ambassage. -He in the purple velvet is the Lord Welles; that elder knight on his right hand, who -showeth deportment so courteous, is the worthy Sir John Constable of Halsham and Burton, -one who hath done good deeds of arms in his day; he that is so flauntingly attired -in the peach-blossom surcoat so richly emblazoned, is the gay Sir Piers Courtenay; -and immediately behind him is the stark Sir Thomas Fairfax of Walton. But stay, here -comes my brother George, Earl of Dunbar and March. George,” cried he, addressing his -brother as he passed, “this is Sir Patrick Hepborne, whose father thou well knowest.” -</p> -<p>“I do,” said the Earl of Dunbar, energetically squeezing Hepborne’s hand, “and I shall -not fail to receive the son of my dearest friend into my warmest affections for his -father’s sake. How left ye thy gallant sire?” -</p> -<p>This question was but the preliminary to a long and friendly conversation between -Hepborne and the Earl of Dunbar, which lasted until it was interrupted by a flourish -of trumpets and clarions, announcing the entrance of the Grand Sewer, with a white -wand in his hand. He advanced at the head of a perfect army of lacqueys, who brought -in the feast, and the company began to be marshalled to their places by the pursuivants. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb267">[<a href="#pb267">267</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch37" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e571">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Banquet at the Castle—Alarm—Forres on Fire.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The banquet given daily by the noble Earl of Moray was in every respect befitting -the rank and splendour of the company assembled to partake of it. On the raised platform, -at the upper end of the hall of Randolph, a table was placed transversely, to which -was attached, at right angles, a limb that stretched down the greater part of the -pavement. One side only of the upper, or cross table, was occupied; and opposite to -the centre of it were seated the Earl and Countess of Moray, in full view of all their -guests. With them sat the Earl of Fife, and all those who could boast of royal blood -or alliance; whilst both sides of the long table were filled up by the rest of the -nobles, and knights, and ladies, who were marshalled according to their respective -rank. The shield of each chevalier, with his coat armour emblazoned on it, was hung -on a hook on the wall, opposite to the place occupied by him at table; so that all -might be known by their bearings. -</p> -<p>Hepborne having been introduced to the party of William de Vaux, Lord of Dirleton, -led off his lady to the festive board. -</p> -<p>“Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said the old knight to him, soon after they had taken their -places, “perhaps thou art aware that thine excellent father and I were early friends? -yea, well did I know thee, too, when thou wert as yet but an unfledged falcon. Full -often, perdie, hast thou sat on these knees of mine, and many a hair, too, hast thou -plucked in frolic from this grizzled beard, the which was then, I’ll warrant thee, -as black as the raven’s back. Thou knowest that my domains of Dirleton, and those -of Hailes, stand within a fair degree of neighbourhood. Give me leave then to drink -this cup of Malvoisie to the better acquaintance of friends so old.” -</p> -<p>“I have often heard my father give utterance to many a kind and warm remembrance of -thy friendship for our house,” replied Sir Patrick, as he prepared to return the Lord -of Dirleton’s pledge; “and it giveth me extreme joy thus unexpectedly to meet with -one who deigned to bestow notice upon my childhood, albeit I cannot recall the recollection -of the countenance of him who vouchsafed it.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, thy memory was too young at the time, Sir Patrick, to have received permanent -impressions of any kind,” replied <span class="pageNum" id="pb268">[<a href="#pb268">268</a>]</span>the Lord of Dirleton; “and as we were soon after driven abroad by domestic affliction, -thou never hadst any opportunity of seeing me after thou couldst observe and remember; -for when we returned to Scotland again, we discovered that thou hadst gone to the -very country we had left.” -</p> -<p>“I did hear of thy name from those who considered themselves highly honoured by having -enjoyed thy society during the time thou didst make Paris thy residence,” said Hepborne. -</p> -<p>“Yea, we knew many there,” replied the Lord of Dirleton, “many who were worthy and -amiable; yet none, I trust, who could dislodge the early and fixed Scottish friendships -we had formed. That between thy father and me was so strong in its nature, that we -longed to cement our families irrevocably together; and I do well remember me, that -when thou wert but some two or three years old, and the Lady Dirleton had produced -her first child, a daughter, Sir Patrick and I did solemnly vow that, with the blessing -and concurrence of Heaven, thou and she should knit us more closely by thy union, -so soon as years should have ripened ye severally into man and woman.” -</p> -<p>“Alas!” interrupted the Lady Dirleton, the tears swelling in her eyes as she spoke—“alas! -it did not please Heaven to give its blessing or its concurrence to our vows, or to -lend its ear to our many prayers and supplications for the fulfilment of our wishes. -A cruel fate deprived us of our infant daughter, and made me a wretchedly bereft and -grief-bywoxen mother. When I saw thee——” -</p> -<p>“Leave off this sad theme, I do beseech thee, Maria,” said the old knight, interrupting -her, with eyes that streamed over as fast as her own; “’tis but unmeet talk, I wis, -for a festive scene like this. At some other and more fitting time, Sir Patrick may -be disposed to list the story, and to sympathise with our dole and dreriment.” -</p> -<p>By this time the more substantial part of the banquet had been removed, a profusion -of lights had changed the dim twilight of the place into more than day, and healths -and brimming goblets of wine were circulating. Each knight was called upon to quaff -a pledge to the bright eyes that held him in thrall; and this public avowal of his -tender attachment was considered as a sort of prelude to the more determined appeal -he might be afterwards disposed to make in support of her beauty and fame, at the -point of his lance in the lists. Some there were who, when it came to their turn, -bowed silently, and permitted the cup to pass by them; these, however, were few in -number, and were such as, from some private reason, wished to throw a veil <span class="pageNum" id="pb269">[<a href="#pb269">269</a>]</span>of delicacy over their attachment; but when Sir John Halyburton was called on, he -arose from the side of the blushing Jane de Vaux, and boldly proclaimed his love and -adoration of her to all present. -</p> -<p>“I pledge this brimming mazer to the health of the peerless Lady Jane de Vaux,” said -he; “and as I now drink the cup dry for her sake, so am I prepared to drain my life’s -blood in her service.” -</p> -<p>A murmur of approbation ran around the festal board. When it had subsided, -</p> -<p>“Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said the Earl of Moray, <span class="corr" id="xd31e3927" title="Not in source">“</span>wilt thou vouchsafe to honour us with a cup to the fair enslaver of thine affections?” -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick arose, and, putting his right hand over his heart, bowed gracefully, and -then seated himself in silence. In the former instances, where knights had declined -to speak, the Earl of Moray had passed them by without further notice, but he was -himself so disappointed, and perceived disappointment so legibly written on the faces -of the company after Hepborne’s silent bow, that he could not resist addressing him -again. -</p> -<p>“What, Sir Patrick,” said he, “hast thou then no lady-love, for the sake of whose -bright eyes we may hope to see thee bestirring thyself sturdily in the lists?” -</p> -<p>“My Lord Earl,” replied Hepborne, risingly modestly, “it will give me joy to break -a few spears, out of mere courtesy, with any knights who may esteem mine arm worthy -of being opposed to theirs.” -</p> -<p>The Earl saw that it would be indelicate to press him further, and went on to the -conclusion of his circle of healths. The choir of minstrels, who had already occupied -the music gallery, had begun to make the antique Hall of Randolph resound with their -pealing preludes, when their harmony was interrupted by a clamouring noise of voices -from without; and immediately a crowd of squires and domestics of all kinds came rushing -into the hall, exclaiming, “Fire, my Lord Earl of Moray, fire!” -</p> -<p>“Where—where—where is the fire?” burst from every mouth; and the ladies shrieked, -and many of them even fainted, at the very mention of the word. -</p> -<p>“The town of Forres is blazing,” cried half-a-dozen voices at once. -</p> -<p>The utmost confusion instantly arose amidst the assemblage of nobles, knights, and -ladies. Out rushed the Earl of Moray, and out rushed such of his guests as had no -lady to detain them within. Hepborne, for his part, happened by accident more <span class="pageNum" id="pb270">[<a href="#pb270">270</a>]</span>than anything else, to follow his host up a staircase that led to the battlements, -which in daylight commanded a view over the whole surrounding country; but the landscape -was now buried in darkness, save where a lurid blaze arose at three or four miles’ -distance in the direction of the eastern horizon, through which appeared some of the -black skeletons of the consuming tenements of Forres, or where the broad and full -estuary of the river reflected the gleam which cast its illumination even over the -houses of the seaport of the distant point, and the wide ocean beyond it. Far off, -shouts and yells arose from different quarters of the circumjacent forest, as if from -people who were collecting, and hastening in dismay towards the scene of the conflagration. -</p> -<p>“Holy Virgin, defend us! what can have caused so sudden and unlooked-for a calamity?” -cried the Earl of Moray, in a tone of extreme distress. -</p> -<p>“Meseems it can hardly be the result of accident,” replied Hepborne, “for the fire -doth blaze in divers parts at once. Can it have been the work of some enemy?” -</p> -<p>“Enemy!” cried the Earl, “what enemy can there be here? And yet it may have been done -by some marauding band of plundering peelers. Yet that seems impossible—it cannot -be. But let me not waste time here, when I can ride to the spot. Ho, there, in the -court-yard—my horse, d’ye hear?” shouted he over the battlements, and then rushed -down stairs. -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick followed him, with the determination of accompanying him to the blazing -town. Both speedily donned their riding gear and light armour, and sallied forth. -On the terrace they found a crowd of the nobles and knights collected together in -amazement. The Earl only stopped to throw out a few hasty words of apology for so -abruptly leaving his guests, and then, accompanied by Hepborne, descended to the court-yard, -vociferating loudly for their horses. In a short time both mounted and galloped off, -attended by a few horsemen, who threw themselves hastily into their saddles. -</p> -<p>“Let us take our way by the Mead of St. John’s,” cried the Earl, pushing his horse -thitherward; “we can cross the river by the bridge, and we shall then be able to alarm -the people, who have there a temporary abode at present. Their aid will be of much -avail, if, as I fear, all aid be not already too late.” -</p> -<p>On they galloped through the dark alleys of the forest, every now and then overtaking -some straggler, who was hurrying on, out of breath, in the direction they were going, -shouting at intervals to those who had outrun him, or who had lagged <span class="pageNum" id="pb271">[<a href="#pb271">271</a>]</span>behind him; but when they reached the Mead of St. John’s, those plains, which were -lately so full of animation, were now silent as death; not a human being seemed to -have remained within their ample circuit; all had been already summoned away, some -by anxiety to arrest the destruction of their houses and goods, others by the charitable -wish to assist in subduing the conflagration, and others, again, by the nefarious -desire and hope of an opportunity of pilfering, but the greater number by that universal -human passion, curiosity. -</p> -<p>“Let us hasten onwards to Forres, for there is no one here,” cried the good Earl, -after riding in vain over part of the ground, and knocking and shouting at most of -the temporary erections on the Eastern Mead, as he swept past them. “This way, Sir -Patrick; our road lies up this steep bank; I hope some good may yet be done by the -united force of such multitudes. By St. Andrew, it was good they were here; and ’twill -be a lucky tournament if it be the means of stopping this sad malure.” -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick followed him over some irregular hillocks, covered with the forest; and, -winding amongst them, they entered a defile, where the trees grew thinner, giving -place, in a great measure, to a natural shrubbery, composed of scattered bushes of -furze, broom, and juniper. The fire had been all this time hid from their eyes, but -it burst upon them through the farther opening of the defile in all its terrific grandeur, -at about a mile’s distance. The destructive element had now all the appearance of -speedily gaining resistless dominion over the little town, for the several independent -detachments of flame which had appeared in different parts of it, as they surveyed -it from the Castle, had now run together, and united themselves into one great sea -of red and overwhelming destruction, that heaved and tossed its tumultuous billows -high into the air. The appalling blaze filled up the entire sky that was visible through -the defile they were threading. Against the bright field it presented, a dark group -of armed horsemen were seen standing on the path before them, where it wound from -among the hillocks, their figures being sharply relieved against the broad gleam beyond. -The Earl of Moray reined up his steed, but his previous speed had been such that he -was almost upon them ere he could check him. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb272">[<a href="#pb272">272</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch38" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e581">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Burning of the Church and Town of Forres.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“By’r Lady, but the bonfire brens right merrily,” cried a stern voice, which they -immediately knew to be that of the Wolfe of Badenoch. “Ha! is’t not gratifying to -behold? Morte de ma vie, see there, son Alexander, how the Archdeacon’s manse belches -forth its flaming bowels against the welkin. By St. Barnabas, but thou mayest tell -the very blaze of it from that of any other house, by the changes produced in it from -the abundant variety of ingredients that feed it. Thou seest the cobwebby church consumeth -but soberly and meekly as a church should; but the proud mansion of the Archdeacon -brenneth with a clear fire, that haughtily proclaims the costly fuel it hath got to -maintain it—his crimson damask and velvets—his gorgeous chairs and tables—his richly -carved cabinets—his musty manuscripts, the which do furnish most excellent matter -of combustion. By the mass, but that sudden quenching of the flame must have been -owing to the fall of some of those swollen down-beds, and ponderous blankets, in which -these lazy churchmen are wont to snore away their useless lives. But, ha! see how -it blazes up again; perdie, it hath doubtless reached the larder; some of his fattest -bacon must have been there; meseems as if I did nose the savoury fumes of it even -here. Ha! glorious! look what a fire-spout is there. Never trust me, if that brave -and brilliant feu d’artifice doth not arise from the besotted clerk’s well-stored -cellars. Ha, ha, ha! there go his Malvoisie and his eau-de-vie. The vinolent costrel’s -thirsty soul was ever in his casks; so, by the Rood, thou seest, that, maugre every -suspicion and belief to the contrary, it hath yet some chance of mounting heavenward -after all. Ha, ha, ha! by the beard of my grandfather, but it is a right glorious -spectacle to behold.” -</p> -<p>“My Lord brother-in-law,” cried the Earl of Moray, in a voice of horror and dismay, -as he now advanced towards the group, “can it be? Is it really thou who speakest thus?” -</p> -<p>“Ha, Sir Earl of Moray,” cried the Wolfe, starting and turning sharply round, “what -makest thou here, I pray thee? Methought that ere this thou wert merry in thy wine -wassail?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, perhaps I should have been so,” replied the Earl of Moray temperately, “had -not news of yonder doleful burning <span class="pageNum" id="pb273">[<a href="#pb273">273</a>]</span>banished all note of mirth from my board. Knowest thou aught of how this grievous -disaster may have befallen?” -</p> -<p>“Ha, ha, ha! canst thou not guess, brother of mine?” cried the Wolfe, with a sarcastic -laugh. -</p> -<p>“I must confess I am not without my fears as to who did kindle yonder wide-spreading -calamity,” said the Earl of Moray gravely; “yet still do I hang by the hope that it -was impossible thou couldst have brought thyself to be the author of so cruel, so -horrible, so sacrilegious a deed. Even the insatiable thirst of revenge itself, directed -as it was against one individual, could hardly have led thee to wrap the holy house -of God, and the dwellings of the innocent and inoffensive burghers, in the same common -ruin with the tenements belonging to those whom thou mayest suspect as being entitled -to a share of thy vengeance. ’Tis impossible.” -</p> -<p>“Ha! by the flames of Tartarus, but it is possible,” cried the Wolfe, gnashing his -teeth; “yea, and by all the fiends, I have right starkly proved the possibility of -it too. What! dost think that I have spared the church, the which is the very workshop -of these mass-mongering magpies? Or was I, thinkest thou, to stop my fell career of -vengeance, because the beggarly hovels of some dozen pitiful tailors, brogue-men, -skinners, hammermen, and cordwainers, stood in my way?—trash alswa, who pay rent and -dues to this same nigon and papelarde Priest-Bishop, who hath dared to pour out his -venomous malison on the son of a King—on the Wolfe of Badenoch! By all the infernal -powers, but the surface of the very globe itself shall smoke till my revenge be full. -This is but a foretaste of the wrekery I shall work; and if the prating jackdaw’s -noxious curse be not removed, ay, and that speedily too, by him that rules the infernal -realms, I swear that the walthsome toad and all the vermin that hang upon him shall -have tenfold worse than this to dree!” -</p> -<p>“Alexander Stewart!” cried a clear and commanding voice, which came suddenly and tremendously, -like that of the last trumpet, from the summit of the knoll immediately above where -the group was standing. There was an awful silence for some moments; a certain chill -of superstitious dread stole over every one present; nay, even the ferocious and undaunted -Earl of Buchan himself felt his heart grow cold within him, at the almost more than -human sound. He looked upwards to the bare pinnacle of the rising ground, and there, -standing beside a scathed and blasted oak, he beheld a tall figure enveloped in black -drapery. The irregular blaze of the distant conflagration <span class="pageNum" id="pb274">[<a href="#pb274">274</a>]</span>came only by fits to illumine the dusky and mysterious figure, and the face, sunk -within a deep cowl, was but rarely and transiently rendered visible by it, though -the eyes, more frequently catching the light, were often seen to glare fearfully, -when all the other features were buried in shade, giving a somewhat fiendish appearance -to the spectre. -</p> -<p>“Alexander Stewart!” cried the thrilling voice again; “Alexander Stewart, thou grim -and cruel Wolfe, when will the measure of thine iniquity be filled up? Thou sweepest -over fair creation, levelling alike the works of God and man, regardless of human -misery, like the dire angel of destruction; the very green of the earth is turned -into blood, and hearts are rent beneath every tramp of thy horse’s hoofs: yet art -thou but as a blind instrument in the hands of the righteous Avenger; and when thou -shalt have served the end for which thou wert created, verily thou shalt be cast into -eternal fire. If thou wouldst yet escape the punishment which speedily awaits thine -atrocities, hasten to bow, in penitence, before those altars thou hast dared to pollute, -and make full reparation to the holy ministers of religion for the unheard of insults -and injuries thou hast offered them. Do this, or thine everlasting doom is fixed; -death shall speedily overtake thee, and thou shalt writhe amidst the ineffable torments -of never-ceasing flames.” -</p> -<p>As the voice ceased, there arose from the distant town a strong and more enduring -gleam of light, which rendered visible every little broom-blossom and heath-bell that -grew upon the side of the knoll, and threw a pale, but distinct illumination over -the features of the figure. -</p> -<p>“Holy Virgin! blessed St. Andrew! ’tis the mysterious Franciscan,” whispered several -of the Earl of Buchan’s attendants, as they crossed themselves, in evident alarm. -</p> -<p>“Ha! is it thee, thou carrion chough?” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, recovering from -the surprise and dismay into which he had been plunged by so unexpected and fearful -a warning from one whom he had not at first recognized; “ha! morte de ma vie,” cried -he, couching his lance, digging the spurs deep into his horse’s flanks, and making -him bound furiously up the slope of the knoll; “by all the furies, thou shalt not -’scape me this bout, an thou be not a very fiend. Haste, Alexander, ride round the -hill.” -</p> -<p>“This way, villains,” cried Sir Alexander Stewart instantly, obedient to his father’s -command; “this way, one-half of ye, and that way the other half. Let not the caitiff -escape us; take him alive or dead; by the mass, it mattereth not which.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb275">[<a href="#pb275">275</a>]</span></p> -<p>Divided into little parties, the Wolfe’s attendants spurred off to opposite points -of the compass, in order to encircle the hill. The figure had already disappeared -from the pinnacle it stood on, but the furious Earl of Buchan still pushed his panting -horse up the steep ascent, until he disappeared over the top. The Earl of Moray and -Sir Patrick Hepborne remained for some time in mute astonishment, perfectly at a loss -what to think or how to act. Shouts were heard on all sides of the hillock; but in -a short time they ceased, and the individuals of the Wolfe of Badenoch’s party came -dropping in one by one, with faces in which superstitious dread was very strongly -depicted. -</p> -<p>“Didst thou see him?” demanded one. “Nay, I thank the Virgin, I saw him not,” replied -another. “Whither can he have vanished?” cried a third. “Vanished indeed!” cried a -fourth, shuddering, and looking over his shoulder. “Ave Maria, sweet Virgin, defend -us, it must have been a spirit,” cried another, in a voice of the utmost consternation. -</p> -<p>“Hold your accursed prating,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, who now appeared, with -his sons clustered at his back, all bearing it up boldly, yet all of them, even the -stout Earl himself, much disturbed and troubled in countenance. “Ha!” continued he, -“by all that is good, there is something strange and uncommon about that same friar. -I know not well what to think. I bid thee good-bye, brother-in-law; I wot, we part -but as half friends; yet commend me to Margery. Sir Patrick Hepborne, when it pleaseth -thee to come to Lochyndorbe, thou shalt be right welcome. Allons, son Alexander, we -must thither to-night yet for our hostelry; so forward, I say;” and saying so, he -rode away at the head of his party. -</p> -<p>“Rash and intemperate man,” cried the good Earl of Moray, in a tone of extreme distress -and vexation, as he turned his horse’s head towards Forres, “what is it thou hast -done? Into what cruel and disgraceful outrage hath thy furious wreken driven thee. -The very thought of this ferocious deed being thine, is to me more bitter than ligne-aloes. -The noble and the peasant must now alike hold thee accursed for thy red crimes. Hadst -thou not been my wife’s brother, and the son of my liege lord the King, I must of -needscost have done my best to have seized thee straightway; but Heaven seemeth to -be itself disposed to take cognizance of thy coulpe, for in truth he was more than -mortal messenger who pronounced that dread denunciation against thee.” -</p> -<p>The solemn silence with which these words were received by <span class="pageNum" id="pb276">[<a href="#pb276">276</a>]</span>Sir Patrick, showed how much his thoughts were in unison with those of the Earl. -</p> -<p>“But let us prick onwards,” cried Lord Moray, starting from his musing fit; “every -moment may be precious.” -</p> -<p>They had not gone many yards, when they heard the mingled sound of numerous voices, -and found themselves in the midst of a great crowd of people of all ages, and of both -sexes, who, idle and unconcerned, had taken post on the brow of the hill, and now -stood, or lay on the ground in groups, calmly contemplating the rapid destruction -that was going on in the little town, and giving way to thoughtless expressions of -wonder and delight, at the various changes of the aspect of combustion. -</p> -<p>“Why stand ye here, idlers?” cried the Earl of Moray, riding in among them, and stirring -up some of them with the shaft of his lance; “come, rouse ye, my friends; shame on -you to liggen here, when ye might have bestirred ye to save the town; come, rouse -ye, I say.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, by the mass, I’ll not budge,” cried one. “’Tis no concern of mine,” cried another. -“Nay, nor of mine,” cried a third. “I do but come here to sell my wares at the tourney,” -cried a fourth. -</p> -<p>“Depardieux, but every mother’s son of ye shall move,” cried the Earl, indignant at -their apathy. -</p> -<p>“And who art thou, who dost talk thus high?” gruffly demanded one of the fellows, -as he raised a sort of pole-axe in a half-defensive and half-menacing attitude. -</p> -<p>“I am John Dunbar, Earl of Moray,” replied the Earl resolutely; “and by St. Andrew, -if ye do not every one of you make the best of your way to Forres sans delay, and -put forth what strength ye may to stop the brenning of the poor people’s houses and -goods, I will order down an armed band from the Castle, who shall consume and burn -to tinder every tent, booth, bale, and box, that now cumbereth the meads of St. John. -“Will ye on with me now, knaves, or no?” -</p> -<p>“Holy Virgin, an thou be’st the good Earl,” cried the fellow, lowering his pole-axe, -“I humbly crave thy pardon; verily we are all thine humble slaves. Come, come, my -masters, run, I pray ye, ’tis the good Earl John. Fie, fie, let’s on with him, and -do his bidding, though we bren for it.” -</p> -<p>“Huzza for the good Earl John—huzza! let’s on with the good Earl of Moray,” cried -they all. -</p> -<p>“Mine honest men,” cried the Earl, “I want not thy services for nought. Trust me, -I shall note those who work best, and they shall not go guerdonless; and if ye should -all be made as <span class="pageNum" id="pb277">[<a href="#pb277">277</a>]</span>dry as cinders, by hard and hot swinking, ye shall be rendered as moist as well-filled -sponges, with stout ale, at the Castle, after all is over.” -</p> -<p>“Huzza for the good Earl John! huzza for the good Earl of Moray!” shouted the rabble; -and he rode off, followed by every man of them, each being well resolved in his own -mind to earn his skinful of beer. -</p> -<p>As the Earl and Sir Patrick were pushing up towards the ridge along which the town -was situated, the shouts of men, and the dismal screams and wailings of women and -children, arose from time to time from within it. The good nobleman redoubled his -speed as he heard them, and the party soon reached the main street, the scene of confusion, -misery, and devastation. The way was choked with useless crowds, who so encumbered -those who were disposed to exert themselves, that little effectual opposition could -be given to the fury of the fire. Amidst the shrieks and cries which burst forth at -intervals from the mob, the Earl’s ears were shocked by the loud curses on the Wolfe -of Badenoch that were uttered by the frantic sufferers. But no sooner was he recognized -than his arrival was hailed with acclamations of joy and gratitude, which drowned -the expression of every other feeling. -</p> -<p>“Here comes the good Earl”—“The Virgin be praised—blessed be St. Laurence that the -Earl hath come”—“Ay, ay, all will go well now sith he is here”—“Stand aside there—stand -aside, and let us hear his commands.” -</p> -<p>The Earl and Sir Patrick Hepborne hastily surveyed the wide scene of ruin, and were -soon aware of its full extent. The manse of the Archdeacon, to which the incendiaries -had first set fire, was already reduced to a heap of ashes. The priest who owned it -had fled in terror for his life when it was first assailed; and the greater part, -if not all the population of the little burgh having been employed on the Mead of -St. John’s in the preparations for the tournament, or in loitering as idle spectators -of what was going on there, little interruption was given to the vengeful Wolfe of -Badenoch in his savage work. He and his troop were tamely allowed to stand by until -they had seen the residence of the churchman so beleagured by the raging element, -that little hope could remain of saving any part of it. He next set fire to one end -of the church; and ere he and his party mounted to effect their retreat, they fired -one or two of the intervening houses. Many of the tenements being of wood, and the -roofs mostly thatched with straw, the fire spread so rapidly as very soon to form -itself into one great conflagration, that <span class="pageNum" id="pb278">[<a href="#pb278">278</a>]</span>threatened to extend widely on all sides. Still, however, it was confined to one part -of the town, and there yet remained much to save. Hitherto there had been no head -to direct, but the moment the Earl appeared all were prepared to give implicit and -ready obedience to his orders. He took his determination in a few minutes, and, imparting -his plan to Hepborne, they proceeded to carry it into instant execution. -</p> -<p>The portion of the street that was already in flames had been abandoned by the people, -the fire having gained so hopeless an ascendancy there that all efforts to subdue -it would have been vain. The Earl therefore resolved to devote his attention to confining -it within its present limits. He stationed himself within a few yards of that extremity -which they had first reached, and, having ordered the crowd to withdraw farther off, -he brought forward the useful and active in such numbers as might be able to work -with ease, and he began to pull down some of the most worthless of the houses. Hepborne, -in the meanwhile, called together a few hardy and fearless-looking men, and followed -by these and Mortimer Sang, who was rarely ever missed from his master’s back when -anything serious or perilous was going forward, he proceeded, at the risk of life, -to ride down the narrow street, between two walls of fire, where blazing beams and -rafters were falling thick around them. His chief object was to get to the farther -boundary of the conflagration, and he might have effected this by making a wide circuit -around the town; but, besides gaining time by forcing the shorter and more desperate -passage, the generous knight was anxious to ascertain whether, amidst the confusion -that prevailed, some unfortunate wretches might not have been left to their fate among -the blazing edifices. -</p> -<p>He moved slowly and cautiously onwards, his horse starting and prancing every now -and then as the burning ruins fell, or as fresh bursts of flame took place; and, steering -a difficult course among the smoking fragments that strewed the street, or the heaped-up -goods and moveables, which their owners had not had time to convey farther to some -place of greater security, he peered eagerly into every door, window, and crevice, -and listened with all his attention for the sound of a human voice. More than once -his eyes and his ears were deceived, and he frequently stopped, in doubt whether he -should not rush boldly through fire and smoke to rescue some one whom his fancy had -caused him, for an instant, to imagine perishing within. His mind being so intensely -occupied, it is no wonder that he could pay but little attention to his own preservation; -and accordingly <span class="pageNum" id="pb279">[<a href="#pb279">279</a>]</span>he received several rude shocks, and was at last fairly knocked down from his saddle -by the end of a great blazing log, which grazed his shoulder as it descended from -a house he was standing under. Mortimer Sang caught the reins of his master’s horse, -and Sir Patrick was speedily raised from the ground by the people who were near him; -and he regained his seat, having fortunately escaped with some slight bruises received -from the fall, and a contusion on his shoulder, arising from the blow given him by -the beam. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch39" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e591">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Sir Patrick and the Earl at Forres.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Sir Patrick Hepborne had hardly recovered himself when, as he was passing a house -to which the fire had but just communicated, he encountered a crowd of people rushing -out, hastily attired in all manner of strange coverings. It was the inn of the burgh. -Among those who came forth there was one gigantic figure, who ran against his horse -like a battering-ram, and almost threw the animal on his haunches by the concussion. -Ere Hepborne could recover himself the monster was gone; but his attention was quickly -diverted from this incident by the sound of a voice chanting irregularly in broken -song, mingled with the notes of a harp. It came from the upper part of the building. -The house, though extending a good way backwards from the street, was of two storeys -only; but as the flames were briskly attacking the lower part, no time was to be lost -in making the musician leave it. -</p> -<p>Hepborne sprang from his horse, and, hastening down a lane to the doorway, rushed -up the narrow stair, and being led by ear towards the music, ran along a passage and -entered an apartment over the gable next the street, where, to his utter astonishment, -he beheld the minstrel, Adam of Gordon, seated on a stool, in his nightcap and under-garments, -accompanying his voice by striking wild chords upon the harp, and looking upwards -at intervals, as if seeking inspiration. -</p> -<p>“Adam of Gordon!” cried Hepborne, in absolute amazement, “what dost thou here? Quick, -quick, old man; thy life is in peril; throw on thy cloak and fly with me; the flames -gain upon us!” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Sir Knight,” said the minstrel, “disturb me not, I beseech thee; I do but work -myself here into proper bardic <span class="pageNum" id="pb280">[<a href="#pb280">280</a>]</span>enthusiasm, that I may the better describe the grandeur of this terrific scene. Trust -me, this is the minstrel’s golden moment; let it not pass by unimproved.” And saying -so he again began to strike on his harp, and to recur to his subject. -</p> -<div class="lgouter"> -<p class="line">The raging flame in fury swept, -</p> -<p class="line">It seized their chamber where they slept, -</p> -<p class="line">Along the wasting floor it crept, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Where locked in virtuous love they lay. -</p> -<p class="line">She dreamt that on a bed of flowers, -</p> -<p class="line">Beneath the cool and fragrant bowers, -</p> -<p class="line">With him she wasted happy hours; -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">She waked—she shrieked! she swooned away! -</p> -<p class="line">He quick uprose, in wild alarm, -</p> -<p class="line">To snatch his love——</p> -</div> -<p class="first">“Nay, Adam, this is absolute madness, for whilst thou art composing thy ballad we -shall both be brent. Haste thee, old man. Hark! there was the crash of falling ruins.” -</p> -<p>“One stanza more, I entreat thee, Sir Knight; my brain is hot with my subject. -</p> -<div class="lgouter"> -<p class="line">To snatch his love from threatening harm, -</p> -<p class="line">He clasped her in his vigorous arm.”</p> -</div> -<p class="first">“Nay, then,” said Hepborne, “I must of needscost enclasp thee in mine, or we shall -both perish;” and snatching up, with one hand, the minstrel’s drapery that lay beside -him, he lifted old Adam, harp and all, high in his other arm, and carried him down -the stair on his shoulder; whilst the bard, entirely occupied with his subject, was -hardly conscious of being removed from his position, and went on chatting and strumming— -</p> -<div class="lgouter"> -<p class="line">“He quick uprose, in wild alarm, -</p> -<p class="line">To snatch his love from threatening harm; -</p> -<p class="line">He clasped her in his vigorous arm, -</p> -<p class="line">And rushed——</p> -</div> -<p class="first">Holy St. Cuthbert, I’m choked! I’m—pugh!—ooh!” -</p> -<p>A sudden stop was indeed put to his song by the smoke through which Hepborne was condemned -to force his way with his burden, and the harp accompaniment was effectually silenced -by the flames which shot over them on either hand, and burnt off the strings of the -instrument. Hepborne bore the minstrel bravely into the street. -</p> -<p>“Where is thy steed, Adam?” demanded Hepborne, as he set him down. -</p> -<p>“In the stable behind,” replied the minstrel, somewhat brought to his senses by the -danger which he now saw had threatened him. Hepborne immediately despatched some of -those who were with him to fetch out the horse. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb281">[<a href="#pb281">281</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Heaven bless thee for my safety, Sir Knight,” said Adam; “but now that I am beyond -risk, if it so please thee I would gladly saunter through the burning town alone, -to gather hints for the garniture of my ballad.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay, old man,” replied Hepborne, quickly, “this is no place for thee. Here cometh -thy little curtal nag—mount thee, straightway, and hie thee to Tarnawa with this man, -who shall guide thee thither. There thou mayest inquire for a page of mine, called -Maurice de Grey, who will quickly make thee known to my Lady the Countess of Moray; -she will be right glad to see any one of minstrel kind in these times of tournament. -But stay,” added Hepborne, laughing to observe the grotesque figure of the half-clad -minstrel on horseback; “Here, throw his cloak over him and hasten hence with him beyond -danger. Away, away from hence, or ye are lost,” cried he, with increased rapidity -of utterance; and the group had hardly time to make their horses spring from the spot -ere the front wall of a house, slowly cracking and rending, fell with a tremendous -crash into the street, and they were divided from each other by the heaped-up debris. -Satisfied, however, of the minstrel’s safety, Sir Patrick now hurried on to the post -which the Earl of Moray had assigned him at the farther extremity of the conflagration. -</p> -<p>A considerable vacant space around the church had fortunately prevented the fire from -spreading beyond it. The holy edifice itself was burning slowly, yet so little attention -had been paid to it that the choir, which the incendiaries had first inflamed, was -already almost consumed. Sir Patrick Hepborne immediately established two lines of -people, extending between the church and a neighbouring well, so that buckets of water -were conveyed with great rapidity towards it, and the supply in this way was so great -that he soon succeeded in preventing the flames from spreading to the other parts -of the building; and their progress being once arrested, they at last began to sink -of themselves from lack of combustible materials, and by degrees were altogether subdued -by the crowds of active and well-directed men, who thought and talked of nothing but -the Castle beer, and who worked to earn a skinful of it. -</p> -<p>The sun had now risen on the scene of desolation. Toil-spent, and overwhelmed with -grief at the misery which appeared around him, as well as vexation at the thought -of how it had been occasioned, the Earl dismounted from his horse and sat himself -disconsolately down on a stone by the side of the way. There Hepborne found and saluted -him for the first time since their separation of the previous evening. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb282">[<a href="#pb282">282</a>]</span></p> -<p>“’Tis a grievous spectacle, my Lord Earl,” said Sir Patrick, as he observed the affliction -that was pourtrayed on his Lordship’s countenance, “’tis indeed a grievous spectacle; -but thou hast the pleasing gratification of thinking that, without thy timely presence -here, the ruin must have spread itself wider, and that if it had not been for thy -well-timed counsels and generous exertions not a house would have been remaining at -this moment within the burgh.” -</p> -<p>“Alas!” exclaimed the Earl, in a tone of extreme mortification, “grievous as the calamity -is, I am less moved by it than with the tormenting reflection that it was the work -of my wife’s brother. ’Tis piteous, indeed, to listen to the lamenting of those helpless -and innocent people, but their wounds may be speedily salved by the aid of a little -paltry gold; whilst those which the Earl of Buchan hath inflicted on the hearts of -all connected with him by allowing a brutal thirst of revenge to make him guilty of -an act so cruel and outrageous, must fester and rankle for many a day. What will the -good old greyheaded Monarch suffer when the news do reach him? Verily it doleth me -sorely that by my marriage I should be sykered with one who hath the fear of God so -little before his eyes. Yet must I not think of it. It behoveth me now to remedy the -mischief he hath wrought, and to set about relieving the more immediate wants of the -wretched people who have lost their houses and their all. Here, Martin,” cried he -to one of his esquires, “take these tablets; seek out some one who is well informed -as to the town and its inhabitants, and quickly bring me a careful list of the houses -that have been burned, together with the name, sex, age, and condition of the inmates.” -</p> -<p>The squire hastened to obey the Earl’s command. Several of the knights, his guests, -who had followed him from the Castle, and who had given him good assistance in extinguishing -the fire, now came about him, pouring out liberal congratulations on the success of -his well-conceived and promptly-executed measures; and while they formed a knot around -him, they were in their turn surrounded by crowds of the lower sort of people, composed -partly of the homeless sufferers, who were weeping and wailing for the calamity that -had befallen themselves and their little ones, and pouring out curses against the -ferocious Wolfe of Badenoch, who had brought all this misery upon them. But these -execrations on the Earl of Buchan were not unmingled with blessings on the Earl of -Moray for his timely aid, without which the speakers felt that they too might have -been by this time rendered as destitute as their less fortunate neighbours. <span class="pageNum" id="pb283">[<a href="#pb283">283</a>]</span>Then many were the clamorous entreaties for charitable succour; whilst those indifferent -persons, who had assisted in subduing the conflagration, were elbowing one another, -and uttering many a broad and rustic hint of the reward they looked for. At length -Martin appeared with his list. -</p> -<p>“Here,” said the Earl, aside to him, “into thy faithful hands do I confide this purse; -’tis for the more immediate relief of those poor people. Leave not the town until -thou hast inquired into circumstances, and done all thou canst to secure temporary -accommodation for those who have been rendered houseless. I shall take care to provide -more permanent aid for them anon.” -</p> -<p>This order, though given in a half whisper, was caught up by some of those miserables, -whose wretched and forlorn state had quickened their ears to every sound which gave -them the hope of relief. The news of the Earl’s humane bounty spread among them more -rapidly than the fire had done over their possessions and property. Their gratitude -burst forth in shouts: -</p> -<p>“God bless the noble Earl of Moray!”—“Long live our noble preserver!”—“Heaven reward -our kind benefactor!”—“If his brother, the wicked Wolfe of Badenoch, be a destroying -devil, surely the good Earl of Moray is a protecting angel!”—“May the best gifts of -the Virgin be upon him and his!” -</p> -<p>The Earl called for his horse, and mounted amid the cheers of the populace. -</p> -<p>“Let all those who lent me their friendly aid on this occasion forthwith follow me -to the Castle,” cried he, and, glad to escape from praises which, as they were bestowed -on him at the expense of the brother of his Countess, gave him more of pain than pleasure, -he turned his horse’s head in the direction of the Castle, and rode off, accompanied -by Sir Patrick Hepborne and the rest of the knights who were with him, and followed -at a distance by a shouting and ragamuffin rabble, who were eager to moisten their -hot and parched throats from the capacious and hospitably-flowing cellars of Tarnawa. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch40" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e602">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XL.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>In the Countess of Moray’s Apartments—Sir Patrick gets Quizzed.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The Earl and his friends had no sooner reached Tarnawa, than they retired, each to -his own chamber, to enjoy a few hours’ rest. Sir Patrick Hepborne made inquiry for -his page, but the latter <span class="pageNum" id="pb284">[<a href="#pb284">284</a>]</span>was nowhere to be found at the time; so, leaving orders that the youth should be in -attendance, he gladly committed his wearied limbs to the comforts of his couch. -</p> -<p>It was about midday when he raised his head from his pillow, and his first thought -was to call for Maurice de Grey; but a lacquey informed him that the youth had not -yet appeared. He sent the man for Mortimer Sang, and when the esquire came, he was -much disappointed to learn that he had seen or heard nothing of the boy. -</p> -<p>“Go then, I pr’ythee,” said Sir Patrick, “and make diligent inquiry for the youth -through the Castle, and when thou hast found him, send him hither without a moment’s -delay. Verily, it seemeth that he doth already begin to forget that I am his master.” -</p> -<p>Sang hastened to obey, but remained absent much longer than Sir Patrick, in his anxiety -about the boy, could think reasonable. The knight walked hastily about the room, and -at length becoming very impatient, he sent first one lacquey, and then another, after -the esquire. At last Mortimer Sang returned. -</p> -<p>“Well, where is Maurice de Grey?” demanded Hepborne. -</p> -<p>“By the mass, Sir Knight, I can gain no tidings of him.” -</p> -<p>“’Tis very strange,” replied the knight, with a look of much vexation. “I do much -fear me that the youth is of a truant disposition; it was indeed that which gave him -to me. He ran away from his paternal home, and from maternal care, united himself -to my party, and how oft did he solemnly and hautently vow never to quit me until -death should sever us! His present absence doth wear a very mysterious and suspicious -aspect.—Hath the old Harper been seen?” demanded Sir Patrick, after a pause, during -which he paced the room two or three times backwards and forwards. -</p> -<p>“Nay, Sir Knight,” replied the squire, “he hath not been visible.” -</p> -<p>“Depardieux, then they must have gone off together,” replied Sir Patrick, with a tone -of extreme dissatisfaction; “’tis most like that the minstrel, who must have known -him before, hath aided, and perhaps been the partner of his escape. Yes, they must -have been well acquainted, seeing that old Adam did so greatly frequent the English -Border, and that he was so much esteemed by the Lady Eleanore de ———, I mean, by the -page’s kinswoman. Well, I shall feel the loss of the boy’s company, for, sooth to -say, his prattle did often beguile me of a dull hour. Truly, he was a shrewd and winning -youth; but I am sore grieved to discover that he hath had in him such <span class="pageNum" id="pb285">[<a href="#pb285">285</a>]</span>deceit, and so little feeling for the kindness I did ever show him.” -</p> -<p>With these words, the knight threw himself on the couch, altogether unable to conceal -the chagrin and distress of mind he was suffering. -</p> -<p>“Perdie, I should have been as a father to that boy,” said he again; “I should have -made him a knight worthy of the highest place in the annals of chivalry. The youth -seemed to value, yea, and to give heed to my counsels too; nay, the admiration with -which he looked up to me might have been almost considered as ridiculous, had it not -been viewed as the offspring of extreme attachment. He spoke as if he imagined that -I was all excellence, all perfection. What strange cause can have occasioned his so -sudden abandonment of me, and that, too, without having given me the smallest warning -or hint of his intention? Did not I, more than once, tell him that I should be willing -to aid his return to his friends, should he ever feel a desire to do so? His escapade -is an utter mystery to me. Ha! I have it,” continued he, after a short pause of consideration; -“I trow, I have hit it at last. The youth hath some turn, nay, and, I wot, no mean -one neither, for poesy and song; moreover, he toucheth the harp with liard and skilful -fingers; and seeing that he is fond of change, he hath, ’tis like, taken fancy to -become a troubadour, and so has exchanged me as his master for old Adam of Gordon. -Well, well, why should I vex myself about a silly, careless, truant boy?” -</p> -<p>But Sir Patrick did, notwithstanding, vex himself most abundantly, and, nearly an -hour afterwards, he was found, still lying in peevish and fretful soliloquy, by Mortimer -Sang, who entered his chamber, with a message from the Countess of Moray, entreating -his company in her apartment for a short conference. Sir Patrick hastily prepared -himself to attend her, and was immediately ushered into her presence by a squire in -waiting. -</p> -<p>He found his noble hostess seated with the Lady Jane de Vaux, in the midst of her -damsels, some of whom were employed in idle chitchat, others in singing, from time -to time, to the harp or guitar, whilst the rest were assisting in an extensive work -of embroidery. They were immediately dismissed on his entrance, and the Countess came -forward graciously to receive him. -</p> -<p>“I fear, Sir Patrick,” said she, “that I may have perhaps broken in rather prematurely -upon those hours of repose which the fatigue of yesternight’s violent, though charitable, -exertions <span class="pageNum" id="pb286">[<a href="#pb286">286</a>]</span>had doubtless rendered as welcome as they were necessary. The Earl, my husband, was -so overspent with toil when he returned this morning, that he was buried in slumber -ere I had time to question him as to the cause of the calamity, or even as to its -full extent. I was on the eve of entreating a few minutes’ audience of thee at that -time, that I might have my curiosity satisfied, but just as I was about to send my -page to crave this boon of thine, thy page, Maurice de Grey, came hither, and informed -me that thou also hadst betaken thee to thy couch. I have thus been compelled to champ -the bit of impatience ever sithence; but, impatient as I am, I shall not easily forgive -myself if I have been the means of rudely disturbing thy needful refreshment.” -</p> -<p>“My page!” cried the knight with a mixture of surprise and eagerness, and made him -forget everything else that the Countess had said to him; “verily, I have been seeking -and sending for my page during the greater part of the morning. I beseech your Ladyship, -when was the little varlet here, and what could have induced him to be so bold as -to intrude himself on the Countess of Moray?” -</p> -<p>“Nay,” replied the Countess, with an air of surprise no less strong than that of Sir -Patrick, “I did assuredly think that it was thou who didst order him to come hither. -He came to introduce a certain minstrel to my notice, and in so doing to take the -opportunity of paying his duty to me, by thine own desire, ere the old man and he -should depart hence together.” -</p> -<p>“Depart hence!” cried Hepborne, with still greater astonishment, mingled with excessive -vexation; “depart hence, didst thou say? So then the heartless boy hath really left -me. Of a truth, when first I missed him, I did suspect that he and the minstrel had -gone off together. Whither have they gone, I do beseech thee?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, that is indeed miraculous,” replied the Countess; “’tis indeed miraculous, I -say, that thou shouldst not have known the page was going away; for albeit he did -not positively say so, yet did he so counterfeit with us that I for one did never -doubt but that he came hither by thy very command to do his obeisance to me ere he -should yede him hence. ’Tis a right artful youth, I’ll warrant me. Nay, <span class="corr" id="xd31e4111" title="Source: sir">Sir</span> Knight, methinks thou hast good reason to congratulate thyself on being so happily -rid of a cunning chit, who mought have worked thee much evil by his tricks. Of a truth, -I liked not his looks over much———” -</p> -<p>“Forgive me, noble lady,” cried the knight, “I cannot hear the boy spoken of otherwise -than as he may in justice deserve. <span class="pageNum" id="pb287">[<a href="#pb287">287</a>]</span>I saw not ever any trick or mischief in him; on the contrary, he did always appear -most doced in his demeanour and service. Moreover, he is a boy of most sensible remark, -and more prudence of conduct than one might reasonably look for in a head so young -and inexperienced; then as for his heart, it was warmer than any I ever met with in -old or young. I trow he did prove to me more than once that his attachment to my person -was something beyond mere pretence. Twice did he nearly sacrifice his life for me. -What can have induced him to go off thus secretly? Had I been cruel to him he might -have fled from me with good reason; but I loved the boy as I should have loved a younger -brother, yea, or a son, if I had had one. There was so much gentleness about him; -yet lacked he not a sly, sharp, and subtle wit.” -</p> -<p>“Yea, of a truth, he hath a wit,” cried the Lady Jane de Vaux, archly; “ay, and as -you say, Sir Knight, ’tis indeed a sharp one. How the wicked rogue did amuse us by -the rehearsal of thy loves, Sir Knight! I do mean thy loves for his fair cousin, the -beauteous Lady Eleanore de Selby. Ha, ha, ha! parfay, the varlet did stir up some -excellent good-humoured pleasantry and merry laughter in us.” -</p> -<p>“In truth, his stories were most amusing,” said the Countess; “trust me, it is a smart -and witty little knave as ever I saw.” -</p> -<p>“A most rare and laughter-stirring imp, indeed,” cried the Lady Jane de Vaux; “nay, -the mere remembrance of him doth provoke me yet—ha, ha, ha!” -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick Hepborne stood confounded and abashed, to find himself thus unexpectedly -placed as a butt for the ridicule of the two ladies. -</p> -<p>“My noble Countess of Moray, and you, beauteous Lady Jane de Vaux, you do seem to -have vouchsafed me the honour of being your quintaine this morning—the targe against -the which you may gaily prove the sharp points of your merry wit. Depardieux, my lot -in being so selected is to be envied, not deplored; and I must thank you for the distinguished -preference you have deigned to show me. Yet cannot I but feel disappointment most -severe, to discover thus that a youth, towards whom I was so well affected, should -have requited my love so ill-favouredly. Of a truth, the wicked knave hath been most -indiscreet. And yet meseems that I myself have been even more indiscreet than he, -since the secret was altogether mine own, and I ought to have kept it better.” -</p> -<p>“In good sooth, we were much indebted to the imp for his information,” said the Lady -Jane de Vaux; “for to be free with <span class="pageNum" id="pb288">[<a href="#pb288">288</a>]</span>thee, Sir Knight, our stock of female curiosity, the which was raised highly by the -public refusal of so renowned a chevalier to drink a pledge to his lady love, was -beginning to be much an over-match for our limited store of patience. Our appetite -for intelligence regarding the state of thy heart was waxing so great, that had not -this boy of thine come to us this morning, to open his wallet and satisfy our craving, -we might ere this have been dead of mere starvation. His visit here was quite a blessing -to us.” -</p> -<p>“By St. Andrew, I am thunderstruck,” cried the Knight, “Depardieux, the young caitiff -hath indeed deceived me deeply in thus betraying the most sacred secret of my heart.” -</p> -<p>“Of a truth, thine unexampled constancy did deserve better treatment, Sir Knight,” -said the Countess, with a tone and manner tinged with a certain degree of asperity -and sarcasm, which Hepborne hardly believed that amiable lady could have assumed; -whilst, at the same time, she and Jane de Vaux exchanged very significant looks. With -an effort to command herself, however, she turned the conversation rather suddenly -towards the subject of the burning of Forres; and after gathering from Hepborne the -general circumstances of that calamity, she, with more than usual dignity, signified -to him her wish to be alone, and he retired to his apartment, to fret himself about -the loss of his page, and the provoking circumstances by which it was accompanied. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch41" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e612">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XLI.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Rory Spears, the Earl’s Henchman.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Sir Patrick Hepborne left the apartments of the Countess of Moray melancholy and unhappy. -He retired to his own chamber, to ruminate on the ingratitude of his heartless page; -and, when the hour of the banquet arrived, he went to the Hall of Randolph with a -mind but little attuned to harmonize with its festivities. But it was more in unison -with his feelings than he had anticipated. The Countess of Moray, who was by this -time fully aware that the destructive fire of Forres had been kindled by her brother’s -hand, was unable to appear; and her example was followed by most of the other ladies. -The Earl of Fife, too, and several other nobles and knights, were absent. The Earl -of Moray was indeed present; but he was there only in body, for his thoughts seemed -to be elsewhere. All his attempts to <span class="pageNum" id="pb289">[<a href="#pb289">289</a>]</span>rally his spirits were unavailing, and the sombre air which hung upon his countenance -speedily spread along the gay ranks of the festive board, to the extinction of everything -like mirth. -</p> -<p>In this state of things, the Earl speedily broke up the feast. He had serious thoughts -of breaking up the tournament also, and these he privately communicated to his brother-in-law, -the Earl of Fife; but that crafty politician objected to a measure which could only -make his brother’s outrage the more talked of; and he had a still stronger reason -in his own mind, for he did not wish to be deprived of the opportunity, afforded him -by the tournament, of gaining over friends to the party he was forming to strengthen -his own power. It was therefore finally determined that next day it should be solemnly -proclaimed by the heralds. -</p> -<p>The Earl of Moray and his lady passed a sleepless night, turning in their minds how -they could best repair the wrong done by their brother, the Wolfe of Badenoch. Early -in the morning one of the Countess’s favourite damsels, Katherine Spears by name, -came to beseech an audience of the Earl for her father, Rory Spears. There was nothing -extraordinary in this request, for the Earl was so much the friend of his people that -he was ever ready to lend an ear to the complaints of the meanest individual among -them. The man who now craved an interview was an old partizan of the Earl’s, who had -fought under his banner and at his back in many a battle, and who was employed in -time of peace in hunting, hawking, and fishing. -</p> -<p>As the Earl had a peculiar regard for Rory Spears, the damsel was ordered to send -him up immediately to a small turret room, where his Lordship usually received people -in his rank of life. Rory’s heavy fishing boots were soon heard ascending the turret -stair, and his bulky figure appeared, followed by a great rough allounde and one or -two terriers. As Katherine showed him in, there was something peculiarly striking -in the contrast between her sylphlike figure, delicate face, and ladylike air, and -his Herculean mould and rough-hewn features, in which there was a strangely-mixed -and contradictory expression of acuteness and simplicity, good nature, and sullen -testiness. His huge shoulders had a natural bend forward, and a profusion of grizzled -curls mingled in bushy luxuriance with the abundant produce of his cheeks, lips, and -chin. On his head was a close red hood, that lay over his neck and back, and he wore -a coarse grey woollen jerkin and hauselines, covered with an ample upper garment of -the same materials, and of a form much resembling that constituting a part of the -fisherman’s garb of <span class="pageNum" id="pb290">[<a href="#pb290">290</a>]</span>the present day. In one hand he brandished a long pole with a sharp iron hook at the -end of it, the bend of the hook being projected into a long pike, and the whole so -constructed as to be equally serviceable as a hunting-spear or as a fish-clip. He -stooped yet more as he entered the low doorway of the turret room, and had no sooner -established his thick-soled boots upon the floor than he made an obeisance to the -Earl, with his cap under his arm. -</p> -<p>“What hath brought thee hither so early, friend Rory?” inquired the Earl. -</p> -<p>“In good sooth, my noble Lord, I did think that the Castle mought maybe be lacking -provender, wi’ a’ thay knights, grandees, and lordlings ilka day in the hall, an’ -so mony o’ their people in the kitchen, so I did gather some of the knaves with their -horse beasts, and I hae brought thee ower six fat deer, some wild pollayle, and a -dozen or twa o’ salmons, to help the buttery-man to fill his spense; ’tis no deaf -nits, I rauken, that’ll fill sae mony mouths.” -</p> -<p>“I thank thee, Rory,” said the Earl; “it was indeed most considerate in thee; thy -present is most welcome. How fares it with Alice, thy wife?” -</p> -<p>“Fu’ weel, my Lord Yearl,” replied Rory; “troth I see no complaints about the woman. -And how’s a’ wi’ my Lady Countess?” -</p> -<p>“A little indisposed to-day, Rory,” replied the Earl gravely. -</p> -<p>“Fie, fie! I’m sorry for that,” said Rory; “I’se warrant feasting and galravaging -mun agree but soberly wi’ her Ladyship’s honour. By St. Lowry, but I’m no that mokell -the better for it mysel when I drink ower deep.” -</p> -<p>“Too much drink is certainly bad, Rory, though the Countess’s indisposition hath nothing -of that in it,” replied the Earl smiling: “but a black-jack of ale can do thee but -little harm of a morning, so get thee to the kitchen, that thou mayest have thy draught.” -</p> -<p>“Thanks, my most noble Yearl,” cried Rory; “a black-jack full of ale—nay, I spoke -of gallons; it will take gallons to gi’ me an aching head, I promise thee; nay, one -gallon, or twa gallons, peraunter, would do me but little harm. But that wasna just -a’ my business, my Lord; I hae something mair to speak to thee about. Wasn’t thee -wanting a cast o’ hawks?” -</p> -<p>“Yea, I did indeed much wish for some of these noble birds, the which our rocks are -famed for rearing, good Rory,” replied the Earl. “The King hath heard of the excellence -of our falcons, and I have promised to send him a cast of them.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb291">[<a href="#pb291">291</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Aweel, aweel, the King’s honour shanna want them an’ I can get a grup o’ them,” replied -Spears; “and sae your Lordship may tell him frae me.” -</p> -<p>“Thanks, good Rory, for thy zeal,” replied the Earl; “get thee then to the kitchen, -and have thy morning’s draught.” -</p> -<p>“But that was not just a’ that I had to say to thine honourable Lordship,” said Rory, -still lingering. -</p> -<p>“I do opine that thou lackest advice and assistance in some little matter of thine -own, friend Rory?” said the Earl smiling. -</p> -<p>“Troth, my noble Lord Yearl, thou art not far from the mark there; and yet it’s not -just mine own matter neither, though some few years mought peraunter ha’ made it mine; -but it’s nobody’s now but his who hath got it.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, now thou art somewhat mystical, Rory,” said the Earl; “come to the point at -once, I pr’ythee, and effunde thy whole tale distinctly to me, for my time is rather -precious this morning.” -</p> -<p>“The short and the long, then, of this matter, my Lord Yearl, is, that my wife’s mother -hath been robbed of fifty broad pieces,” replied Rory. -</p> -<p>“What! old Elspeth of the Burgh? who can have done so foul a larcen?” demanded the -Earl. -</p> -<p>“Ay, good my Lord, just our old mother Elspeth,” replied Spears. “The money was the -hard earnings of her goodman, the smith, who, rest his soul, was a hard-working Christian, -as thou mayest remember.” -</p> -<p>“And how did this wicked stouthrief happen?” inquired the Earl. -</p> -<p>“By the mass, I will tell thee as speedily as may be, my Lord,” replied Rory. “It -was but the night before last, that is to say, the night o’ the brenning o’ the <span class="corr" id="xd31e4170" title="Source: Brugh">Burgh</span>, that it did happen. The haflins lassie that looketh after old Lucky was sent out -to bring her tidings o’ the fire. Thee knawest that the poor soul downa easily budge -from eild; and as she did lig in her blankets she hearden a heavy foot in the place; -and when she got up she did find the kist opened, and the old leathern purse with -her money gone.” -</p> -<p>“’Tis a hard case, indeed,” said the Earl; “and hast thou any suspicions, Rory?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, for a matter o’ that, I hae my own thoughts,” replied Rory; “yet I canna say -that I am just sicker anent it; but cannot thou do nought, my noble Yearl?” -</p> -<p>“Do thou use all thine ingenuity to find out the thief,” said the Earl; “I shall see -what my people may be able to do to aid <span class="pageNum" id="pb292">[<a href="#pb292">292</a>]</span>thee; and if we discover the rogue, a court shall be summoned, and he shall straightway -hang for his villainy.” -</p> -<p>“Thanks, my good Lord,” replied Rory, making his obeisance preparatory to departure; -“verily I am much beholden to thee; but an’ we recover not the broad pieces, we shall -gain little by the foiterer’s neck being lengthened; yet I’ll see what may be done -to catch him.” -</p> -<p>“Do so, Rory,” said the Earl; “thou shalt have the aid of some of my people, and I -do wish thee success.” -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch42" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e623">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XLII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Lovely English Damosel.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“So,” said Rory Spears to his daughter, as she saw him out into the court-yard of -the Castle, previous to his departure, “my lady the Countess hath bid thee attend -to a young English damosel, sayest thou?” -</p> -<p>“Yea, and she is one of the sweetest, as well as one of the loveliest damosels I did -ever behold,” replied Katherine, “and of temper and disposition most gentle and sunshiny. -Of a truth, it is quite a pleasure to be with her; I am already as if I had known -her from infancy. She is so gently condescending with me, that I could live with her -for ever.” -</p> -<p>“What, wouldst thou forget thy benefactress to cleave to a stranger?” exclaimed Rory -Spears, in a tone of reproach. -</p> -<p>“Nay, verily, not so,” replied Katherine. “The duty I owe the Countess, and, above -all, the love and gratitude I bear her, are too strong to permit me ever to forget -her; but whatever my lady wills me to do, I am bound to do; and I own I do feel grateful -to her for laying no more disagreeable task on me than that of attending on one so -truly amiable as this English lady.” -</p> -<p>“English leddy here, or English leddy there, what is ony English leddy, compared to -the Countess of Moray?” replied Rory Spears impatiently. “I like not newfangledness—I -like not to see thee relish any one but thy noble mistress, to whom thou shouldst -ever cleave. She hath made a woman o’ thee, for the whilk may the Virgin’s blessing -be about her. She hath caused thee to be taught many things; but let me not have the -grief and vexation to find that thou hast forgotten the plain simple lesson o’ hamely -virtue, and right acting, and the kindly feelings that I did put into thy young heart -when thou wert but as a wild kid o’ the craigs, that is, when thou wert my bairn; -<span class="pageNum" id="pb293">[<a href="#pb293">293</a>]</span>for, from thy leddy lear and tutoring, thou art now far aboon a simple man like me. -Yet dost ane honest warm heart, simple though it be, lift up him that carries it to -be the make of the very greatest and wisest among the judges o’ the land, and so I -am even wi’ thee, lassie, and enteetled to speak to thee, learned as thou art, and -foolish though I be. Let not thy heart dance away after strangers.” -</p> -<p>“My dearest father, thou hast much misjudged me,” replied Katherine. “This lady hath -robbed me of no title of mine affection for the Earl and Countess, whom I do most -ardently love, yea, as second parents; nay, I do love them hardly less than I do my -mother and thee.” -</p> -<p>“Thou shouldst love them more, lassie,” cried Rory, with great energy and emphasis. -“Much as we may have claim to thine affection, what have we done for thee that may -equal the bounteous blessings they have conferred?” -</p> -<p>“Thou art my father, and Alice is my mother,” replied Katherine, seizing his rough -horny hands, and looking up in his weather-beaten face and smiling affectionately. -“Thou kennest thou didst put notions of virtue and of right acting, yea, and kindly -feelings, into my young heart; and do I owe thee nothing for sike gifts?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Kate, thy lear hath made thee an overmatch for me,” cried Rory, quite overcome, -and, embracing his daughter with the tears pouring over his cheeks; “God bless thee, -my bairn—I fear not for thy heart; but, by St. Lowry, I must away. My blessing rest -with thee, Kate. Ho there, loons, hae ye redd your beast horses o’ their burdens?” -</p> -<p>“Ou ay, Maister Spears,” replied one of the men who came with him. -</p> -<p>“Let’s on, then,” exclaimed he; so, striking the end of his pole to the ground, and -whistling shrilly on his dogs, he moved hastily out by the Castle gate at the head -of his ragged troop. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch43" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e633">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XLIII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Mustering for the Tournament—The Proclamation—The Procession at St. John’s Chapel.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The lists were now finished, and the crests and blazoned coat-armour of such knights -as meant to tilt were on this day to be mustered in the little chapel of St John’s. -Chivalry was to be alive in all its gaudy pomp. Hitherto the knights had loitered -<span class="pageNum" id="pb294">[<a href="#pb294">294</a>]</span>about idle, or wasted the hours in sighing soft things into the delighted ears of -their lady-loves, or in playing with them at chess or tables. Some, indeed, had more -actively employed themselves, in hawking or hunting, and others had formed parties -at bowls; but now all was to be bustle and busy preparation in the Castle, both with -knights and ladies. -</p> -<p>By dawn of day, squires, pages, and lacqueys, were seen running in all directions. -Armour was observed gleaming in the ruddy beams of the morning sun; proud crests and -helms, and nodding plumes, and richly-emblazoned shields and surcoats, and glittering -lances, and flaunting banners and pennons, everywhere met the eye. The Earl of Moray, -who had much to direct and to decide on, was compelled to shake off the sombre and -distressing thoughts that oppressed him, and even to use his eloquence with the Countess, -to induce her to rouse herself from the grief she had been plunged into by the shame -her brother, the Wolfe of Badenoch, had brought upon her. She also had important duties -to perform; and the first burst of her vexation being now over, she exerted her rational -and energetic mind to overcome her feelings, and to prepare for the proper execution -of them. -</p> -<p>To gratify to the fullest extent that fondness for parade which so powerfully characterised -the age, and to render the spectacle as imposing as possible, the whole of the knights, -with their respective parties, were ordained to appear in the Castle-yard, where, -having been joined by the ladies, it was intended they should be formed into a grand -procession, in which they were to ride to the Mead of St John’s, to witness the herald’s -proclamation. -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick Hepborne was early astir, and his attendants and horses were all assembled -before the Castle-yard began to fill. In the midst of them waved his red pennon, bearing -his achievement on a chevron <i>argent</i>, two lions pulling at a rose. The parade that Mortimer Sang had, with great good -judgment, selected for them, was immediately opposite to the window of the apartment -which he knew was occupied by Katherine Spears, whose melting eyes had much disturbed -his repose, and had created no small turmoil in his bosom. Mortimer yet hoped to win -his spurs, in which event, the daughter of Rory Spears, though he was reputed rich, -might have hardly, perhaps, been considered a proper match for him. But Master Sang -could not resist the fascination of Katherine’s talk; and when in her company, he -was so wrapped in admiration of her, that he invariably forgot that Rory Spears was -her father, or that she <span class="pageNum" id="pb295">[<a href="#pb295">295</a>]</span>had ever had a father at all. The damsel, for her part, looked with inexpressible -delight on the soldier-like form of Squire Mortimer, and listened with no less pleasure -to his good-natured sallies of humour, graced, as they always were, with much of the -polish of travel. -</p> -<p>The sound of the trumpets, as the party of each respective knight appeared within -the arched gateway of the Castle’s outworks, now came more frequent, and the neighing -of impatient steeds, provoking one another in proud and joyous challenge, became louder, -and the shrill voices of the pursuivants were heard, proclaiming the name, rank, and -praises of each chevalier as he appeared. The sun shone out bright and hot, increasing -the glitter of the gold-embossed armour of the knights, and the splendour of their -embroidered pennons and banners, their richly-emblazoned surcoats, and their horse-furniture, -that swept the very ground as the coursers moved. -</p> -<p>As Sir Patrick Hepborne passed outwards, on his way to descend to the courtyard, he -found the Earl of Moray already upon the terrace, arrayed in all his pride. Behind -him stood his standard-bearer, supporting the staff of his banner in an inclined position, -so that its broad silk hung down unruffled by a breath of air, displaying on a golden -field the three cushions pendant, within a double tressure, flowered and counterflowered -with fleurs-de-lys <i>gules</i>. -</p> -<p>“Sir Patrick,” said he, “thou art yet in good time. If it so please thee to tarry -here with me for some short space, I will endeavour to teach thee some of the names -and titles of those gallant chevaliers who are beginning to throng the yard of the -Castle below. Thou dost already know my brother, the Earl of Dunbar, who standeth -yonder, with his red surcoat covered with <i>argent</i> lions rampant; and I have also made thee know him with whom he holdeth parlance, -who beareth an ostrich proper as his crest, and who hath his surcoat emblazoned <i>gules</i>, with a fess cheque <i>argent</i> and <i>azure</i>, to be the brave Sir David Lindsay of Glenesk, my worthy brother-in-law. With him -is the proud Sir Thomas Hay of Errol, Constable of Scotland, who standeth alike sykered -to me. Thou seest he beareth as his crest a falcon proper, and the silver cloth of -his surcoat is charged with three red escutcheons. -</p> -<p>“But see how the noble Douglas’s flaming salamander—<i>jamais arrière</i>—riseth over the towering crests around him; and as he shifts his place from time -to time, thou mayest catch a transient glimpse of the bloody hearts that cover his -<i>argent</i> field. Yonder hart’s head erased proper, attired with ten tynes, <span class="pageNum" id="pb296">[<a href="#pb296">296</a>]</span>and bearing the motto, <i>Veritas vincit</i>, tells us that the wearer is Sir John de Keith, son of the Knight Marischal of Scotland. -His emblazonry is hid from thee at present, but peraunter thou art aware that his -coat-armour is <i>argent</i> on a chief <i>or</i>, three pallets <i>gules</i>. Yonder surcoat of cloth of gold with three mascles on a bend <i>azure</i>, as thou mayest have already discovered, veils the armour of Sir John Halyburton, -than whom no knight hath a firmer seat in saddle, or a tougher arm to guide his ashen -spear. Thou seest he weareth the red scarf of his lady-love attached to the Moor’s -head proper, that grinneth as his crest amid the plumes of his helmet.” -</p> -<p>“I do know him well, my Lord,” replied Sir Patrick; “it hath pleased him to admit -me already into close friendship.” -</p> -<p>“Ha!” continued the Earl, “seest thou yonder knight, who rideth so gaily into the -court-yard, with his casque surmounted by a buck’s head couped proper, attired <i>or?</i> He is as brave a chevalier as ever spurred in field—Sir John de Gordon, Lord of Strathbolgy; -his <i>azure</i> banner waves behind him, charged with three boars’ heads couped <i>or</i>. That knight who beareth for his crest a sleuth-hound proper, collared and leished -<i>gules</i>, and whose gold-woven surcoat is charged with three red bars wavy—he, I mean, who -now speaketh to the Douglas as he leaneth on his lance—is his brother-in-law, Sir -Malcolm Drummond. Next to him stands Sir Alexander Fraser of Cowie, known by his <i>azure</i> coat, and his three cinquefeuilles <i>argent</i>. -</p> -<p>“Thou mayest know the Earl of Sutherland by the gravity of his air, as well as by -his richly embroidered red surcoat, displaying three stars within a border <i>or</i>, and the double tressure flowered and counterflowered with fleurs-de-lys of the field, -marking his descent from King Robert the First. His helm beareth the cat sejant proper, -with the motto, <i>Sans peur</i>. Behind him standeth Hugh Fraser, Lord of Lovat, with his crest, a stag’s head erased -<i>or</i>, armed <i>argent</i>, and his <i>azure</i> coat charged with three <i>argent</i> cinquefeuilles. -</p> -<p>“Ha! ha! ha! there thou comest, thou mad wag, Sir William de Dalzell, with thine erect -dagger on thy helm, and thy motto, <i>I dare</i>. Depardieux, thou mayest well say so, for, by St. Andrew, thou wilt dare anything -in lists or in field. Thou seest, Sir Patrick, that his sable surcoat hath on it a -naked man, with arms extended proper. That lion passant, quardant <i>gules</i>, doth ornament the silver surcoat of Sir Walter Ogilvie of Wester Powrie, Sheriff -of Forfar and Angus; and yonder golden coat, with the three red crescents, doth cover -the armour of Sir William Seaton of Seaton. That <i>argent</i> lion rampant is the crest <span class="pageNum" id="pb297">[<a href="#pb297">297</a>]</span>of Sir Robert Bruce of Clackmannan; thou seest his golden coat hath a saltire and -chief <i>gules</i>. That crest, a boar’s head couped <i>or</i>, marks Sir Gillespie Campbell of Lochow; and the unicorn’s head, near it, is that -of Sir William Cunninghame of Kilmaurs. My neighbour, Sir Thomas de Kinnaird of Cowbin, -is easily known by his red surcoat, bearing a saltire between four golden crescents. -He that holdeth converse with him, and hath three silver buckles on a bend <i>azure</i> on his silver surcoat, is Sir Norman de Leslie of Rothes. Behind him is Sir Murdoch -Mackenzie of Kintail; his surcoat is hid from our view, but he beareth, on an <i>azure</i> field, a stag’s head embossed <i>or</i>. -</p> -<p>“Yonder knight, who rideth in at this moment, clad in a golden surcoat, blazoned with -a bend <i>azure</i>, charged with a star of six points between two crescents of the field, is Sir Walter -Scott of Rankelburn, as brave a Borderer as ever rode with his lance’s point to the -South. With him cometh a chevalier, whose crest is an erect silver spur winged; he -is Sir John de Johnston, one of the guardians of the Western Marches. He who cometh -after Sir John, bearing as his crest the bear’s paw holding a scimitar, and who hath -his red surcoat charged with a lion rampant holding a crooked scimitar in his dexter -paw, is Sir James Scrimgeour, the Constable of Dundee, I wot a right famous knight. -With him is a knight also clad in a red surcoat, but having three golden stars; that -is Sir Henry Sutherland of Duffus. -</p> -<p>“Yonder <i>sable</i> eagle displayed on the <i>argent</i> surcoat, doth distinguish the gallant Sir Alexander Ramsay, Lord of Dalwolsy; and -that other knight in silver, with the three <i>sable</i> unicorns’ heads, is Sir Henry de Preston of Fermartyn. He in the <i>azure</i>——But hark, Sir Patrick, the trumpets sound—the procession is about to be marshalled—we -must descend to the courtyard.” -</p> -<p>The trumpets had no sooner ceased than the voice of a pursuivant was heard— -</p> -<p>“Oyez! oyez! oyez!—Let the standard-bearer of each noble and knight take up the parade -which the herald did already assign to him, there to remain till he be duly marshalled.” -</p> -<p>Immediately the banners and pennons, which waved in numbers below, were seen moving -in various directions through the crowd, and each became stationary at its fixed point, -near the edge of the area of the court-yard. This was a preliminary arrangement, without -which the herald would have found great difficulty in executing his duty. As it was, -he and his assistants soon began to bring the most beautiful order out of the gay -confusion <span class="pageNum" id="pb298">[<a href="#pb298">298</a>]</span>that prevailed. The Earl of Fife, who was to represent the King, appeared, and the -Countess of Moray, and all the ladies, gorgeously apparelled in robes of state, came -forth from the Castle, and began to mingle their slender and delicate forms with the -firm, muscular, war-proved, and mail-clad figures of the knights. -</p> -<p>At length all were marshalled and mounted; the court-yard shook with the shrill clangour -of the trumpets and kettle-drums, and the neighing and prancing of the steeds; and -the shouts that began to arise from the vulgar thousands who were impatiently waiting -without the walls, announced that their eager eyes were at least gratified with the -appearance of the first part of the spectacle. -</p> -<p>Forth came some mounted spearmen and bowmen, before whom the dense crowd began slowly -to open and divide; and then some half-dozen trumpets, with several kettle-drums and -clarions, all riding two and two. These were followed by a troop of pages, also riding -in pairs, and after them came a train of esquires, all gallantly mounted and armed, -and riding in the same order. Between the pages and the esquires were some kettle-drums -and trumpets as before. Then came the Royal Standard, preceded by a strong band of -trumpets, kettle-drums, and clarions, and various other martial instruments, and guarded -by some of the oldest and noblest of the knights, and such as had no ladies present -to claim their attendance. The standard was followed by the Earl of Fife, who rode -a magnificent milk-white charger, armed and barbed at all points, and caparisoned -with regal splendour. On the present occasion he was here acting as representative -of the King his father, and the pomp of his array was not inferior to what might have -been looked for from a crowned head. Before him rode six pages and six esquires; and -eight more pages walked, four on each side of his horse, supporting the poles of a -canopy of crimson velvet, covered with golden shields, bearing the lion rampant <i>gules</i>. His golden surcoat, and the drapery of his horse, were richly emblazoned with the -rampant red lion, and his private banner that followed bore the full blazon of his -arms. The Earl of Fife was attended by a number of elderly knights of noble blood, -who acted as his guards. -</p> -<p>After the King’s representative came the trumpets of the heralds, followed by the -pursuivants; immediately after them appeared the heralds, in their crowns and robes; -and in the middle of the latter was Albany Herald, his horse led by a page on each -side of him. He bore before him, on a crimson <span class="pageNum" id="pb299">[<a href="#pb299">299</a>]</span>velvet cushion, a helmet and sword of rare and curious workmanship, which glittered -with gold, and sparkled with precious stones. These were to be the prize of him who, -by universal consent, should best acquit himself in the lists; and the very sight -of them called forth loud shouts of applause from the populace. Immediately after -the heralds came the Marischal and Speaker of the Lists, attended by the Marischal’s -men. -</p> -<p>After these came the Earl and Countess of Moray, richly attired, magnificently mounted, -and nobly attended. They were accompanied by the Lord Welles, and his suit of English -knights, to whom succeeded the married knights who had ladies present, each riding -according to his rank, with his lady by his side, her palfrey being led by a page -on foot. Before each chevalier went his banner or his pennon, and he was followed -by his esquire, pages, and other attendants. Next came the young or unmarried knights, -also marshalled according to their rank, each preceded by his banner or pennon, and -followed by his squire and cortège. But the youthful gallants were each bound round -the neck with a silken leash, which was held in gentle thrall by the fair hand of -a lady, who rode beside him on a palfrey, led by a foot page. It is perhaps unnecessary -to mention that Sir John Halyburton’s silken fetters were held by the Lady Jane de -Vaux. -</p> -<p>After the knights came another train of esquires, who were followed by pages and lacqueys; -and, lastly, the procession was closed by a considerable force of spearmen, bowmen, -and pole-axemen. -</p> -<p>The head of the procession had no sooner appeared through the echoing gateway, than -the air was rent with the repeated acclamations of the populace, who formed a dense -mass, stretching away from the outworks in one uninterrupted mosaic of heads and faces, -until they disappeared beneath the shade of the distant trees of the woodland. The -paltry roofs of the cottages in the straggling hamlet were clustered so thick that -they looked like animated heaps of human beings; and the ancient single trees that -arose here and there among the hovels, were hung with living fruit. The agitation -and commotion of the motley and party-coloured crowd was very great, but it expanded, -and consequently thinned itself, as the procession moved on, the whole flowing forward -like a vast river, until it lost itself in the depths of the forest, where its winding -course, and the appearing and disappearing of its various parts among the boles of -the trees, with the brilliant though transient gleams produced by the sunbeams, that -pierced their way now and then downwards <span class="pageNum" id="pb300">[<a href="#pb300">300</a>]</span>through accidental openings in the foliage, kindling up the bright lance-heads and -helmets, and giving fresh lustre to the vivid colours of the proud heraldic emblazonments, -lent an infinite variety of effect to the spectacle. -</p> -<p>Whilst they moved over the green sod, under the leafy canopy of the forest, the tramp -of the horses was deafened, and the shouts of the populace were in some sort muffled; -but when the procession issued forth on the Meads of St. John, the affrighted welkin -rang again with the repeated and piercing acclamations of a multitude which went on -increasing in numbers as they advanced, particularly after they had crossed the bridge, -and even until they reached the lists. The gates and barriers were wide open, and -the procession filed in. -</p> -<p>The Royal Standard was now hoisted over the crimson-covered central balcony, in which -the representative of the Sovereign was afterwards to take his place, and it was hailed -with prolonged cheers; while the heralds, pursuivants, Marischal, and Speaker of the -Lists, and the judges of the field, having stationed themselves on a platform immediately -underneath the royal balcony, the procession formed itself into a wide semi-circle -in front of it. Meanwhile the galleries surrounding the lists were rapidly filled -up by the populace, and all waited the issue with breathless impatience. -</p> -<p>The Albany Herald now advanced to the front of the platform, and, holding up the prize -sword and helmet in both hands, there was a flourish of trumpets and kettle-drums, -which was drowned by the deafening shouts of the spectators. This had no sooner subsided, -than Albany, having commanded silence by means of the shrill voices of his pursuivants, -thus began:— -</p> -<p>“Oyez, oyez, oyez!—All ye princes, lords, barons, knights, esquires, ladies, and gentlemen, -be it hereby known to you, that a superb achievement at arms, and a grand and noble -tournament, will be held in these lists, within four days from this present time, -the acknowledged victor to be rewarded with this helmet and sword, given by the noble -and generous John Dunbar, Earl of Moray. All ye who intend to tilt at this tournament -are hereby ordained forthwith to lodge your coat-armouries with the heralds, that -they may be displayed within the holy chapel of St. John the Baptist, and this on -pain of not being received at the tournament. And your arms shall be thus:—The crest -shall be placed on a plate of copper, large enough to contain the whole summit of -the helmet; and the said plate shall be covered with a mantle, whereon shall be blazoned -the arms of him who bears it; and on the said mantle, <span class="pageNum" id="pb301">[<a href="#pb301">301</a>]</span>at the top thereof, shall the crest be placed, and around it shall be a wreath of -colours, whatsoever it shall please him. Further be it remembered, that on the morning -of the fourth day from hence, the arms, banners, and helmets of all the combatants -shall be exposed at their stations; and the speakers shall be present at the place -of combat by ten of the horologue, where and when the arms shall be examined, and -approved or rejected, as may be fitting and right. The chevaliers shall then become -tenants of the field, and tilt with blunt weapons in pairs, and then the victors shall -tilt successively in pairs, until they be reduced and amenused to two; and he of the -two who may the best acquit himself, shall receive from the hand of her whom he may -proclaim to be the most peerless damsel, the prize of the helmet and sword.—God save -King Robert!” -</p> -<p>The herald’s proclamation was received with a flourish of trumpets, clarions, and -kettle-drums, and the continued shouts of the people. Silence being at length restored, -</p> -<p>“Pursuivant,” said he, “stand forth and deliver thee of the rules of the tourney.” -</p> -<p>The pursuivant obeyed the orders of his superior, and proclaimed the laws of the tourney -item by item; after which the trumpets and kettles again sounded, and the shouts of -the populace were renewed. When they had died away, the heralds with their attendants -again mounted, and then the procession moved round the lists in the order we have -already described, and, issuing from the same gate at which it had entered, it proceeded -slowly towards the adjacent chapel of St. John the Baptist, which it entirely surrounded, -and then halting, under the direction of the heralds, it formed a wide circle about -the beautiful little Gothic building that stood in an open grove of tall ash-trees. -</p> -<p>“Oyez, oyez, oyez!” cried a pursuivant, “let the esquires of those chevaliers who -mean to tilt at this tournament for the prizes given by the noble and generous John -Dunbar, Earl of Moray, or who may, in any manner of way, desiderate to challenge others, -or to leave open to others the power of challenging them to by-tilting for any other -cause whatsoever—let their esquires now advance, and let the heralds have inspection -of their crests and coat-armouries. He who shall fail to comply, and whose crest and -coat-armour shall not be up before sunset, shall have no right to enter the lists -as a tenant of the field in any manner of way whatsoever, except always as to pages -or squires, to whom, for this day and to-morrow, the lists shall be open, to give -all such an opportunity of proving their manhood. Advance, then, ye standard-men and -esquires, that ye may <span class="pageNum" id="pb302">[<a href="#pb302">302</a>]</span>deposit the gages which prove your masters to be gentlemen of arms, blood, and descent; -that ye may see their trophies erected, and stay and watch each by his master’s achievement, -to mark whosoever may touch the same, that his knight’s honour may not suffer by his -neglecting the darreigne.” -</p> -<p>In obedience to this order, each knight sent his standard-man, and an esquire or page, -towards the chapel; and Sir Patrick Hepborne was about to send Mortimer Sang, when -that faithful esquire dropped on his knee before him. -</p> -<p>“Nay, my good master, I do humbly crave a boon at thy hands,” said he; “I do beseech -thee let some other of thy people be chosen for this duty, sith I should at least -wish to be a free man for this day and to-morrow, that I may do some little matter -for mine own honour. By St. Andrew, if I may but bestir myself decently, it will not -be amiss for thy credit, Sir Knight, seeing that a chevalier, whose personal renommie -hath been already established, may be even well enough excused for amusing himself -by taking pleasure in the well-doing of his horse, his hound, or his hawk.” -</p> -<p>“Friend Mortimer,” replied Sir Patrick, “I do much rejoice that thou hast the glorious -desire of reaping laurels so strong within thee. Trust me, I shall be no hindrance -in thy way to fame, but rather I shall hold fast the ladder, and aid thee to climb -and reach it. Thy time shall be thine own, and thou shalt be at full liberty to use -thy discretion. I shall be much interested in thy success, and shall have small fear -in thy commanding it; so get thee to one of the armourers of the field, and fit thyself -forthwith at my cost, in whatever thou mayest lack.” -</p> -<p>The squire threw himself on one knee, and, kissing his master’s hand, warmly expressed -his gratitude, and then hastened away towards the lists, to purchase from some of -the armourers who had shops there, the pieces of which he deemed himself in want, -and Hepborne, for his part, chose out another esquire to fulfil the duty of watching -his achievement in the chapel. -</p> -<p>The heralds having put everything in such order as might bear inspection, now came -forth from the chapel, and marshalling the nobles, knights, and ladies into a foot -procession, they led them through the enclosure to the western door, where they entered -to behold the spectacle. The sight was most imposing. Along both sides of the nave, -and all the way up to the screen of the choir, were placed stands, each covered by -a plate of copper, on which stood the tilting helmet, surmounted by the <span class="pageNum" id="pb303">[<a href="#pb303">303</a>]</span>wreath and crest of the knight. The helmet rested on the upper part of the mantle, -so as to support it by the pressure of its weight, whence it was expanded with the -lower part of it spread on the ground, in such a manner that the achievement emblazoned -on it in dazzling colours was fully stretched before the eye. Behind it, on the right -side, stood the squire or page who was appointed to watch it, and on the left stood -the standard-bearer, supporting the banner or pennon of his master. -</p> -<p>“Advance, ladies, dames, and damosels,” cried the herald in a loud voice, that made -the groined roof re-echo; “advance and survey the helmets, crests, and coat-armouries, -and see whether thou mayest peraunter descry the bearings of any traitor, malfaitor, -or reviler of the ladies; for if so be that such may be discovered by any, she shall -touch his crest, and both it and his achievements shall be thrust hence, that he may -have no tilting at this tournament. Advance, then, and the herald shall descrive them -in succession; and if any other knight or achievement may yet appear this day before -sunset, it is hereby reserved to the ladies to exercise their right on him, if they -see fitting so to do.” -</p> -<p>The herald now led the knights and ladies in procession up the right side of the nave, -around the transept, and returned down the left side of the nave; and having thus -given them a general view of the whole, he led them around three times more, during -which he accurately described the name and titles of each knight to whom the successive -crests and achievements belonged. One or two achievements were touched by some of -the younger knights, who wished to prove the firmness of their seat, before the day -of tournament, by trial in a by-tilting, with some antagonist of their own selection, -or against whom they wished to establish the superior charms of their lady-love; but -the more experienced warriors, who had already well proved their lances elsewhere, -reserved their efforts for the grand day when the tournament was properly to begin. -</p> -<p>The ceremony of surveying the crests and coat-armouries being now over, the knights -and ladies returned to their steeds, palfreys, and attendants, and the whole were -soon again in motion, though not in the order or with the ceremony they had observed -in their approach to the lists, and to the Chapel of St. John’s. The procession was -now broken up into parties, and the Earl of Moray and his Countess, leading the way -with the Earl of Fife, all followed in gay disorder, with a less chastened pace and -less formal air. The ladies had freed their knights from their temporary bonds, though -they still held them by the mere <span class="pageNum" id="pb304">[<a href="#pb304">304</a>]</span>influence of their radiant eyes. The laughing Jane de Vaux went on in the full enjoyment -of her own triumph, and her face reflected the smiles of her merry party, as she cantered -joyfully over the Mead after the Earl and Countess of Moray, to partake of a collation -spread under a large awning in front of the pavilions on the other side of the river. -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick Hepborne’s pleasure in this rural feat was damped by the marked distance -with which the Countess of Moray now treated him. He fatigued himself with attempts -to account for a conduct so different from the kind and easy reception she had given -him at first; and he was still more shocked to observe, that even the Earl himself -seemed to have adopted somewhat of the same freezing exterior since he had last parted -with him in the court-yard. He tried to persuade himself that it was in a great measure -fancy in him, and that in reality it was to be explained by the natural tone of dignity -which the day demanded; and with this explanation he was obliged to content himself. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch44" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e643">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XLIV.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Italian Armourer—The Knight of Cheviot.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“Ha! Signor Andria Martellino, can it be? Do mine eyes deceive me, or is it really -thou whom I do thus behold in Scotland?” cried Mortimer Sang, as he entered the temporary -shop of an armourer, erected at the back of one end of the lists; “by the mass, I -should as soon have looked to see our Holy Father the Pope in these parts, as thee -in the Mead of St. John’s.” -</p> -<p>The person the squire thus addressed was a tall, thin, shambling, though athletic, -black-a-viced looking man, whose very appearance bespoke his long intimacy with ignited -charcoal and sulphurous vapours, and whose stooping shoulders argued a life of bending -over the anvil, whilst the length, swing, and sinew of his arms betrayed the power -with which he might still be expected to assail the stubborn metal. As Sang spoke -to him he opened a wide mouth from ear to ear, so that the large gold rings that ornamented -their pendulous cartilages almost appeared to issue from the corners of it, and replied -with a grin of immediate recognition. -</p> -<p>“Eh! Signore Mortimero Sang, how I am verri glad to see dee. Dee be verri vell, I -do hope? E il vostro padrone, il <span class="pageNum" id="pb305">[<a href="#pb305">305</a>]</span>Cavaliere?—Eh! il Cavaliere Seer Pietro Hepborne, I hope he is good?—sta bene?—Preet -vell, eh?” -</p> -<p>“Yes,” replied Sang, “I thank God, he is well; he is here upon the field.” -</p> -<p>“Ha, ha!” returned the armourer, “Seer Pietro wid dee here? Ha, I glad to hear dat. -I glad to see heem. San Lorenzo, he alvays moss good for me. Sempre, sempre mi fa -molto bene. He do me more vell dan all de oder Cavalieri in de leest at Paris; he -break more shield, more breast-plate, more helmet of knight, dan all de oder who did -joust. Dite mi, Signor Mortimero, dos he vant anyding in my vay? I have moss good -armour, all made of right good Milano metal—tutta fabricata nella fabrica mia—all -made in my vat dee do call vorksop. Dere, guardate, see vat a preet show. Aha!” continued -he, as he opened a door that led from the temporary workshop, where his assistant -workmen were labouring at the forge, into an inner place, where there was a grand -display of armour, and weapons of all sorts and sizes, ready for immediate use; “dou -mayest see I can feet il Cavaliere Seer Pietro vid anyding dat he may vant in my vay.” -</p> -<p>“Nay,” replied Sang, “I do opine that Sir Patrick lacketh nothing in thy way; he is -right well supplied with all necessary gear at present.” -</p> -<p>“Ah!” said the Italian, “I am verri sorri, verri sorri for dat. I glad to gif him -armour for noding at all; he do cause me moss good vid the vicked blows he do give. -Ha! it vas vonder to see heem. I do make armour to stand against the blows of de Diavolo -heemself—ma, for Seer Pietro—no; he cut troo anyding. I verri glad to arm heem for -noding—si, Signor Mortimero, for noding at all.” -</p> -<p>“Eh! sayest thou so, Signor Martellino, my master?” exclaimed Sang, with a knowing -look; “by the mass, but I am right glad to find thee so liberally disposed, yea, and -all the more, too, that thou dost seem to have sike mountance of the very articles -I do lack. By St. Baldrid, though Sir Patrick hath no need to put thy generosity to -the preve in his own proper person, I shall do my best to pleasure thee, and shall -strive so far to overcome my delicacy, and to yield me to thy volunde, as to coart -myself to accept of a helmet and a complete suit of plate from thee on gift.” -</p> -<p>“Eh, cospetto! no, no, no, Signor Mortimero, mio caro,” hastily replied the Italian -starting back, and screwing up his mouth, and shrugging his shoulders; “eh, povero -me, quello non poso fare—I not can do dat. Ma, dou not intend vat I do <span class="pageNum" id="pb306">[<a href="#pb306">306</a>]</span>mean. I not do mean dee; but I do mean il Signor Cavaliere Pietro Hepborne, il vostro -padrone. It vas heem I do speak about.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, I do comprehend thee perfectly,” answered Sang; “but as it is with my master’s -money that I must pay for what I may buy from thee, I was in full thought that thou -mightest have been filled with jovisaunce thus to discover a mode of showing thy gratitude -and regard towards him, by haining his purse, and giving that gratis the which he -must otherwise lay out for so largely.” -</p> -<p>“Ha! Signor Mortimero caro,” said Andria, “ma non m’intendete ancora; dou not intend -vat I do say yet. Il Signor Cavaliere Pietro Hepborne e voi sono du persone; ha! dou -and dy master not von man. I do say (figurativamente) dat I moss glad to arm Seer -Pietro, because he do vork moss mischief to de arms of de oder knights, so moss dat -he more dan pay me by vat I sell to dem, for all vat I mote gif him. He do cut out -good vork and good sell for me; ma voi siete vat you call an apprentiss in de joost. -I give dee good armour! Ha, ha! it vould be all destroy in one leettel momento, and -dou voud do leettel harm to dose dat mote be against dee. Ah-ha! dou voud destroy -no von man’s armour but dine own. Ha! dou hast de good coraggio, and de stout leems; -ma, per Baccho, dy skeel is not like dat of dy padrone, Seer Pietro.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, as to that,” said Sang, laughing good-naturedly, “thou mayest be right enow, -Signor Andria; yet meseemed that the stream of thy generosity did run best when thou -didst ween that no one thirsted. But I am glad to see thee so well provided with good -steel plate, from the which I must now supply myself, sith that thou wilt not be generous; -and though they be dear, yet of a truth I do ken that thy goods are ever of the best.” -</p> -<p>“Ah-ha! Signor Sang,” answered the Italian, with an air of triumph, “adesso avete -ragione—dou art right; la mia armadura è fabricata d’acciajo stupendissimo de Milano—vat -dou voud call de best steel of Milano. Dere is not no von as do work in vat dou call -steel as do know his trade better; dere is no armajuolo is so good as mine broder -and me. Bah! Giacomo dere dost make so moss noise vid his hammaire dat I not see myself -speak. Come dis vay, Signor Mortimero, com dis vay—come into dis appartamento, and -I make dee see all vat do make thee vonder.” -</p> -<p>“Holy St. Andrew, what sort of men dost thou look to meet with in Scotland, when thou -dost bring sike armour as that?” cried Sang, as he entered, and pointed to an enormous -suit of <span class="pageNum" id="pb307">[<a href="#pb307">307</a>]</span>plate armour that hung at one side of the farther wall of the place; “why that must -be intended for a giant.” -</p> -<p>“Ha, ha, ha, he! so dou dost vonder already, Signor Sang,” said the Italian; “I did -look for dy vonder, but I did not tink so dat I voud see dee vonder for dat; I not -tink but dou didst see dat in my store at Paris. I have had him verri long—ma no, -I do remember dat ’tis not long since mine broder Giuseppe did bring him from our -store at Milano. He and anoder I did sell yesterday morning vas make by mine broder -Giuseppe, for de two ends of de store at Milano, for show. Dey look verri preet at -de two ends of de appartamento dere, vere we did show de armour for sell. I never -tink I sell von or oder, or dat I ever see von man dat mote be big enow to wear dem. -But yesterday morning I have de good fortune to meet vid von Polypheme, who did come -to me, vid von mout I fear he did eat me up. He did vant armour. Eh, morte, I do tink -I did feet him ven none oder von man in Europe have done it but mineself. I make him -pay vell; ma, ven you see armourers like de broders Martellini—Andria me, e Giuseppe, -mine broder—de first armourers in the vorld?” -</p> -<p>“True, true,” replied Sang, “ye are both mighty men-at-arms, and ye seem to know it -as well, too; though, from what I know of ye both, ye do ken better how to make a -sword than to use it. But come, we lose time. Hand me down that tilting helmet, that -cuirass, and those vantbraces and cuisses. Let me see, I say, what thou hast got that -may fit me for a turn or two in the lists. I must e’en try what I can do, an ’twere -only to hack and destroy some steel-plate to win thy favour, and so screw up thy generosity, -that I may earn a gratis suit from thee for my prowess one of these days.” -</p> -<p>“Aha! Signor Sang, den must dou joost vid some knight dat vear de armour of dat donner -Tedesche at de oder end of de leest,” cried Martellino, with a sarcastic air of triumph; -“dat stupid Meenher Eisenfelsenbroken, dat do pretend to make de armour as good as -me. Eh, he! quel bericuocolajo! dat do make his breastplate of de bread of de gingaire, -his vork vill split more easy; ma, for dat sell by de Martellini, no, dou not break -it so fast, caro Signor Sang.” -</p> -<p>“Perdie, if I can but meet with that same Polypheme of whom thou didst talk, I will -at least try the metal of thy brother Giuseppe’s plate.” -</p> -<p>While the squire was in the act of fitting himself with what he wanted, a new customer -came into the front shop or forge, where the armourer’s men were working strenuously, -with <span class="pageNum" id="pb308">[<a href="#pb308">308</a>]</span>heavy and repeated strokes, at a piece of iron that glowed at that moment on the anvil. -It was Rory Spears. -</p> -<p>“Hear ye me, lads,” roared he; “will ye haud yer din till I speak?” -</p> -<p>The hammers fell thicker and faster, for the men heard him not. -</p> -<p>“Dinna ye hear me? Haud yer din. I tell ye, till I effunde three words. Na, the red -fiend catch ye, then—devil ane o’ ye will stop. Haud yer din, I tell ye,” shouted -Rory, at the very top of his voice; but if it had been like that of ten elephants -united, it must have had as little effect as that of a weasel amidst such thunder. -The furious grimaces and gesticulations that accompanied it were sufficiently visible, -and the iron having now become cold, the men stopped of their own accord, and gave -him an opportunity of being heard. -</p> -<p>“Ay, by St. Lowry, I thought I should gar ye hear at length. Seest thou here, lad,” -continued he, addressing one of the men in particular, and at the same time holding -out to him the strange amphibious weapon he usually carried, “seest thou here, my -man? my clip-gaud lacketh pointing; try what thou mayest do to sharpen it.” -</p> -<p>The man understood not his words, but comprehended his signs, and nodded assent; then -pointing to the work they were busy about, he made Rory aware that he must wait until -they had finished it. -</p> -<p>“Ou, ay, weel-a-weel,” said Rory, “Ise tarry here till thou be’st ready to do the -job;” and sitting down on a stool, he began peering about with his eyes in all directions. -</p> -<p>The door of the inner apartment being open, he sent many a long look through the doorway, -as Mortimer Sang and Andria Martellino crossed and re-crossed his field of vision. -The squire at last appeared, fully armed cap-a-pie. -</p> -<p>“Ha!” said he, as he strode forth, well contented with himself, “ha! this will do—this -will do bravely.” -</p> -<p>“Ou, Maister Sang, art thou bound for the lists too,” said Rory Spears. -</p> -<p>“Hey, Master Spears, art thou there?” replied the squire. “By’r lackins, I knew thee -not at first. Yea, I am going to try my luck. What! be’st thou bent thither alswa -with thy gaud-clip?” -</p> -<p>“Na, na, not I,” replied Rory. “I hae other fish to fry, I promise thee. I did come -here but to get my gaud-clip sharpened. As I did sit yestreen watchin the salmons -loupin at the ess, I did espy an otter creeping over the rock; so I threw my <span class="pageNum" id="pb309">[<a href="#pb309">309</a>]</span>gaud at the brute and speared him, but I broke the point on’t, as thou mayest see -here. Na, na, I can clip a salmon, or can toss a spear at a rae or red buck i’ the -forest, or it may be, at a man in the field; but I kenna about yere galloping and -jousting.” -</p> -<p>“Signor Martellino, here is thy coin,” said Sang, counting it out to him; “but remember -thee thou didst owe me half a broad piece in change the last chevisaunce that did -pass between us; I do mean the which thou didst forget to return me in our dealings -at Paris, ere thou didst set out for Milan.” -</p> -<p>“Ah! signor, non mi recordo niente di quello,” replied Martellino, with a knavish -air of pretended forgetfulness. -</p> -<p>“Nay, but by St. Bartholomew, thou must remember it,” said Sang sternly. “I higgle -never for thy price, but I shall have every penny that is lawfully mine own. It was -in paying thee for a morion I had of thee; thou hadst not the change, and thou didst -say I should have it next day; but when I did call, thou wert gone to Milan. By St. -Barnabas, I will have mine own.” -</p> -<p>“Ah! si, Signor Mortimero,” said the Italian, as if suddenly recollecting, and twanging -his response obsequiously through his nose, accompanying it at the same time with -a profound inclination of his body, “si, avete ragione davvero, I do now remember.” -</p> -<p>“’Tis well,” said Sang, “take this then; I shall now go look for Polypheme. Master -Spears, I bid thee good day;” and saying so, he walked out of the forge, and, taking -the rein of his steed from the groom that attended him, mounted and rode off towards -the chapel of St. John’s. -</p> -<p>As he approached the gate of the enclosure that surrounded it, he observed a countryman -holding two sorry ill-equipped hackneys with one hand, and with the other an enormous -heavy long-tailed coarse black waggon-horse, covered with saddle and trappings of -no small value; yet, unfit as it seemed for tourney, it bore all the furniture necessary -to a steed destined for the lists. -</p> -<p>Squire Mortimer dismounted, and, tossing his rein to the groom, hastened into the -Chapel, to see what new knight had arrived who could own so unseemly a courser. The -crowds who had visited the interior to gaze at the achievements of the chevaliers, -were by this time all gone to the lists, and the most perfect stillness reigned within -the Chapel. The pages, esquires, and bannermen stood by the heraldic trophies of their -respective knights, immovable as statues; and the only sound or motion <span class="pageNum" id="pb310">[<a href="#pb310">310</a>]</span>within the place proceeded from a herald who remained to receive and put up the achievement -of any knight who might yet arrive before sunset, and to register his name and titles, -and who was at that moment employed in doing these offices for him who called himself -the Knight of Cheviot. -</p> -<p>This colossal man in armour was standing opposite to the place where his achievement -was erecting. On the helmet was a furze bush, with the motto, “I prick full sore;” -and the blazon bore on a field-<i>vert</i>, a mountain <i>azure</i>, with the sun’s disc beginning to appear from behind it, <i>or</i>, and the motto, “I shall shine.” The gigantic owner was leaning on a spear, the shaft -of which looked liker some taper pine-tree of good growth, than any instrument that -mortal might be supposed to wield. The vizor of his bassinet was down, and his face -was hid so that no one could judge of it or know it; but the very shadow that he threw -over the length of the pavement of the transept, even until it rose against the wall -at the farther end of it, was enough to have daunted the boldest heart. Sang stood -patiently, with his arms folded, attentively surveying him, and the achievement that -was rearing for him; and no sooner was the arrangement of it completed than, clutching -up the shaft of his lance short in his hand, he bestowed such a thwack with the butt -end of it on one cheek of the tilting helmet of the Knight of Cheviot, that he made -it sound through the Chapel like a bell, till all the squires, pages, and bannermen -started to hear it. -</p> -<p>“Who art thou,” demanded the huge figure in a hollow and indistinct voice—“who art -thou who darest to challenge the Knight of Cheviot to tilt before the day of tourney?” -</p> -<p>“I am Mortimer Sang, esquire of the body of the renowned Sir Patrick Hepborne, younger -of Hailes,” replied he, “and thus may the herald inscribe me, so please him. Achievement -have I none at present, but a bold heart and doughty deeds may yet win me a proud -one. I do crave the boon of a meeting from thee, mighty Knight of Mountains, so soon -as the lists may be free for us.” -</p> -<p>“Am I, a knight, obliged to give ear to the challenge of an esquire?” demanded he -of Cheviot. -</p> -<p>“Sir Knight,” said the herald, “such matchers are not without example, both for jousting -and outrance. But to-day and to-morrow are set apart for giving license to all esquires -and pages of good report, who have fair reason to hope that they may one day win their -spurs, that they may challenge whom they list.” -</p> -<p>“I could have wished some nobler antagonist to begin with,” <span class="pageNum" id="pb311">[<a href="#pb311">311</a>]</span>muttered the Knight of Cheviot; “I could have wished that Sir Patrick Hepborne——” -</p> -<p>“Dost thou refuse my challenge, then?” demanded Sang, striking the butt end of his -lance against the other cheek of the helmet with greater force than before. -</p> -<p>The Knight of Cheviot was silent and disturbed for some moments. -</p> -<p>“Nay, Sir Knight,” said the herald, “thou mayest not well refuse it, without forfeiting -all right to tilting at this tourney.” -</p> -<p>“Then will I accept it,” muttered the Knight of Cheviot, after a short silence of -seeming hesitation. “What! must it be even now, saidst thou?” -</p> -<p>“Ay, truly, as soon as the lists are clear for us,” replied Sang coolly; “for I take -it some of them are hot at it by this time. I shall look to meet thee there forthwith, -and I shall now hasten thither to secure us our turn.” -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch45" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e653">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XLV.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Tournament.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The Earl of Moray’s sylvan banquet of refreshment was by this time over, the balconies -and galleries were already filled with the knights and ladies, and the lists were -surrounded by the populace, all eagerly beholding the numerous tilting matches going -on between young knights who wished to exercise themselves, and prove each other’s -strength of arm, adroitness, and firmness of seat, or between squires or pages, who -wished to earn their first harvest of fame. The sport had been as yet but indifferent. -Most of those who had ridden against each other were novices, who afforded but a poor -specimen of what the Scottish chivalry could do. The English knights, and, above all, -the Lord Welles, were sneering to each other at the wretchedness of the exhibition, -and every now and then throwing out sarcastic remarks against those who were engaged, -whenever the occurrence of any slight piece of awkwardness gave them an opening for -doing so. The Scottish knights who were within ear-shot of what dropped from them, -were nettled at what they heard; and had not the sacred character of an ambassador -compelled them to keep down their emotions, the Lord Welles, or some of his suite, -might have been called on to show, in their own persons, what Englishmen could do; -but, circumstanced as they were, none of the members of this diplomatic corps had -considered <span class="pageNum" id="pb312">[<a href="#pb312">312</a>]</span>it as necessary to put up his blazon in the chapel of St. John. -</p> -<p>“Thinkest thou, Courtenay, that there is any chance of men appearing here to-day?” -said the Lord Welles, in a voice that showed he little cared who heard him, or what -soreness he might occasion. “In my mind those have been but women and boys who have -been tilting for our amusement.” -</p> -<p>“Depardieux. thou sayest well, my lord,” replied Sir Piers Courtenay, “for such woman’s -play and child’s tilting did I never before behold. Our Cheapside shop-boys would -make better work on’t with their yard-measures. Then there is no fancy in their armour—a -crude and barbarous taste, my Lord—yea, and a clownish and plebeian air about their -very persons, too. Trust me, my Lord, I do not rashly venture on the grave and serious -accusation I am now about to hazard, when I do declare, solemnly and fervently, that -I have not seen one spur of the accurately proper fashion on any knightly heel in -these Caledonian wildernesses.” -</p> -<p>“Ha, ha, ha. The nicety of thy judgment in such matters, Courtenay, is unquestionable,” -said the Lord Welles laughing. -</p> -<p>A trumpet now sounded from one of the barriers, and was immediately answered from -that at the other end of the lists. The voice of a pursuivant was next heard. -</p> -<p>“Oyez! oyez! oyez! The good esquire Mortimer Sang doth call on the gallant Knight -of Cheviot to appear to answer his challenge.” -</p> -<p>There was some delay for a little time, during which all eyes were thrown towards -the barrier, where Mortimer was steadily bestriding a superb chestnut charger, with -an ease and grace that might have led the spectators to suppose that the horse and -man were but one animal. One of Sir Patrick Hepborne’s pages, well mounted, attended -him, to do him the necessary offices of the lists; and although his helmet displayed -no crest, and that his arms were plain, and his shield without achievement, yet his -whole appearance had something commanding about it, and all were prepossessed in his -favour. -</p> -<p>“That looks something like a man,” quoth the English knights to each other. -</p> -<p>“What a noble-looking presence! If he be only an esquire, of a truth he deserves to -be a knight,” went round among the spectators. -</p> -<p>“How handsome he is, and how gallant-looking and warlike!” whispered the soft voice -of Catherine Spears, who stood behind the Countess of Moray. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb313">[<a href="#pb313">313</a>]</span></p> -<p>The pursuivant from Sang’s barrier now repeated his challenge; a confused murmur soon -afterwards arose from that at the opposite end of the lists, and by and by, the huge -bulk of the Knight of Cheviot, mounted on his enormous charger, was seen moving like -the mountains he took his name from, through an amazed group of wondering heads. The -horse and man seemed to have been made for each other, and they looked like the creatures -of a creation altogether different from that of this earth, and as if such inhabitants -would have required a larger world than ours to have contained them. -</p> -<p>“By’r Lady, but yonder comes no child, then,” exclaimed Sir Miles Templeton, one of -the English knights, who sat behind the Lord Welles. -</p> -<p>“By St. George, ’tis an animated colossal monument,” said the Lord Welles. -</p> -<p>“If it be cast down, we cannot choose but have an earth-quake,” cried Sir Piers Courtenay. -</p> -<p>“Who or what can he be?” said Sir John Constable. -</p> -<p>“We shall doubtless hear anon,” replied the Lord Welles. -</p> -<p>“Hath not the brave esquire been rash in selecting so huge a monster for his <i>coup d’essai</i> in the lists?” said the Countess of Moray. “To what knight may he be attached?” -</p> -<p>“To me, my noble lady,” said Sir Patrick Hepborne from a place behind, where he had -sat unnoticed by the Countess. “Trust me, he will acquit himself well—his heart is -as stout as it is true.” -</p> -<p>“Sayest thou so, Sir Knight?” said the Countess, turning round and looking at him -with some severity. “Then do I give thee joy that thou hast at least one leal heart -in thy company.” -</p> -<p>“Oh, my lady,” cried the alarmed Katherine Spears, “Squire Mortimer can never stand -against yonder terrible giant. What will become of him? Holy St. Andrew protect us, -I dare not look!” -</p> -<p>“Nay, fear thee not, gentle damsel,” said Sir Patrick, with assumed composure; “though -yonder living tower look so big and so threatening, trust me I have no dread for friend -Sang. He hath much good thew and muscle packed into reasonable compass, and they are -nerved by a heart withal that nothing can danton. Fear ye not for Sang. By St. Baldrid, -I begin to feel a stirring interest in this coming shock.” -</p> -<p>“May the blessed Virgin guard and aid him!” cried Katherine Spears, half covering -her eyes. -</p> -<p>The pursuivant at the end of the lists where the Knight of <span class="pageNum" id="pb314">[<a href="#pb314">314</a>]</span>Cheviot appeared, now responded to him who had given forth the challenge. -</p> -<p>“Oyez! oyez! oyez! The gallant Knight of Cheviot is here, and ready to answer the -darreigne of the good squire, Mortimer Sang.” -</p> -<p>“<i lang="fr">Laissez les aller</i>” cried the herald from the platform under the Royal balcony; the trumpet sounded, -and the barriers at both ends of the lists were immediately dropped. -</p> -<p>The lists, as was very commonly the case in those times, were double; that is to say, -they were divided towards the middle, for about two-fourths of their length, by a -longitudinal barrier of wood of about four feet high. This was for the purpose of -separating the horses of the combatants from each other, to save them from injury; -for each knight, taking a different side of the wooden wall, ran his career close -to it, and tilted at his adversary over it, without risk of the steeds meeting in -shock, as in the undivided lists. -</p> -<p>No sooner were the barriers withdrawn, than Mortimer Sang spurred his courser, sprang -forward, and swept along like a whirlwind. The huge animal ridden by the gigantic -and ponderous Knight of Cheviot was slow in getting into motion, and came on blowing -and snorting, with a heavy lumbering gallop, that shook the very ground. The esquire -had already ridden along one-half of the wall of division ere his antagonist had reached -a third of the distance. His lance was firmly and truly pointed against the immense -body that approached, and every eye was intently watching for the issue of a joust -that promised to be unexampled in the annals of chivalry. Both steeds were steadily -maintaining the line in which each had started. The enormous tilting-lance of the -knight, as it came on, resembled the bolt-sprit of some vessel driven before the wind, -and, blunt though it was, the annihilation of the esquire appeared certain to the -spectators. The collision was within a few yards of taking place, when, to the astonishment -of all, the Knight of Cheviot suddenly dropped his lance, and, seizing the bridle -of his charger with both hands, exerted all his strength to pull him aside, and succeeded -in making him bolt away from the thrust of his opponent. That it was an intentional -effort and no accident was evident to every one. A general hiss, mingled with loud -hootings broke, from the balconies and galleries. Mortimer Sang, exasperated at the -shameful and cowardly conduct of him on whom he had so sanguinely hoped to prove his -prowess, checked the straight course of his horse’s career, and, sweeping around in -a narrow circle, ran him at the wooden barrier, and, leaping <span class="pageNum" id="pb315">[<a href="#pb315">315</a>]</span>him desperately over it, rode furiously, lance in rest, against the dastard Knight -of Cheviot, who had hardly yet reined up his steed. -</p> -<p>Shouts of applause followed this spirited manoeuvre of Sang’s. The base knight heard -them, looked around, beheld the esquire coming, and began immediately to fly towards -the gates of the lists. “Halt,” cried Mortimer aloud, “halt, thou craven. What! fearest -thou a blunt lance? Halt, thou mountain of Cheviot, halt, I say, that I may climb -to thine uppermost peak to tweak thee by the nose, that I may pluck thy prickly crest -from thy foggy head, and stick it beneath the tail of the draff-horse that beareth -thee; halt, coward, that I may forthwith blot out thy rising sun, that thou mayst -no more dare to shine.” -</p> -<p>But the Knight of Cheviot stayed not to look behind him. His legs played upon the -sides of his horse like some piece of powerful machinery, and he spurred off as if -the devil had been after him, the animal exhibiting a pace which no one could have -believed was in him. The marshalmen would have stopped him in his way to the gate, -but to have essayed to arrest the progress of a huge rock, just parted from the summit -of some lofty Alp, and spinning along the plain with all the impetus derived from -its descent, could not have been a more irrational or more hopeless attempt, or one -more pregnant with certain destruction to those who made it. The way was cleared before -him; but the gate was shut. Neither horse nor man seemed to regard the obstruction, -however; it appeared as if both were influenced by the same blind fear. They ran against -it with so great an impetus, that its strong bars and rails yielded before the shock, -and were strewed upon the plain. Away flew the fugitive across the Meads, and on Sang -urged furiously after him. The shouts from the lists were redoubled. Down rushed crowds -of the populace from the scaffolds, and away they poured with a hue and cry after -the chase. -</p> -<p>The flying giant had much the start of Sang, but the superior speed of the squire’s -well-bred courser was fast lessening this advantage. It was in vain that he attempted -to double and wheel, for Sang, cutting sharply round, only gained the more on him. -He stretched his course straight for the forest, but all saw that he must be speedily -overtaken. Sang neared him, and couching his lance, planted himself firmly in his -saddle. A single bound of his horse brought him within reach of the knight, and giving -him an alert and vigorous push in the rear with his blunt weapon, he threw his unwieldy -body forward on his horse’s neck, so that, encumbered by the weight, the animal stumbled -<span class="pageNum" id="pb316">[<a href="#pb316">316</a>]</span>a step or two, and then losing his fore legs, rolled himself and hurled his rider -forward upon the sod. -</p> -<p>Ancient Æsop hath told us of a certain tortoise, that, being carried into the clouds -by an eagle, was dropped thence on a rock. It is easy to conceive how the various -compartments of the creature’s natural armour must have been rent from each other -by the fall. So it was with the Knight of Cheviot. The descent of such a mountain -was no light matter. Large as his armour was, its various pieces were far from meeting -each other over the immense limbs and joints they should have enclosed; and the leathern -latchets which laced them together being somewhat aged, they, and even the rivets, -gave way with the shock; and the fastenings of the helmet and of the different plates -bursting asunder, and there being no shirt of mail beneath them, the Knight of Cheviot -lay sprawling among the ruins of his defences, in a black jerkin and hauselines. The -active Sang would have been upon him in a trice, but, filled with astonishment, he -reined up his steed and halted to wonder. Nor was superstitious fear altogether without -its influence in arresting him in his first intention of seizing the dastard impostor, -who had thus disgraced the name of knight, as well as the lists in which he had dared -to show himself, and of having him dragged to that summary punishment inflicted on -such occasions by the laws of chivalry. His eyes stared with an amazement that was -almost incredulous of the reality of what they beheld. He whom he saw struggling on -the ground was the wizard, Ancient Haggerstone Fenwick, whom he had once accidentally -seen at Norham, and of whose supernatural powers he had then heard enough to fill -him now with temporary awe, at this his unexpected appearance. Sang raised his own -vizor and rubbed his eyes, and when he saw that it was really the face and figure -of the Ancient which he beheld, he for a moment suspected that it was some demoniacal -trick of enchantment that had been played him to rob him of the fame he had hoped -to earn. Rage got the better of every feeling of superstition. -</p> -<p>“Ha!” exclaimed he, “be’st thou wizard or devil, I’ll wrestle with thee;” and flinging -himself from his horse, he strode towards the struggling Knight of Cheviot. -</p> -<p>But he was a moment too late. Ere he could reach the wizard, the latter had recovered -himself sufficiently to scramble to his legs; and just as the squire was about to -lay his fangs upon him, he escaped with a sort of shuffling run, that grew as he proceeded -into an awkward striding gait that might have done honour to a camelopard; the plates -of his armour hanging <span class="pageNum" id="pb317">[<a href="#pb317">317</a>]</span>to his body by frail tags, clattering and jingling as he flew, and spinning off at -a tangent from his person, as the thongs successively gave way. The esquire pursued -him as fast as he could, but his armour hampered him so much that he had no chance -in a race with one who was loosely attired, and who was every moment lessening his -weight by getting rid of some part of his steel encumbrances. -</p> -<p>“Halt, coward!” cried Sang, puffing and blowing after him. “Ha, by St. Baldrid, ’tis -in vain to follow him. An he were the Spirit of the Cheviots himself, who may step -thee from one hill-top to another, he could not exert more alacrity of escape. He -devoureth whole roods of ground at a stride as he fleeth. By the mass, see him! he -courses up yonder bank with his backpiece hanging down behind him, rattling like a -canister at the tail of some mongrel hound. Body o’ me, how it got atween his legs; -would that it had thrown him down. Ha! now it hath lost its hold of him—and now the -red fiend may catch him for me, for there he goes into the forest.” -</p> -<p>The squire returned slowly and sullenly to meet his page, who was by this time coming -up. The huge dray horse of the Knight of Cheviot having regained his legs, was standing -heaving his enormous sides like a stranded whale. -</p> -<p>“’Tis a cruel bite, Archibald Lees,” said Mortimer Sang to the page; “’tis a cruel -bite, I say, when a man thinketh he hath roused a lion, to find his game turn out -but a stinking pole-cat after all. Get thee after the lurdon, and pick up the pieces -of his armour, the which did drop from his scoundrel carcase as he fled.” -</p> -<p>“Methought, as I chanced to see him casing, that he would turn out to be some such -vermin,” replied the page, as he proceeded to obey the squire’s commands. -</p> -<p>Sang sat himself down for a little time to recover his wind, comforting himself with -the idea that he had at least won a trophy of armour that would be valuable from its -very rarity. -</p> -<p>“I shall have them hung up in mine own tower,” said he to himself. “As for the horse, -he may fetch as much as may repay Sir Patrick for the advance he hath made for the -arms I had of Andria Martellino. By mine honour, he hath a body and limbs that might -pull a castle after them. He will sell right speedily to a wainman, ay, and that for -a noble price too.” -</p> -<p>A crowd of the populace now began to approach the place where he was sitting, clamouring -as they came along. At their head came Rory Spears, with his fish-clip brandished -over his shoulder, and followed by a party of the marshal’s men, bringing <span class="pageNum" id="pb318">[<a href="#pb318">318</a>]</span>along the Italian armourer in custody, whose face exhibited an expression of extreme -dismay and trepidation. -</p> -<p>“Ay, ay, we shall soon ken whether the rogue speaketh truth or no,” cried Spears indignantly. -“He saith, if I mistake him not, that Squire Sang knoweth somewhat of the matter. -We shall see what he may hae to say for himsel when he cometh before him. Bring him -along here.” -</p> -<p>“What turmoil is here, I beseech ye, my masters?” demanded Sang. -</p> -<p>“Ah! Signor Mortimero,” cried the Italian, with a deplorable face of terror; “a—a—ah! -It is moss joy for me to see dee; I ask dem to bring me to dee—dey no ondairstond -me; ah, San Lorenzo!—dey do vant to hang me by de naik—dey do accuse me of de steal.” -</p> -<p>“Well,” said Sang, with a gruff laugh, as if the attempt at a joke suited but ill -with his present vexation and disappointment at the issue of his combat, “by the mass, -methinks thou mayest be well enow content to be accused of steel in Scotland, for -there lacketh not in Paris those who did boldly affirm that thou didst employ a much -softer metal in thy warlike wares.” -</p> -<p>“Pah! no, no, no, signor,” exclaimed Martellino, in extreme distress, “not acciajo, -vat dou do call steel van metal—ma, de steal, de rob; dey do accuse me of steal a -posse of gold, and as dou art mine verri good friend, I did crave them to bring me -to dee.” -</p> -<p>“Nay,” said Sang, “that is in truth a more serious matter. An that be made out to -be truly the case, thy neck will assuredly be stretched, friend Andria, in spite of -all that I may do to help thee. But sith thou hast come to me, I swear that I shall -see that thou hast fair play.” -</p> -<p>“Oh, Signor Sang, sarai il mio protettore,” exclaimed the Italian, with a gleam of -hope in his anxious eyes. “All dat I do vant is de play fair. If dou veelt listen -to me, I vill make dee ondairstond dat I no steal.” -</p> -<p>“Nay,” said Rory Spears, coming forward, “I have no objection that he should be questioned -by Squire Mortimer. St. Lowry forbid that he sudna get justice. Gif he be innocent -o’ the coulpe, and can but make his innocence clear, we sall be saved the trouble -o’ hooking him up afore the Yearl and his court. It wad be but an evil turn to do -a poor foreign deevil, to gar him dree two or three days’ jail, whan he hath done -naething that may call for sike a warison. Question him, Maister Sang, question him.” -</p> -<p>“If I am thus appointed preliminary judge,” replied Sang, <span class="pageNum" id="pb319">[<a href="#pb319">319</a>]</span>mounting the dray-horse, “I shall get me on my sack here, that I may sit at mine ease, -and have mine eye on all that passeth in court. Make way there; clear the way for -the prisoner,” continued he, motioning? to the crowd to form a circle round him. “Who -hath lost the purse the which he is accused of having taken?” demanded he. -</p> -<p>“My wife’s mother, auld Elspeth i’ the burrows town,” replied Rory, and he hastily -recapitulated the meagre particulars he had lately given the Earl of Moray. -</p> -<p>“Ha!” said Sang, “and who accuseth Andria Martellino of being the thief?” -</p> -<p>“Ich do dat, mynheer joodch,” replied a squat, thick-set, broad-faced, heavy-looking -German. -</p> -<p><span class="corr" id="xd31e4548" title="Source: ‘">“</span>And who mayest thou be, friend?” asked Sang; “and what mayest thou have to effunde -that may throw light upon this affair?” -</p> -<p>“Mine name ist Hans Eisenfelsenbroken, de grat Yarman, dat mach de armou better nor -nobody dat can mach dem so well. Ich dit see de borse in de hond of dis him here mit -mine own eyes.” -</p> -<p>“A suspicious evidence,” said Sang shaking his head gravely, “a most suspicious evidence; -trust me, I shall tell no store by it without strong corroboration. Hath the prisoner -yet been searched?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, there hath as yet been no time,” replied the marshalmen. -</p> -<p>“Let him be forthwith riped, then,” said the esquire. -</p> -<p>The marshalmen proceeded to execute his orders, and, to the joy of Rory Spears, they -very speedily drew forth from beneath his gaberdine a leathern bag, containing a considerable -weight of coin. -</p> -<p>“By St. Lowry, but that is my auld mother’s money-bag,” cried Rory Spears, eyeing -it from a distance. -</p> -<p>“Let me have it,” said Sang; “knowest thou thy mother’s money-bag by any mark?” -</p> -<p>“Yea,” replied Spears, readily; “it hath E. S. on the twa lugs of it, and a cross -on the braid side.” -</p> -<p>“Of a truth, this is the very bag,” said the squire; “the marks are all here.” -</p> -<p>“Eh! mine Got, did not Ich tell dee de troot, Mynheer Spears! I do know him to be -a tafe. Ha, ha! Er wird be hanged, and Ich werde have all de trade Ich selbst!” cried -the rival German armourer, with a joy which he could not contain. -</p> -<p>“Silence, fellow, and respect the court,” cried Sang, in a <span class="pageNum" id="pb320">[<a href="#pb320">320</a>]</span>tone of authority. “Canst thou explain how thou hadst this leathern purse, Master -Martellino?” continued he. “By St. Andrew, if thou canst not, it will go hard with -thee.” -</p> -<p>“Ah, si, signor,” replied Martellino, with a face of joy, “de page of dy vorship, -de good Signor Lees, he happain to be vid me in my shop at de time after I did sell -de great armour to de big gigante, and he did see him give to me de posse of gold -dat is dere—van fifty broad piece of gold.” -</p> -<p>“That is thy mother’s sum to a tittle,” said Sang, addressing Rory. “But how camest -thou to receive so much money from the dastard knave for a suit of armour?” continued -he, putting the question to the Italian. -</p> -<p>“He did bribe me to give him van of mine vaine horses, dat do carry mine goods,” replied -the Italian; “and he did give me de posse and de money and all.” -</p> -<p>Archibald Lees vouched for the truth of all this; and some one in the crowd, who had -been in Forres during the fire, had remarked the uncouth and gigantic figure as it -glided into the old bedrid woman’s house; and having been struck with the strangeness -of its appearance, had particularly remembered its passing speedily out again in great -haste. Another remembered that the false knight and his two accomplices had lodged -in a house of entertainment next door to Elspeth Spears’ house; and it was even supposed -by many that they had aided the conflagration, after it was begun by the Wolfe of -Badenoch and his party. -</p> -<p>All was now clear, and the upright judge proceeded to pronounce his decision. -</p> -<p>“Let the money be forthwith told over, and let it, and the bag that holds it, be restored -to Master Roderick Spears, as custos thereof for his aged mother. Let the armour, -the which hath been gathered piecemeal from the plain, be restored to the rightful -owner, Signor Andria Martellino; and let him have our judgment-seat also, sith it -doth of right belong to him. I do hereby absolve him from all coulpe. Albeit he is -sharp enow in a bargain, verily I believe he would hardly steal. As for thee, Mynheer -Eisenfelsenbroken, I shall only say that thy zeal to further justice was rather of -the eagerest, and mought have been more creditable to thee had not the culprit, against -whom thou wert so ready to witness, been thy rival in trade. Thy conduct will doubtless -have its weight with all good men. And now I dissolve the court,” added he, jumping -from the dray-horse, and proceeding to mount his own charger, which the page held -for him. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb321">[<a href="#pb321">321</a>]</span></p> -<p>The German went grumbling away, disappointed wickedness giving a blacker hue to his -swarthy face. -</p> -<p>“Ah, Signor Sang,” exclaimed the Italian, coming up to him with tears of gratitude -in his eyes; “dou hast been mine good friend; dou hast vin dine armour. Here is de -money—here is de price thou deedst pay me. Take it back.” -</p> -<p>“What, fellow!” cried Sang, jocularly, putting him by; “what, wouldst thou bribe the -hand of justice? Wouldst thou soil that which should be pure? Avoid, I tell thee, -avoid;” and, putting spurs to his horse, he rode off towards the lists, followed by -the cheers of those who had witnessed the scene. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch46" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e664">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XLVI.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The English Ambassador and the gallant Lindsay.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">BY the time Mortimer Sang returned to the lists, he was disappointed to find that -he had no chance left of establishing his reputation that night against a worthier -antagonist. The Earl of Fife had already dropped his white wand, and orders had been -issued for the clearance of the enclosure and shutting the barriers. The heralds had -commanded the banners to be furled, and all were now on the move. -</p> -<p>The gay groups of chevaliers and ladies returned from the lists in independent parties, -some to the Castle, and others to their pavilions on the field, to prepare for joining -the general assemblage at the banquet in the Hall of Randolph. The number of guests -who met there at the usual hour was much greater than on any of the former occasions, -many knights having arrived during the previous evening, or during that day, that -they might have their heraldic blazons and trophies put up in the chapel of St. John -the Baptist, to give them a right to tilt at the tournament. The Countess of Moray -resumed her place beside her lord, at the head of the board. Sir Patrick Hepborne -attended the party of the Lady of Dirleton, who, with her lord, showed him an increase -of kindness each successive time they met; but when he addressed the Lady Jane de -Vaux, she seemed to have put on that frosty and chilling air which had given him so -much vexation in the Countess of Moray. -</p> -<p>The conversation naturally turned on the exhibition of the day, and was for some time -confined to the various private dialogues in which it had sprung up. Praise fell on -some few names—Sang’s conduct, and his amusing chase were talked of <span class="pageNum" id="pb322">[<a href="#pb322">322</a>]</span>with commendation of him, and ridicule of his opponent, the impostor Knight of Cheviot, -of whose robbery of the old woman’s purse all were now made aware. Some young knights -were mentioned with approbation, but the general feeling was, that the exhibition -had been poor, and much more was hoped for from to-morrow. -</p> -<p>By degrees the hum of voices that prevailed around the festive board began to subside -beneath the interest that was gradually excited by a conversation now arising between -the Lord of Welles and some of his English knights, on the one hand, and several of -the Scottish chevaliers on the other; and, at last, so deep was the silent attention -it produced, that every word of it was heard by all present. -</p> -<p>“My Lord Earl of Moray,” said the Lord Welles, “I feel much beholden to thee for having -persuaded me hither from Scone; for, however tedious and tiresome mought have been -the journey, it hath given me an opportunity of satisfying myself and my friends of -the unbounded liberality and magnificence of thy hospitality, the which can be surpassed -by nothing south of Tweed. But I hope thou wilt take no offence at the plainness of -speech and honesty which I use, when I tell thee that had thy Scottish tilting been -all the inducement thou hadst to offer me, I mought have as well staid where I was, -as I should most assuredly have been but meagrely recompensed for the hardships and -deprivations of my long and wearisome pilgrimage through so large a portion of your -trackless Scottish forests and wastes.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, my Lord Welles,” replied the Earl of Moray, “I care not what may have occasioned -me the honour of thy presence at Tarnawa, enow for me is the satisfaction of its enjoyment, -enhanced as it is by the gracious reception of what hospitality I may offer thee. -Yet of a truth it erketh me to find that thou hast lacked that pleasure in the survey -of the exercises of this day’s jousting the which I had hoped to afford thee. Thou -knowest that such meetings of arms are but rare with us in Scotland, and we may not -look for that expertness the which doth distinguish the tourneys of more southern -climes; yet had I hoped that thou mightest have been in some sort amused.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, perdie, I said not that I was not amused,” cried the Lord Welles, with a sarcastic -leer—“I said not that I was not amused; for amused I certainly was, and that exceedingly -too; but amusement is not what I do ever look for in beholding the exercise of the -lists. When I do lack amusement, I do hie me to view the tomblesteers, and those who -do practise jonglerie; and indeed I did of a truth see many to-day who were very <span class="pageNum" id="pb323">[<a href="#pb323">323</a>]</span>well fitted for shining among a corps of tumblers; and so I could not choose but be -amused, yea even unto laughter, as I did witness the ingenious summersaults they performed. -Yet looking, as I am ever accustomed to do, for firm sitting and well-addressed lances -in the lists, depardieux, I could not but be disappointed that thou hadst nothing -better to show me in behalf of Scottish chivalry.” -</p> -<p>“Thou knowest, my Lord Welles,” said the Earl calmly, “that these were but the novices -in arms, to whom the license of this day and to-morrow is given to exercise themselves -withal. Judge not too hastily, I beseech thee, of our Scottish chivalry, of whom thou -hast but as yet seen the feeble efforts of the braunchers.” -</p> -<p>“I should not wish to judge too hastily,” replied the Lord Welles; “but if the young -falcons show such poor courage of flight, parfay, I see not great hope of their ever -winging well up to the quarry. If thy youthful knighthood of Scotland show no more -bravely, depardieux, there is but little chance of much shining metal or skill being -displayed among those who have grown tall under such awkward and unseemly practice.” -</p> -<p>“My most excellent Lord,” said Sir Piers Courtenay, following up the speech of his -principal, “my most sweet, excellent, and highly-respected Earl of Moray, I must be -permitted to add to those remarks, the which it hath pleased the judicious and nicely-observant -Lord Welles to effunde, that I did, to my inexpressible astonishment and dismay, yea, -and almost to the doubting the accuracy of the observation of mine eyes, perceive, -and I hope thou wilt forgive me for thus daring to divulge it, always believing that -I do so without meaning offence, and giving me credence for the entertainment of the -most perfect respect and consideration for your Lordship; I did verily perceive, I -say, several grievous outrages on the established rules for the equipment of men and -horses in those who did ride to-day. Three spurs did I observe that were too high -set on the heels, by the fourth part of an inch at least; one did I notice of a vile -fashion; one bridle-bit was all courbed awry; one dagger was worn nearly, though not -quite, an inch too low; divers of the wreaths were ill adjusted on the helmets (the -ladies,” bowing round to them as he said so, “will pardon me for adventuring on criticism -so nearly affecting them); some of the crests were an inch too high; and, to conclude, -there were more than one surcoat ill cut. Now, I do crave thy permission to remark, -most potent Earl, that he who doth neglect these highly essential, <span class="pageNum" id="pb324">[<a href="#pb324">324</a>]</span>though minute points of chivalry, cannot be expected to excel in the greater and more -obvious.” -</p> -<p>“I do hope, my noble Earl of Moray,” said Sir William de Dalzell roguishly—“I do hope -that thou wilt exert thy power and thine influence over the young and rising sprigs -of Scottish chivalry, that they may arm themselves more en regle; but, that they may -strictly and correctly do so, it doth behove thee to hunt out and catch that large -ensample of good and well-fashioned English knighthood the which did with such brilliancy -grace our Scottish lists this day—he of the Cheviot mountains, I do mean, for I am -credibly informed that he is of English fabrication; but I trow it will puzzle thee -sore to find a Scot, whether knight, esquire, or page, who can run with him; yet ought -he natheless to be hunted out, caught, and exhibited for the amelioration of our salvage -nation; yea, and after his death he should be speedily embowelled, embalmed, and stuffed, -to be set up as a specimen of the rigid and scrupulous accuracy of chivalric arming -practised by English knights, to the securing of the improvement of Scottish taste -and the establishment of a purer and more perfect description of it than hath hitherto -prevailed in such matters, to the latest generation.” -</p> -<p>“Thou dost not call by the glorious name of knight that impostor who assumed the character -and name for some villainous purpose, and who had the lion’s skin torn from his scoundrel -carcase?” exclaimed the Lord Welles, with a haughty and indignant air. -</p> -<p>“It mattereth not whether he were knight or no,” replied Sir William de Dalzell; “of -one thing we are all certain, and that is, that he was ane Englishman.” -</p> -<p>“And are all Englishmen to be judged by the ensample of such a craven as that? one, -too, who was hatched on the very borders of Scotland?” replied the Lord Welles, with -a slight expression of anger. -</p> -<p>“Nay” said Sir David Lindsay of Glenesk, “nay, my good Lord, not so; but neither are -the deeds of all Scottishmen to be judged by the nerveless essays of a few untaught -striplings. I do beseech thee to suspend thy decision as to Scottish tilting until -our tourney doth commence, and I do give thee leave to call us gnoffes if thou wilt, -yea, tomblesteers, if so be thou dost then think we deserve any such opprobrious epithets; -but if I mistake not, thou shalt see enow to satisfy thee that thou mayest meet with -some in Scotland who may be an overmatch for the best of thine English knights.” -</p> -<p>“Parfay, thou goest far, Sir David Lindsay,” said the <span class="pageNum" id="pb325">[<a href="#pb325">325</a>]</span>Lord Welles, with a sneer; “meseems it thou knowest but little of the mettle of English -chivauncie, to talk of it so slightingly.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, I went not farther than I did intend,” replied the Scottish knight; “I trow -I have seen good emptying of saddles in my day, and have encountered knights of all -nations, and I am bold to say that were I to choose my champion it should not be from -England he should be taken, while we have Scotsmen left to afford me good picking. -At present, thanks be to God, we have whole armies of knights, any one of whom, so -far from provoking an Englishman’s mirth, will, by the very mention of his name alone, -make any southern chevalier look grave.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, boast not, Lindsay,” said the gallant Douglas, “we can prove enow by deeds to -set us above vaunting.” -</p> -<p>“I vaunt not, my Lord Earl of Douglas,” replied Sir David Lindsay; “yet when vaunts -are the only weapons used against us, what can a man do?” -</p> -<p>“Let words have no place, then,” said the Lord Welles, with considerable eagerness, -as well as haughtiness of manner—“let words have no place; and if thou knowest not -the chivalry and the valiant deeds of Englishmen, appoint me a day and a place where -thou listeth, and, depardieux, thou shalt have experience to thine edification.” -</p> -<p>“If it so please thee, then, to waive thy privileges, my Lord,” quickly rejoined Sir -David Lindsay; “if so be, I say, that thou wilt condescend to waive thy privileges, -and that thou wilt vouchsafe to honour our lists with an exhibition of thy skill and -nerve, by St. Andrew I will gladly meet thee to-morrow; yea, or if thou shouldst wish -to eschew the encounter in thine own sacred person, of a truth I shall be well contented -to take whichsoever of thy companions thou mayest be pleased to assign me. We shall -at least be sure that the appearance of one English knight in the lists shall give -a zest to the jousting which to-day’s exhibition did so meagrely supply.” -</p> -<p>“I do beseech thee, my noble and most fair Lord,” said Sir Piers Courtenay to the -Lord Welles—“I do beseech thee, let me be the supremely felicitous knight who may -appear under the banner of St. George to combat in honour of England.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Courtenay,” said the Lord Welles, “I can neither resign to thee the right I -have obtained to the gallant Sir David Lindsay, nor can I submit to tilt now; but -if Sir David will indulge me so far as to name some other time and place, verily, -I shall pledge myself to give him the meeting, yea, and that, too, with as much good-will -as he can wish for it.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb326">[<a href="#pb326">326</a>]</span></p> -<p>“By the mass, I care not though thou dost make the meeting in England, or even in -London itself,” said Sir David Lindsay. “Let me have a safe-conduct from the English -King for myself and party and I will not scruple to ride, yea, even to the farthermost -point of thy southern soil in search of an antagonist so desirable.” -</p> -<p>“Let it be on London Bridge, then,” said the Lord Welles. -</p> -<p>“On London Bridge!” muttered a number of the Scottish knights, as if they thought -that it was but hardly liberal in the English noble to close so narrowly with the -wide proposal of their champion. -</p> -<p>“Yea, on London Bridge, or in thine own garden, if it so listeth thee, my Lord Welles,” -replied the staunch Sir David, without attending to the ejaculations of his friends. -“Let us not delay to record the conditions.” -</p> -<p>“My word is enow for this night, I do trust,” replied the Lord Welles, rising and -offering his hand across the table to Sir David Lindsay, who took it in the most friendly -manner. “To-morrow we may have the terms properly drawn up at greater leisure.” -</p> -<p>“So then, ’tis as it should be,” said the Earl of Moray. “Let a brimming goblet be -filled. I drink to the health of the Lord Welles and the health of Sir David Lindsay -of Glenesk, and let both names float together in friendly guise on the same mantling -mazer.” -</p> -<p>This double health was received with loud acclamations by all, and the goblets circulated -briskly to do honour to it. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch47" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e674">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XLVII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Earl of Fife’s Council Meeting—The Challenge between the Scottish and English -Knights.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The health had hardly well gone round ere the shrill notes of a bugle were heard, -followed by a stir that arose in the court-yard, the noise of which even reached the -ears of those in the hall. A messenger had arrived express, and a letter was speedily -delivered to the Earl of Fife. -</p> -<p>“Ha!” said he, with an air of surprise, as he surveyed the impression of the signet -attached to the purple silk in which it was wrapped; and then hastily breaking it -open, glanced rapidly over its contents. -</p> -<p>All eyes were turned towards him with eager inquiry. An <span class="pageNum" id="pb327">[<a href="#pb327">327</a>]</span>expression of earnest attention to what he read was very visibly marked on his features. -</p> -<p>“Your pardon, brother,” said he, starting up at length, after a moment’s thought; -“I crave your pardon, and that of this honourable company, but this letter is from -my Royal father, and on pressing state affairs. I must of needscost break up the banquet -sooner than thy wonted hospitality would authorize me to demand of thee, were the -business of a less urgent nature; but we must hold a council straightway to determine -how we may best and most speedily fulfil the wishes of His Majesty. I shall wait thy -coming in thy private apartment, and shall by and by hope for the attendance of such -of the nobles and knights here assembled as may be required to aid our resolves.” -</p> -<p>Having said so, the Earl of Fife bowed graciously to the company with such a sweeping, -yet particularizing glance, as left each individual in the firm belief that he had -been especially distinguished by the great man’s notice; and, putting his hand into -his bosom, he moved down the hall with all the appearance of being instantly absorbed -in deep reflection. -</p> -<p>The Lord Welles and his suite of English knights, darting very significant looks towards -one another, sat a few minutes, and then rising, retired in a body. The Countess of -Moray, and the rest of the ladies, also soon afterwards left the board, and sought -their apartments, and the Earl of Moray instantly broke up the banquet, and hastened -to join his brother the Earl of Fife, taking with him the Earl of Douglas and the -Earl of Dunbar. Such of the Scottish nobles and knights, however, as conceived that -their presence might be required at the expected council, continued to pace the ample -pavement in small parties, or to stand grouped together in little knots, all exercising -their ingenuity in guessing at the probable cause and nature of so sudden and unlooked-for, -and apparently so important a communication. The most prevalent surmise was, that -a war with England was to be declared, and the very thought of such a thing gave joy -to every manly bosom. Suspicions of the prospect of a rupture between the two countries -had begun to be pretty general of late; and the circumstance of bringing down the -English ambassadors to Tarnawa, was by some, who affected to be deeper read in such -matters than others, interpreted into a fine piece of state policy to keep them out -of the way, while preparations were maturing for the more powerful and successful -commencement of hostilities on the part of Scotland. All were impatient to know the -truth, and when a messenger came to the door of the hall with a roll of names, which -he read over, calling <span class="pageNum" id="pb328">[<a href="#pb328">328</a>]</span>on those of the nobles and knights who were named in it, to remain in the hall, and -take their places at the board, at the upper end of it, according to their rank, those -who were so selected could not well hide their satisfaction, while those who were -compelled to withdraw did so with extreme reluctance. -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick Hepborne was overjoyed to find that he was to be one of those in whom -the Earl of Fife wished to confide. He took his seat at the table with the rest, and -the most profound silence succeeded to the sounds of mirth and pleasure which had -so lately reigned within the hall. Whatever conjectures might have escaped the lips -of those around the board, whilst they mingled carelessly with those who were idly -speculating on the probable purport of the King’s message, they now considered the -seal of silence imposed on their lips, by their being selected as councillors; and -accordingly they sat gazing at each other with grave and solemn looks, calmly awaiting -the arrival of the Earl of Fife. Certain faces there were which betrayed something -like a consciousness of greater self-importance than the rest, as if they either knew, -or would have had others believe that they knew, something more than those around -them. But whatever they knew or thought they ventured not to express it. -</p> -<p>At length the Earls of Fife, Moray, Douglas, and Dunbar appeared, and took their seats -at the upper end of the table. All eyes and ears were fixed in attention; and the -Earl of Fife, laying the King’s letter and packet on the table, began to open the -business he had to communicate to them. -</p> -<p>“My Lords and Gentlemen,” said he, in a tone of voice which, though audible enough -to every one of them, was yet too low to have found its way through any of the crannies -of the door at the farther end of the hall, “I shall be as brief as possible with -you. Ye all know how great is my consideration for you individually, so I trust that -I have no need to waste time in assuring ye of my love for ye all, or of the zeal -with which I am filled for promoting your respective interests. Highly sensible am -I of the great blessing that hath befallen Scotland, in raising up such store of wisdom -and valour among her sons, as I do know to exist in the persons of the noble lords -and honourable knights by whom I have now the felicity of being surrounded; and I -do the more congratulate myself upon this knowledge at the present time, seeing that -the wisdom and the valour I have spoken of must now be called forth into important -action. For, to withhold the news from you no longer, Scotland is about to be, nay, -more probably hath been already invaded—a large army having hovered on the Eastern -Marches, threatening <span class="pageNum" id="pb329">[<a href="#pb329">329</a>]</span>the Merse with fire and sword, the which may have ere this been poured out upon them. -Your good King, and my Royal father, hath sent this intelligence express from Aberdeen, -where he now abideth, at the same time commanding our instant attendance there to -counsel and advise him, and to receive his orders for our future conduct. We are, -moreover, directed to lead thither with us all the strength of dependants we can muster, -and to take such immediate measures as may ensure the instant gathering of those districts -which are under the control of each of us respectively. A large force must of needscost -be quickly got together; it is therefore highly expedient that our vassals should -be forthcoming with as little delay as possible, that they may be ready to unite themselves -with the host wheresoever and whensoever it may assemble. Such of us as are wanted -at Aberdeen must set forward to-morrow. These, then, are the matters and the commands -which my Royal father sends you, and which I, as his organ, have been instructed to -convey to you.” -</p> -<p>A murmur of applause ran round the table. Broken sentences burst from the respective -knights, each shortly but pithily expressing the satisfaction he felt at the prospect -of having something more serious than jousting to occupy him. -</p> -<p>“I have yet one more communication to make, my Lords and Gentlemen, of which you must -be the witnesses, and I need not say that I entreat you to be the silent witnesses -of it. I must convey to the Lord Welles intelligence, which I am not without suspicion -he hath been for some time anticipating, from his own private knowledge of events. -I mean to crave an immediate conference with him here in your presence; but it is -my wish that no one whom I have here admitted to my confidence will talk to him, or -any of the English knights, either now or afterwards of anything I have mentioned. -I have to communicate to the Lord Welles the King’s license for his departure, and -I hope I do not ask too much when I beg that I may be left to do so entirely unassisted, -and that nothing he or his shall say may provoke ye to speak. Silence will best accord -with your dignity. Go, brother, my Lord Earl of Moray, so please thee, and entreat -the presence of the Lord Welles among us, with such of his suite as he may list to -accompany him.” -</p> -<p>The Earl of Moray hastened to obey his brother-in-law, and, during his absence, the -Earl of Fife seemed to have retreated into his own thoughts. The knights who sat with -him remained in still contemplation of him and of one another. The English envoy was -received with dignified decorum. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb330">[<a href="#pb330">330</a>]</span></p> -<p>“My Lord Welles,” said the Earl of Fife to him after he was seated, “I have now to -perform a piece of duty to my King, the which, as it regardeth thee, doth particularly -erke me. As thou art thyself aware, I have this night received a letter from His Majesty, -and I have now to tell thee, that in it I am commanded to inform thee that he will -dispense with thy further attendance at his Royal Court. In so far as our personal -intercourse hath gone, I have good reason to regret that it is to be discontinued -so soon; and the more so that it hath fallen into my hands to snap it. This parchment, -which I have now the honour of presenting to thee, doth contain a safe-conduct for -thee, and all with thee, to return into thy native country by the shortest possible -route. It doleth me much that we are to be so soon reft of thine agreeable society. -Yea, the removal of thy presence is most especially galling at such a time, when all -was prepared for making the days of thy stay in Scotland as light as mought be. Our -coming tourney will be nought without thee.” -</p> -<p>“My Lord of Fife, of a truth this is a most sudden and unlooked-for event,” said the -Lord Welles, with the appearance, if not with the reality, of surprise on his countenance. -“Hath any reason been assigned, the which it may be permitted thee to utter to me?” -</p> -<p>“His Majesty’s reasons, my good Lord, are not always given,” replied the Earl of Fife, -evasively; “but thou knowest that it is the part of a subject implicitly to obey, -without inquiring too curiously into the nature of the wires that may be on the stretch -to put him in motion; and I must submit as well as others. Hast thou had no communications -lately from thine own court?” -</p> -<p>“If thy coming tourney doth ever hold,” said the Lord Welles, altogether avoiding -the home question of the Earl of Fife, and glancing curiously into the faces of those -around him, “it will suffer little in its pomp or circumstance, I trow, from my departure, -where thou hast so great an assemblage of Scottish knights to give lustre to it, but -if they should be called away, indeed, by anything connected with my dismissal, it -may in that case dwindle, peraunter, and expire of very consumption ere it hath been -well born.” -</p> -<p>The Lord Welles’s eyes returned from their excursion round the table, without displaying -signs of having gathered anything from the firm Scottish countenances they had scanned. -</p> -<p>“And when must I of needscost set forward, my Lord?” continued the Lord Welles, addressing -the Earl of Fife. -</p> -<p>“A party of lances will be in waiting to-morrow morning by <span class="pageNum" id="pb331">[<a href="#pb331">331</a>]</span>sunrise, to guide and protect thee on thy way, and I do believe that thou wilt find -that sufficient time hath been given thee in the parchment thou hast, to make the -journey easy. Shouldst thou, peradventure, covet the provision of anything that may -contribute to thy comfort or expedition, the which I may have the power to procure -for thee, I do beseech thee to let me be informed, and it shall be mine especial care -that thou mayest be gratified.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, my Lord Earl of Fife, I lack nothing,” replied the Lord Welles. -</p> -<p>“And now, then, my good Lord, I bid thee good night,” said the Earl of Fife. “Farewell; -it will give me joy again to meet with thee as a friend, until when may St. George -be with thee.” -</p> -<p>“Receive our fullest thanks for all thy gracious courtesy,” replied the Lord Welles. -</p> -<p>The Earl of Fife now arose with the Earls Douglas, Moray, and Dunbar, and took his -leave, with many condescending protestations. The Lord Welles and his friends loitered -a little time after he was gone, and the Scottish knights having by this time risen -from the council board, he mingled familiarly among them. -</p> -<p>“This dismissal of mine is something of the suddenest,” said he, in a general kind -of manner, to a few of them who were clustered together. “Can any umbrage have been -taken? Is it possible King Robert can mean to steal a march on His Majesty of England, -and cross the Border ere he giveth him warning? or hath he already done so with an -English envoy in his territories?” -</p> -<p>He paused after each of these short interrogatories, as if in the hope of fishing -out a reply from some one, which might instruct him in the extent of the information -that had come from the Scottish Monarch; but no one exhibited either the will or the -power to gratify him, and he adroitly changed to another subject. -</p> -<p>“Ha! Sir David Lindsay,” said he, turning round and addressing that knight, “let us -not forget to settle the engagement and darreigne that hath passed between us.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, trust me, that shall not I,” replied Sir David Lindsay; “I but waited until -thou hadst concluded thy weightier and more pressing affairs, to entreat thee that -we may enter into our articles of tilting now. I do hope that nothing may arise to -baulk us of our sport.” -</p> -<p>“What, I beseech thee, can baulk us?” demanded the Lord <span class="pageNum" id="pb332">[<a href="#pb332">332</a>]</span>Welles slyly, and probably with the hope that he would yet catch what he had been -angling for, by throwing this long line, and drawing it so skilfully round. -</p> -<p>“Nay, I know not,” replied Sir David Lindsay readily; “thou mightst have repented -thee peraunter, and it would have sorely grieved me hadst thou wished to draw thy -head from our agreement.” -</p> -<p>“Depardieux, thou needest be in no dread of that, Sir David; I am not a man of that -kidney, I promise thee,” hastily replied the Lord Welles, in some degree thrown off -his guard by the gentle touch which Lindsay had given to his honour; “for whether -it be in war or in peace thou shalt have a safe-conduct from King Richard, if I have -the influence that I do believe I have; yea, a safe-conduct for thee and thine, that -thou mayest on thy part fulfil thy behote. Let us straightway hasten to arrange and -register the terms of our meeting.” -</p> -<p>“’Tis well thought of,” said Sir David Lindsay; “let us have a clerk to put our mutual -challenge in proper style, and distinct and lasting characters, that, each of us having -a copy thereof, neither of us may mistake.” -</p> -<p>A scrivener was accordingly sent for, and the council board, again ordained to change -the service it was destined to, now became a theatre, where the nicest points of chivalry -and the minutest rules of tilting were canvassed at greater length and with more eagerness -of debate than had been bestowed on the much more important business which had been -previously gone through there. The superfine judgment of Sir Piers Courtenay in such -matters was singularly pre-eminent; and his auditors were extremely edified by some -long and very learned disquisitions with which he was pleased to favour them. At length -everything was happily adjusted to the satisfaction of both parties, and written copies -of the terms being signed and exchanged between the two principals in the proposed -affair, they cordially shook hands and separated, with many chivalric and courteous -speeches to each other. -</p> -<p>Things were no sooner settled thus, than several Scottish knights pressed forward -to entreat Sir David Lindsay that they might be permitted to bear him company when -the time should be finally fixed. The first of these was Sir William de Dalzell, and -another was Sir Patrick Hepborne. To these, and to Sir John Halyburton, Sir David -Lindsay readily promised that places should be preserved, however limited a number -the safe-conduct might be granted for; but he declined further promises until he could -be sure of fulfilling them. The Scottish knights, <span class="pageNum" id="pb333">[<a href="#pb333">333</a>]</span>who had been all too much interested in what was going forward to permit them to leave -the hall until everything was finally adjusted, now hastened to call their esquires, -and to make those private preparations for travelling which were not publicly to appear -until after the departure of the English envoy and his suite. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch48" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e684">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XLVIII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Departure from the Castle of Tarnawa—The Alarm of War.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The morning had not yet dawned when the court-yard of the Castle re-echoed to the -tramp of the mettled steeds of the Lord Welles and the English knights, and their -numerous retinue. The gay caparisons of the men and horses, and the gaudily embroidered -banners they carried, flaunted and fluttered in vain amid the raw, grey, and chilling -light that quenched their glittering lustre, and left them but meagrely visible. A -body of Scottish lances, commanded by several trusty officers, stood ready to march -with them as a guard, and the troop was of such strength as might overawe any undue -curiosity they might display, as well as do them honour, or protect them from injury -or insolence during their march through Scotland. The Earl of Moray was on foot to -do them the parting civilities of a host. -</p> -<p>“Forget not London Bridge,” cried a loud voice from the window of a high turret that -overlooked the court-yard. -</p> -<p>The Lord Welles and his knights were already in their saddles. They twisted their -necks with some difficulty, so as to have a view upwards, and there they beheld the -hairy bosom and sternly-comic features of Sir William de Dalzell, who, in his chemise -and bonnet de nuit, had thrust his head and shoulders forth from a window. -</p> -<p>“Fear not,” cried the Lord Welles; “the meeting shall not fail on the side of England. -</p> -<p>“Nor of Scotland neither,” replied Dalzell, “if so be that fourfooted beasts can be -had to carry our bodies to the muddy banks of thy stinking Thames. I bid thee bon -voyage, my Lord, though, by St. Andrew, I envy thee not thine early morning’s march; -and so I’ll to my couch, and court the gentle influence of Morpheus for some hour -or twain, for contraire to all due course of nature, I see it threatens to snow.” -</p> -<p>With these words he threw into the air two large handfuls <span class="pageNum" id="pb334">[<a href="#pb334">334</a>]</span>of feather-downs, and instantly drew himself in. The Lord Welles was half disposed -to take the matter up as an insult; but the Earl of Moray, laughing good-humouredly -as the artificial snow descended on the group, soon pacified his excited indignation. -</p> -<p>“Nay, mind him not, my Lord,” said he—“no one among us minds the jest of Sir William -de Dalzell; and if we did, perdie, we should gain little by the trial, for we should -only bring more of his humorous conceits on our heads. His wit, how rude soever it -may seem, hath no meaning of harm or insult in it.” -</p> -<p>The Earl allowed the Lord Welles and his knights to be some time gone ere he began -to summon his people about him, and to issue his orders for an immediate march. Sir -William de Dalzell was the first of the Scottish knights, his guests, who appeared -armed cap-a-pie in the court-yard, where the bustle of the foregoing morning was soon -more than renewed. Two or three hundred good men of the Earl’s followers began to -assemble, with their horses and arms, in obedience to the summons which had been secretly -sent through the population of the district during the night. The rumour of the approaching -war spread from mouth to mouth, and rude jokes and laughter followed its propagation, -until the joyous clamour, becoming louder and louder, began at last to swell till -the welkin was rent with the bursting shouts of the men-at-arms and soldiery, who -rejoiced at the prospect of having something more serious than a tourney to do with. -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick Hepborne sprang from his couch, and began to busy himself for his departure. -As he moved across the floor, his naked foot struck against something that felt like -the head of a nail, and was slightly wounded by it. He stooped to ascertain what it -was, when, much to his surprise, he discovered a ring, with a beautiful emerald set -in it, that had slipped into a crevice between the planks, so as to leave the stone -sticking up. He immediately recognized it as having been worn by the page Maurice -de Grey. It was of beautifully wrought gold, and, after a more minute examination, -he discovered some Gothic characters within its circle, which he read thus— -</p> -<div class="lgouter xd31e4709"> -<p class="line">Change never, -</p> -<p class="line">But love ever -</p> -<p class="line">Thine Eleanore de Selby.</p> -</div> -<p class="first">At the very name of Eleanore de Selby, Sir Patrick’s heart beat quicker. He had no -doubt that the jewel had dropped <span class="pageNum" id="pb335">[<a href="#pb335">335</a>]</span>from the finger of the page, probably the morning he left Tarnawa. He had already -resolved to keep it carefully, in remembrance of the boy; but the legend seemed to -prove it to have been a gift to Maurice de Grey from his cousin the Lady Eleanore -de Selby; and the conviction that it had once been hers, all unworthy as she was, -imparted to it a tenfold value, which he in vain attempted to struggle against. It -seemed to have appeared miraculously to warn him never to forget her, and he resolved -to treasure it as a relic of one who could never be his. -</p> -<p>Meanwhile the court-yard resounded with the neighing of steeds and the din of arms, -and the trumpets and bugles were heard to strike shrilly on the Castle walls, till -its very turrets seemed to thrill with their hoarse clangour. It was chiefly thronged -by some of the same knights, and some of the same esquires, pages, lacqueys, and steeds, -whose painted surcoats of a thousand dies, whose armour glittering with gold and gems, -and whose gorgeous attire and furniture, had reflected the rays of the sunrise of -the previous morning. But the new-born orb of this day looked upon them in another -guise. Though by no means devoid of splendour, what they now wore was more adapted -for use than for ornament, and their very countenances displayed more of the fury -of joy, and had put on an air of greater sternness, that sorted strangely with their -uncouth jeers and laughter. The number of spearmen, bowmen, pole-axe-men, and men-at-arms -of all descriptions, was now much larger; and in addition to this variety of the motley -crowd, there were several horse litters in attendance, and numerous batt and sumpter -horses loading with the lighter baggage, whilst at the Castle gate appeared a small -train of wains and wainmen, who were receiving the heavier articles that were to be -transported. -</p> -<p>One of the most active men in the midst of the bustle was Rory Spears, who, with a -morion on his head, and a back and breast-plate donned instead of his fisherman’s -coat, was busily occupied assisting in and superintending the loading of the baggage. -</p> -<p>“Father,” said his daughter Katherine to him, as she at last obtained an opportunity -of addressing him, whilst at the same time her eyes wandered to the adjacent spot, -where Squire Sang was engaged in getting Sir Patrick Hepborne’s party in order; “would -I could wend with thee, father!” -</p> -<p>“Hey!” exclaimed Rory, turning suddenly round upon her, and at the same time poising -a large package on his broad <span class="pageNum" id="pb336">[<a href="#pb336">336</a>]</span>shoulder, and keeping it there with one hand, whilst with the other he brandished -his gaud-clip, with singular energy of action; “what ails thee, lass? Is the wench -wud, think ye? Wouldst thou to the wars, sayest thou? Na, na, Kate; the camp be nae -fit place for sike like as thee, I trow. What, expose thee, with all thy leddy learning -and madame ’haviour, to be the hourly butt for the ribald jests of the guards, and -the boozing companions of the sultering huts! By my fackins, that would be it indeed. -Na, na! stay thee at home, lassie, and look to the Countess, and thy new young leddy; -ay, and thy mother Alice, and the auld woman in the <span class="corr" id="xd31e4724" title="Source: Brugh">Burgh</span> alswa; and when I come back, my winsome grouse-pout, I’ll bring thee some bonny-waully -frae the wars. We shall ha’ spulzie to pick and choose amang, I rauckon.” So saying, -he threw his right arm, gaud-clip and all, around his daughter’s waist, and kissing -her heartily and with much affection, hastened off with his burden. -</p> -<p>He was no sooner gone, than Mortimer Sang, seizing one moment from the bustle of his -occupation, strode across to where Katherine was standing, gazing in silent, abstracted, -and melancholy guise, towards the pile of baggage heaped up on the ground, which her -father’s powerful arms had been rapidly diminishing. With the corner of her eye she -marked the squire’s approach; but the fulness of her heart told her that she dared -not look up, lest it should run over. Sang stood for some moments absorbed in contemplation -of her, his eyes rapidly feeding his passion, and his passion slowly filling his eyes. -</p> -<p>“Mrs. Katherine,” said he at length, “ahem! Mrs. Katherine. Of a truth, it is a bitter -and ill-favoured thing to be compelled to part with those with whom we have been happy. -Verily, ’twas but yestre’en that you and I were right blithe together, and by this -e’en there will be many miles atween us—ay, and who can tell, for a matter of that, -whether it may ever again please Heaven to bring us together for even one such jolly -evening—Heigho!” -</p> -<p>Katherine could stand this no longer, but giving way to a burst of grief, hid her -eyes in her apron, and being too much agitated to speak, and too much shocked at this -her involuntary disclosure of her attachment to the squire, she ran off and disappeared -into the Castle. -</p> -<p>Sang brushed the mists from his eye-lids with the back of his hand, that his eyes -might follow the fair vision as it flew. A Gothic doorway received it. He heaved up -a sigh, that rose from the bottom of his heart, and again sunk heavily to the <span class="pageNum" id="pb337">[<a href="#pb337">337</a>]</span>abyss whence it was raised, and stood for some moments gazing at the black void that -no longer possessed her figure. Again his eyes were dimmed with moisture, again he -cleared them, and again he sighed; and casting one look towards his men, who were -standing idle in consequence of his absence, and another to the doorway, he seemed -to stand fixed between the equal attractions of duty on the one hand and love on the -other. A confused and half-smothered laugh roused him from his dream. It proceeded -from the troopers and lacqueys of his party, who were all regarding him, and nodding -and winking to each other. Stung with an immediate sense of the ludicrous appearance -he must have presented his men, the balance of his will was overthrown at once, and -he sprang off to rate them for their idleness. -</p> -<p>“What ho, my masters, meseems as if ye had lost your main-spring, that ye stand so -idle. By the bones of the blessed St. Baldrid, but I will baste your lazy ribs with -my lance-shaft, an ye stand staring in that fashion; by all that is good I will make -kettle-drums of yere bodies. Ha! I’ll warrant me I shall alter your music, ay, and -change these jokes and that laughter of yours into grinnings that shall make your -fortunes at e’er a fair in Christendom. Go to, bestir yourselves, knaves.” And following -up this with a few well-directed hints of a more substantial description, laid across -the shoulders and backs of those whom he conceived to be most deserving of his chastisement, -they were all as busy as ants in a moment. -</p> -<p>“Master Spears,” said Sang to Rory, as he passed him accidentally, “it erketh me to -learn that thou goest not with us.” -</p> -<p>“Not ganging with thee!” exclaimed Rory, with an expression of countenance partaking -partly of surprise at the question, partly of doubt whether it was put seriously or -in joke, and partly of the pleased anticipation of the proud triumph he was about -to enjoy when he should have breath to pour forth his answer; “not ganging with thee, -Master Sang! By St. Lowry, but I am at a loss to fortake thy meaning. What wouldst -thou be at? Dost thou mean to say that I wend not with my Lord the Yearl? If thou -dost, by’r lackins, but thou art as sore wide o’ the mark as if thou hadst shot blindfold. -I’d have thee to know, Sir Squire,” continued Rory, raising himself up to his full -height, sticking his left arm akimbo, and thrusting out his right to its utmost horizontal -extent, his hand at the same time resting on the hook of his gaud-clip, the shaft -of which was pointed to the earth, “I’d have thee to know, my <span class="pageNum" id="pb338">[<a href="#pb338">338</a>]</span>most worthy friend, Master Mortimer, and be it known to thee, with all the due submission -and respect the which I do bear thee, that thy master, Sir Patrick, mought no more -take the field withouten thee, than my master, the noble Yearl of Moray, would get -into his saddle till he saw me at his back. Trust me, though I cannot ride tilting -as thou dost, nor loup barriers, nor gallop after runaway Gogs, Magogs, and Goliaths -of Gath, in armour, as thou mayest, I can push as good a thrust with a lance, when -I take a grup o’t in real yearnest, against a chield that may be ettling to do me -the like favour, as I can yerk out this same gaud-clip i’ my hand here, again a rae -or ane otter beast. Na, na—the Yearl gang to the wars withouten me! No possible.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, as to its being possible, Master Spears,” replied Sang, folding his arms across -his breast with a waggish air, “trust me, I can assure thee of the fact, seeing I -did hear the Earl say to his esquire that thou wert to tarry at Tarnawa, to wait on -a young English damsel, who might lack thy protection for a certain journey she hath -in contemplation.” -</p> -<p>“Ha!” exclaimed Spears, who had stood in utter dismay as Sang was speaking; “art thou -sickerly assured of what thou sayest, Squire Mortimer? My faith, things be come to -ane queer pass indeed, sin’ they are gawin to transmew rough Rory Spears into a squire -of dames. They will, nae doot, make a tire-woman of him ere it be lang. But, by my -troth, I ken mair aboot mewing of hawks than mutching of maidens, and there is no -sweet essence, oil, or unguent to me like the guff o’ a wolf, a tod, or a brock. Aweel-aweel, -the Yearl’s wull sail be my wull; but this I will say, though it may be I should not, -that if ever it gaed contraire to the grain wi’ me to do his bidding, by St. Lowry, -now is the very time. But what maun be maun be—that’s a’ I can say till’t.” So shouldering -his gaud-clip, he slowly and sullenly retired into the Castle, his utter disappointment -and mortification being but ill concealed by his drooping head, and his hair that -hung loose about his face from under his morion. -</p> -<p>Rory sought his Lord, and, notwithstanding the bustle of business in which the Earl -was immersed, he succeeded in obtaining an interview with him, when, to his indescribable -horror, he discovered that all that Sang had told him was correct. His grudge at his -daughter’s present service now grew into a dislike to her whom she served, who, besides -her crime of being an Englishwoman, no light one in his eyes, had also to answer for -his present humiliation. The Earl paid him some <span class="pageNum" id="pb339">[<a href="#pb339">339</a>]</span>handsome compliments on his fidelity, his good conduct, and his valour, the possession -of which qualities had occasioned his selection as the person to be left at Tarnawa, -to be in readiness for the honourable and delicate piece of duty which might be perchance -required of him. But even these high commendations from the quarter most valued by -him were insufficient to make amends for the mortification he felt at his disappointment, -nor could they season the proposed duty so as to make it palatable to him. -</p> -<p>“Aweel-aweel, my Lord Yearl of Moray, thy wull sall be my wull,” was all that his -Lordship could extract from Rory Spears. -</p> -<p>After Mortimer Sang had arranged everything about the baggage of his party, and got -the men and horses in proper order for the march, he took the opportunity of stealing -away from them for a few moments, with the hope of obtaining a sight of Katherine -Spears, whom he now discovered to be, even more than he had ever supposed, the ruling -magnet of his heart. He found her drowned in tears. -</p> -<p>“Fair Katherine,” said he as he approached her with the utmost delicacy and tenderness, -“why art thou thus grief-by-woxen? Knowest thou not that thy father tarrieth with -thee at Tarnawa? Dost thou not already know that he goeth not with the host?” -</p> -<p>“Yea, Sir Squire,” sobbed Katherine, hastily drying her eyes at the sound of his voice, -and vainly endeavouring to wipe away all traces of her sorrow; “yea, I did so learn -this morning from my lady.” -</p> -<p>“For whom grievest thou, then, fair maiden?” demanded Sang. “Surely thou canst not -be so oppressed at thoughts of the Earl’s departure?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, as to that, no,” replied the artless girl. “It may be I shall partake in the -woe of my Lady Countess. But I weep not for him. Nay, I weep not for any one now.” -</p> -<p>Mrs. Katherine spoke the truth. She certainly did not weep at that particular moment, -but the exertion it cost her to restrain her tears becoming much more than she was -equal to, their accumulation was too powerful to be withstood, and, overwhelming every -dam and barrier that maidenly prudence and propriety had raised to confine them, they -burst forth more violently than ever, and poor Katherine sobbed aloud as if her heart -would have broken. If there were still any remains of resolution about that of the -squire, it melted at once like the snow-wreath that lies in the direct course of some -wide and resistless deluge of <span class="pageNum" id="pb340">[<a href="#pb340">340</a>]</span>waters, which, as it is dissolved, mingles itself with and swells the very flood that -creates its dissolution. He blubbered like an infant. -</p> -<p>“Lovely Katherine,” said he, sitting down beside her, and taking her hand with the -utmost respect and tenderness—“most beauteous Mrs. Spears—my loveliest of all damsels, -be composed, be comforted, I beseech thee; my dearest Katherine, my love, my only -love, be composed and tell me—ah, tell, I entreat thee, whether I have any share in -these precious drops? Tell me thou weepest for my departure, and those liquid diamonds -that fall on my hand will be more prized by me than the purest gems that ever came -from the East. Tell me but that I shall carry thy heart with me when I go, and I will -leave thee mine in exchange for it, and swear on the honour and faith of a trusty -esquire, to be thine, and thine only, for ever. What is glory, what is renown, what -is the exalted rank of knighthood itself, without the possession of her we love? Say -but thou wilt love me, sweet Katherine, and, when the war is at an end, I will return -to claim thy hand, were it from the uttermost part of the earth. Say, do my hopes -deceive me, or am I in very truth happy in being beloved by thee?” -</p> -<p>Katherine’s paroxysm of grief had been partially arrested, almost from the moment -that Squire Mortimer had taken her hand so kindly, and begun to speak. She quickly -became more composed as he went on; her cheeks became suffused with blushes, and showed -beneath her tears like roses after a shower; smiles soon afterwards came to play over -them like the sunbeams over the fresh and fragrant flowers; and, by the time that -Mr. Sang had finished, the maiden’s confusion, rather than her indistinct murmurs, -gave the esquire all the satisfaction he could have wished. They swore eternal fidelity -to each other, and, after a short and sweet conversation, and an exchange of some -little love-tokens had taken place between them, they separated, to attend to their -respective avocations. -</p> -<p>By this time all was in order for the march. Already had several of the nobles and -knights departed independently from the Castle; and those who remained, being of the -Earl’s kinsmen or connexions, were to guide their motions by his. He resolved to begin -his journey immediately, being anxious to accomplish several miles of way ere the -sun was yet risen to the height of his fury. The trumpets sounded; the clangour stirred -up the hearts of both men and steeds, and they expressed their joy by stunning shouts -and repeated neighings. But their shrill brazen voices were a death-knell to the departing -joy of many <span class="pageNum" id="pb341">[<a href="#pb341">341</a>]</span>a soft bosom that sighed within the Castle, and to none more than to that of Katherine -Spears. Her nerves were subjected to no fresh trial of resolution, for the esquire’s -absence from his party, at the moment of starting, would have been inadmissible. -</p> -<p>The trumpet brayed aloud, for the third time, its harsh summons, and the court-yard -rang as the mailed horsemen leaped into their steel-cased saddles. The Countess of -Moray was on the terrace with her maidens, waving many a sighing farewell to her gallant -lord. The Earl gave the word, and, in company with his brothers-in-law the Earls of -Fife and Caithness, his brother the Earl of Dunbar, the Earl of Douglas, Sir David -Lindsay, Sir John Halyburton, the Lord of Dirleton, Sir Patrick Hepborne, and others, -he rode forth at the Castle gate, followed by the whole column of march. -</p> -<p>The troops which he headed were but a small portion of those whose attendance he could -command as vassals, being only such horsemen as were ever ready to assemble at a moment’s -notice, to attend him on any sudden emergency. They now served him as a guard of honour -in his journey to the King, and the charge of summoning and mustering the great body -of his feudal force, and of despatching them under their proper officers, to join -him where he might afterwards direct, was left to his Countess to carry into effect. -The cavalcade filed off with a noise like thunder through the gateway, and part of -them forming upon the natural glacis beyond, halted until the train of baggage wains -had fallen into the line immediately in rear of the horse litters, in which the ladies -travelled, and then they closed into the rear of the line of march. The whole moved -on slowly through the little hamlet, now silent and deserted, except by its weeping -women, its old men, and its children, and then wound into the depth of the forest. -An opening among the trees gave them again a view of Tarnawa, and many was the head -that turned involuntarily round to look once more at its grey walls, some of them, -perhaps, though they little thought so, for the last time. -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick lifted up his eyes, raised his beaver, and turned them towards the Castle. -He beheld a bevy of white figures grouped together on a bartizan, and white scarfs -or handkerchiefs were waving. He smiled in secret as the imagination crossed him that -the motion of these was like that which had flashed upon his eyes from the keep of -Norham. But his fancy had dreamt so, and the vision having been once engendered, continued -to haunt him as he rode at the head of his small troop. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb342">[<a href="#pb342">342</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch49" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e694">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER XLIX.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Lord of Dirleton’s Tale—The Bishop of Moray and his Clergy.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The Earl of Moray led him and his little force through the Meads of St. John. That -scene, lately so gay, was now considerably changed. Most of the pavilions on the hither -meadow had been struck, and the knights who had occupied them had already left the -ground with their people, whilst others waited to join the line of march. The temporary -bridge was there to afford them a passage; but the demolition of the lists had been -already begun under the superintendence of the pursuivants, and others of the heralds, -to whom the property of the materials was an acknowledged perquisite. The inhabitants -of the little town of tents and temporary huts were in humming motion, like a hive -of bees that are about to swarm. All were preparing to depart with lamentations, their -occupation being gone with the tournament that had assembled them; and pack-horses, -and wains, and rude carts without wheels, that were dragged along the ground on the -pointed extremities of the shafts projecting behind, were loaded with the utmost expedition. -</p> -<p>The street of the burgh presented a different picture. Thither the news of the approaching -war had not yet reached, and the townsmen rested with blackened hands and faces from -their melancholy work of clearing out the burnt rubbish from the foundations of their -houses, to gaze, and wonder, and speculate on the armed force. Loud were the cheers -with which they greeted the Earl of Moray, and they were not tired with these manifestations -of their gratitude to their generous lord until they had accompanied him for a considerable -way beyond the eastern end of the town. At the distance of some five or six miles -from Forres the Earl halted his men, just where the half-wooded and half-cultivated -country gave place to a bare heath of considerable extent, and where the gentle breeze -was permitted to come cool and unbroken against their throbbing temples, after they -were relieved from the thraldom of their bassinets and morions; whilst the oaks that -fringed the moor, and straggled into it in groups and single trees, enabled them to -find sufficient shade from a now oppressive sun, to eat their morning’s meal in comfort. -</p> -<p>A pavilion was pitched for the reception of the nobles, <span class="pageNum" id="pb343">[<a href="#pb343">343</a>]</span>knights, and ladies, and, after partaking of the refreshment that was provided under -it, they wandered forth in parties to waste the time beneath the trees, until the -horses should have been fed, and everything prepared for continuing the march. Sir -Patrick Hepborne, having fallen into conversation with De Vaux, the old Lord of Dirleton, -wandered slowly with him to a clump of trees at some distance, and they sat down together -on an old oak that had fallen by natural decay from the little grove of gigantic trees -that threw a shade over it. The place was sufficiently retired to promise security -from interruption, and Hepborne longed much to obtain from his companion the distressing -history to which he and his lady had alluded on the evening of their first meeting -at Tarnawa. He felt it difficult, however, to hint at a subject of which he already -knew enough to satisfy him, that it could not fail to be productive of painful emotions -to his father’s old friend, and he would have left it untouched had not accident led -to it. -</p> -<p>“That blasted moor, where tree grows not,” observed the Lord of Dirleton, “and where, -as thou see’st, the stunted heath itself can hardly find food for life, amid the barren -sand of which its soil is composed, was cursed into sterility by the infernal caldron -of the weird-hags who, by their hellish incantations, did raise a poisonous marsh-fire -to mislead Macbeth; and did so drag him down from the path of honour and virtue, to -perish in a sea of crimes his soul would once have shuddered at. See’st thou yonder -huge cairn of stones? Some men say that it marks the very spot where the foul crones -first met him, as, with his associate Banquo, he did return victorious from the overthrow -of the Danes, who did invade Fife, and whose bravest leaders he sent to eternal repose -in St. Colme’s Isle; it was there, I say, that tradition reporteth they did appear -to him, when, with the flattering tongue of the great Tempter, they did salute him -Thane of Glammis and of Cawdor, and alswa King hereafter.” -</p> -<p>“Tell me, I pray thee,” said Sir Patrick, “what make these soldiers who do so crowd -towards the cairn? Methinks some of them on horseback, and some of them on foot, are -riding and running full tilt around it, as if in frolicsome chase of each other.” -</p> -<p>The Lord of Dirleton was silent for some moments. He sighed, and, much to Sir Patrick’s -surprise, tears came into his eyes. He was deeply affected for some moments. -</p> -<p>“Thou must of needscost marvel, Sir Knight,” said he at length, “to see me so much -moved by a question the which is so simple in itself, and the which did fall so naturally -from thee. <span class="pageNum" id="pb344">[<a href="#pb344">344</a>]</span>But thy wonder will cease anon. Be it known to thee, that these men do run and ride -in that manner, in compliance with a well-received belief, that to surround the cairn -with three times three circuits, securely buys the happiness of him who doth so, for -the space of three times three months. Peraunter thy marvel will now be enhanced, -why I should have wept at the notice of a practice so apparently harmless; but that -thine astonishment may forthwith cease, I shall haste me to tell thee the cause of -these tears. I am not sorry that I have been led thus accidentally to the subject, -sith I did well intend me to effund into thine ear, at first fitting time, the circumstances -of that bereavement of the which, when I did once before obscurely hint to thee, thou -didst then seem to wish to hear more.” -</p> -<p>The Lord of Dirleton paused, as if to recollect himself, and, after an effort to master -certain feelings that agitated him, he began his narrative— -</p> -<p>“It was about three months after the Lady of Dirleton had happily given birth to her -first daughter, that I left her and her baby in full health, and soon afterwards travelled -northward into these parts, with mine early friend, John Dunbar, Earl of Moray. We -had been at Lithgow together, at the proclamation of King Robert, and I had yielded -to my Lord’s wishes, to bear him company for some few days at his Castle of Tarnawa. -After a short sojournance in his hospitable hall, I reached this spot on my way homewards, -and chancing to halt here, as we do now, I was told of the virtues of the Witch’s -Cairn. Bethinking me that it was good to secure nine months of happiness at so easy -a price, I spurred my horse into a gallop, and began to course around it at full speed. -</p> -<p>“I had already encircled it twice three times, and had begun the seventh round, when -my horse was suddenly scared by the appearance of a haggard female figure that arose -from among the docks and clot leaves in the middle of the heap, and glared fearfully -at me. The animal started so unexpectedly aside that he threw me from the saddle, -and I lay stunned by the severity of the fall. When my senses returned to me, I found -myself in the hands of my people, who were busied about me under a tree. Convinced -that it was some supernatural thing that had so strangely crossed me, and put a period -to mine attempt to work against fate, I did eagerly demand of those about me what -had become of the unsightly witch. All agreed that she had limped slowly away before -their eyes until lost in the neighbouring wood; one or two there were who did ween -her to be no other than some ancient shepherdess or nerthes-woman, who, wearied <span class="pageNum" id="pb345">[<a href="#pb345">345</a>]</span>with watch, mought liggen her down to rest there, and who had been frayed from her -sleep by the sounding tramp of my horse’s gallop; but the rest were of my mind, that -she was verily some evil witch, whose blasted form and eyne boded some dire malure. -</p> -<p>“Sore oppressed with the belief of approaching calamity, I did hie me back to mine -own Castle of Dirleton, with a far heavier heart than I had left it, dreading drearily -as I went that I should learn some dismal tidings when I should reach thither. But -all was well; and as things went not in anywise awry for some time, I began to laugh -in secret at my own apprehensions. Prosperity favoured me, indeed, in a somewhat unusual -manner. For six months was I blessed by a train of good luck so unusual, that hardly -a day passed without some happy or favourable occurrence; but this was the very cause -of awakening new fears in me. If, said I, reasoning with myself—if the six withershin -circles round the Witch’s Cairn have had any influence in producing this marvellous -coil of good fortune, what will happen when the spell-thread is unwound to the end, -where it was so mysteriously snapped? This seventh moon must be pregnant with some -dire affliction. -</p> -<p>“I trembled for its approach. It began—several days of it had already stolen away—all -was well, and I did again blush for my fears; but, alas! they were too soon realised. -One evening Sarah, the nurse of our infant, was amissing with her charge. It grew -late, and the Lady Dirleton became frantic with the most cruel apprehensions. She -insisted on accompanying me out to search for the nurse and her babe. The alarm spread, -and not only the domestics but the whole vassals, largely sharing in our affliction, -turned out to aid us. All our efforts were in vain, for a dark and stormy night came -on; and on that wide plain that stretcheth between the Castle and the sea, there was -greater risk of the seekers losing themselves than chance of their finding the woman -and the babe. The Lady Dirleton recklessly wandered until she was so sore toil-spent -that she was carried to the Castle almost insensible. I did still continue my search -in despair, in defiance of whirlwinds of sand and red glaring flashes of lightning. -Faint and distant screams were heard by times ymeint with the blast. We followed in -the direction they went in, as well as the mirkness of the night might permit us to -do. Sometimes they would bring us down towards the shore of the sea, where they were -lost amidst the thunders of its waves rolling furiously in on the beach. Anon we did -hear them retreating inland, and we were led by <span class="pageNum" id="pb346">[<a href="#pb346">346</a>]</span>them, in a zig-zag course, hither and thither across the plain, in idle pursuit. ‘The -child! the babe!—ha, the murderer!—ha, blood, blood, blood!—murder, murder!—the child, -the child!’ were the fearful words we caught from time to time, ymingled with wild unearthly cries. Still we followed, and we shouted by times; but our shouts -were unheeded, albeit they must natheless have been heard by the person whose voice -reached our ears so strongly. -</p> -<p>“At length, after a harrassing night of fruitless following, the voice died away from -us, and we groped wearily and hopelessly about until day did gloomily dawn upon us. -We again wandered down towards the shore, and there descried a female figure, with -torn garments and dishevelled hair, running and leaping about with wild and irrational -action among the sand-heaps by the sea side. I thought of the hag of the Witch’s Cairn, -and my blood curdled within me. -</p> -<p>“For some time we followed the figure, but almost with as little success as we had -before done in the darkness of night. At length, by making a circuit around her, we -came close upon her, where she had seated herself on the top of a benty hillock. It -was Sarah, the nurse of our child. She rose wildly, by fits and starts, and waved -her arms high in the air, and gave streaming to the wind the infant’s sky-blue mantle, -the which was red with blood-stains. Her eyes were fixed in vacancy, and she regarded -us not as we approached her; but she screamed and shrieked unintelligibly; and again -she laughed loud and horribly at intervals. We rushed upon her, and then it was we -discovered that reason had been reft from her. Her eyes glared wildly around on us -all, but she knew no one, and no syllable could now be extracted from her. It was -too clear, alas! that she had murdered mine infant in the sudden frenzy that had seized -her!” -</p> -<p>“Blessed Virgin, protect us!” cried Sir Patrick Hepborne, horror-struck with the Lord -of Dirleton’s story. -</p> -<p>“She was the daughter of an old and much attached domestic,” continued de Vaux, “and -she herself, devoted to us as a daughter, loved the infant as her own. Nothing but -madness could have driven her to do a deed so horrible. Where she had disposed of -the body of the poor innocent we could never discover, though our search for it was -unceasing for some days. As for the wretched Sarah, whom God had so visited as to -make her no longer accountable for her actions, she was brought back into the Castle, -and put under that needful restraint to the which she was subjected for many years -thereafter. When she <span class="pageNum" id="pb347">[<a href="#pb347">347</a>]</span>came to be examined more narrowly, some one discovered a dreadful gash on her right -hand, as if given by a dagger, a circumstance the which did add to the heap of mystery -the truth was buried under, and engendered full many a vague thought and idle surmise. -I gave mine orders that some one should be for ever on the watch by Sarah, night and -day, to catch up anything she might utter in her ravings, that might chance to illuminate -the darkness that hung over this heart-breaking calamity. But albeit her voice was -rarely silent for a moment, being unceasingly poured forth in elritch screams of laughter -when she was in her wildest fits, or in piteous moaning and waymenting when she was -low, yet did she rarely mould it into words of meaning. Full oft would she take up -in her arms the mantle, the which she had never parted withal, and hush it with sad -lullaby, as if the child had been within it; and more than once, when thus employed, -she was seen to clasp it in agony to her bosom, to look wildly on vacancy, and to -stretch forth her arm, as if dreading the approach of some one, and fleeing into the -darksome corner of her cell, she was heard to yell out, ‘Murderer!—ha! the babe, the -babe!—help, murder!—blood, blood!—my babe!’—and then she would lay open the mantle, -and gazing into it with frenzy, would increase her screams to the very cracking of -her voice, as if she had but that moment discovered that the infant was gone. -</p> -<p>“Thou mayest right well conceive, Sir Patrick,” continued the Lord of Dirleton, after -a pause, during which he yielded to the emotions so powerfully excited by this recapitulation -of the circumstances of this so terrible affliction which had befallen him—“thou mayest -easily imagine, I say, what a deep, nay, fathomless tide of sorrow poured over the -souls of the Lady Dirleton and me. We loathed the very air of the scene tainted by -this dreadful tragedy. Anxious to escape from it, we hastened abroad, and strove, -by mixing in the society of a new world, to blunt the pangs we suffered from the very -souvenance of our home. I need say no more, I wis, but to crave thy good pardon, Sir -Patrick, for drawing so hugely on thy patience by this long narration, the which, -I do natheless opine, hath not been altogether uninteresting to thee, sith I have -observed that thou hast, more than once, showed signs of thy friendly sympathy for -our misfortune.” -</p> -<p>“In truth, my Lord, I am deeply affected by thy strange and melancholy history,” replied -Hepborne. “But what, I pray thee, hath become of Sarah, thy child’s nurse, on whom -so much mystery doth hang?” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb348">[<a href="#pb348">348</a>]</span></p> -<p>“After many years of confinement, Sarah’s wudness did become more tranquil; it seemed -as if it was gradually worn out by its own fury. Then did succeed the mantling and -stagnant calmness of idiocy—and seeing that she was no longer harmful, she was, by -slow degrees, permitted greater license, until at last she was suffered to go about -at the freedom of her own will. But will she seemed to have none. Supported by the -Lady Dirleton’s charity, and tended by her order, she wandered to and fro in the neighbourhood -of the Castle, like a living clod, hardly ever exhibiting even a consciousness of -existence.” -</p> -<p>“And dost thou believe, my Lord,” demanded Hepborne, “that the wudness of this poor -afflicted wretch did verily work this sad malure to thee? Or didst thou never entertain -aught of suspicion of crime against any who were more accountable for their deeds?” -</p> -<p>“Ay,” replied the Lord of Dirleton, after a pause; “ay, we had suspicions—horrible -suspicions. My brother John, that is my half-brother, for he was the son of my father -by a woman of low birth and infamous character, who, by sacrifice of virtue and afterwards -by her cunning, didst circumvent my father, then an old man, and did induce him to -patch up a marriage with her. After the death of my father she would fain have kept -the same place she had done during his life; but as I had just then married me I could -not insult my wife by the introduction to her notice of a woman so notourly infamous. -I natheless did what in prudence I might for my brother, then a young man of some -eighteen or twenty winters. I took him under mine own roof, where I in vain endeavoured -to bring down his naturally haughty and unbending temper, and to restrain the violence -of his passions. I had shown him an elder brother’s kindness from very boyhood, and -methought his heart did love me. But his wicked and infamous mother, stung with the -disgrace of being refused admittance within our gates, so worked upon his young mind -that she taught him to regard me rather as an enemy than as a benefactor. Forgetful -of the anxiety I did ever display for the advancement of his fortunes and the improvement -of his mind, he became impatient of reproof, and ever and anon he was guilty of the -most gross and offensive insults to me, and yet more so to the Lady Dirleton, against -whom his mother’s hatred was more particularly inflamed. Such ungrateful behaviour -did naturally beget much unhappy brawling, and high and bitter words often passed -between us. At length his daring arose to such a height that he presumed to usher -in his impure dam <span class="pageNum" id="pb349">[<a href="#pb349">349</a>]</span>among the noble and honourable guests who assembled to witness the ceremonial baptism -of our infant. O’ermastered by rage at the moment, and boiling with indignation, I -forgot myself so far as to give him a blow; and I did hound both of them straightway -forth with ignominious reproach from my walls. I saw not John ever again, yet I had -good cause to fear that he——But hold! my wife and daughter approach; and, hark! the -trumpets do sound for the march.” -</p> -<p>As the Earls of Moray, Fife, Dunbar, and Douglas, who led the line, were breaking -through the oak forest through which they travelled for some time after leaving the -halting-place, the proud towers of Elgin rose before them, and the tinkling of many -a bell from its various convents and churches told them that its inhabitants were -already aware of their approach. Soon afterwards the long train of a procession was -seen winding down from the entrance of the town, and as they drew nearer they descried -at the head of it the venerable Alexander Barr, bishop of the diocese. He was accompanied -by his twenty-two canons secular, and various other members and servants of the Cathedral; -and after him came a body of Black Dominican Monks, followed by the Grey Franciscan -Friars, all marching in pairs. Ere the warlike body of nobles, and knights, and men-at-arms -had reached the bridge, the procession had halted to receive them. The Bishop, in -his episcopal robes, sat, patiently waiting them, on a well-fed milk-white palfrey, -of sober and staid disposition, suited to his master’s habits. The Earl of Moray hastened -to dismount, and would have run to assist the Prelate from his horse. But there was -no pride in the old man, and seeing the Earl’s intention, he quitted his saddle with -an agility hardly to be looked for from one of his years, and, hastening to meet his -embrace, bestowed his willing benediction on him, as well as on the Earls of Fife, -Dunbar, and Douglas, and those who followed them. -</p> -<p>“My Lord Bishop,” said the Earl of Fife, “verily I did scarcely look for this good -countenance and gentle demeanour from thee, seeing how I am sykered to him who hath -wrought the Church so much foul wrong. But thou well knowest——” -</p> -<p>“Talk not of these matters, my Lord Earl of Fife, I beseech thee,” cried the Bishop, -interrupting him; “talk not of these matters now. We shall have ample leisure to discuss -these painful themes ere the hour of couchee. Mount, I beseech thee, and let me now -do what honour I may to the son of my King, and to his noble brothers-in-law, the -gallant Earls of Douglas and of Moray, by escorting them to the Royal Castle. Thy -<span class="pageNum" id="pb350">[<a href="#pb350">350</a>]</span>messengers, my Lord,” continued he, turning to Earl Moray, “did out-run my tardy hospitality; -for ere I gathered tidings of thy coming, or could bestir myself to make fitting provision -for thy reception, and for the banqueting of these nobles, knights, and ladies, thy -preparations at the Castle were already largely advanced, else had I assuredly claimed -thee and all as my guests.” -</p> -<p>“Of a truth, we are rather too potent a company to harass thee withal,” replied the -Earl of Moray; “and, as Constable of the Royal Castle here, it would ill become me -to shrink from the fulfilment of its hospitality. Let us mount, then, and hie us thither.” -</p> -<p>All being again in their saddles, those composing the procession turned their faces -towards the town, and began to move slowly onwards. The black crosses on the humble -white gowns of the Dominicans or Black Friars, and the grey gown and cowl of the Franciscans—their -meek and world-contemning countenances—their bare feet, the soft tread of which gave -forth no sound—the humble banner of St. Giles, the tutelary saint of the town, who -was represented in his pastoral habit, holding a book in his right hand, and a staff -in his left, with the motto, “Sic itur ad astra,” were all calculated to lead the -mind far above the pomps of this vain world, and were strangely contrasted with the -fierce and haughty looks of the warriors—their glittering armour—their nodding plumes—the -yell of the bugles—and the proudly-blazoned surcoats, and shields, and banners, and -pennons, which flared against the declining sun, as if their glory had been made to -endure even beyond that of the blessed luminary itself. -</p> -<p>They wound up the steep hill to the Castle, and there the religious orders halted -in two lines, facing each other, until the gaudy war-pageant had passed inwards, with -all its crashing clangour of instruments, and all its flash and glitter. The holy -brethren then moved away in silence, disappearing in succession, like the waves that -follow the foaming surges raised on the bosom of a lone lake by the fall of some mountain -crag. -</p> -<p>But there was one monk of the order of St. Francis there who staid not with his brethren -to gaze with lack-lustre eye on the ranks of the warriors as they rode by. Deep excitation -seemed suddenly to be awakened in him by some passing object. With an agitated air, -he shrouded himself up in his grey cowl, and tightening his girdle of ropes about -his loins, he mingled with the ranks of riders, and glided into the Castle. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb351">[<a href="#pb351">351</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch50" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e704">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER L.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Mystery of the Lady Beatrice—Arrival of the Nobles and Men-at-Arms at Aberdeen.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The banquet, though sufficiently splendid, was tempered by moderation, and the guests -broke up at an early hour, for the Bishop took an opportunity of signifying his wish -to hold private council with the Earls of Fife, Moray, Douglas, and Dunbar, and one -or two of the other nobles and knights whom he named. The hint was accordingly taken, -and the accommodation of the Castle being too confined for a company so numerous, -the Bishop of Moray consigned to the care of his canons the duty of providing fit -lodging for such as might be compelled to go into the town. Though the apartments -in the houses of these churchmen were small, yet were they most luxuriously furnished -for the times to which this history refers. -</p> -<p>As De Vaux, the Lord of Dirleton, was one of the few whom the Bishop requested to -aid him with his advice, the former remained for some time at the Castle. His lady -and daughter were therefore consigned to the care of a rosy-faced, tun-bellied canon, -who was ready with his attendants to escort them to his antique mansion. As his lacqueys -lighted them along under the covered arcades lining both sides of the streets, his -gay smiles and gallant air sorted but indifferently with the solemn religious grandeur -that was everywhere spread over this ancient episcopal town. -</p> -<p>The subject of conference between the Bishop and the nobles was the late outrages -of the Wolfe of Badenoch. The good Bishop was himself incapable of seeking vengeance, -in as far as he as a mere man was concerned. But he was zealous for the interests -of that religion and of that Church of which he was the minister; and being firmly -resolved that neither should be insulted with impunity, he stated to the Lords and -Knights his determination to go with them to Aberdeen, and to lay the matter before -the King. To such a step no objection could be urged by those who heard him, and accordingly, -after some conversation on other matters, which continued to a pretty late hour, the -party broke up. -</p> -<p>As the Lord of Dirleton was leaving the Castle, with the intention of finding his -way to the house of the canon, whither his lady and the Lady Jane de Vaux had gone -before him, he <span class="pageNum" id="pb352">[<a href="#pb352">352</a>]</span>was suddenly addressed by some one from behind, who, in a distinct but hollow tone, -whispered in his ear— -</p> -<p>“Wouldst thou know aught of the fate of thy first-born daughter?” -</p> -<p>“Ha! what canst thou tell me?” cried De Vaux, turning round with inconceivable eagerness, -and addressing a Franciscan monk who stood behind him shrouded up in his cowl; “speak, -I beseech thee, holy man, what hast thou to tell of my first-born daughter?” -</p> -<p>“Dismiss thine attendants,” replied the Franciscan calmly, “and follow me to the church -of Greyfriars; there shalt thou learn all that I have to tell.” -</p> -<p>“Get thee to thy lodgings,” cried the Lord of Dirleton to his people, “and leave me -with this holy monk. I would have converse with him alone.” -</p> -<p>“My Lord,” replied his esquire, “it were safer methinks to have thy people about thee; -treachery hath many disguises—there may be danger.” -</p> -<p>“Talk not to me of danger,” cried De Vaux; “leave me, as I do command thee.” -</p> -<p>The esquire bowed, and retired with the valets and lacqueys who had waited. The monk, -who had stood aloof abiding his determination, now moved away, and the Lord of Dirleton -followed him. The streets were deserted and silent, and the Franciscan staid not to -speak, but glided so quickly along as to defy all attempts at conversation on the -part of the knight who followed him. After threading through some narrow lanes and -uncouth passages, the Lord of Dirleton was led by his guide to the door of the church -of the Greyfriars, to which the monk applied a large key that hung at his girdle, -and after letting himself and the knight in, he again locked it carefully behind him. -The interior of the holy place was dimly illuminated by the few lamps that were burning -here and there before some of the shrines, but the gloomy light was not even sufficient -to dissipate the shadows that hung beneath the arch of the groined roof. -</p> -<p>“Speak, quickly speak, father—in charity speak, and satisfy my anxiety,” cried the -old Lord of Dirleton, panting with the eagerness of expectation, combined with the -breathlessness of exertion. “What knowest thou of the fate of my child?—Is she alive?—In -mercy speak!” -</p> -<p>The Franciscan shot a glance at De Vaux from under his cowl, and then strode slowly -up the nave of the Church until he came opposite to a shrine dedicated to an image -of the Virgin. <span class="pageNum" id="pb353">[<a href="#pb353">353</a>]</span>There he halted, and leaning against its iron screen with his back to the lamps, dropped -his head on his bosom, and seemed lost in thought for some moments. -</p> -<p>“Oh, speak,” cried the Lord of Dirleton, following him—“Speak—does my child live? -my child Beatrice?” -</p> -<p>“Thy child liveth not,” murmured the monk, in a deep sepulchral tone; “’tis of her -death I would tell thee.” -</p> -<p>“Alas, alas! I did indeed fear so,” cried the Lord of Dirleton, deeply affected. “I -had indeed ceased to hope that she might be yet alive. Yet even to know her fate were -something amid the sad obscurity which hath so long oppressed us. What canst thou -tell me of her, holy father?” -</p> -<p>“Thou hadst a brother,” said the Franciscan, slowly and solemnly. -</p> -<p>“Alas! I had. I had indeed a brother,” cried De Vaux. “Then are my fears but too just. -It was he then who reft me of mine infant. Oh, wretch, wretch, how couldst thou be -so cruel!” -</p> -<p>“It was he,” cried the monk, with a peculiar energy of manner, whilst his eyes glared -strangely from beneath his cowl as he spake; “it was thy brother, who, in revenge -for the blow he received from thine hand, tore thine infant daughter from her nurse, -and fled with her.” -</p> -<p>“Then may God in His infinite mercy forgive him!” cried De Vaux, clasping his hands -together with strong agitation of manner; and, dropping on his knees before the shrine -of the Virgin, he buried his face in his mantle, and gave way to his emotions. -</p> -<p>“What! canst thou in truth forgive him, then?” cried the monk; “canst thou in sincerity -pray for his forgiveness in Heaven? Wouldst thou not rather seek revenge against him—revenge, -the which may ere long be put within thy power—revenge, to which even I might peradventure -help thee?” -</p> -<p>“And dost thou, the servant of Christ—thou who shouldst be the messenger of peace—dost -thou become a tempter?” cried De Vaux, looking upwards at the monk with astonishment; -“dost thou counsel revenge?—dost thou become a pander to the most malignant of human -passions, so as to offer thyself to be the instrument who shall drag up my sinful, -yet perchance ere this, repentant brother, to dree my vengeance?” -</p> -<p>“’Tis well,” replied the Franciscan coolly; “I did so speak but to prove thy virtue, -the which I do find to be great. Forgiveness is the badge of our Christian faith, -which it well becometh thee to wear; and thou hast the jewel of its highest <span class="pageNum" id="pb354">[<a href="#pb354">354</a>]</span>perfection, sith thou canst bring thy mind to forgive him who was the murderer of -thy first-born child.” -</p> -<p>“The murderer of my child!” cried the wretched De Vaux, starting from his knees, and -pacing the church, wringing his hands. “Were my worst fears true, then? was my innocent -infant, my smiling cherub, was my Beatrice murdered? The few words thou didst let -fall had overpowered my first suspicions, and had already engendered hopes that my -brother’s violence had at least stopped short of a crime so horrible. Murdered, saidst -thou? Oh, most foul, most foul! He whom I did love and cherish from boyhood as my -son—yea, loved as the issue of my own loins—in whose nurture I so interested myself, -and on whom I did propose to bestow large possessions—What, the flesh of mine own -father to murder my helpless babe!” -</p> -<p>“Thy forgiveness is indeed of most marvellous and unexampled excellence,” cried the -Franciscan in a whining tone, the true meaning of which could hardly be interpreted; -“wouldst thou, then, that thy brother should be brought before thee, that he may receive -full pardon at thy hands for the cruel coulpe he hath committed against thee?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay, nay,” cried the wretched Lord of Dirleton with rapid utterance, “let me -not see him—let me not see him. I loved the sight of him once as the darling son of -mine aged father—let me not see him now as the murderer of my child. The taking of -the life of my brother cannot restore that of which he did bereave my Beatrice. As -I hope for mercy from on high, so do I forgive him. Let him then live and repent; -let him do voluntary penance, that his soul may yet meet with mercy at Heaven’s high -tribunal; but let me not see him. Had he only robbed me of my child, I mought peraunter -have been able to have yielded him my forgiveness face to face; yea, and moreover -to have extinguished all animosity by weeping a flood of tears upon his bosom; for -verily I am but as a lone and bruised reed, and a brother’s returning love were a -healing balm worth the purchasing. But the murderer of my child—oh, horrible!—let -me not see him.” -</p> -<p>The Franciscan drew his cowl more completely over his face, and stood for some moments -with his head averted, as if to hide those emotions to which De Vaux’s agitation had -given rise. Starting suddenly from the position he had taken, he sprang forward a -pace or two towards the Lord of Dirleton, and then halted suddenly ere he reached -him. De Vaux, wrapped up in his own thoughts, was unconscious of the movement of the -monk. He threw himself again on his knees before the shrine of the <span class="pageNum" id="pb355">[<a href="#pb355">355</a>]</span>Virgin, and began offering up sincere but incoherent and unconnected petitions, at -one time for the forgiveness of his own sins, at another for the soul of his murdered -daughter, and again for mercy and pardon from Heaven for the crimes of his brother. -The Franciscan, with his arms crossed over his breast, stood with his body gently -bent over the pious supplicant, absorbed in contemplation of him, and deeply moved -by the spectacle. A footstep was heard—the Lord of Dirleton’s ear caught it too at -length, and he arose hastily; but the Franciscan friar with whom he had been holding -converse was gone. -</p> -<p>“Father,” said the knight eagerly to a brother of the convent who now approached him -from an inner door, “tell me, I pray thee, who was he of thine order who passed from -me but now?” -</p> -<p>“Venerable warrior,” replied the monk with an air of surprise, “in truth, I saw no -one. May the blessing of St. Francis be with thee. Peraunter thine orisons hath induced -our Blessed Lady to send some saint miraculously to comfort thee. Nay, perhaps St. -Francis himself may have been sent by the Holy Virgin to reward thy piety for thus -seeking her shrine at such an hour. Leave me something in charity for our poor convent, -and her blessing, as alswa that of St. Francis, will assuredly cleave to thee.” -</p> -<p>“Hath not one of thy brethren loitered in the streets until now?” demanded the Lord -of Dirleton. -</p> -<p>“Nay,” replied the monk, “I this moment left the dormitory, where they are all asleep. -Trust me, they are not given to wander in the streets at such an hour as this; and -no one else could come hither, seeing that the door of our church is carefully locked -at night.” -</p> -<p>The Lord of Dirleton was lost in thought for some moments; but, recollecting himself, -he gave gold to the begging friar, who received it meekly. He then craved the monk’s -guidance to the house of the canon, where his lady and daughter were lodged; and the -holy man, taking a key from his girdle, unfastened the door of the church, and De -Vaux silently followed him, ruminating as he went on the mysterious interview he had -had, as well as on the sad story of his murdered daughter, the whole of his affliction -for whom had been so strangely and so strongly brought back upon him. -</p> -<p>In the morning, the march of the nobles, knights, and men-at-arms was swelled by the -presence of the Bishop of Moray, attended by a large party of his churchmen and followers. -The whole body reached the ancient city of Aberdeen early on the fourth day, and Sir -Patrick Hepborne had reason to be fully <span class="pageNum" id="pb356">[<a href="#pb356">356</a>]</span>satisfied with the gracious reception he met with from King Robert. He was gladdened -by a happy meeting with his father, and with his friend Assueton, who had come to -attend on His Majesty. -</p> -<p>“How fareth thine excellent mother, Assueton?” demanded Hepborne jocularly; “thou -hast doubtless ere this had enough of her good society, as well as of thy home.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, of a truth, my dearest bel ami,” replied his friend, “parfay my conscience doth -sorely smite me in that quarter. Verily, I have not yet seen mine excellent mother. -Day after day have I been about to hie me to her, to receive her blessing; but something -untoward hath ever arisen to detain me; and just as I was about to accomplish mine -intent, I was hurried away hither by the King’s command. Perdie, I did never before -think that I could have complained of the sudden outbreak of war; yet do I confess -that I did in good earnest begrudge this unlooked-for call most bitterly.” -</p> -<p>“And hath love or filial affection the most to do in exciting thy complaint, thinkest -thou?” demanded Hepborne. -</p> -<p>“Um! somewhat of both, perhaps,” replied Assueton gravely. “By St. Andrew, but I am -an altered man, Hepborne. Nay, smile not; or rather, if it so pleaseth thee, smile -as thou mayest list, for certes I am now case-hardened against thy raillery.<span class="corr" id="xd31e4892" title="Not in source">”</span> -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch51" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e715">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER LI.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>King Robert at Aberdeen—Duncan MacErchar again.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first"><span class="sc">The</span> evening was beautiful, when the loyal inhabitants of Aberdeen, who, by their King’s -temporary residence among them, were rendered eagerly alive to every little movement -regarding him, began to be aware that something was in contemplation, from observing -a slender guard of spearmen marching forth from the Castle, and forming in single -files at about a yard between each, so as to enclose an extended oblong space on the -upper part of the street. The populace began to crowd towards the barrier of spears, -in expectation of something interesting, and soon formed a dense mass everywhere behind -it. The houses overlooking the spot began to be filled with guests, too, who were -glad to claim acquaintance with their inmates, for the sake of procuring places at -the windows, which were all of them quickly occupied, as well as every one of those -antique and <span class="pageNum" id="pb357">[<a href="#pb357">357</a>]</span>curiously applied outer stairs and whimsical projections that characterized the city -architecture of the period. -</p> -<p>Idle speculation became rapidly busy among the anxious gazers. All hoped they were -to see the King, yet few thought the hope well founded; for the infirmities of age -had so beset His Majesty that he was but little equal to undergo the labour of the -parade attendant on his elevated rank, far less to endure public exhibitions of his -person. -</p> -<p>All doubt was soon put to an end, however. A distant flourish of trumpets was heard, -and martial music followed, swelling and growing upon the ear as it slowly approached -from the innermost recesses of the Castle. It burst forth with shriller clangour, -and the performers presently issued from the Castle, preceding a grand procession -of nobles, knights, and ladies, habited in the most magnificent dresses, followed -by a small body of guards, in the midst of whom there was a splendid litter, having -the Royal Arms, surmounted by the Crown of Scotland, placed over its velvet canopy. -It was borne by twelve esquires, in the richest Royal liveries. Murmurs of self-congratulation -and joyful greeting began to run around the assemblage of people; but when the litter -was set down in the middle of the open space, and Robert II., their beloved monarch, -the observer of justice, whose ears were ever open to the complaints of his meanest -subjects, and of whom it was even commonly said that he never spoke word that he performed -not—when the good King of Scotland was assisted forth from his conveyance, deafening -shouts rent the air, and were prolonged unceasingly, till the lungs of the shouters -waxed weary from their exertions. -</p> -<p>The reason of the monarch thus taking the air before his people, was to give confidence -to the good citizens of Aberdeen, amidst the exaggerated rumours of invasion, by showing -himself so surrounded by his dauntless barons. -</p> -<p>The infirm old King, plainly habited in a purple velvet mantle, lined with fur, and -purple silk nether garments, with grey woollen hose, folded amply over them, for the -comfort of his frail limbs, leaning upon his son the Earl of Fife, and partly supported -by his much-favoured son-in-law, the Earl of Moray, took his broad hat and plume with -dignity from his head, and, showing his long snowy hair, bowed gracefully around to -the people, and then began to walk slowly backwards and forwards, aiding himself partly -with his son’s arm and partly with a cane, now stopping to converse familiarly with -some of the ladies, or of the many nobles and knights by whom he was attended, or -<span class="pageNum" id="pb358">[<a href="#pb358">358</a>]</span>halting occasionally, as if suddenly interested in some person or thing he noticed -among the crowd, and then again resuming his walk with all the marks of being perfectly -at home among his people. The show, if show it might be called, went not on silently, -for ever and anon the enthusiasm of the vulgar getting the better of their awe for -majesty, their voices again rose to heaven in one universal and startling peal. The -gallant groups of nobles and knights, who, by their numerous attendance on the King, -gave strength to the throne in the eyes of the people, were also hailed with gratifying -applause; and even some of the more renowned leaders among them were singled out and -lauded by the plaudits of the spectators. Among these the Douglas was most prominently -distinguished, and the good John Dunbar, Earl of Moray, had his ample share. -</p> -<p>How important do the smallest, the most pitifully trifling circumstances of a King’s -actions appear in the eyes of his people! All those of his nobles or knights to whom -Robert chanced particularly to extend his Royal attention, were it but for a minute, -were noted by the shrewd observation of the Aberdonienses as among the favoured of -the Court, and many a plan was hatched by individuals among the spectators for winning -their patronage. Not a movement of His Majesty, not a turn, not a look, escaped remark, -and the mightiest results were augured from signs the most insignificant. -</p> -<p>It happened that Sir Patrick Hepborne was standing with his father not far from the -lower extremity of the open space, when the King came up to them. He had particularly -noticed both of them before; and the acclamations of the people, who knew the deeds -of the elder knight, and already loved the younger for his father’s sake, showed how -much their hearts beat in unison with this mark of their Sovereign’s approbation. -But now the King had something more to say to Sir Patrick the elder than merely to -honour him in the eyes of the people, with an appearance of familiarity. He really -wanted his advice with regard to the proposed armament, and to have his private opinion -of certain matters ere the council should sit. With monarchs, opportunities of private -conference with those they would speak to, are difficult to be commanded without remark; -their actions, and the actions of those about them, are watched too closely to permit -them to be approached without begetting speculation. A politic King is therefore obliged -to catch at and avail himself of moments for business which are perhaps but ill suited -for it; and it is often in the most crowded assemblage that they run the smallest -risk of suspicion of being engaged in <span class="pageNum" id="pb359">[<a href="#pb359">359</a>]</span>anything serious. Robert, leaning on his two attendants, stood unusually long in conference -with the Hepbornes. The fatigue and pain which he suffered in his limbs, by being -detained in the standing posture for so great a length of time, was sufficiently manifest -from the uneasy lifting and shifting of his feet, though his countenance, full of -fire and animation when he spoke himself, and earnestly fixed in attention to what -Sir Patrick Hepborne said to him in return, had no expression in it that might have -led the spectator to believe that it was at all connected with the frail and vexed -limbs that supported it, but which it seemed to have altogether forgotten in the intensity -of the interest of the subject under discussion. -</p> -<p>While the personages of this group were thus engaged, a considerable movement in that -part of the crowd near them, followed by some struggling and a good many high words, -suddenly attracted their notice. A momentary expression of anxiety, if not of fear, -crossed the wan features of royalty. The Earl of Moray and the two Hepbornes showed -by their motions that they were determined to secure the King’s safety at the risk -of their own lives; for, with resolute countenances, they laid their hands on their -swords, and stepped between him and the point from which the danger, if there was -any, must come, and to which their eyes were directed. The Earl of Fife acted independently. -He made a wheel, which was difficult to be explained, but halted and fronted by the -side of his father again, immediately in rear of the Earl of Moray and his two companions. -The crowd, within a few yards of them, still continued to heave to and fro as if in -labour, and at last a bulky figure appeared in the ancient Highland costume, and worming -his way forward to the line of guards, immediately endeavoured to force a passage -through between two of them. The two soldiers joined their spears to each other, and -each of them grasped a butt and a point the more effectually to bar his progress. -Undismayed by this their resolution, he in an instant put a hand on a shoulder of -each of them, and raised himself up with the determined intention of hoisting himself -over the obstruction. This action of his, however, was immediately met by a simultaneous -and equally decisive movement on the part of the two guards. Just as he had succeeded -in throwing one leg over the impediment, they, by a well-concerted effort, lifted -him vigorously up, and horsed him upon the shafts of the coupled spears, amid the -laughter of the surrounding populace. After some moments of rueful balancing upon -his uneasy and ticklish saddle, during which he seemed to hang in dreadful doubt on -which side he <span class="pageNum" id="pb360">[<a href="#pb360">360</a>]</span>was to fall, his large body at last overbalanced itself, and he rolled inwards towards -the feet of the King, and those who were standing with him. The whole was the work -of a moment. -</p> -<p>A loud murmur, mingled with the shrieks of “Treason—traitorie!” arose among the anxious -people; and all bodies, heads, and eyes were bent towards the scene of action, in -dread lest something tragical should follow. The two guards pressed forward to transfix -the unceremonious intruder with their spears as he lay on the ground. -</p> -<p>“Back,” cried Sir Patrick Hepborne the younger, bestriding his body like a Colossus; -“back, I say, this man must not be hurt; he means no evil; I will answer for him with -my life.” -</p> -<p>“Secure him at least, Sir Patrick,” cried the Earl of Fife. -</p> -<p>“My Lord, I will be his security,” replied Sir Patrick. “He is a good and loyal subject, -and nothing need be apprehended from him.” -</p> -<p>“Is he not mad?” demanded Fife, with some anxiety. “Methinks his eye rolls somewhat -wildly. By the mass, I like not his look overmuch.” -</p> -<p>“Be assured, my Lord, I well know the man,” replied Sir Patrick, stooping to assist -him to rise. -</p> -<p>“Out fie!” cried Duncan MacErchar, who now stood before them, smoothing down his quelt, -and blowing the dust with great care off a new suit of coarse home-spun tartan, that, -with his rough raw-hide sandals, suited but ill with the splendid sword and baldrick -that hung on him, and the richly-jewelled brooch that fastened his plaid; “Och, oich! -Sir Patrick—ou ay, ou ay—troth, she be’s right glad to see her honour again. Uve, -uve, ye loons,” continued he, addressing the two soldiers who had made so powerful -a resistance to his entrance, “an she had kend that ye were going to give her sike -an ill-faur’d ride as yon, and sike an ugly fling at the end o’t, by St. Giles, but -she would have crackit yere filthy crowns one again others like two rotten eggs. But, -oich, is she weel?” cried he, again turning eagerly towards Sir Patrick Hepborne the -younger. “Troth she did hear of the gatherin’, and so she e’en came down here to see -if King Roberts was for the fechts. And oich, she was glad to see her honours again, -and the ould mans Sir Patricks yonder; but, uve, uve, she has had a sore tuilzie to -get at her.” -</p> -<p>“I rejoice to see thee, Master MacErchar,” said Hepborne, hastily waving him away, -under the strong impression of the necessity of ridding the King’s presence of him, -without a moment’s delay; “but the present time and place ill befitteth for <span class="pageNum" id="pb361">[<a href="#pb361">361</a>]</span>such recognition. Retire then, I do beseech thee, and seek me on some other occasion. -Thou mayest ask at the Castle gate for mine esquire Mortimer Sang, whom thou knowest; -he will bring thee to me at such time as may be convenient for me.” -</p> -<p>“Uve, uve!” cried Duncan MacErchar, the warm sparkle gradually forsaking his eye, -as Hepborne spoke, leaving him much abashed with a reception, for the coldness of -which he had been little prepared; “oit, oit—ou ay—surely—troth she’ll do that. She’s -not going to plague her honour’s honour a moment. She’s yede her ways hame again to -her nain glen as fast as her legs can carry her. That she will—surely, surely. But, -by the blessed mass, had she but kend that she sould be any hinderance to her honour, -she sould not have yalt so far to fartigue her with a sight of her. But she did bid -her be sure to claim ken o’ her in ony place, and before ony body.” -</p> -<p>“Yea, I did so,” replied Hepborne, vexed to see that he still remained in the King’s -presence, and rather provoked at his boldness, not being aware that poor Duncan was -perfectly ignorant that one of the four persons before him was His Majesty—“I did -indeed bid thee do so; but verily I looked not for thine audacious approach before -such eyes.” -</p> -<p>“And fat was Duncan MacErchar to mind fat other lord-bodies might be standing by, -when her father, the noble Sir Patrick Hepborne, and at whose back she used to fight, -was before her eyne?” replied the Highlander, a little out of temper. “Uve, uve!—surely, -surely, Sir Patrick Hepborne, that did lead her on to the fechts, is mokell more to -her than ony lord o’ them a’—ay, than King Robert himsel, gin she were here, as she’s -in yon braw box yonder. Sure she did ken hersel the bonny Earl John Dunbar there, -right brave and worthy knight; and feggs she kens that she’s not the noblemans that -will scorn a poor man. And as for that pretty gentleman, and that douce discreet auld -carle in the purple silken hauselines and the grey hose, they may be as good as him -peraunter, but surely, surely, they cannot be better. Na, troth, but they must be -mokell waur than him, an they would be for clapping their hands on the mouth o’ a -poor man’s gratitudes. But surely, surely,” added he, “he be sorry sorry to have angered -her honours.” -</p> -<p>“Thou dost altogether mistake in this matter, Duncan,” said Sir Patrick the younger, -much distressed to perceive the mutual misunderstanding that existed—“thou dost altogether -mistake; I am not offended.” -</p> -<p>“Hoot, toot—ay, ay—ou ay—sure,” replied Duncan, with a whimsical look of good-natured -sarcasm in his countenance. <span class="pageNum" id="pb362">[<a href="#pb362">362</a>]</span>“Troth, she doth see that she’s not, neither the one nor the others, the same mans -here, on the crowns o’ the causey o’ Aberdeen, that she was in the glen o’ the Dee -yonder. Hup up!—Troth, she did take a grup of her hands yonder, ay, and she did moreover -drink out of the same cup with her, and a proud mans she did make Duncan MacErchar -hersels. But, uve, uve!—she’s with her neighbour lords and knights noo, and sike a -ragged goat o’ the hills as her nainsel is no to be noticed amang so many braw frisking -sheep, with fine woo on their backs. But sith that she did make Duncan proud, troth -she’ll show her pride. Fient a bit o’ her will force her nainsel to the kens o’ mortal -mans; so here’s her bonny sword and braw baudrick,” continued he, as he tried to take -them off, “here’s the sword and the baudrick she bore so lightly, but the which hae -grown of the sudden over heavy for her backs. But the poor Sir Page’s bonny brooch—oh -ay! she’ll keep it right sickerly, as it was kindly and gratefully gi’en.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Duncan, keep the sword and baldrick, I beseech thee, and seek for mine esquire -to-night,” said Hepborne, much annoyed. -</p> -<p>“Hoof, uve, no,” replied the Highlander testily. “Sith she careth not to notice poor -Duncan MacErchar before her father the ould mans (the Virgin’s blessing be upon her!) -and the good Earl of Moray, and that pretty gentlemans, and yon discreet, well-natured, -laughing auld carle in the grey hose and the purple hauselines yonder, troth she’ll -no seek to trouble her esquire. So here’s her sword and baudrick, and she’s yede her -ways hame again.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Duncan, I’ll none of them,” cried Hepborne, putting them back with the back -of his hand. “Thou art strangely mistaken here. Trust me, mine is not the heart that -can use an old friend, yea, and above all, one that did save my very life, with the -coldness that thou dost fancy. But thou art now in the presence of——.” He stopped, -and would have added “of the King;” but at that moment His Majesty, who had richly -enjoyed the scene as far as it had already gone, gave him such a look as at once showed -him it was not his pleasure that it should be so speedily terminated. He went on then -differently. “But thou art now in the presence of certain lords, with whom I am deeply -engaged in discussing divers matters of most grave and weighty import, and deeply -affecting the wellbeing of our country and the glory of our King; and of a truth I -well know that thou dost love both over much to suffer thine own feelings to let, -hinder, or do them prejudice in the smallest jot. Thou <span class="pageNum" id="pb363">[<a href="#pb363">363</a>]</span>canst not take offence that I did seem to neglect thee for matters of such moment. -By the honour of a knight I will take thee, brave preserver of my life, by the hand,” -continued he, seizing MacErchar with great cordiality, “I will take thy hand, I say, -in the presence of the whole world, yea, an it were in the presence of King Robert -himself. And as for drinking from the same cup with thee, what, have I not drank with -thee of the sacred cup of thy hospitality, and thinkest thou I would refuse to drink -with thee again? By St. Andrew, though rarely given to vinolence, I would rather swill -gallons with thee than that thou shouldst deem me deficient in the smallest hair’s-breadth -of gratitude to thee for the potent service thou didst render me at the Shelter Stone -of Loch Avon. Put on thy baldrick, man, yea, and the sword also, and think not for -a moment that I could have been so base as to slight thee.” -</p> -<p>“Oich, oich!—oot, oot!—uve, uve!—fool she was—fool she was, surely,” cried Duncan, -at once completely subdued, and very much put out of countenance by these unequivocal -expressions of Hepborne’s honest and sincere regard for him. “Oit, oit! troth she -was foolish, foolish; na, she’ll keep the sword, ay, and the bonny baudrick—ay, ay, -ou ay, she’ll keep them noo till she dies. Uve, uve, she’s sore foolish, sore foolish. -Oich, oich, will her honour Sir Patrick pardons her? Troth, she’s sore ashamed.” -</p> -<p>“Pardon thee,” said Sir Patrick the younger, again shaking MacErchar heartily by the -hand—“pardon thee, saidst thou? By St. Baldrid, but I do like thee the better, friend -Duncan, for the proper pride and feeling thou didst show. Thy pride is the pride of -an honest heart, and had I, in good verity, been the very paltry and ungenerous knight -that appearances did at first lead thee to imagine me to be, by the Rood, but I should -have right well merited thy sovereign despisal.” -</p> -<p>“Oich, oich,” said Duncan, his eyes running over with the stream of kindly affections -that now burst from his heart, and quite confused by his powerful emotions, “she’s -over goods—she’s over foolish—out fie, surely, surely, she’s over goods. God bless -her honour. But troth, she’ll no be tarrying langer noo to disturb her honour’s honour -more at this times; and, ou ay, she’ll come surely to good Squire Mortimer’s at night, -to see if her honour’s leisure may serve for seeing her.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay,” said Hepborne, after consulting the King’s countenance by a glance, to -gather his pleasure, “thou shalt not go now. We had nearly done with our parlance, -and the renewal of it at this time mattereth not a jot; so sith that thou <span class="pageNum" id="pb364">[<a href="#pb364">364</a>]</span>art here, my brave defender, perdie, thou shalt stay until I introduce thee to my -father. Father,” continued he, turning to Sir Patrick the elder, “this is a brave -soldier who hath fought for his King in many a stark stoure with thee. I do beseech -thee to permit him opportunity to speak to thee, and peraunter thou wilt all the more -readily do so, when I tell thee that he did save my life from the murderous blows -of an assassin, the which had well nigh amortised me, by despatching the foul traitor -with a single thrust of his spear.” -</p> -<p>“To hear that thou hast saved the life of my beloved son,” replied Sir Patrick, advancing -and taking MacErchar by the hand, “were in itself enow to coart me to recognise thee -as my benefactor, though I had never seen thee before. But well do I remember thy -brave deeds, my worthy fellow-soldier.” -</p> -<p>“Oich, oich,” cried Duncan, dropping on his knees, and embracing those of Sir Patrick, -but altogether unable to express his feelings, “oich, oich—surely, surely—fat can -she say?—foolish, foolish—hoot, toot—ower big rewards for her—ooch—ower good, surely—hoit, -oit, Duncan will die hersel for the good Sir Patrick—ay, or for ony flesh o’ hers—och-hone—uve, -uve, she cannot speak.” -</p> -<p>“Yet did I never hear mortal tongue more eloquent,” said Sir Patrick Hepborne the -elder, “sith that its very want of utterance doth show forth the honest and kindly -metal of the heart. But by St. Andrew, I do know the heart to be bold as well as kind, -seeing I forget not the actions of this heroic mountaineer in the field. Where all -are brave, verily ’tis not an easy task to gain an overtopping height of glory; and -yet less is it easy in the lower ranks of war, where the individuals stand thicker. -Natheless, and maugre all these obstacles to fame, did this man’s deeds in battle -so tower above all others, that, humble as he was, I often noted them—yea, and he -should have been rewarded too, had I not weaned that he was killed in doing the very -feat for the which I would have done him instant and signal honour. What came of thee,” -continued Sir Patrick, addressing MacErchar, who had by this time risen to his legs, -“what came of thee, my valiant mountaineer, after thou didst so gallantly save those -engineer-men and their engine, when basely abandoned by the French auxiliaries, at -the siege of Roxburgh, whose retreat thou didst cover against a host of the enemy -by thy single targe and sword, until others were shamed into their duty by thy glorious -ensample?” -</p> -<p>“Oich, oich—he, he, he!—a bonny tuilzie that,” cried Duncan, laughing heartily, “a -bonny tuilzie; troth, she was but <span class="pageNum" id="pb365">[<a href="#pb365">365</a>]</span>roughly handled yon time. Of a truth, noble Sir Patrick, she did get sike an ill-favoured -clewer from a chield with a mokell mace, that she was laid sprawling on the plain; -and syne, poo! out ower her body did the English loons come flying after our men, -in sike wicked fashion, that the very breath was trampled out o’ her bodys.” -</p> -<p>“But how didst thou ’scape with life after all?” demanded Sir Patrick the elder. -</p> -<p>“Troth, after they had all trotted over her, the wind just came back again into her -bodys,” replied MacErchar; “and so she got up till her legs, and shook hersel, and -scratched her lugs, that were singing as loud as twenty throstle-birds; when back -came the villains, running like furies before our men, and whirled her away wi’ them, -or ever she kend, into the town. There she lay prisoners for mony a days, till she -broke their jails, and made her way to the Highlands. But troth, she took her spulzie -wi’ her, for she had hidden that afore, and kend whare to find it again.” -</p> -<p>“Of a truth, the deed was one of the most desperate I did ever behold,” said Sir Patrick -the elder, recurring to MacErchar’s action to which he had alluded. “He planted himself -against a host, and seemed doomed to certain destruction. ’Tis a marvel that he is -alive.” -</p> -<p>Whilst Sir <span class="corr" id="xd31e4968" title="Source: Petrick">Patrick</span> Hepborne and the Earl of Moray, who also remembered him, were holding some further -conference with MacErchar, Sir Patrick the younger approached the King, and privately -begged a boon of his Majesty, the particulars of which he specified to him. -</p> -<p>“’Tis granted, Sir Patrick,” whispered the King; “but let it be asked of us aloud, -that such part of the populace who may have been listening to what hath passed, may -have their minds filled also with the wholesome ensample of their King rewarding virtue.” -</p> -<p>In obedience to Robert’s command, Hepborne knelt before him, and addressed him in -a loud and distinct voice. -</p> -<p>“My liege, I do humbly beg a boon at thy Royal hands.” -</p> -<p>“Speak forth thy volunde, Sir Patrick Hepborne,” replied the King; “there are few -names in our kingdom the which may call for more ready attention from King Robert -than that the which hath ever been heard shouted in the front of his armies, and in -the midst of the ranks of his discomfited enemies.” -</p> -<p>“The boon I do earnestly crave of your Majesty is, that you will be graciously pleased -to bestow upon this gallant soldier, Duncan MacErchar, a commission in thy Royal Guard.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb366">[<a href="#pb366">366</a>]</span></p> -<p>“He hath it,” replied the King, “he hath it cheerfully at thy request, Sir Patrick; -and by the faith of a King, it doth right well pleasure us thus to exercise the happiest -part of our Royal power—I do mean that of rewarding loyal bravery such as this man -hath so proved himself to possess; yea, and no time so fitting, methinks, for the -exercise of this power; for when war is beginning, we should show our people that -we do know to reward those who do well and truly serve us.” -</p> -<p>“Kneel down, kneel down, I say, before Robert King of Scotland,” said the Earl of -Moray, slapping the astonished MacErchar upon the back, as he stood bereft of all -sensation on discovering in whose presence he had been standing and prating so much. -He obeyed mechanically, whilst a shout arose from that part of the crowd who had heard -all that had passed, and was caught up gradually by those farther off, who cheered -upon trust long ere the story could spread among them. The King moved away; but still -Duncan remained petrified upon his knees, with his hands clasped, his eyes thrown -up, and his mouth open, until Sir Patrick the younger showed himself his best friend -by awaking him from his trance and leading him away, amidst the ceaseless shouts of -the mob. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch52" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e726">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER LII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Wolfe of Badenoch at Aberdeen—Father and Son.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Duncan MacErchar’s intellect was so much confused by the unexpected discovery that -he had been standing and talking before his King, a being whom he had always conceived -to be something more than man, and whose image had floated like a spirit before his -misty eyes, that it was some time ere Sir Patrick Hepborne could make him comprehend -the good fortune that had befallen him. He then inquired eagerly into the nature and -advantages of the situation which had been so graciously bestowed upon him by His -Majesty; and finding that he was to be an officer in that corps of stipendiaries who -were always on Royal duty, with the best possible pay and perquisites, and superb -clothing, he asked Hepborne, with some degree of earnestness, what became of the corps -during the time of war. -</p> -<p>“They never go to war, unless when the King appears in the field in person,” replied -Sir Patrick; “and of that I well wot there is but little chance during this reign.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb367">[<a href="#pb367">367</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Uve, uve,” cried MacErchar, with a look that showed he was but half satisfied; “and -is she never to see the English loons again? Sure, sure, of what use will be the pay -and the harness, an she must liggen at home while tothers folks be at the wars? And -is she never to have the good luck to fight at the back of the good Sir Patrick again! -Oich, oich, she would like full weel to see her down, and ane Englishman cleavin’ -her skull, and her nainsel wi’ a pike in the body o’ the chield—oich, hoich! it would -be braw sport. Sure, she would rather fight for Sir Patrick, yea, and albeit she got -nothing but cuffs and scarts for her pains, than sit wi’ her thumbs across serving -a king himsel, though she got goupins of gold for her idleness. Troth, she would die -for Sir Patrick.” -</p> -<p>“And wouldst thou sacrifice the honour, yea, and the weighty emolument of a commission -in the King’s Guards, with all the fair promise of advancement the which it doth hold -forth to thee, for the mere gratification of a chivalric self-devotion to my father?” -demanded Hepborne, desirous to try him. -</p> -<p>“Out ay—surely, surely, she would do that; and little wonder o’ her, too, she would -think it,” replied MacErchar. -</p> -<p>“Wouldst thou, then, that I do resign thy commission to the King, and that I do obtain -for thee a lance among my father’s spears?” asked Hepborne. -</p> -<p>“Oich, oich!” cried MacErchar, rubbing his hands, and with his eyes sparkling with -delight; “surely her honour is ower good—ower good, surely. But if her honour will -do that same, oich, oich! Duncan MacErchar will be happy—oop, oop, happy. Troth, she -will dance itsel for joy. Oit, she may need look for no more till she dies; God be -good unto her soul then! Oich, will her honour do this for her?” demanded Duncan eagerly -of Hepborne, and in his more than usual keenness, taking the knight’s hand, and squeezing -it powerfully; “will her honour do but this for her?” -</p> -<p>“Verily, I shall at least do for thee what I can,” replied Hepborne, heartily shaking -his hand; “albeit so honourable a gift from thy King may not be lightly rejected. -Yet will I do what I may for thee. Let me find thee with mine esquire to-morrow morning; -thou shalt then hear the result of mine application to the King.” -</p> -<p>Hepborne was as good as his word. He craved an audience of the King, and, being admitted -to his couchee, the good monarch was pleased with the singularly disinterested wish -of the Highlander, and immediately signified his gracious pleasure that MacErchar -should retain the commission in his Guards, whilst <span class="pageNum" id="pb368">[<a href="#pb368">368</a>]</span>he should be permitted to follow the banner of Sir Patrick Hepborne to the wars. The -old knight, who happened to be present, was much touched by Duncan’s devotion to him, -and very gladly admitted him among his followers, so that every wish of MacErchar’s -heart was more than gratified. -</p> -<p>As Sir Patrick Hepborne was quitting the Royal apartments, and as he was passing through -a small vestibule feebly illumined by a single lamp, he was almost jostled by a tall -figure, who, enveloped in an ample mantle, was striding hastily forward towards the -door of the room whence he had issued, the metal of his harness clanging as he moved. -</p> -<p>“Ha! Sir Patrick Hepborne,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, for it was he—“by the blessed -bones of my grandfather, but thou art right far ben already in the old man’s favour, -that I do thus meet thee ishing forth from his chamber at an hour like this; but thou -art more welcome, peraunter, than his son the Earl of Buchan—Is the King alone?” -</p> -<p>“By this time I do ween that he is, my Lord; for, as I left him, the Earl of Fife, -the Earl of Moray, and my father, who had been in conference with him, were preparing -to take their leave by another door, and the King was about to retire into his bed-chamber, -with the gentlemen in waiting on his person.” -</p> -<p>“Ha!” said the Wolfe—“John Dunbar, Earl of Moray, saidst thou?—By my word, but he -seemeth to be eternally buzzing about the King, ay, and he doth buzz in his ear too, -I warrant me. Hast thou seen or heard aught of the Bishop of Moray being here?” -</p> -<p>“The Bishop of Moray had an audience of His Majesty this very day, on his arrival,” -replied Hepborne; “and if I mistake not, he did take his leave, and hath already departed -on his homeward journey.” -</p> -<p>“Ha! ’tis well,” replied the Wolfe hoarsely, and gnashing his teeth as he said so. -“Good night, Sir Patrick, I may, or I may not, see thee in Aberdeen at this time, -for I know not whether I may, or may not, ride hence again anon.” So saying, he passed -hastily towards the door leading to the King’s private chamber, to reach which he -had several apartments to pass through. -</p> -<p>The aged Robert, tired by the unusual fatigue he had that day undergone, was alike -glad to get rid of business and of his privy councillors. Retiring into his bed-chamber, -and laying aside the dignity of his high estate, his two attendants assisted him to -put on his robe-de-chambre, and he immediately descended to the more humble level -of a mere man, to which even <span class="pageNum" id="pb369">[<a href="#pb369">369</a>]</span>the greatest and most heroic potentate is reduced by the operations of his valet. -His legs had been already relieved from those rolls of woollen which had been employed -to cherish and to support them during the day; and being seated in an easy chair of -large dimensions, among ample crimson cushions, his pale countenance showed yet more -wan and withered under the dark purple velvet cap he wore, from beneath which his -white hair curled over his shoulders. Though his eyes were weak and bleared, their -full and undimmed pupils beamed mildly, like the stars of a summer twilight. He had -just inserted his limbs knee-deep into a warm foot-bath, which one of his people had -placed before his chair, when a loud tap was heard at the door. -</p> -<p>“Ha!” said the King, starting, “get thee to the door, Vallance, and see who may knock -so late. By the sound, we should opine that either rudeness or haste were there.” -</p> -<p>Vallance did as he was ordered, and, on opening the door, the Wolfe of Badenoch stepped -into the apartment, and made a hasty and careless obeisance before his father. The -old King’s feeble frame shook from head to foot with nervous agitation when he beheld -him. -</p> -<p>“Son Alexander, is it thou?” demanded Robert with astonishment. “We looked not to -have our sacred privacy disturbed at so unseemly an hour, yea, and still less by thee, -whose head, we did ween, was shrouded by shame in the darkness of thine own disgrace, -or rather buried, as we had vainly hoped, amid the dust and ashes of ane humble repentance. -What bringeth thee hither?—what hath”——He stopped, for he remembered that they were -not alone. “Vallance, and you, Seyton, retire. Wait without in the vestibule; we would -be private. What hath brought thee hither, son Alexander?” repeated he, after the -door was shut upon them. “I wot thou art but a rare guest at our Court, and methinks -that, infected as thou art at this present time, thou art but little fitted for its -air.” -</p> -<p>Naturally violent and ferocious as was the Wolfe of Badenoch, he now stood before -his father and his King, a presence in which he never found himself without being -in a certain degree subdued by the combination of awe, early inspired into his mind -by this twofold claim on his respect, and to which he had been too long accustomed, -to find it easy to rid himself of it. The grim Earl moved forward some steps towards -the chair where His Majesty was seated, and again louting him low, he repeated the -obeisance which the venerable form of his parent and Sovereign commanded. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb370">[<a href="#pb370">370</a>]</span></p> -<p>“My liege-father,” said he at length, “I do come to pay mine humble duty to your grace, -and——” -</p> -<p>“Nay, methinks thou shouldst have bethought thee of humbling thy fierce pride before -another throne than ours, ere thou didst adventure to wend thee hither,” interrupted -the King with indignation. “It would have well become thee to have bowed in humble -contrition before the episcopal chair of our Right Reverend Bishop of Moray, yea, -to have licked the very dust before his feet. Then, with his absolution on thy sinful -head, mightest thou have approached the holy altar of God, and the shrine of the Virgin, -in penitence and prayer; and after these, and all other purifications, we mought have -been again well pleased to have seen our reclaimed son mingling with the nobles of -our Court.” -</p> -<p>“I do see that the Bishop of Moray hath outrode me,” said the Wolfe of Badenoch, his -eye kindling, and his cheek darkly reddening, the flame of his internal ire being -rendered more furious by the very exertions he was making to keep down all external -symptoms of it. “The Bishop hath already effunded his tale in the Royal ear; but yet -do I hope that thou wilt hesitate to condemn me, yea, even on the Bishop’s saying, -without hearing what I may have to declare in mine own defence.” -</p> -<p>“Son Alexander,” said the old King mildly, and at the same time slowly shaking his -head as he spoke, “we do fear much that thou canst have but little to tell that may -undermine what the soothfast Bishop, Alexander Barr, hath possessed us of.” -</p> -<p>“He hath been with thee, then, my liege-father?” said the Wolfe, in a voice of eager -inquiry, and at the same time biting his nether lip. -</p> -<p>“Yea, the godly Bishop of Moray hath been with us this very day,” replied the King. -“He hath harrowed up our soul with the doleful tale of the brenning of our good burgh -of Forres—of the great devastation of men’s dwellings, goods, and mœubles, the which -thy fury hath created—the sacrilege of the which thou hast been guilty in reducing -God’s house and altar to ashes, as also the house of his minister—the wicked and as -yet unestimated sacrifice of the lives of our loving subjects, the which thou hast -occasioned.” -</p> -<p>“As God is my judge, my liege,” replied the Earl impatiently, “as God is my judge, -there was not a life lost—credit me, not one life. The hour of the night was early -when the deed was done; yea, it was done openly enough, so that there was little chance -of mortal tarrying to be food for the devouring flames. Trust me, my liege-father, -I did secretly send to certify <span class="pageNum" id="pb371">[<a href="#pb371">371</a>]</span>myself, as I can now truly do thee, on the honour of a knight, that not a life was -lost.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, in truth, it must be confessed that the Bishop spake only from hearsay as to -this head of charge against thee,” replied the King, “and, of a truth, thou hast lightened -our mind of a right grievous part of its burden by thy solemn denial of this cruel -part of the accusation against thee. Verily, it was to my soul like the hair-shirt -to the back that hath been seamed by the lash of penance, to think that flesh of ours -could have done such wanton murder on innocent and inoffensive burghers. But yet, -what shall we say to thy brenning of God’s holy house—of the gratification of thy -blind and brutal thirst of vengeance even by the destruction of his altars, and of -the images of his saints?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, mine intent was not against the Church,” replied the Wolfe, “but rage reft me -of reason, and I deny not that it was with mine own hand that I did fire it; yet was -it soon extinguished, and the choir only hath suffered. But,” continued he, as he -turned the subject with increasing irritation, “but had not an excommunication gone -forth so rashly against me, yea, and poured out alswa by him who hath ever been mine -enemy, the flood of my vengeance had not flowed; and if it had swept all before it, -by the Rood, but Bishop Barr himself must bear the coulpe of what evil it may have -wrought.” -</p> -<p>“Speak not so horribly, son Alexander,” said the King, with emotion. “Thine impious -words do shock mine ear. Lay not blame to Bishop Barr for at last hurling upon thee -the tardy vengeance of the Episcopal chair, which thine accumulated insults did loudly -call for, long ere his long-suffering temper did permit him to employ them. Didst -thou not outrageously and sacrilegiously ravish and usurp the lands of the Church -in Badenoch? and didst thou not refuse to restore them to the righteous possession -of our holy Mother when called on so to do?” -</p> -<p>“Yea,” replied the Wolfe of Badenoch, waxing more angry, and less scrupulous in his -manner of speaking, as well as in his choice of terms, as his father thus began to -approach nearer to the source of all his heart-burnings with the Bishop—“yea, I did -indeed seize these lands, but, by the mass, it was not against the Church that I did -war in so doing, but against mine insidious enemy, Alexander Barr, who did feed himself -fat upon their revenues. And well I wot hath he worked for my vengeance. Hath he not -poisoned thine ear against me?—hath he not been ever my torment?—hath he not been -eternally meddling with <span class="pageNum" id="pb372">[<a href="#pb372">372</a>]</span>my domestic, with my most private affairs?—hath he not sported with my most tender -feelings?—hath he not done all that in him lay to rend the ties of my dearest affections?” -</p> -<p>“Ah, there, there again hast thou touched a chord the which doth ever vibrate to our -shame,” replied the King, deeply distressed by the remembrance of the subject which -the Wolfe had awakened. “That disgraceful connection with thy leman Mariota Athyn—’tis -that which hath poisoned the source of all thine actings, and that hath thereby transmewed -the sweet waters of our life into bitterness and gall. Did we not write to thee with -our own hand, urging thee to repentance, and beseeching thee to dismiss thy sinful -and impure mate, and cleave to thy lawful wife, Euphame, Countess of Ross? and——” -</p> -<p>“Nay, my liege-father, I wot this is too old a wound to be ripped up now,” interrupted -the Wolfe of Badenoch, beginning to wax more and more ireful; “ha! by the Rood, but -’tis sore to bear—cruelly sore. I did come hither to complain of the evil usage, of -the disgrace, of the insults which this upstart priest hath thrown on me, hoping for -a father’s lenient interpretation of mine actings; yea, and that some salve might -have been put to the rankling sores this carrion hath wrought on me; but the croaking -raven hath been here before me—he hath already sung his hoarse and evil-omened song -in thine ear, and all that I may now say cannot purge it of the poison with which -it has been filled. By my trusty burly-brand, but thou hast forgotten the mettle of -thy son Alexander.” -</p> -<p>“Oh dole, dole, dole!” cried the old King, clasping his hands in bitter affliction -at the obstinacy shown by his son; “what can be done with a heart which beareth itself -so proudly, which refuseth to listen to the voice of reason, which despiseth a father’s -counsels, and which resolveth to abide in its wickedness.” -</p> -<p>“Wickedness!” replied the Wolfe fiercely, and enchafing more and more as he went on; -“by the holy Rood, but I do think that the word is ill applied. Meseems that to throw -her off who hath borne me five lusty chields, and who hath stuck to me through sun -and wete, would savour more of wickedness than to continue her under the shadow of -my protection. Ha! by my beard, but the voice of reason—ha, ha, ha!—is like to be -as much with me in this case as against me. Thank God, I have reason—yea, and excellent -reason too—full, vigorous, and perfect reason—whilst thou hast thine, old man, far -upon the wane. Whatsoever mountaunce of reason thou mayest have once had, by Heaven, -thou dost now begin to dote. Yet what <span class="pageNum" id="pb373">[<a href="#pb373">373</a>]</span>was thy reason in like matters when it was at the best? Didst thou not thyself live -a like light life in thy youthhood, and dost thou school me for having followed thine -example?” -</p> -<p>“Oh, dole, dole!—oh, woe for my sins!” cried the old man, agonized by his son’s intemperate -accusation of him; “’tis bitter, I wot, to bear the reproach of a wicked and undutiful -son. O, alas for my sins! yet sure, if I have had any, as the blessed Virgin knoweth, -I do humbly confess them, and may her holy influence cleanse me from them; if I have -had sins, surely I have dreed a right sore penance for them in having thee as an everlasting -scourge to my spirit. God, doubtless, gave thee to me for the gracious purpose that -thou mightest be as bitter ligne-aloes to purge away the disease of my soul; and may -He sanctify the purposes of mine affliction! But what art thou, sinful wretch that -thou art, who wouldst thus cast blame on thy father, yea, and ignominy on thyself? -If I sinned in that matter, did I not awaken from my sin and repent me? did I not -do all that mortal could do to salve the misery I had begotten? did I not——. But thou -art a cruel and barbarous wretch, a disgrace and infamy to thy father—a diseased, -polluted, and festering limb, the which should be cut off and buried out of sight.” -</p> -<p>“Old dotard,” cried the Wolfe, his fury now getting completely the better of him, -“talk not thus—I—I—I—ha!—provoke me not—thou hadst better——” -</p> -<p>“Get thee to thy home,” replied the King; “turn thy vile strumpet forth, and, above -all, humble thyself in penitence before the good Bishop Barr, who, godly man, hath -been unwearied in his pious endeavours to reclaim thee from thy sinful and polluted -life. Lick the dust from the very shoes of the saintly Bishop of Moray; in his Christian -mercy he may forgive thee, and thou mayest then hope for restoration to our Royal -favour; but if thou dost not this, by the word of a King, I will have thee thrown -into prison, and there thou shalt liggen until thou shalt have made reparation to -God and man for all thine impurities and all thine outrages and sacrileges.” -</p> -<p>“Ha!” cried the enraged Earl of Buchan, half drawing his dagger, and then returning -it violently into its sheath, and pressing it hard down, as if to make it immovable -there were the only security against his using it; whilst, at the same time, he began -to pace the apartment in a furious manner; “ha! what! confine the eagle of the mountain -to a sparrow’s cage? chain down the Wolfe of Badenoch to some walthsome den? threaten -thy son so, and all for an accursed, prating, papelarde priest? <span class="pageNum" id="pb374">[<a href="#pb374">374</a>]</span>Old man,” said he, suddenly halting opposite to his father, and putting a daring hand -rudely on each shoulder of His Majesty, while his eyes glared on him as if passion -had altogether mastered his reason—“old dotard carle that thou art, art thou not now -within my grasp? art not thine attendants beyond call? is not the puny spark of life -that feebly brens in that wintry frame now within the will of these hands? What doth -hinder that I should put thee beyond the power of executing thy weak threats?—what -doth hinder me to——” -</p> -<p>He stopped ere he had uttered this impious parricidal thought more plainly. The old -man blenched or quailed not; nay, even the agitation which he had before exhibited—an -agitation which had been the result of anger and vexation, but not of fear—was calmed -by the idea of approaching death; and, pitying his son more than himself, he sat immovable -like some waxen figure, his mild eyes calmly and steadily fixed upon the red and starting -orbs of the Wolfe of Badenoch. The group might have been copied for the subject of -the martyrdom of a saint. -</p> -<p>“’Tis the hand of God that hindereth thee, son Alexander,” said the aged Monarch, -slowly and distinctly. -</p> -<p>The ferocious Wolfe could not withstand the saint-like look of his venerable father. -The devil that had taken possession of Lord Badenoch’s heart was expelled by the beam -of Heaven that shot from the eyes of the good King Robert. Those of his son fell abashed -before them, and the succeeding moment saw the hard, stern, and savage Earl on his -bended knees, yea, and weeping before the parent of whom his ungovernable rage might -have made him the murderer. There was a silence of a minute. -</p> -<p>“Forgive me, forgive me, father. I knew not what I did; I was reft of my reason,” -cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, groaning with deep agony and shame. -</p> -<p>“Son Alexander,” said the King firmly, yet as if struggling to keep down these emotions -of tenderness for his son which his sudden and unexpected contrition had excited; -“Son Alexander, albeit the consideration that the outrage was done by the hand of -a son against a father doth rather aggravate the coulpe of the subject against the -King, yet as it doth regard our own Royal person alone, we may be permitted to allow -the indulgent affection of the parent to assuage the otherwise rigorous justice of -the Monarch. So far as this may go, then, do we forgive thee.” -</p> -<p>The Wolfe remained on the ground, deeply affected, with his head buried within his -mantle. -</p> -<p>“But as for what the duty of a Sovereign doth demand of <span class="pageNum" id="pb375">[<a href="#pb375">375</a>]</span>us,” continued Robert, “in punishing these malfaitours who do flagrantly sin against -the laws of our realm, and those, above all, who do sacrilegious outrage against our -holy religion and Church, be assured that our hand will be as strong and swift in -its vengeance on thee as on any other; nor shall these thy tears make more impression -on us than thine ungovernable fury did now appal us. Doubt not but thou shalt feel -the full weight of our Royal displeasure, yea, and thou shalt dree such punishment -as befits the crimes thou hast committed against God and man, unless thou dost straightway -seek the footstool of the injured Bishop of Moray. Nay, start not away, but hear us; -for thou shalt suffer for thy crime, unless thou dost straightway seek the injured -Bishop’s footstool, and, bowing thy head in the dust before it, submit thee to what -penance he in his great mercy and wisdom may hold to be sufficient expiation for thy -wickedness.” -</p> -<p>The Wolfe of Badenoch started up and again began to pace the room in a frenzy; and -as Robert went on he became more and more agitated by passion, gnashing his teeth -from time to time, and setting them against each other, as if afraid to permit himself -the use of speech, and with his arms rolled up tight into his mantle, as if he dreaded -to trust them at liberty. -</p> -<p>“Nay, never frown and fret, son Alexander,” continued the King. “By St. Andrew, ’tis -well for thee that thou didst come to us thus in secret, for hadst thou but had the -daring to appear before us when surrounded by the Lords of our Court, verily our respect -for justice must of needscost have coarted us to order thee to be forthwith seized -and subjected to strict durance. As it is, thou mayest yede thee hence for this time, -that thou mayest yet have some space left thee to make thy peace with the holy Bishop -Barr; for without his pardon, trust me, thou canst never have ours. And we do earnestly -counsel thee to hasten to avail thyself of this merciful delay of our Sovereign vengeance, -for an thou dost not speedily receive full absolution from the godly prelate whom -thou hast so grievously offended, by the word of a King I swear that thou shalt liggen -thee in prison till thou diest.” -</p> -<p>The Wolfe of Badenoch heard no more. He relieved his hands in a hurried manner from -the thraldom in which he had imprisoned them—halted in his walk, and glared fiercely -at the King—groped again at the handle of his dagger—threw up his arms in the air -with frenzied action—dashed his clenched fists against his head—and then rushed from -the Royal presence with a fury which was rendered sufficiently evident by the clanging -of the various doors through which he retreated. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb376">[<a href="#pb376">376</a>]</span></p> -<p>The King folded his hands, groaned with deep agony, looked up to Heaven, uttered a -short petition to the Virgin to have mercy on the disordered and polluted soul of -his unhappy son, and to beseech her to shed a holy and healing influence over it that -might beget a sincere repentance; and then giving way to all the feelings of a father, -he burst into tears, which he in vain attempted to hide from the attendants, who soon -afterwards appeared. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch53" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e736">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER LIII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The English Lady’s Departure from Tarnawa Castle—The Crafty Son of the Wolfe of Badenoch.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first"><span class="sc">It</span> was more than a week after the departure of the Earl of Moray and his friends from -Tarnawa that Rory Spears was ordered to attend the Countess of Moray to receive her -instructions for the duty his master had left him at home to fulfil. He was called -into the room, where the lady in whose service he was to be employed was sitting veiled; -but the Countess had not more than time to open the matter to him when she was interrupted -by a message from her nephew, Sir Andrew Stewart, who, with very opposite feelings -to those of Rory, had found some plausible excuse for not going with the Knights to -Aberdeen, and now craved a short audience of the Countess. The English lady arose -and retired into the recess of a window, where Katherine Spears was plying her needle, -and Sir Andrew was admitted. -</p> -<p>“My gracious aunt,” said he, “I crave thy pardon for pressing my unbidden services; -but, I beseech thee, let me not be deprived of the highest privilege that belongs -to knighthood; I mean that of being the prop and stay of beauty in distress. Thou -knowest that I have some half dozen spears here. Be it my pleasing task, I entreat -thee, to protect the lady through those difficulties and dangers that may beset her -path. Trust me, she shall pass unscathed while I am with her.” -</p> -<p>“I am utterly astonished, nevoy,” replied the Countess; “how, I pray thee, art thou -possessed of the secret that any such emprise may be in hand?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, it mattereth but little, I trow, how I know that, my noble aunt,” replied Sir -Andrew Stewart with a careless smile; “but, what may be to thee some deal more strange, -peraunter, I do know the lady too.—Madam,” said he, gliding gently past <span class="pageNum" id="pb377">[<a href="#pb377">377</a>]</span>his aunt, and going up to the window, “I have only to tell thee that we have met at -Lochyndorbe, to convince thee that I do not err; yet be not alarmed at what I have -said; trust me, thou shalt find that I have over much delicacy and knightly courtesy -about me rudely to withdraw the veil in which thou hast been pleased to shroud thyself. -I come but to offer thee mine escort, and I do fondly hope thou wilt not refuse me -the gratification of shielding and defending thee with this arm, amid the many perils -that may environ thee in thy travel between Tarnawa and Norham.” -</p> -<p>“’Tis gallantly spoken of thee, nevoy,” replied the Countess; “and albeit I do hope -that danger there may be none in this our own country of Scotland, seeing, I have -reason to believe, that the tide of war hath already been turned from us; yet will -it give me joy to be certiorated of the safety of this sweet lady, who will doubtless -most cheerfully accept thy proffered courtesy.” -</p> -<p>The lady readily made her acknowledgements to Sir Andrew, and gladly availed herself -of his protection. Katherine Spears, who was to accompany her as a female companion -on the journey, was rejoiced, like all young persons, at the prospect of so speedily -seeing a little of the world, especially as her father was to be with her, and she -was going in the service of a lady to whom she was already so much attached. But old -Rory, who had been standing aloof during the conversation, showed by his countenance -that he was ill satisfied with the arrangement which had been made, as well as with -every one about him. He turned on his heel to leave the place, brandishing his gaud-clip, -and followed by a brace of large wolf-dogs in couples, and began slowly descending -the stairs, letting down first one-half of his ponderous person and then the other -in succession, each step he took bringing out a <i>humph</i>, as a break to the continuity of his audible grumble. -</p> -<p>“Ay, by St. Lowry, wha wad hae thought it, humph—wha wad hae thought that Rory Spears, -humph—the Yearl’s henchman, as a body mought say, umph—that Rory Spears, that mought -be ca’d as necessar till his back as the hound to his heel, or the falcon to his wrist, -humph—that Rory Spears, I say, suld hae been left behind at sike a time as this, umph—like -a crazy old destrier, or ane crackit targe, humph—and to be turned ower to be the -plaything to a silly bit lassie, umph—and an Englisher quean, too, mair’s the wonder, -hugh!—Ay, and to make matters better, she hirsels me off, too, like ane auld pair -o’ boots, to put faith in that kestrel, Sir Andrew Stewart, humph<span class="pageNum" id="pb378">[<a href="#pb378">378</a>]</span>—a kite frae an ill nest, umph—ay, and ane that she’ll aiblins find is no that ower -mukel to trust till, maugre a’ his havers, umph!—Weel, I maun e’en do the Yearl’s -wull, and his leddy’s wull; but, troth, I sall gie mysel no unnecessar trouble wi’ -the lass, umph—aboon a’, sith she hath chosen her ain champion, hugh!—And that <span class="corr" id="xd31e5091" title="Source: fooolish">foolish</span> glaikit thing Kate, too, umph,—she’s smiling and smirking, when it wad better set -her to be greetin’, hugh!—Och sirs, sirs, it’s a queer warld this. Whiew, whiew, Brand—whiew, -whiew, Oscar,” cried he, whistling to his hounds, as he gained the area of the Castle-yard; -“come awa, my bairns, ye hae mair sense than half o’ human fouk.” -</p> -<p>Next morning the beautiful milk-white palfrey, that had been the gift of Sir Patrick -Hepborne to his page Maurice de Grey, stood ready caparisoned in the court-yard, along -with those of the party who were to form the escort. The lady recognised him as she -descended from the terrace, leaning on the arm of Sir Andrew Stewart, and her eyes -ran over at sight of the noble animal. She stopped to caress him silently ere she -mounted him, her heart being too full to permit her to trust her voice in speaking -to him. As Sir Andrew Stewart aided her to rise into her saddle, the generous steed -neighed a joyous acknowledgment of the precious burden he was entrusted with. The -lady waved her hand to the Countess, who streamed her scarf from a window, in visible -token of the prayers she was putting up for her safety; and the cavalcade rode slowly -forth, the beauteous eyes of the Englishwoman so dimmed with tears that she saw not -aught that was around her. She felt as if, in leaving Tarnawa, the last tie that had -bound her heart to the object of its tenderest affections were dissolved, and it seemed -to wither within her. She drew her mantle over her head and gave way to her feelings, -so that even Sir Andrew Stewart saw that, to break in upon her by conversation, would -have been an intrusion too displeasing to be risked by him. He therefore continued -to ride by her side in silence; and the example of the knight and lady spreading its -influence over the party, not a word was heard among the riders. -</p> -<p>The lady at last felt that common courtesy required her to exert herself to control -her feelings, and with some difficulty she began to enter into conversation with Sir -Andrew Stewart, who rode at her side. She was now able to reconnoitre her attendants, -which she had not had strength or spirits to do before. Before her rode the minstrel, -Adam of Gordon, who no sooner saw that the lady had given his tongue license by breaking -the silence she had maintained, than he began to employ the innocent <span class="pageNum" id="pb379">[<a href="#pb379">379</a>]</span>artillery of an old man’s gallantry on the dimpling charms of the lovely Katherine -Spears, who, by her merry replies, and her peals of laughter, showed that she enjoyed -the well-turned compliments and high-flown speeches of the courteous and fair-spoken -bard. Next came the spearmen, and a couple of lacqueys, and one or two other attendants; -and last of all, wrapped up in a new fishing-garb of more than ordinarily capacious -dimensions, with an otter-skin cap on his head, and his gaud-clip in his hand, rode -Rory Spears, sulky and silent, on a strong, active little horse, whose ragged coat, -here hanging down in shreds, and there pulled off bare to the skin, showed that he -had been just rescued from the briers, brambles, and black thorns of the forest, which -had been waging war against his sides for many a day. Rory was followed by a single -wolf-hound, and his whole accoutrements were so far from being fitted for the important -duty of convoy, to which he had been appointed, that it almost seemed as if he had -purposely resolved it should be so from pure spite against his employment. -</p> -<p>“Be’st thou for the hunts, Master Spears?” cried the wife of a publican, one of the -Earl’s dependants, whom curiosity hurried to her door to gaze at the travellers as -they passed. -</p> -<p>“Na, na, Meggy Muirhead,” cried Rory, checking his horse for an instant. “The hunts, -quotha! pretty hunts, truly. But hast thou e’er a stoup o’ yill at hand? for thou -must know I am bent on a lang and tedisome journey—yea, and I do jalouse a right thirsty -and throat-guisening travel, gif I may guess from the dry husk that my craig hath -already been afflicted withal?” -</p> -<p>“Thou shanny want a drap o’ yill, Master Spears,” cried Maggy Muirhead, who ran in -and brought out a large wooden stoup, that, as she swung it on her head, foamed over -the brim with generous nut-brown, by which she hoped to extract some information from -Rory; “and where mayest thou be ganging, I pray thee? to join the Yearl maybe at the -wars, I’se warrant?” -</p> -<p>“Wars,” cried Rory, “wars! Gie me the stoup, woman.” And dropping his reins, and sticking -the shaft of his gaud-clip into his enormous boot, he stretched out both hands towards -the double-handed stoup, and relieving mine hostess’ head of the weight, he applied -its laughing brim to his lips, and slowly drained it so effectually that she had no -occasion to replace it there. “Haugh; wars, saidst thou, Mistress Muirhead?” cried -Rory again, as he held out the empty vessel, one handle of which the hostess now easily -received upon a couple of her fingers, and kept swinging about as he was speaking—“wars! -look at me, am I girded for the wars, thinkest thou? Na, I’ve <span class="pageNum" id="pb380">[<a href="#pb380">380</a>]</span>e’en taen on to be tirewoman to yon black-e’ed Englisher leddy, and I’m to get a kirtle, -and a coif, and a trotcosy, ere long. What thinkest thou of that, Mistress Muirhead?” -</p> -<p>“Preserve me, the Virgin have a care o’ us a’!” cried Mistress Muirhead in wonder, -as Rory rode away; “wha ever heard tell o’ sike a thing? The man’s gaun clean wud, -I rauckon.” -</p> -<p>Sir Andrew Stewart was unremitting in his attention to the lady, and all his speeches -and actions were so cunningly tempered with delicacy, that she neither had the power -nor the will to conceal her satisfaction at his treatment of her. He inwardly congratulated -himself on the advance he supposed he was making in her good opinion, and with some -consummate art began to pave the way for a declaration of the violent passion he had -secretly cherished for her, and gradually drawing nearer and nearer to her bridle -rein as they rode, whispered the warm language of love in her ear in sentences that -grew more and more tender at every step they advanced. Being occupied with her own -thoughts, she had the appearance without the reality of listening to all he said, -and the enamoured knight, interpreting her silence into a tacit approval, seized the -first favourable opportunity of addressing her in plainer language. -</p> -<p>“Most angelic lady,” said he to her, as he sat beside her alone under an oak, where -they had halted for rest and refreshment, “why shouldst thou undertake this tedious -journey? Why shouldst thou leave Scotland, where thou mightst be made happy? To permit -beauty so divine, and excellence so rare, to quit the Caledonian soil, would be a -foul disgrace to the gallantry of its chivalry. Deign, I beseech thee, to listen to -my ardent vows; let me be thy faithful knight. The love thou hast kindled in this -bosom is unquenchable. Oh, let me——” -</p> -<p>“Talk not thus besottedly, Sir Knight,” replied the lady, interrupting him hastily -and rather sternly; “I may not honestly listen to any such. Gallantry may peraunter -come with good grace enow from thy lips, but permit not thyself license with me, whose -heart doth already belong to another, and who can allow these words of thine no harbour. -I shall ever be grateful to thee for this thy courteous convoy, but I can never return -thy love. Stir not then the idle theme again.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, loveliest of thy sex,” said the silky Sir Andrew Stewart with strange ardour, -“to keep thy heart for one who hath so vilely entreated thee, and that after thou -didst sacrifice all to yield thee to his service, were neither just to thyself nor -to me. Let me occupy that place in thy heart, so unworthily filled by one whose very -bearing towards thee (rather that of a <span class="pageNum" id="pb381">[<a href="#pb381">381</a>]</span>master than of a lover) did sufficiently betray how much those matchless charms had -ceased to please his palled appetite. Let me then——” -</p> -<p>“Sir Andrew Stewart,” replied the lady with astonishment, mingled with a dignified -expression of resentment, “I know not what falsehood may have conspired to conjure -up so much unseemly boldness in thee; for I cannot believe that thou, a knight of -good report, couldst thus have ventured to insult me, unless on some false credence. -What though my love hath been misplaced? My heart can never change. Urge not, then, -again a theme that must ever rouse my indignation.” -</p> -<p>A cloud passed across the smooth brow of Sir Andrew Stewart as he received this resolute -rejection of his passion, but it speedily disappeared. -</p> -<p>“Forgive me, beauteous lady,” said he, after a pause, “mine unhappy passion hath indeed -mastered my better reason. Kill me not with thy frowns, but lay my fault to the account -of these thy stirring charms. Sith that I dare not hope for more advancement, I shall -still be the humblest of thy slaves, for to cease to love thee were impossible.” -</p> -<p>After this decided repulse, Sir Andrew Stewart confined his attentions to those of -mere courtesy. Towards evening, they began to descend into a narrow glen, watered -by a clear river. The hills arose on both sides lumpish and vast, and the dense fir -forest that covered them rendered the scene as gloomy as imagination could fancy. -As they picked their way down the steep paths of the forest, they caught occasional -glimpses of the lone tower of a little stronghold that stood on a small green mound, -washed by the river on one side, and divided from the abrupt base of the mountain -by a natural ravine, that bore the appearance of having been rendered more defensible -by art.<span id="xd31e5121"></span> -</p> -<p>“Behold the termination of our journey of this day,” said Sir Andrew Stewart to his -lady. “Thine accommodation, beauteous damsel, will be but poor; yet, even such as -thou mayest find it, it may be welcome after the fatigue thou hast endured.” -</p> -<p>They reached the bottom, and, crossing the ravine by a frail wooden bridge, climbed -a short ascent that led them to the entrance of the little fortalice, that wore the -appearance of having been lately demolished in some feudal broil; for the massive -iron gate of the court-yard lay upon its side, half buried among the weeds. Many of -the outhouses, too, were roofless, and bore recent marks of having been partly consumed -by fire. -</p> -<p>“Alister MacCraw,” said Sir Andrew Stewart to an old man who came crawling forth from -the low entrance at the sound of <span class="pageNum" id="pb382">[<a href="#pb382">382</a>]</span>the bugle, “so thine old dwelling yet standeth safe, I see. I trust it may afford -us some better harbour than those roofless barns and byres do show?” -</p> -<p>“In troth, not mokell better, Sir Andrew Stewart,” replied the old man; “but stone -vauts wunna brenn like thaken roof. Troth, ’tis mokell wonders that the Yearl o’ Buchan -wouldna gar mend them up, and put some stout loons to guard them, sith he doth use -to lodge here when he doth travel between Buchan and Badenoch; an yon bit gavels were -mended, an yon bit breach in the wa’, yonder, and——” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Alister, spare thy counsel for my father’s ear,” replied Sir Andrew Stewart -impatiently, “and forthwith proceed to house us as best thou mayest. Let us see how -this lady may be bestowed.” -</p> -<p>“Thou knowest there be no great choice of chambers,” replied the old man, with a certain -leering chuckle, which the lady could not understand. -</p> -<p>MacCraw had reason for what he said, for the simple plan of the building was of three -storeys. That on the ground floor contained one large vaulted kitchen, occupied by -the old man, with two small dark chambers. A stair, ascending from a central passage, -running directly from the outer door, led to a room occupying the whole of the second -floor of the building, from a farther angle of which a small stair wound up, within -a hanging turret, to a single apartment in the uppermost storey. -</p> -<p>The lady was ushered by Sir Andrew Stewart into the kitchen, where MacCraw busied -himself in renovating the embers on the hearth, and soon afterwards in preparing some -refreshment. The knight spoke little and abstractedly, and rising at last, he mumbled -something about orders he had to give, and abruptly left the place. -</p> -<p>“Erick MacCormick,” said he to his esquire, “I would speak with thee apart.” -</p> -<p>The esquire followed his master without the walls. “Erick,” said Sir Andrew again, -when he judged that they were beyond all risk of being overheard, “I did try to move -the lady to give ear to my love, but she hath sternly rejected me, yea, and that with -signs of no small displeasure. I burn with shame for the blindness with which my passion -did hoodwink mine eyes.” -</p> -<p>“Hath she indeed refused thee, Sir Knight?” demanded the esquire. “By the mass, but -with such as she is I would use smaller ceremony, as a preface to mine own gratification.” -</p> -<p>“Ay, if we could without detection, Erick,” replied Sir Andrew. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb383">[<a href="#pb383">383</a>]</span></p> -<p>“This is a fitting place, meseems,” said the esquire. -</p> -<p>“’Tis as thou sayest, a fitting place, good Erick,” replied Sir Andrew; “but albeit -I may put sicker trust in thee, yea, and peraunter in most of mine own men, yet were -it vain to hope that I might effect my purpose without being detected by one of her -followers.” -</p> -<p>“Fear not, Sir Knight,” said the esquire; “I trow we are strong enough to eat them -both up.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay—that is not what I mean,” replied Sir Andrew; “but thou knowest, Erick, -that I do put value on character and reputation. I have hitherto passed as a miracle -of virtue, as a rare exception in the lawless family to the which I belong; nay, even -in the ear of my grandfather the King hath my praise been sounded, and my name standeth -in godly odour with the very Bishop of Moray himself. I must not sillily wreck the -vessel of my fortunes, while ’tis blown on by gales so favouring.” -</p> -<p>“In sooth, it were vain to hope to have thine actions pass withouten the remark of -her followers,” replied the esquire. -</p> -<p>“Her followers!” said Sir Andrew. “I would not adventure aught with her, unless I -were secure that none but the most faithful of mine own instruments should have cause -even to guess at my share in the matter. Were but that sly fox, Rory Spears, out of -the way, methinks we might contrive to throw dust in the eyes of the maid and the -minstrel.” -</p> -<p>“If Spears be all the hindrance thou seest,” replied MacCormick, “I beseech thee be -not afraid of him. By St. Antony, but he cares not the value of a cross-bow bolt for -her of whom he hath charge. I have had much talk with him by the way, and I will pledge -my life that thou shalt win him to thy purpose with as much ease as thou mayest lure -thy best reclaimed falcon. The old allounde is sore offended at being left behind -by his master the Earl, to attend upon a damsel; yea, and the damosel herself, too, -seemeth to have done little to have overcome the disgust he hath taken at his employment. -Trust me, Sir Knight, never hungry trout was more ready to swallow baited hook than -old Rory Spears will be to pouch a good bribe, that may be the means of ridding him -of so troublesome and vexatious a duty.” -</p> -<p>“Art thou sicker in thy man?” demanded Sir Andrew Stewart, stopping short, after taking -a turn or two in silent thought, with his arms folded across his breast. -</p> -<p>“Nay, he did so effunde his ill humour to me by the way, that I will venture my life -for him,” replied the squire. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb384">[<a href="#pb384">384</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Seek him out straightway, and bring him hither,” said the knight. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch54" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e746">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER LIV.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Sir Andrew’s Deep-laid Plot—An Unexpected Arrival</i>.</p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">MacCormick proceeded in quest of Spears, and Sir Andrew Stewart continued to pace -backwards and forwards upon the green sward outside the rampart wall, pondering how -he might best open the negotiation. It was already dark; and, villain as he was, he -felt thankful that it was so, for he had ever been accustomed to set so much value -on outward reputation, that he was ashamed to lift the veil, even to him whom he was -about to make an accomplice in his crimes. Footsteps were at last heard approaching -softly, and Rory and MacCormick saluted him. -</p> -<p>“Master Spears,” said Sir Andrew Stewart, “this is a troublesome task the Earl hath -imposed on thee.” -</p> -<p>“Task!” replied Rory, in a gruff ill-humoured tone; “I carena mokell how dour his -tasks be, so he be present himsel for to see me fulfil them; but to cast his trusty -servant frae his back—me, wha used to be tied, as I mought say, till his horse’s curpin, -and to tak a parcel o’ young loons to the wars wi’ him, is enew to break ane auld -crazy heart like mine.” -</p> -<p>“’Tis indeed a bitter reproach on thee, Rory,” said Sir Andrew, “and but little amended -by the service thou art put upon. But what doth hinder thee to return? Surely I may -save thee all this long and painful journey. My protection, methinks, may suffice -for the lady.” -</p> -<p>“Na, na,” replied Rory impatiently, being secretly nettled at the cheap rate at which -his services were apparently held by the man he despised; “na, na—thy protection, -Sir Andrew Stewart, that is to say, the protection o’ thy stout lances yonder, may -be a’ weel enew; but I maun not at no rate be kend to slight the wull o’ my lord the -Yearl; and to leave the lass, and gang back afore the journey be weel begood—hoot, -that wadna do at a’.” -</p> -<p>“Thou sayest true, Rory,” replied Sir Andrew; “but thou knowest I have ever been a -friend to thee, and I would fain do thee a good turn on this occasion. Methinks I -have hit on a scheme for saving thee thy pains and travel, preserving thy good character -for fidelity to the Earl, and, finally, putting a purse of gold into thy pouch.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb385">[<a href="#pb385">385</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Ay!” replied Rory, in a tone of surprise. “By St. Lowry, an’ thou canst make a’ that -good, thou wilt work marvels, Sir Andrew.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, ’twill need no conjurer,” said Sir Andrew Stewart. “Keep thou but out of the -way this night, and see that thou dost keep the old minstrel with thee. Thou canst -not sleep in the lady’s chamber, thou knowest, therefore it is but natural to leave -the entire charge of her to me, who am to spend the night in MacCraw’s kitchen. And -then—d’ye mark me—if the lady should chance to disappear during the night, no one -knowing how, the blame must of needscost fall on me alone. Thou mayest then yede thee -back with thy daughter to the Countess to-morrow to tell the tale; nay, peraunter, -I may go with thee to make all matters smooth, by the confession of my careless watch; -and so thou shalt hie thee after the Earl, and may yet join his standard in the field. -Dost thou comprehend me now, friend Rory?” -</p> -<p>Rory stood silently pondering over the tempting proposal. Sir Andrew Stewart drew -forth the purse of gold, and the broad pieces chinked against each other as he dangled -it in his hand. Their music was most seducing. -</p> -<p>“Give me the purse,” said Rory at length. -</p> -<p>“’Tis thine,” cried the overjoyed Sir Andrew Stewart; “I know thee to be faithful, -and I fear me not but that thou wilt earn it.” -</p> -<p>“I will do my best to deserve it,” replied Rory. -</p> -<p>“Quick, then, to thy duty,” said Sir Andrew Stewart. “Be it thine to see that no one -may approach the tower who might disturb our plans.” -</p> -<p>“The safety of my daughter Kate must be secured to me,” said Rory. -</p> -<p>“I am answerable for it,” replied Sir Andrew Stewart. “If I can so arrange it, she -shall be committed to thine own care; but if I should be defeated in this matter, -she shall sleep in the highest chamber, where she may be out of the way. But, happen -what will, her safety shall be mine especial care.” -</p> -<p>The conference being thus ended, Sir Andrew Stewart returned to partake of the meal -which MacCraw had by this time prepared. A manifest change had taken place in his -manner. His conversation was gay and sprightly, and he was so entertaining that the -lady sat listening to him for some time after supper. At length the fatigue she had -undergone began to overcome her, and she signified her wish to retire to rest. Katherine -Spears, who had been out and in more than once during the <span class="pageNum" id="pb386">[<a href="#pb386">386</a>]</span>meal, now lifted a lamp to light her mistress upstairs to the principal apartment -in the tower, which was destined to receive her. -</p> -<p>“Katherine,” said Sir Andrew Stewart, carelessly, after having paid his parting evening -compliments, “when thou hast done with thine attendance on thy lady, MacCraw will -show thee the way to where thy father is lodged, where a bed hath been prepared for -thee also.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Sir Knight,” replied Katherine, with uncommon energy, “I will at no rate quit -the tower, though I should sit up all night by this fire.” -</p> -<p>“That as thou mayest list, my maiden,” said Sir Andrew Stewart, with the same tone -he had already spoken in; “I did but wish to give thee the best harbour the place -might yield. But now I think on’t, the high chamber may do well enow for thee after -all. Here—drink thy lady’s health in the remnant of her wine-cup, ere thou goest.” -</p> -<p>Katherine did so, and then tripped up stairs before her mistress. She no sooner found -herself fairly within the door of the lady’s apartment, than she shut it behind her, -and began to look eagerly for the bolt, and she exhibited no small dismay when she -saw that it had been recently removed. Trembling with agitation, she then conducted -the lady with a hurried step towards a pallet-bed, which had been prepared for her -in one corner of the place, and seating her on the blankets— -</p> -<p>“Oh, my lady, my lady,” whispered she, half breathless with alarm, “I fear that some -foul treachery may be designed against thee. Whilst thou didst sit at thy meal I didst -step me up hither to see thy couch prepared, and as I returned through the lower passage, -I overheard certain voices in the little vault to the right—‘When is it to be done?’ -said one. ‘It must not be until late in the night,’ replied another, ‘for we must -be sure that she sleeps.’ ‘Ay, and her Abigail alswa,’ said the first man. ‘Nay, I -trust that she will be without the tower, for she would spoil all,’ said the other. -Just then as I was listening, the outer door of the tower was slowly opened, and my -father’s head slowly appeared. He drew back when he saw me. I ran out to him. ‘Help, -help, father,’ said I to him in a whisper, ‘or the lady will surely be the victim -of treachery.’ ” -</p> -<p>“And thy father,” said the lady, stretching eagerly towards her damsel—“what did thy -father say?” -</p> -<p>“He laughed at me, lady,” replied Katherine, hesitating—“he laughed at my fears.” -</p> -<p>“But what were his words?—give me his very words, I entreat thee,” anxiously demanded -the lady. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb387">[<a href="#pb387">387</a>]</span></p> -<p>“His words, lady,” replied Katherine—“his words were but those of a bold man, who -scorneth the fears of a weak woman. Trust me, he must be faithful, lady.” -</p> -<p>“Ay, Katherine, but his words—what were his very words?” asked the lady, with the -same eagerness of manner. -</p> -<p>“Nay, indeed, they were naught, lady,” replied Katherine, “but thou shalt have them -as they did drop from his very mouth. ‘Tush! foolish quean,’ said he in a tone of -displeasure at what he did suppose to be my silly apprehension; ‘where sould there -be treachery, thinkest thou? But an there sould, tell thy lady that Rory Spears is -ane auld fusionless doited dolt-head, as unfit for stoure and strife as for war-stratagem. -What did cause his being left behind his lord the Yearl, but superannuation? The silly -coof, Sir Andrew Stewart, guse though he be, is mair to be lippened till than Rory -Spears. But get thee in, lass, and tend on thy mistress;’ and so saying he opened -the door of the tower, and shuffled me by the shoulder into the kitchen where thou -didst sit at supper. In vain did I try to catch thine eye after I entered. But oh, -sweet lady, believe not that my father can be traitor to thee.” -</p> -<p>“His words have spoken him to be anything rather than my protector,” replied the lady, -pale with alarm at what her maid had told her. “But,” added she, with a forced smile, -“thou hast redeemed his sin by nobly resolving to share my danger, when thou hadst -the opportunity of escaping from it. As it is, I must prepare me for the worst. I -have still a dagger, and weak as is mine arm, it shall do bloody work ere I do yield -to such villainy; yet, after all, thou mayest have mistaken the words thou didst hear. -Let us trust to God and the Holy Virgin, then, and, above all things, let us put up -special prayers for protection from Her, who is purity itself.” -</p> -<p>The lady and her maiden knelt down together, and joined in earnest devotion, that -was only damped at times as fancy led them to imagine they heard a soft tread on the -stair, or a suppressed breathing at the door of the chamber. When their orisons were -ended, they sat silent for some time. All was already quiet below, and an unaccountable -and perfectly uncontrollable sleep, that seemed to bid defiance even to their apprehensions, -was stealing insidiously upon them. Just at this moment Katherine Spears uttered a -short and faint scream, and had nearly swooned away. The lady started up in a frenzy -of alarm, and drew her dagger, when, much to her astonishment as well as to her relief, -she perceived the large wolf-hound that had followed Rory Spears, which, having unceremoniously -put <span class="pageNum" id="pb388">[<a href="#pb388">388</a>]</span>his cold nose into Katherine’s well-known hand, had produced the damsel’s sudden panic. -The lady and her attendant viewed the unexpected appearance of this mute defender -as an especial interposition procured for them by their prayers. But the scream, though -scarcely audible, might have been heard below, and they listened in quaking dread. -All continued quiet underneath them. But, as they still listened, they distinctly -heard a heavy footstep cautiously planted, but, to their utter amazement, it came -from above downwards. The lady grasped her dagger more firmly, and wound up her determination -to use it, if need should demand it. The steps still came stealing down the turret -stair that communicated with the uppermost apartment, and at last the bulky form of -Rory Spears, gaud-clip and all, appeared before them. -</p> -<p>“Heaven be praised!” murmured Katherine, as she sprang to meet her father. “By what -miracle of Heaven’s mercy art thou here?” -</p> -<p>The lady stood aloof with her dagger clenched, still doubtful of his errand. -</p> -<p>“And what for needs ye ask?” said Rory to his daughter, with a certain archness of -expression quite his own. “Hath not my Lord the Yearl o’ Moray made a tirewoman o’ -me? and was Rory Spears ever kend to be backward at his Lord’s bidding? Verily, it -behoveth me not to desert mine occupation. So I am here to do my new mistress’s wark, -I promise thee.” -</p> -<p>“May Heaven grant that thou mayest not have something more cruel to do to-night than -attend on dames,” said Katherine Spears; “yet verily thy coming is most providential, -for assuredly we are sore beset with treachery.” -</p> -<p>“Ay, ay, I ken a’ that,” replied Rory; “and troth it was the very thoughts o’ a bicker -that pat the pet out o’ me, and wiled me hither. But stap ye baith yere ways up the -stair there, and liggen ye down quietly, and leave me here to deal with whomsoever -may come.” -</p> -<p>“He is true to thee, after all, lady,” said Katherine with exultation. -</p> -<p>“I rejoice to see that he is faithful,” replied the lady; “may St. Andrew reward him! -Already are my fears banished, but irresistible sleep oppresses me. I feel as if I -had swallowed some potent drug. I cannot keep my head up.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Katherine nods too,” said Rory; “by the mass, some sleepy potion must have been -mingled with your wine. Let me help ye both upstairs; ay, there ye may rest in quiet,” -said he, as he set down the lamp and was preparing to leave <span class="pageNum" id="pb389">[<a href="#pb389">389</a>]</span>them, “and I’se leave Oscar with ye as a guard, for the loon had nae business here, -and wi’ me he might spoil sport;” and saying so, he tied up the dog beside them, and -ere he had done which both were in a profound sleep. -</p> -<p>Having returned to the apartment below, Rory threw himself down on the bed, and huddled -himself up in the blankets, with his inseparable companion the gaud-clip by his side, -and there he lay patiently to watch the event, until, the fire falling low on the -hearth, the darkness and his own drowsiness overcame his vigilance, and he fell into -deep oblivion. -</p> -<p>He had not lain long in this state when the door slowly opened, and the head of Sir -Andrew Stewart appeared. Over it there was a lamp, which he held up in his hand, so -as to throw a glimmer of light into the farther corner of the place. He paused for -a moment, and seeing the form of a figure within the blankets, and observing that -all was quiet, he withdrew the lamp. -</p> -<p>“She sleeps,” whispered he to his esquire and the two men who were with him; “the -potion hath worked as it ought. Approach the bed, yet be cautious; rude carelessness -might break her slumbers. Let her not be awakened while she is within earshot of those -within the place; ye may be less scrupulous anon. Approach and lift her up in the -blanket; her weight can be but as that of an infant in such hands.” -</p> -<p>“No sike infant, I wot,” muttered one of the men to the other, as they strained to -lift up the blanket with the enormous carcase of Rory Spears in it. -</p> -<p>“By the mass, but she is a load for a wain,” said the other. -</p> -<p>“Be silent, ye profane clowns,” said Sir Andrew. -</p> -<p>“St. Roque, how she doth snore!” said the first, in a lower voice. -</p> -<p>“Silence, I say, villains,” said Sir Andrew, “silence, and bear her this way.” -</p> -<p>“Hold, hold, Murdoch, the blanket is slipping,” said one; “keep up your end, or we -are done with her.” -</p> -<p>“Hout, she’s gone,” cried Murdoch, as his end of the blanket slipped altogether, and -Rory was rolled on the floor. -</p> -<p>Though Rory had slept, his mind had been so fully possessed with the action he had -prepared himself to expect, that he had dreamt of nothing else. He was no sooner rudely -awakened by the shock of his fall than his mind became full of his duty. -</p> -<p>“Ha, villains,” cried he, starting to his legs in a moment, and roaring to the full -extent of his rough voice, as he flourished his gaud-clip around him in the dark like -a flail; “ha, caitiffs, <span class="pageNum" id="pb390">[<a href="#pb390">390</a>]</span>have I caught ye? What, would ye dare to lay impure hands on the tender form of a -lady of sike high degree? By St. Lowry, but I’ll settle ye, knaves.” -</p> -<p>All was now confusion. The knight and his instruments sought for the door with a haste -that almost defeated their object. Precedence was by no means attended to; and Sir -Andrew Stewart, being jostled aside, received a chance blow from Rory’s gaud-clip -that prostrated him senseless on the floor. The squire and the two men rushed down -stairs, with Rory hard at their heels, and were making towards the door of the tower -when it suddenly opened, and a party of horsemen appeared without. -</p> -<p>“Halt!” cried a voice like thunder, that instantly arrested the flight of the fugitives, -and sent them, crouching like chidden curs, into the kitchen. The light that was there -showed the terror and dismay of their countenance, and it also explained the cause, -for he who entered was the Wolfe of Badenoch. -</p> -<p>“What rabble and uproar is this in the lone peel-tower of Duncriddel?” demanded he. -“Ha, Alister MacCraw, what guests be these thou hast got? Ha, Erick MacCormick and -my son Andrew’s people! What a murrain hath brought thee here, Master Esquire? Ha—speak. -Where is the worthy knight thy master?” -</p> -<p>“My Lord—my master, Sir Andrew—my Lord—” replied MacCormick, hesitating from very -fear. -</p> -<p>“Ha! and Rory Spears too,” continued the Wolfe; “what dost thou make here, old ottercap? -Speak, and expound the cause of this uproar, if thou canst.” -</p> -<p>“I will, my Lord,” said Rory, “and that in sike short speech as I well ken thou lovest -to have a tale dished up to thee. Sir Andrew Stewart, thy son, did covenant wi’ my -leddy the Countess o’ Moray, thy sister, to convoy ane Englisher leddy safe frae Tarnawa -to Norham, and sure enew he brought her here, being sae muckle o’ the gate; but having -no fear o’ God or the Saunts afore his eyne, he did basely try to betray her, just -the noo, afore I cam doon the stairs there.” -</p> -<p>“Ha, hypocritical villain! cried the Wolfe. “By Saint Barnabas, but I have long had -a thought that his affected purity was but a cloak for his incontinence.” -</p> -<p>“’Tis all a fabrication,” cried MacCormick, who had now recovered his presence of -mind so far as to endeavour to defend his master, though at the expense of truth; -“’tis fearful to hear sike wicked falsehoods against thy son Sir Andrew Stewart.” -</p> -<p>“My Lord Yearl,” cried Rory, taking Sir Andrew’s purse of <span class="pageNum" id="pb391">[<a href="#pb391">391</a>]</span>gold from his pouch, “an thou believest that I do lie, here is a soothfast witness -to what I have uttered.” -</p> -<p>“Ha! my son Andrew’s purse, with his cipher on it,” cried the Wolfe, casting a hasty -glance at it. “How camest thou by this, Master Spears?” -</p> -<p>Rory quickly told the Wolfe of the attempt made by Sir Andrew Stewart to bribe him -from his duty, and shortly explained how he had watched his opportunity to creep up -stairs unobserved, and to secrete himself in his daughter’s apartment, together with -the result. -</p> -<p>“Foul shame on the sleeky viper,” cried the Wolfe indignantly, after he had listened -to Rory’s abridgement: “But where hath the reptile hidden himself all this while? -By my beard, but he shall be punished for this coulpe.” And so saying he seized upon -a lamp, and rushing up stairs in a fury, beheld his son stretched on the pavement -senseless, with a stream of blood pouring from his temple and cheek, which bore the -deep impression of the hooked head of Rory Spears’ gaud-clip. -</p> -<p>“Hey, ha!” exclaimed the Wolfe, with a changed aspect, produced by the spectacle which -his son presented: “by’r Lady, but Andrew hath got it. Fool that he was, he hath already -been paid, I wot, for his wicked device. Ha! the saints grant that he may not be past -all leechcraft. Would that thou hadst hit less hard, old man. Though he be but the -craven cock-chick of my brood, yet would I not choose to have his green grave to walk -over.” -</p> -<p>“So please thee, my Lord, it was dark, and I had no choice where to strike,” said -Rory, with much simplicity of manner. “But fear not,” added he, after carelessly stooping -down to examine the wound, “trust me, ’tis no deadly blow; moreover, ’tis rare that -ill weeds do perish by the gateside. I’se warrant me he’ll come to; his breath is -going like a blacksmith’s bellows. But is’t not a marvel, after all, to behold how -clean I did put my seal upon his chafts, and it sae dark at the time? I’se warrant -he’ll bear the mark o’t till’s dying day. Here, MacCormy, help me down the stair wi’ -him. Thou and I will carry his worship’s body wi’ mair ease than thou and thy loons -wad hae carried mine, I rauckon. But hear ye, lad; give not the lie again to any true -man like me, or that brain-pan of thine may lack clampering.” -</p> -<p>The Wolfe of Badenoch was relieved by discovering, on examination, that there was -good hope of his son’s recovery; and he employed himself and his people in using every -means to bring it about. The whole night was spent in this way, but it <span class="pageNum" id="pb392">[<a href="#pb392">392</a>]</span>was only towards morning that Sir Andrew Stewart began to show less equivocal signs -of returning life, and even then he still remained in a state of unconsciousness as -to what was passing near him. The circumstance of the sleepy potion they had drank -accounted for the lady and her damsel having remained undisturbed amid all the confusion -that had prevailed. But the Wolfe of Badenoch, having occupied the morning in superintending -the preparation of a litter to transport his wounded son to his Castle in Badenoch, -when all was ready, became impatient to depart, and desirous to see the lady ere he -did so. Rory Spears was accordingly despatched to awake her, and in a short time she -and Katherine appeared, with eyes still loaded with the soporiferous drug they had -swallowed. -</p> -<p>“Ha, what!” cried the Wolfe with astonishment, the moment the lady appeared; “by the -beard of my grandfather, but I am petrified. Who could have dreamt that it was thou, -my beauteous damosel? By’r Lady, but it is strange, that whether thou dost appear -in the hauqueton or in the kirtle thou shouldst still be harnessed by importunate -love-suit. But,” continued he, courteously taking her hand and kissing it, “it erketh -me sore to think that wrong so foul should have been attempted against thee by a son -of mine. Thou hadst a claim for something better at our hands, both for thine own -sake and for that of Sir Patrick Hepborne, a knight of whom the remembrance shall -ever be grateful to me. Trust me, it giveth me pleasure to behold lealty where tyrant -Church hath tied no bands. Thou hast been basely deceived by him who undertook for -thine honourable escort to Norham, and albeit I have reasons to think that the proud -Priest of Moray hath secretly obtained a power of Royal troops to repossess him in -his Badenoch lands, yet shall not this knowledge hinder me from fulfilling for thee -that service which my traitor son hath so shamefully abused. I shall be myself thy -convoy. Let the croaking carrion-crow of Elgin come if he dares; I have hardy heads, -I trow, to meet him, who will fight whether I am there or not. Ha! by my grandfather’s -beard, an he had not flown from Aberdeen with the wings of the raven, he mought have -been e’en now past giving me trouble.” -</p> -<p>“My noble Earl of Buchan, I do give thee thanks for thy kind courtesy,” replied the -lady; “but I may in no wise suffer it to lead thee to make sacrifice so great. Trust -me, I fear not for the journey whilst I have this good man Rory Spears as mine escort. -Under the guardance of one so prudent, brave, and faithful as he has proved himself -to be, I should nothing dread to wander over the world.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb393">[<a href="#pb393">393</a>]</span></p> -<p>“And I wad defend thee, my leddy, frae skaith, were it but frae the tining o’ a single -hair o’ thy bonny head, yea, to the last drap o’ bluid in my auld veins,” cried Rory -with great enthusiasm, being delighted to observe that his worth was at last fairly -appreciated. -</p> -<p>“Ha! by my troth, but ’tis bravely spoken in both,” cried the Wolfe. “Depardieux, -I shall not venture to interfere where there is so great store of confidence on one -side and fidelity on the other. But yet thou must take some pairs of my lances with -thee, Rory, for thou art but slenderly backed, me thinks.” -</p> -<p>Even this much both the lady and Master Spears were disposed to refuse; but on learning -that the mountain range through which they must pass was at that time more than ordinarily -infested with wolves, Rory changed his mind, and consented to take four able lances -with him, to be returned when he should consider their services no longer necessary. -</p> -<p>All being now arranged for the departure of the two parties, the Wolfe of Badenoch -became impatient. He courteously assisted the lady to mount her palfrey, and, kissing -her hand, bid her a kind adieu. He was about to leap into his own saddle, when he -was accosted by Rory Spears. -</p> -<p>“My Lord Yearl o’ Buchan, seeing that thy son Sir Andrew, i’ the litter yonder, hath -not yet gathered his senses anew to tak the charge o’ his ain cunzie, I here deliver -up to thee, his father, this purse o’ gowd he did gi’e me, the which my conscience -wull at no rate let me keep, seeing that it wad in nowise let me do that the which -was covenanted for the yearning o’t.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, by St. Barnabas, honest Rory, but thou shalt keep the purse and the coin,” cried -the Wolfe, delighted with Rory’s honesty; “thou hast rightly earned it by thy good -service to thy lady. I will be answerable to my son Andrew for this thy well-won guerdon, -so make thyself easy on that score.” -</p> -<p>“Thanks, most noble Yearl,” cried Rory as he pouched the purse, and mounted his ragged -nag to ride after the lady, his countenance shining with glee. “By’r lackins, but -this is as good as the plunder of a whole campaign against the Englishers.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb394">[<a href="#pb394">394</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch55" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e756">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER LV.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Travelling through the Wild Forest—A Dreadful Spectacle—Arrival at the River Tweed.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The English damsel and her attendants travelled slowly by a different route through -the wild forest scenery of those mountains with which the reader is already sufficiently -familiar. So much of the morning had been expended ere they set out, that the length -of their day’s journey was considerably curtailed, and the heaviness that still hung -on the eyelids of the lady and Katherine, from the drugged draughts they had swallowed, -so overcame them, that they were well contented to look for a place of rest at a much -earlier hour in the evening than they would have otherwise done. The information that -Rory Spears had gathered about the wolves made him also very ready to halt betimes, -that he might have sufficient leisure to fortify the party against any chance of nocturnal -attack from these ravenous animals, in a region where no human dwelling was to be -expected. -</p> -<p>It still wanted nearly two hours of sunset when the cavalcade was winding gently up -the narrow bottom of a wild pass, that, like a vast rent or cut in the mountains, -divided the chain from its very summit to its base. From the close defile below, the -eye could hardly ascend the steep and even slope of the rocky precipices to half their -height, so closely did they approach on either hand. The pine forest, though still -continuous, began to grow thinner as they advanced, and Rory Spears, like an able -leader, was carefully scanning every point where he might hope to discover a strong -and convenient position for encampment. At length one of the Earl of Buchan’s troopers, -well acquainted with these wilds, showed him the upright face of a tall projecting -crag, at a great height above, where there was a small natural cavern, and, accordingly, -thither it was resolved that they should ascend. -</p> -<p>The ascent was long and arduous, but when they did reach the spot, it was discovered -to be admirably fitted for their purpose. The rock rose smooth and perpendicular as -a wall, and in the centre of it was the mouth of the cavern, opening from a little -level spot of ground in front. Rory began to take immediate measures for their security. -Broken wood was collected in abundance, and a semi-circular chain of fires kindled, -so as <span class="pageNum" id="pb395">[<a href="#pb395">395</a>]</span>fully to embrace the level ground, and touch the rock on either side of the cavern. -Heather beds were prepared for the lady and her damsel under the dry arch of the cliff; -and their hasty meal being despatched, they wrapped themselves up in their mantles, -and prepared themselves with good-will to sleep off the stupifying effects of the -narcotic. Rory meanwhile drew his cavalry within his defences, and having posted and -arranged his watches so as to ensure the keeping up of the fires, he sat down with -the rest to recreate himself with what store of provisions they had carried along -with them. -</p> -<p>The lady’s sleep was so very sound for some hours that it bid defiance to all the -merriment, the talking, and the music, that successively prevailed without. But at -last it yielded to the continued twanging of the minstrel’s harp, and she awaked to -hear him sing, with great enthusiasm, the concluding stanzas of some tale, which he -had been rhyming to those around him: -</p> -<div class="lgouter"> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">If minstrel inspiration wells -</p> -<p class="line">From yonder star-besprinkled sky, -</p> -<p class="line">To which my heart so strangely swells, -</p> -<p class="line">As if it fain would thither fly; -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">Then on those mountain tops that rise -</p> -<p class="line">Far, far above the fogs of earth, -</p> -<p class="line">Thicker and purer from the skies -</p> -<p class="line">Must fall that dew of heavenly birth. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">What marvel, then, my native land, -</p> -<p class="line">That heaves its breast to kiss high Heaven, -</p> -<p class="line">Hath fill’d my heart and nerved my hand, -</p> -<p class="line">And fresher inspiration given? -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">Then if my heart a spell hath wove -</p> -<p class="line">More potent than of erst it threw, -</p> -<p class="line">And ye have wept its tale of love, -</p> -<p class="line">With rifer tears than once it drew, -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">Think not thou mayest the song reward -</p> -<p class="line">With thine accustom’d dearth of praise, -</p> -<p class="line">It comes from no weak mortal bard— -</p> -<p class="line">’Tis Scotland’s spirit claims the lays!</p> -</div> -</div> -<p class="first">Perfectly refreshed by her slumber, and cheered by the harper’s strains, the lady -arose from her couch, and stepped forth from the cavern to join her applause to the -rudely-expressed approbation of Rory and his comrades. The air was balmy and refreshing, -and she staid to hold converse with the good old minstrel. -</p> -<p>“’Tis a beautiful night, Adam,” said she; “see how the moonbeam sleeps on the bosom -of yonder little lake far up the pass. How dark do these masses of pine appear when -contrasted with the silver light that doth play beyond them on those <span class="pageNum" id="pb396">[<a href="#pb396">396</a>]</span>opposite steeps; how deep and impenetrable is the shadow that hangeth over the bottom -far below us, where all is silent save the softened music of the stream murmuring -among the rocks. But hark, what yelling sounds are these that come borne on the breeze -as it sigheth up the pass?” -</p> -<p>“’Tis the distant howling of the wolves, lady,” cried the harper; “methinks the rout -cometh this way. An I mistake not, ’tis a ravenous pack of famished beasts that do -pursue a deer or some other helpless tenant of the woods. Hark, the sound doth now -come full up the bottom of the pass. List, I pray thee, how it doth grow upon the -ear.” -</p> -<p>“I do hear the galloping of a horse, methinks,” cried Rory Spears, who stood by. -</p> -<p>“Holy Virgin, what dreadful screams were these?” cried the lady, starting with affright. -</p> -<p>“St. Andrew defend us,” said the minstrel, shrinking at the thought; “it may be some -fiend o’ the forest that doth urge his hellish midnight chase through these salvage -wilds.” -</p> -<p>“Na, na, na,” replied Rory Spears, gravely; “troth, I hae mair fear that it may be -some wildered wanderer hunted by a rout o’ thae gaunt and famished wolves. St. Lowry -be wi’ us, is’t not awful?” -</p> -<p>“Holy St. Cuthbert protect us,” exclaimed the lady, after a pause, and shuddering -as she spoke; “that cry, oh, that cry was dreadful; ’twas a shriek of terror unspeakable; -fear of an instant, of a most cruel death, could have alone awakened it. Gracious -Heaven, have mercy on the wretch who did give it utterance!” -</p> -<p>“Hear, hear; holy St. Giles, how he doth cry for help!” said Rory Spears. “Hear again; -’tis awsome. St. Hubert be his aid, for weel I do trow nae mortal man can help him.” -</p> -<p>“Oh, say not so,” cried the lady, with agonizing energy; “oh, fly, fly to his rescue; -there may yet be time. Fly—save him—save him, and all the gold I possess shall be -thine.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, lady,” replied Rory, “albeit the very attempt wad be risk enew, yet wud I flee -to obey thy wull withouten the bribe o’ thy gowd; and the mair, that it wud be a merciful, -a Christian, and a right joyful wark to save a fellow-cretur frae sike ane awsome -end. But man’s help in this case is a’thegither vain. Dost thou no perceive that the -clatter o’ his horse’s heels is no longer to be heard? nay, even his cries do already -return but faintly from far up the pass? And noo, listen—hush—hear hoo fast they do -die away; and hark, hark—thou canst hear them nae mair.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb397">[<a href="#pb397">397</a>]</span></p> -<p>“He hath indeed spurred on with the desperate speed of despair,” said the lady; “but -oh, surely thou mayest yet stop or turn his fell pursuers. Oh, fly to the attempt. -Nay, I will myself go with thee. Hark, all the echoes of the glen around us are now -awakened by their fearful howlings. Quick, quick; let us fly downwards—’tis but a -mere step of way.” -</p> -<p>“Alas, lady,” replied Rory, “to try to stop the accursed pack were now hopeless as -to think to gar the raging winds tarry on the mountain side. These hideous howls do -indeed arise from the shades beneath us; but had we the legs and the feet o’ the raebuck, -the ravening rout wad be a mile ayont us ere we could reach the bottom. Hark, hoo -they hae already swept on. Already the cruel din frae their salvage throats doth become -weaker; and noo—hist, hist!—it is lost far up the bosom of the mountains. May the -Virgin and the good St. Lawrence defend the puir sinner, for his speed maun be mair -than mortal gif he ’scapeth frae the jaws o’ thae gruesome and true-nosed hounds. -By my troth, an we hadna taken the due caution we might hae been a supper to them -oursels at this precious moment—the Virgin protect us!” -</p> -<p>“Oh, ’tis most horrible,” cried the lady, as she rushed into the cavern, her mind -distracted, and her feelings harrowed up with the thoughts of the probable fate of -the unhappy traveller. She sunk on her knees to implore mercy for him from Heaven, -after which she threw herself on her couch; but her repose was unsettled; and when -she did sleep it was only to dream of the horrors her fancy had painted. -</p> -<p>By the time the sun had begun to gild the tops of the mountains, Rory Spears was in -action. The lady arose unrefreshed; and, after she and her attendants had partaken -of a slight repast, they were again in motion. Descending by a steep and difficult, -though slanting path, they gradually regained the bottom of the pass, and proceeded -to trace it upwards in a southern direction. As they obtained a higher elevation the -pine trees became thinner, and at length they reached to a little mossy plain, where -they almost entirely disappeared. In the middle of this was the small sheet of water -which had been rendered so resplendent in the eyes of the lady the night before by -the moonbeams. It was a deep inky-looking pool, surrounded by treacherous banks of -black turf. -</p> -<p>“Is this what distance and moonlight made so bewitchingly beautiful to our eyes?” -said the lady to the minstrel. -</p> -<p>“Thus it doth ever chance with all our worldly views, lady,” replied the old man. -“Hope doth gild that which is yet at <span class="pageNum" id="pb398">[<a href="#pb398">398</a>]</span>a distance, but all is dark and cheerless when the object is reached.” -</p> -<p>As they spoke the approach of the party disturbed a flight of kites and ravens, which -arose with hoarse screams and croakings from something that lay extended amid the -long heath near the water’s edge. It was the skeleton of a horse. The flesh had been -so completely eaten from the bones by the wolves that but little was left for the -birds of prey. The furniture, half torn off, showed that the creature had had a rider. -A few yards farther on a single wolf started away from a broken part of the bog. Rory -Spears’ gaud-clip was launched after him with powerful and unerring aim, and its iron -head buried in the side of the animal, while at the same moment the quick-eyed Oscar -seized the caitiff by the throat, and he was finally despatched by several lances -plunged into him at once. They sought the spot whence the gaunt animal had been roused, -and their blood was frozen by the horrid spectacle of the half-consumed carcase of -a man. -</p> -<p>It was of size gigantic; and although the limbs and body had been in a great measure -devoured, yet enough of evidence still remained in the rent clothes and in the lacerated -features of the face to establish beyond a doubt to the lady and the minstrel, who -had known him, that he who had thus perished by so miserable a fate was the wizard -Ancient Haggerstone Fenwick. -</p> -<p>A leathern purse, with a few gold coins in it, was found in his pouch; and, among -other articles of no note, there was a small manuscript book of necromancy, full of -cabalistic signs. -</p> -<p>The spectacle was too horrible and revolting for the lady to bear. She therefore besought -her attendants to cover the wretched remains, and with Katherine Spears retired to -some distance until this duty was performed and a huge monumental cairn of stones -heaped over them, after which they again proceeded on their way. -</p> -<p>The troopers belonging to the Wolfe of Badenoch were sent back as soon as Rory Spears -judged they might be spared with safety, and nothing occurred during the remainder -of the journey to make him regret having so parted with them. As the party travelled -through the fertile Merse they found that which should have been a smiling scene converted -into a wilderness of desolation. The storm of England’s wrath had swept over it, and -the rifled and devastated fields, the blackened heaps of half-consumed houses and -cottages, around which some few human beings were still creeping and shivering, like -ghosts unwilling <span class="pageNum" id="pb399">[<a href="#pb399">399</a>]</span>to leave the earthly tenements to which they had been linked in life, brought the -horrors of war fresh before them. The aged man and the boy were the only male figures -that were mingled with those groups of wailing women that appeared. All who could -draw a sword or a bow, or wield a lance, were already on their way to join the Scottish -host, their bosoms burning with a thirst of vengeance. -</p> -<p>As they were lamenting over the melancholy scene they were passing through—for even -the English damosel deplored the ravages committed by her countrymen—their way was -crossed by a troop of well-armed and bravely-appointed horsemen, which halted, as -if to wait until their party should come up. Rory advanced to reconnoitre. -</p> -<p>“Ha, Sir Squire Oliver,” said he to the leader, whom he immediately recognized as -belonging to the Lord of Dirleton, “can that in very deed be thee? Whither art thou -bound in array so gallant?” -</p> -<p>“Master Rory Spears,” replied the squire with a look of surprise—“what, art thou too -bound for the host?” -</p> -<p>“Nay,” replied Rory, mournfully, “I hae other emprise on hand just at this time. Goest -thou thither?” -</p> -<p>“Yea,” replied the esquire, “I go with my Lord’s service of lances to join the collected -Scottish armies on their way to Jedworth. There will be rare work anon, I ween. Some -English horses have been dancing over these fields, I see, but, by’r Lady, the riders -shall pay for the sport they have had.” -</p> -<p>“Ha, their backs shall be well paid, I warrant me,” cried Rory, flourishing his gaud-clip -around his head, while his eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. -</p> -<p>“Nay, fear not,” replied the esquire; “the rogues shall feel the rod, else I am no -true man. But St. Andrew be with thee, good Master Rory, I have no further time to -bestow.” And as he said so he gave the word to his men to move forward; the bugles -sounded, their horses’ heels spurned the ground, and their armour rang as they galloped -briskly away, to make up for the time lost in the halt. -</p> -<p>The lady and her attendants rode slowly on, but Rory lingered behind, to follow the -rapid movement of the warlike files with an anxious eye; and when they wheeled from -his view he heaved a sigh so deep that it was heard by the foremost of his own party. -</p> -<p>“What aileth thee, Rory?” demanded Adam of Gordon. -</p> -<p>“Heard ye not their bugles as they went?” replied Rory to him. “Was not the very routing -o’them enew to rouse the <span class="pageNum" id="pb400">[<a href="#pb400">400</a>]</span>spirit o’ a dead destrier, and dost thou ask what aileth me? Is’t not hard to be sae -near the Yearl and yet to see as little o’ him or his men as gif they war in ane ither -warld? is’t not cruel for a man like me to be keepit back frae the wark that best -beseemeth him whan his very heart is in’t?” -</p> -<p>“And why shouldst thou be kept back from it, Rory, now that thy duty to the lady is -performed?” demanded the harper. -</p> -<p>“Dost thou no see Kate yonder?” replied Rory sullenly. “What is to be done with the -wench, think ye? Sure I maun e’en yede me back again to convoy the puir lassie safely -to her mother.” -</p> -<p>“If the care of Katherine be all thy difficulty, Rory,” said the lady eagerly, “thou -mayest easily provide for her safety by confiding her to me, on whom thy doing so -will moreover be conferring an especial gratification. Let her, I pray thee, abide -with me at Norham, whilst thou goest to the wars; and when peace, yea, or truce doth -happily come again, thou mayest forthwith reclaim her of me. Let me entreat thee, -oppose not my wishes.” -</p> -<p>Rory’s rough but warm heart had been long ere this entirely gained by the kindness, -condescension, and beauty of the English damosel. He could not have refused her request, -whatever difficulties it might have involved; but her present proposal was too congenial -with his own wishes, and her offer altogether too tempting to be resisted. -</p> -<p>“Troth, my leddy,” replied he, with a tear glistening in his eye, “when we first forgathered -at Tarnawa, and when the Yearl tell’d me that I was to be buckled till thy tail, I -maun e’en confess I was in a sair cross tune at the news, for thou mayest see it’s -no i’ my nature to be governed by women-fouk, and gin the truth maun be tell’d, it -was wi’ sair ill-wull I cam wi’ thee. But noo, by St. Lowry, I wad follow thee to -the very warld’s end; troth, thou mayest e’en whirl me round and round with thy pirlywinky; -and so, though I am no just confidently sicker that what I am doing is a’thegither -that the which may be approven by my good dame at hame yonder, yet will I yield me -to thy wishes and mine ain. Kate shall wi’ thee to Norham, and I’ll just tak a bit -stride after the Yearl to see what he and the lave are a-doing.” -</p> -<p>“But thou shalt thyself with me to Norham first, that I may thank thee properly for -the protection thou hast afforded me,” said the lady. -</p> -<p>“Nay, that may in nowise be, leddy,” replied Rory; “I shall see thee safe to the northern -bank of Tweed; but I wot nae <span class="pageNum" id="pb401">[<a href="#pb401">401</a>]</span>Southern stronghold shall see me within its bounds, save as ane enemy, to do it a’ -the skaith a foeman can, and that I would fain shun doing to ony place that mought -have thy good wishes.” -</p> -<p>After some farther travel the broad walls and massive towers of Norham Castle appeared -before them, glowing with the slanting rays of the declining sun. A few steps more -brought the Tweed in sight, and Rory Spears instantly halted. -</p> -<p>“And noo I fear I maun leave thee, my leddy,” said he, with an afflicted countenance, -“for yonder’s the Tweed.” -</p> -<p>The lady approached him, and, kindly taking his horny hand, gave utterance to the -most gratifying expression of her strong sense of the services he had rendered her, -and at the same time attempted to force a purse upon him. -</p> -<p>“Na, na, my leddy, I’se hae nae gowd frae thee,” said he; “besides, I hae naething -ado wi’ gowd whare I’m gaun; I’se get meat, drink, and quarters withouten cunzie, -an’ I’m no mista’en.—Na, na,” continued he, as she pressed the purse upon him, “an -ye wull hae it sae, keep it for Kate yonder; she may want it, puir thing. May the -blessed Virgin be thy protection, my bonnie bit lassie,” said he to Katherine, as -he turned about to her and pressed her to his breast.—“Hoot toot, this ’ll no do—ye -maunna greet, bairn,” added he, as the tears were breaking over his own eye-lids. -“Fear ye na I’ll be back wi’ thee ere lang, an I be spared. By St. Lowry, that’s true, -my leddy, ye maun promise me that if onything sould happen to hinder me frae coming -back, ye’ll see that somebody conveys her as safe to Tarnawa as I hae brought thee -to Norham.” -</p> -<p>Katherine sobbed bitterly at the idea which her father had awakened. The lady readily -promised him what he wished. Rory again pressed his daughter to his bosom, and, striking -the side of his garron two or three successive blows with the shaft of his gaud-clip, -he darted off, and was out of sight in a moment. -</p> -<p>The lady, accompanied by Katherine Spears and the minstrel, slowly sought the bank -of the Tweed. A signal was made for the ferry-boat, and they were wafted into England. -At the gates of Norham Castle the lady was speedily known, and its friendly walls -received her and her two companions. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb402">[<a href="#pb402">402</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch56" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e766">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER LVI.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Old Acquaintances at the Hostel of Norham Tower—Great Gathering at Jedworth—The Council -of War.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">It was some days after the lady’s arrival that five horsemen knocked at the gate of -the hostel of the Norham Tower. They were clad rather as pilgrims than as warriors, -and, arriving by the English side of the river, were judged to have come from the -south. Matters had undergone a change since we had last occasion to notice the hall -of Norham. Old Kyle had been gathered to his fathers, his buxom wife had wept her -fair number of days, and, beginning to recover her spirits by the reflection that -she was a well-looking and wealthy widow, her heart was already besieged by numerous -lovers. Though under a woman’s government, the police of the Norham Tower was at this -moment more strict than usual. The war had made its mistress careful to rid it at -an early hour every night of all straggling topers. There were certain privileged -customers, indeed, to whom a more liberal license was granted, and of this number -was Mr. Thomas Turnberry, the squire equerry. -</p> -<p>As two of the strangers, of nobler mien than the rest, entered the common room, they -found the esquire in the act of rising from table, with another man in whose company -he had been drinking. -</p> -<p>“A-well,” said the latter; “I bid thee good e’en, Sir Squire. I’ll warrant thou shalt -not find better steeds between Tweed and Tyne than the two I have sold thee.” -</p> -<p>“Ay, ay, Master Truckthwaite,” replied Turnberry with a sarcastic smile, “thy word -is all well; yet would I rather trust the half of mine own eye than the whole of thy -tongue in such matters. Good e’en, good e’en. A precious knave, I wot,” added he, -after the man was gone. -</p> -<p>“Doth that varlet sell thee good cattle, Sir Squire?” said one of the strangers who -had entered. -</p> -<p>“Nay, in truth, he is a proper cheat,” replied Turnberry. “But the villain had to -do with a man who hath lived all his life in a stable, and one, moreover, who hath -sober, steady, habits. Your drunkard hath ever but poor chance in a bargain with your -sober man.” -</p> -<p>“Most true,” replied the stranger. “Here, tapster; a flagon of Rhynwyn. Wilt thou -stay, Sir Squire, and help us to drain it?” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb403">[<a href="#pb403">403</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Rhynwyn!” exclaimed Turnberry; “by St. Cuthbert, but there is music in the very clink -of the word. Nay, Sir Pilgrim, I care not an I taste with thee ere I go; I am but -a poor drinker, yet hath honest Rhynwyn its charms.” -</p> -<p>“Ha,” said Tom, after deeply returning the stranger’s pledge, “this is right wholesome -stuff, I promise ye, my masters. ’Tis another guess-liquor than old Mother Rowlandson’s -i’ the Castle.” -</p> -<p>“Thou art of the Castle, then?” said he who had always spoken. “I drink to the health -of thy gallant old captain, Sir Walter de Selby.” -</p> -<p>“Thank ye, thank ye,” replied Tom, taking the flagon. “Well, here’s to old Wat. Many -is the ride we have had over the Border together; and many is the hard knock we have -both ta’en and given, side by side. Trust me, there breathes not a better man. His -health, God wot, hath been none of the best of late; so, with thy good leave, Sir -Pilgrim, I’ll drink to it again.” -</p> -<p>“Hath he not a daughter?” demanded the pilgrim. -</p> -<p>“Yea, that he hath,” replied Tom—“an only daughter, whose beauty hath been the talk -of all Northumberland.” -</p> -<p>“Let us drink to her health, then,” said the pilgrim. -</p> -<p>“Here’s to the Lady de Vere, then,” said Turnberry, lifting the flagon to his head -to do justice to the health. -</p> -<p>“The Lady de Vere!” said the pilgrim who had not yet spoken, betraying an emotion -that escaped Tom Turnberry, in the long draught he was taking. -</p> -<p>“Ay, the Lady de Vere,” said Tom, taking the flagon from his head. “The Lady Eleanore -de Selby is now the Lady de Vere, as we have all heard at the Castle since two or -three days have gone by. Sir Walter would have fain had her marry Sir Rafe Piersie, -who courted her, but his haughtiness sorted ill with her high and untameable spirit; -so she was contrarisome, and ran away with a love of her own choosing some time ago.” -</p> -<p>“And who might the lover be who bore away so rich a prize?” demanded the pilgrim. -</p> -<p>“Why, one of the Court lordlings, as we now learn, a Sir something de Vere, a kinsman -to the King’s favourite, the banished Duke of Ireland. He is but lately come from -abroad, it seems, for he is a foreign knight born, and being suspected as coming on -some secret mission to the King, it is thought that he will rise high in his good -graces. The poor ould soul, Sir Walter, did live in grievous case until these few -days bygone, <span class="pageNum" id="pb404">[<a href="#pb404">404</a>]</span>for he knew not until then what had befallen his daughter. But now that he hath learned -who his son-in-law is, he hath somewhat raised his head. But fie on me,” added the -squire, after a long draught, that enabled him to see the bottom of the flagon, “I -must hie me to the Castle; and so good night, and many thanks, my civil masters. Trust -me, I shall right willingly bestow a can upon you when ye do come this way again, -if ye will but ask for old Thomas Turnberry, the esquire equerry.” -</p> -<p>The dialogue between Tom Turnberry and the two strangers had been over for a good -hour, when another conversation took place a few steps from the gate of the inn, between -Mrs. Kyle and one who considered himself a favourite lover. -</p> -<p>“These be plaguy cunning knaves,” said Mrs. Kyle; “they thinks, I’se warrant me, that -no one doth know ’em; yet—but I shall say nothing, not I.” -</p> -<p>“I dare swear a man would need to be no fool who should strive to deceive thee, Mrs. -Kyle,” replied her companion, willing to draw her on a little. -</p> -<p>“Me!” replied she; “trust me, the old Fiend himself would not cheat me; for instance, -now, that saucy Sang there did no sooner show his face within the four walls o’ the -Norham Tower than I did straightway know him through all his disguises; and so, having -once nosed him, I did quickly smell out his fellow-esquire, and the two knights their -masters.” -</p> -<p>“That was clever in thee, i’ faith, Mrs. Kyle,” replied her companion. -</p> -<p>“Yea, but my name be not Margaret Kyle an I make no more out by my cleverness,” said -the dame. “But mum for that.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, thou knowest thou canst not be Margaret Kyle long, my bonny dame,” replied the -man. -</p> -<p>“Fie thee now,” replied she, “sure it will be long ere I do trust me to men again, -after honest Sylvester, my poor dear husband that was.” -</p> -<p>“And what didst thou say they were here for?” demanded her companion. -</p> -<p>“Ye may trow they are here for no good,” replied the dame. “I’ll warrant me the seizing -o’ them will be a right brave turn; but mum again, for he who is to take them this -night did say as how none should ken nothing on’t till the stroke should be strucken; -yea, and by the same token he did gie me kisses enow to seal up my mouth.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb405">[<a href="#pb405">405</a>]</span></p> -<p>“And when did Sir Miers tell thee this?” demanded the man. -</p> -<p>“Sir Miers!” replied Mrs. Kyle; “laucker-daisey, did I tell thee that it was Sir Miers? -St. Mary, I had nae will tae hae done that. Hoot, toot, my lips hae no been half glued.” -</p> -<p>“And so thou dost say that Sir Miers is to surround the house to-night, and to take -these same strangers?” observed the man. -</p> -<p>“Yea, but of a truth I shouldna hae tell’d thee a’ that; may my tongue be blistered -for’t,” replied Mrs. Kyle; “for he bid me take especial care, aboon a’ things, to -let thee know nought on’t.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Mrs. Kyle,” said the man, “but thou knowest thou dost love me over much to hide -anything from me.” -</p> -<p>“O ay, for a matter o’ that. I do love thee well enow,” replied Mrs. Kyle; “but Sir -Miers hath such pleasant ways with him<span class="corr" id="xd31e5422" title="Source: ,">.</span>” -</p> -<p>“Hath he?” replied the man carelessly. “Thou didst say, I think, that the attempt -is to be made at midnight, and that thou art to be on the watch to let them in?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, then,” said Mrs. Kyle, “I did verily say no sike thing, I wot. What I did say -was this, that Sir Miers is to be here an hour after midnight, and that John Hosteler -is to let them in.” -</p> -<p>“Ay, ay, I see I did mistake thy words,” replied the man. “Why, holy St. Cuthbert, -thou wilt get a power of money for thine information.” -</p> -<p>“So Sir Miers hath promised me,” replied Mrs. Kyle; “but what doth chiefly season -the matter to my stomach is the spicy revenge I shall hae against that flouting knave -Sang, and the very thought o’ this doth keenly edge me to aid the gallant Sir Miers -in his enterprise; yet, to tell thee the truth, the handsome knight might rauckon -on as much service at my hands, yea, or more, when it mought please him bid me.” -</p> -<p>“So,” replied her companion; “but come, I will see thee into the house, drink one -cup of thine ale with thee, and so speed me to the other end of the village to Sir -Miers. Who knows but I may be wanted after all to bear the brunt of this business.” -</p> -<p>By this time the two knights and their three attendants were the sole tenants of the -common room, and this circumstance, coupled with the disguises they wore, led them -to imagine that they ran no risk of discovery. -</p> -<p>Robert Lindsay, who was the fifth man, took up a lamp, and sallied forth to look at -the horses ere he should seek repose. <span class="pageNum" id="pb406">[<a href="#pb406">406</a>]</span>All was quiet in the court-yard, as well as in the various buildings surrounding it. -He entered the stable, but, though there were wain horses enow there belonging to -the hostel, he saw, with utter dismay, that the five steeds belonging to his party -were gone. He turned to rush out of the stable to tell the knights of this treacherous -robbery, when the light of the lamp in his hand flashed on the figure of a man, who -was determinedly posted in the doorway, as if resolved to oppose his passage. -</p> -<p>“Ralpho Proudfoot!” exclaimed Lindsay in astonishment; and then observing that he -was fully armed, and that he carried a lance in his hand, whilst he himself had not -even his sword, he gave himself up for lost; but resolving to sell his life as dearly -as possible, he wrenched a rung from one of the stalls, and planted himself in a posture -of defence. -</p> -<p>“Nay, thou needest look for no injury at my hands,” said Proudfoot; “this haughty -spirit of mine, the which did once make me thy determined foe because thou wert promoted -above me, doth now prompt me not to be outdone by thee in a generous deed. I come -to warn thee that an attempt on the liberty, if not on the lives, of thee and those -that be with thee, is to be made, within less than an hour hence, by Sir Miers de -Willoughby and a strong force. The reward for taking prisoners of sike note, together -with the gold to be gotten for their ransom, is the temptation to this enterprise. -Lose not a moment then in rousing the knights, and warning them of their danger.” -</p> -<p>“But what hath become of our horses?” demanded Lindsay, not yet recovered from his -surprise. -</p> -<p>“It was I who removed them,” replied Proudfoot. “I took them from the stable, after -leaving the hosteller to sleep off the heavy draughts of ale I made him swallow; they -stand ready caparisoned under the trees a few yards behind the inn. Quick, bring me -to the knights, that I may show them their danger, and teach them how to avoid it; -not a moment is to be lost.” -</p> -<p>Without farther question, Lindsay led the way to the common room where the knights -were lying. They were soon roused, and listened to Proudfoot’s account of the plot -against them with considerable surprise; but they hesitated to believe him, and were -in doubt what to do. -</p> -<p>“Nay, then, Sir Knights,” said Proudfoot, “an ye will hesitate, certain captivity -must befall ye. Captivity, did I say? yea, something worse; a base and black thirst -of vengeance doth move this treacherous knight against thee, Sir John Assueton. I -have reason to know that he hath ever cherished it sith thy last encounter.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb407">[<a href="#pb407">407</a>]</span></p> -<p>“’Twere better to plant ourselves here, and fight to the death with what weapons we -may have about us,” said Sir Patrick Hepborne. -</p> -<p>“Right, my friend,” said Sir John Assueton, “we at least know and can be true to one -another, and that of itself will give us victory.” -</p> -<p>“We shall be prepared for them,” said Mortimer Sang, “and we shall make them fly before -us by the very suddenness of our assault.” -</p> -<p>“How many De Willoughby spears are of them?” demanded the taciturn Roger Riddel, with -extreme composure. -</p> -<p>“Some two dozen at the least, I warrant me,” replied Proudfoot, “and all fully appointed.” -</p> -<p>“Bring they Norham Castle on their backs?” demanded Riddel again. -</p> -<p>“Nay,” replied Proudfoot, “their leader hath kept his scheme to himself, that he may -have the greater share of booty and ransom money.” -</p> -<p>“But Norham Castle hath ears,” said Riddel again. -</p> -<p>“Thou sayest true, friend,” replied Proudfoot. “Were resistance to be made, the din -of arms and the noise of the assault would soon bring out the garrison upon ye. Quickly -resolve, Sir Knights, for the hour wanes, and they will be here anon. What can ye -fear of traiterie from me? Could I not have left ye to fall easy victims to Sir Miers -de Willoughby’s snare?” -</p> -<p>“So please ye, gallant knights, I will answer with my life for the truth of Ralpho -Proudfoot in this matter,” said Lindsay confidently. -</p> -<p>“Nay, an ye fear me, ye shall all stand about me,” said Proudfoot; “and if ye do find -me a traitor, your five daggers may drink my blood at once.” -</p> -<p>The minds of the two knights were at last made up, and they resolved to trust themselves -to the guidance of Ralpho <span class="corr" id="xd31e5458" title="Source: Proudfout">Proudfoot</span>. Armed with their daggers alone, they stole silently out in the dark, and were so -planted by him behind the gate as to be prepared to rush out when the time for doing -so should come. Ralpho Proudfoot cautioned them to keep perfectly quiet. To attempt -to escape along the street of the village at that moment would have subjected them -to certain observation: they were therefore to wait his signal, and to follow him. -He placed himself, as he had said, in the midst of them, and set himself to listen -for a sound from the outside. -</p> -<p>They had not been long posted, when footsteps were heard <span class="pageNum" id="pb408">[<a href="#pb408">408</a>]</span>approaching very gently. There was then some whispering, and a slight cough. Proudfoot -immediately answered it. -</p> -<p>“Art there, John?” said a voice in an under tone. -</p> -<p>“Yea,” replied Proudfoot, imitating the language of the hosteller, “but they be’s -still astir; so when the yate be opened, ye maun rush in like fiends on them, for -the hinge do creak, and they will start to their arms wi’ the noise. Are ye a’ ready?” -</p> -<p>“We are,” replied the voice without. -</p> -<p>“Noo, then, in on them and at them,” cried Proudfoot, throwing the gate wide open, -so as to conceal himself and his companions behind it. -</p> -<p>In rushed Sir Miers de Willoughby, at the head of a large party of his men; and out -went Ralpho Proudfoot, with the two Scottish knights and their attendants. The gate -was hastily locked externally; the horses were quickly gained, and mounted in the -twinkling of an eye; and Ralpho Proudfoot, who had taken the precaution to have his -steed placed with the rest, got to saddle along with them. As they rode past the gate -of the hostel of the Norham Tower, the loud voices, and the execrations of Sir Miers -de Willoughby and his people, and the shrill screams of Mrs. Kyle, told them that -the failure of the plot had been already discovered by the actors in it. -</p> -<p>“So,” said Ralpho, in half soliloquy, as he guided the knights down the village street -at a canter—“so, thou didst cease to trust me, Sir Miers, me who hath been faithful -to thee to the peril of my salvation. By St. Benedict, thou shalt now find that it -would have been well for thee to have trusted me still; yea and thou didst tamper -with her whom I would have espoused. By the bones of St. Baldrid, but thou mayest -mate thee with her now an thou listest, for I am done for ever with her, with thee, -and with England, except as a foeman.” -</p> -<p>The two knights made the best of their way until they had got beyond the English march, -and were fairly on what might be termed Scottish ground. Armed men were still crowding -in greater or lesser bodies to Jedworth, where those who had by this time assembled -formed a large army. They were encamped on what was then called the High Forest; and -thither the two friends were hastening, and were already but a little way from the -position of the troops, when Sir Patrick Hepborne halted, and thus addressed his companion— -</p> -<p>“Canst thou tell me, Assueton, what may cause the mingled crowd of squires, lacqueys, -grooms, and horses, that doth surround the gates of yonder church? Meseems it some -convocation, <span class="pageNum" id="pb409">[<a href="#pb409">409</a>]</span>and those varlets do wait the pleasure of some personages of greater note who are -within.” -</p> -<p>“Thou art right,” replied Assueton; “for to-day was fixed for a council of war to -be held within that church, and it would seem that at least some, if not all, of the -nobles and knights of the host are already met. Let us hasten thither, I beseech thee. -I long to learn what is to be the plan of our warfare.” -</p> -<p>“I shall at least meet my father there,” said Sir Patrick listlessly, and as if he -cared for little else. “Do thou follow us, Lindsay, to take our horses, and then wait -for us, with the esquires, under the spreading oaks of yonder swelling knoll.” -</p> -<p>On entering the church the two knights learned that they had arrived just in time -for the opening of the business. The Earls of Fife, Douglas, Dunbar, and Moray were -there, and indeed all the leading nobles and knights of Scottish chivalry; and the -doors being closed, the assembly were soon deeply engaged in the gravest deliberations. -</p> -<p>Whilst the council of war was so employed within the church, Mortimer Sang was lying -at the root of an aged oak, holding conversation to, rather than with, Roger Riddel. -Near them were the horses tethered and feeding, under the eyes of Robert Lindsay, -and his old, though newly-recovered comrade, Ralpho Proudfoot, who were earnestly -engaged in talking over many a story of their boyhood. -</p> -<p>“What dost thou stare at so, friend Riddel?” demanded Sang, who observed his comrade -stretching his neck so as to throw his eyes up the trough of a ravine down which stole -a little rill, that murmured around the knoll where they were sitting; “what dost -thou see, I say, friend Roger, that thou dost so stretch thy neck like a heron, when -disturbed in her solitary fishing?” -</p> -<p>Roger replied not, but nodded significantly, and pointed with his finger. -</p> -<p>“Nay, I see nought,” replied Sang, “save, indeed, a swinking churl, who doth untie -and lead away a gallant and bravely caparisoned steed from yonder willow that weepeth -over the stream.” -</p> -<p>Roger looked grave, and nodded again, and looked as much as to say, “A-well, and dost -thou see nothing in that?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, now that the knave hath mounted,” said Sang, “he seemeth to ride like one who -would make his horse’s speed keep his neck from the halter. By’r Lady, he’s gone already. -Is the rogue a thief, thinkest thou, Roger?” -</p> -<p>“Notour, I’ll warrant me,” replied Squire Riddel. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb410">[<a href="#pb410">410</a>]</span></p> -<p>“By St. Baldrid, had we but thought of that sooner, we might have frayed the malfaitor, -yea, or taken him in the very fact,” said Sang. “But now we are too late to meddle -in the matter.” -</p> -<p>“We are no thief-takers,” replied Roger Riddel, with great indifference. -</p> -<p>“Nay, now I think on’t, he who would hang up his horse so in the Borders may be his -own thief-taker for me,” replied Sang; “but look ye, friend Roger,” continued he, -after a pause, “who may that stranger be who cometh forth from the crowd armed and -spurred, yea, as a squire ought, yet who walketh away as if neither groom nor horse -tarried for him? Stay—methinks he cometh this way.” -</p> -<p>The stranger looked around him, after getting rid of the embarrassment of the crowd -about the church, and then moved quickly towards the knoll where the two esquires -were sitting, and, passing quietly under it, without either looking at or speaking -to them, made his way up the ravine in the direction of the willow-trees, where the -horse had been tethered. The path he followed was so much lower than the ground whence -they had observed the actions of the man who took the horse, that the stranger walked -smartly on for more than a bow-shot, ere he came within view of the willow-trees. -Then it was that he began to betray great confusion. He hastened to the spot whence -the horse had been so lately removed, and finding that he was irrecoverably gone, -he clasped his hands, looked up to heaven, and seemed to be lost in despair. -</p> -<p>“Dost thou mark yonder man who did walk by here alone?” demanded Sang eagerly. “Behold -how he doth show signs of distress, that would mark him to be the master of the horse -which the thief took. I ween he be no Scottish squire, for he knew no one, and seemed -to covet concealment as he did pass us by. An I mistake not, he will prove better -worth catching than the thief would have done. Let’s after him, Roger, that we may -prove my saying.” -</p> -<p>Roger, though slow to speak, was quick to act. The two esquires seized their steeds, -and throwing themselves into their saddles, galloped at full speed after the stranger. -Startled by the sound of pursuit, he at first made an effort to escape, but, seeing -how hotly he was chased, he lost spirit, and, shortening his pace, allowed them to -come up with him. -</p> -<p>“Whither wouldst thou, comrade? and whence hast thou come? and what dost thou, a spurred -esquire, without a horse?” demanded Sang, in a string of interrogations. -</p> -<p>“I do but breathe the air here,” replied the man in great <span class="pageNum" id="pb411">[<a href="#pb411">411</a>]</span>confusion. “As for my horse, I do verily believe some villain hath stolen him from -those willow trees where I had tied him.” -</p> -<p>“But why didst thou tie thy horse in this lone place? and how comest thou thus unattended?” -demanded Sang again. “But, hey, holy St. Baldrid, is it thou, my gentle Clerk-Squire -Barton? When, I pray thee, didst thou leave the peaceful following of the godly Bishop -of Durham, to mell thee with dangerous matters like these thou art now in? By the -blessed Rood, it had been well for thee, methinks, an thou couldst but have aped somewhat -of the loutish Scot in thy gait, peraunter thou mightest have better escaped remark? -So, thou hast become a spy on these our Eastern Marches, hast thou? By the mass, but -thou must with us to the conclave. It doth erke me to speak it, mine excellent friend, -but, by’r Lady, I do fear me that thou mayest hang for it.” -</p> -<p>“Talk not so, Squire Sang,” replied Barton, with a face of alarm. “Trust me, I have -seen nought—I know nought. Thou knowest we did drink together in good fellowship at -Norham. Let me go, I do beseech thee, and put not an innocent man’s life to peril, -seeing that appearances do happen to be so sore against me.” -</p> -<p>“Sore against thee, indeed, pot-companion,” said Roger Riddel, portentously shaking -his head. -</p> -<p>“Yea, appearances are sore against thee, Master Barton,” reechoed Sang. “Verily, we -did behold thee as thou didst come forth from yonder church, where thou didst doubtless -possess thyself of much important matter that did there transpire, the which it will -be by no means convenient that thou shouldst carry in safety to those who may have -sent thee hither. Better that thou hadst chanted thirty trentals of masses in the -goodly pile of Durham for the soul of thy grandmother, ay, and that fasting, too, -than that thou shouldst have set thy foot for a minute’s space of time within yonder -church this day.” -</p> -<p>“Let me go, good gentlemen, I do beseech ye,” said Barton. “Squire Riddel, hast thou -no compassion for me?” -</p> -<p>“Much,” replied Roger<span class="corr" id="xd31e5509" title="Source: ;">.</span> “Natheless, thou must with us, Squire Barton.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, in truth thou must with us without more ado,” said Sang; “yet make thyself as -easy as may be; for, in consideration of our meeting at Norham, I shall do thee all -the kindness I may consistent with duty, both now and when thou shalt be sent to the -fatal tree, to the which I do fear thy passage will be short and speedy.” -</p> -<p>The English esquire shuddered, but he was compelled to submit; <span class="pageNum" id="pb412">[<a href="#pb412">412</a>]</span>and he was accordingly led by his captors to the church, where the council of war -was assembled. The news of his capture excited great interest and commotion among -the knights; and the Earl of Fife, who presided over their deliberations, had no sooner -learned the particulars of his taking than he ordered him into his presence. Barton -came, guarded by Mortimer Sang and Roger Riddel. He had put on the best countenance -he could, but judging by the working of his features, all his resolution was required -to keep it up. -</p> -<p>“Bring forward the prisoner,” said the Earl of Fife. “What hast thou to say for thyself, -Sir Squire? Thou hast been taken in arms within the Scottish bounds—thou hast been -seen of several who did note thine appearance at this our secret meeting—and there -be knights here, as well as those worthy esquires who took thee, who can speak to -thy name and country. Whence art thou come? and who did send thee hither to espy out -our force, and to possess thyself of our schemes?” -</p> -<p>“Trusting to the sacred office of my Lord the Bishop of Durham, I came but as a pious -traveller to visit certain shrines,” replied Barton. “Being in these parts, I wot -it was no marvel in me, the servant of a churchman so dignified, to look into the -church, and——” -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay—so flimsy a response as this will by no means serve,” interrupted the Earl -of Fife, who, though cool, calm, and soft in manner, was in reality much more cruel -of heart than his brother the Wolfe of Badenoch himself, albeit devoid of the furious -passion so ungovernable in that Earl. “He doth but trifle with our patience. Let a -rack be instantly prepared, and let a tree be erected without loss of time, whereon -his tortured limbs, whilst their fibres shall yet have hardly ceased to feel, may -be hung as tender food for the ravens. His throat shall be squeezed by the hangman’s -rope, until all he hath gained by his espial be disgorged or closed up for ever within -it.” -</p> -<p>Barton shook from head to foot at this terrible sentence, uttered with a mildness -and composure that might have suited well with a homily. His face grew deadly pale, -despair grappled at his breath, and he gasped as if already under the hands of the -executioner. His eyes, restless and protruded, seemed as if anxious to shun the picture -of the horrible death that so soon awaited him. His lips moved, but they were dry -as ashes, and they gave forth no sound. Sang and Roger Riddel almost regretted that -they had been instrumental in bringing the wretch there, though by doing so they had -so well served their country. They looked at each other with horror; but in such <span class="pageNum" id="pb413">[<a href="#pb413">413</a>]</span>a presence, and at such a time, Sang was condemned to remain as dumb as Squire Riddel. -The good Earl of Moray had more liberty of speech, and he failed not to use it. -</p> -<p>“Be not too hasty with him, my Lord,” said he; “he may yet peraunter be brought to -give us tidings of the enemy. Let him but give us what information he can, under promise, -that if it be found soothfast, he shall have no evil. Meanwhile, after he shall have -effunded all that it may concern us to know, let him be delivered into the custody -of the Constable of Jedworth, with him to liggen in strict durance, until we shall -have certiorated ourselves by our own experience, whether the things which he may -tell be true or false, with certification that his life shall be the forfeit of the -minutest breach of verity. If he doth refuse these terms, then, in the name of St. -Andrew, let him incontinent lose his head.” -</p> -<p>A hum of approbation ran around the meeting, and the Earl of Fife, though in secret -half-chagrined that he had not had his own will, saw that in this point he must give -way to the general voice. -</p> -<p>“Thou dost hear thy destiny,” said he to the prisoner; “what is thine election?” -</p> -<p>“My Lord, seeing that I have no alternative but to yield me to dire necessity,” answered -the English esquire, with an expression of infinite relief in his countenance, “verily, -I do most gladly accept your terms. As God is my judge, I shall tell thee all I know, -without alteration, addition, or curtailment.” -</p> -<p>“Who sent thee hither, then?” demanded the Earl of Fife. -</p> -<p>“Being one to whom these Marches be well known, I was chosen by the Lords of Northumberland, -and sent hither to learn the state of your enterprise; as alswa to gather which way -ye do propose to draw.” -</p> -<p>“Where, then, be these English Lords?” demanded the Earl of Douglas. -</p> -<p>“Sirs,” replied the captive squire, “sith it behoveth me to say the truth, ye shall -surely have it. I be come straight hither from Newcastle, where be Sir Henry Piersie, -surnamed Hotspur, from his frequent pricking; and his brother Sir Rafe Piersie, yea, -and divers other nobles and knights, flowers of English chivalry, all in readiness -to depart thence as soon as they may know that ye have set forward into England; for, -hearing of the strength of your host, they do not choose to come to meet you.” -</p> -<p>“Why, what number do they repute us at?” demanded the Earl of Moray. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb414">[<a href="#pb414">414</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Sir,” replied the esquire, “it is said how ye be forty thousand men and twelve hundred -spears.” -</p> -<p>“What then may be their plan?” demanded the Earl of Fife. -</p> -<p>“This be their plan, my Lord,” replied the esquire: “If ye do invade England by Carlisle, -then will they straightway force a passage for themselves by Dunbar to Edinburgh; -and if ye do hold through Northumberland, then will they enter Scotland by the Western -Marches.” -</p> -<p>As the English esquire Barton was thus delivering himself, the Scottish lords threw -significant glances towards each other. Some further questions of less moment were -put to him, and after he had answered to all with every appearance of perfect candour— -</p> -<p>“Let him be removed into the strict keeping of the Constable of Jedworth,” said the -Earl of Fife. “His life and liberty shall be safe, provided his report shall in all -things prove true, and for this I do gage my word in name of myself and all these -noble lords and knights here present. Should he be found to have spoken falsely in -the veriest tittle, he knoweth his fate.” -</p> -<p>After the prisoner was withdrawn under the charge of a guard, the Earl of Fife conveyed -thanks to the two esquires for having so well fulfilled their duty to Scotland. The -assembled lords and knights were overjoyed that the intent of their enemies should -have been thus made so surely known to them, and a buzz of congratulation arose. -</p> -<p>“This is all well, my Lords,” said the Earl of Fife, after having again procured silence; -“but let us now to council, I entreat you, that we may straightway devise how best -to avail ourselves of the tidings we have gained. For mine own part I do opine that -we should break our host into two armies. Let the most part, together with all our -carriage, go by the Cumberland Marches and Carlisle, and let a smaller body draw towards -Newcastle-upon-Tyne, to fill up and occupy the attention of the enemy assembled there. -I speak under the correction of wiser heads,” continued the Earl, bowing around him -with great condescension, so as to excite a burst of approbation from those weaker -spirits whom he daily flattered until he made them his staunch partisans—“I speak, -I say, under the correction of wiser heads; yet meseems, from those unanimous applauses, -my Lords, that you do honour my scheme of warfare with your universal support; and -such being the case, I may now say, that whilst I do myself propose to lead the main -army by the Western Marches, I shall commit the command of the smaller <span class="pageNum" id="pb415">[<a href="#pb415">415</a>]</span>body to the brave Earls of Douglas, Dunbar, and Moray. For this last service, methinks, -three hundred lances, and three thousand crossbows and axemen, may well enow suffice.” -</p> -<p>“By St. Andrew, but ’tis a fine thing to know how to keep one’s head safe,” whispered -Sir William de Dalzell ironically to Sir Patrick Hepborne the younger; “what thinkest -thou of him who shall shoulder ye a catapult to crush a swarm of dung flies, whilst -he doth send out others to war on lions and bearded pards with a handful of hazel -nuts. Depardieux, he who goeth by Carlisle may march boldly from one end of Cumberland -to the other, with a single clump of spears at his back, ay, and take the fattest -spoil too; but he who shall march to Newcastle will want all the hardy hearts and -well-strung thewes and muscles he can muster around him, and is like after all to -get nought but a broken head for his journey. Holy St. Giles, but ’tis well to take -care of one’s self.” -</p> -<p>By a little management, the opinion of the council of war was easily brought perfectly -to coincide with the views of the Earl of Fife. But so great was the name of James -Earl of Douglas, that it was in itself a host. The two brothers, George Dunbar Earl -of Dunbar and March, and John Dunbar Earl of Moray, too, were so much beloved, that -a puissant band of knights voluntarily mustered under their banners. Among these were -Sir Patrick Hepborne, his son, and Sir John Assueton. Ere the assembly dissolved, -it was determined that the armies should divide, and march on their respective routes -early on the ensuing morning; and all was bustle and preparation accordingly. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch57" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e777">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER LVII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Scots besieging Newcastle—The Fight on the Walls.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The smaller force, under the Douglas, broke up from Jedworth, and set forward in high -spirits, cheered by the good countenance and presence of their renowned commander. -Their parting shouts were re-echoed from the sides of the surrounding hills, and were -replied to with yet louder bursts of acclamation by the large army of which they had -been so lately a portion. Their route lay through the wilderness of the forest which -at that time covered the country, and they soon lost even the cheers of their departing -comrades, that, mellowing by degrees, at last died away among the hollow valleys. -On entering Northumberland, <span class="pageNum" id="pb416">[<a href="#pb416">416</a>]</span>the Earl of Douglas allowed little time for pillaging the country, but stretched forward -with the utmost expedition, so that he might carry on the war directly into the heart -of the Bishoprick of Durham, before his movements could be made known to the Earl -of Northumberland, who was at Alnwick, or to his two sons, who were at that moment -patiently waiting at Newcastle, with the other English lords, for the return of their -spy. -</p> -<p>The Douglas was by no means one who could endure to make a mere empty show of invasion, -for the purpose of creating a diversion that might smooth the way of his politic brother-in-law -the Earl of Fife. His force was small indeed, but he resolved that it should do England -as much harm as he could effect with it. Passing the River Tyne, therefore, at some -distance above Newcastle, he spread his troops over the fair County of Durham, and -began taking an awful, nay, a tenfold revenge, for the miseries which the Merse had -so lately endured, at the hands of the English, by carrying devastation far and wide. -</p> -<p>The news that the Scots were abroad at last reached Newcastle and Durham, and their -numbers being exaggerated, these towns were filled with great consternation. They -now learned the tale, indeed, from the evidence of their senses, for the smoke of -the continued conflagration, creeping heavily over the country, and, carrying the -smell of combustion along with it, poisoned the very air of both these places. Having -reached the gates of Durham, the Douglas found them firmly closed against him; so, -after skirmishing there for some days, he pushed on, destroying everything in his -way, even to the very gates of York, and leaving no town unburnt that was not sufficiently -walled to require a regular siege. -</p> -<p>Having thus more than made good a chivalric vow with which he had started, that he -should see Durham ere he returned, and having already ventured farther into a hostile -country than his small force warranted, he returned towards Newcastle, industriously -perfecting any destruction that he had before left unfinished; and having re-crossed -the Tyne, at the same spot where he had passed it in his way southwards, he set himself -down before the town on the side lying towards Scotland. The place was strongly garrisoned, -and contained the flower of the chivalry of the counties of York, Durham, and Northumberland; -for as soon as it was fully known that the Scots were abroad, and that they had already -passed onwards into Yorkshire, a general rising of the country took place, under the -influence of Harry Piersie, lately appointed Keeper of the Northumbrian Marches; and -orders were even despatched <span class="pageNum" id="pb417">[<a href="#pb417">417</a>]</span>to the governors of Berwick, Norham, and the other fortresses now in rear of the enemy, -to join the general muster with what force they could spare without too much weakening -their garrisons. -</p> -<p>Sir Rafe Piersie had long ceased to think of Eleanore de Selby. His passion was like -the summer-storm, violent in character, but short in duration. His father, the haughty -old Earl of Northumberland, had heard of it, and had signified his unqualified displeasure -that his son should have even thought of a marriage with the daughter of a mere soldier; -while his elder brother, the lively and peppery Hotspur, had laughed and railed at -him till he became tired of the very name of De Selby. Part of this feeling arose -from an honourable cause. His conscience told him that he had permitted his violent -temper to make him forget what was due to the courtesy of knighthood, and he now so -deeply repented him of his conduct at Norham, where he had so grossly insulted his -host, that the scene never occurred to his mind without bringing the blush of shame -to his cheek. He longed for an opportunity, where, without debasing himself, he might -prove these feelings to Sir Walter; and the issuing of the order for the Border Captains -to appear at Newcastle being the first that presented itself, he immediately availed -himself of it. -</p> -<p>“Brother,” said he to Hotspur, “as for Sir Matthew Redman of Berwick, he is a stout -and able Captain, and in his own person a powerful aid. But what wouldst thou, I pray -thee, with bringing the old Captain of Norham so far from home?” -</p> -<p>“Dost thou fear to meet him, Rafe?” cried Hotspur, with a sarcastic smile; “or wouldst -thou rather that I should send for his dark-eyed daughter hither?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay, brother,” replied Sir Rafe; “but methinks he is of years somewhat beyond -the battle-field.” -</p> -<p>“Thou mayest do with him as thou listest, brother Rafe,” replied Hotspur, who was -too busy to waste time on such a matter; “but we must have his men.” -</p> -<p>Armed with Sir Henry Piersie’s authority to do so, Sir Rafe despatched an especial -messenger to Sir Walter de Selby, to assure him that it rejoiced him much to be the -instrument of procuring his exemption from personal attendance at Newcastle, which -to one who had already seen so many fields, must be rather irksome. The messenger -found Sir Walter de Selby lately recovered from his bodily malady; for the death of -the wizard Ancient and his villainy being now known to him, he <span class="pageNum" id="pb418">[<a href="#pb418">418</a>]</span>again enjoyed comparative peace of mind. But he was much enfeebled by the shocks he -had received. He heard the courier to an end; and the moisture in his eye, with the -nervous motion in his closed lips, showed how much he was affected by it. -</p> -<p>“Am I then deemed to be so old and worthless?” said he, after a pause. “The time was -when the Marches, neither East nor West, could have turned out a starker pricker; -yet was it kind in Sir Rafe Piersie, after what hath passed between us, and tell him, -I beseech thee, that I so felt and received his message. But it shall never be said -that I am behind when others are in the field; it shall never be said of old Sir Walter -de Selby, who hath worn the hauberk and morion from his cradle, that he was afraid -to die in knightly harness. No, no; let Tom Turnberry prepare my war steed; I’ll lead -mine own spears to Newcastle. To thee, my good Lieutenant Oglethorpe, do I commit -the keeping of old Norham. It is King Richard’s now. See that it hath no other master -when I or King Richard demand it of thee<span class="corr" id="xd31e5577" title="Not in source">.</span>” -</p> -<p>With these words, the brave old warrior gave orders for his men to assemble immediately, -and mounting, with the aid of his esquires, he rode from the court-yard at the head -of his force, on a mettlesome horse, the fiery paces of which but ill suited with -his years; as he went, he joined feebly in the parting cheer with which his brave -bowmen and lances took leave of their comrades. -</p> -<p>It was the daring spirit of chivalry, more than any great hope of taking the town, -that induced the gallant Douglas to tarry for two days before Newcastle. The most -powerful thirst of heroic adventure then prevailed, and those within the town were -as eager to rush beyond their ramparts to meet the assailants, as the Scottish knights -were to assault them. Both days, therefore, were occupied in a succession of skirmishes; -and it was a remarkable feature of this warfare, that it seemed to be more regulated -by the courtesy of the tournament, than guided by the brutal and remorseless rage -of battle. No sooner did a body of lances show itself from within the Scottish lines, -than another of equal numbers appeared from behind the barriers of the town, prepared -to give it a meeting. Spurring from opposite sides, the combatants encountered each -other midway, as if they had been in the lists. A desperate shock took place, followed -by a melée, in which prodigious feats of arms were done, whilst the English from their -walls, and the Scottish troops from their temporary entrenchments, alternately cheered -their friends, as one or other side gained the advantage. But, <span class="pageNum" id="pb419">[<a href="#pb419">419</a>]</span>what was most wonderful, everything resembling atrocity appeared to be banished from -the field, and mercy and generosity so tempered victory, that it was difficult to -say whether the contest was greatest for glory in the skirmish, or for superiority -in clemency, and every other noble feeling, after it was over. -</p> -<p>On the evening of the first day, the Lord Douglas, to give the troops a breathing, -ordered the place to be assaulted by means of scaling ladders, with the hopes of perhaps -surprising it by a coup-de-main. The Scottish troops rushed to the walls with their -usual hardihood, and Sir Patrick Hepborne and Sir John Assueton were found in the -very front of the attack made by the Earl of Moray’s division. Although they were -provided with fascines and trusses of straw to throw into the ditch, yet the ladders -were in general found to be too short for surmounting the walls. At one place, however, -they were successfully applied; and the two knights, followed by their esquires and -some few others, gallantly mounted in the teeth of the enemy, and fought their way -into the town, driving the English before them; but being unsupported, owing to the -failure of the escalade in other quarters, they were unwillingly compelled to retreat, -which they and their followers did, bravely fighting with their faces to the enemy. -Having gained the spot where they had climbed, the two friends planted themselves -side by side firmly in front of it, to cover the retreat of those who were with them, -and gallantly kept a whole host of foes at bay, until all who had entered the place -with them had descended, except their trusty esquires, and two other individuals whom -they had not leisure to note. The ladders had all been broken or thrown down in the -confusion except one, and the English so pressed upon the little knot of Scotchmen -that it appeared impossible for so many of them to escape. -</p> -<p>“One desperate charge at them, Assueton,” cried Hepborne. “Our safety depends on driving -them back for a brief space’s breathing. On them, brave Scots!” -</p> -<p>The two knights raised a shout, in which they were joined by their fellow-combatants, -and with one accord rushed furiously against the dense circle of English. The effect -was tremendous. Many were overthrown by the vigorous blows of the knights and their -assistants, but more by the press and confusion occasioned by the panic, excited by -the belief that they were backed by a fresh assault of troops from without the walls. -There was a momentary dispersion of them; but the individuals of the Scottish party -were also separated from each other, and as Sir <span class="pageNum" id="pb420">[<a href="#pb420">420</a>]</span>Patrick Hepborne returned to the rallying point, he was grieved to discover his friend -Assueton lying wounded and helpless on the ground. He immediately stooped, to endeavour -to set him on his legs, but he was unable to support himself. -</p> -<p>“Leave me, dear Hepborne,” said Assueton faintly; “thine own safety depends on thy -doing so.” -</p> -<p>“Leave thee, Assueton!” cried Hepborne with energy; “nay, by St. Baldrid, if I cannot -bear thee hence, I will perish with thee. Clasp thine arms round my neck, my friend,” -added he, as he lifted him up from the ground, and began carrying him towards the -walls. “Be of good cheer, and tighten thy grasp; thou dost thereby lighten my burden.” -</p> -<p>As he moved off, the English returned, shouting upon his heels, with Sang sullenly -retreating before them. -</p> -<p>“Succour, succour, my trusty esquire,” cried Hepborne; “I have a life here to preserve -dearer to me a thousand times than mine own.” -</p> -<p>Sang came up to him as he reached the top of the only remaining ladder. To the esquire -he hastily confided the care of Assueton, and, turning on the foe, again drove them -before him, so as to give Sang leisure to descend with his burden; and then hastily -returning to the spot where the ladder was, he discovered that it was broken, and -saw Sang in the ditch beneath, endeavouring to extricate himself and the wounded knight -from the bundles of straw and fascines among which they had fallen. The enemy were -fast gathering behind, and he had no alternative. Selecting a place where the heaps -in the ditch were highest, he sprang from the wall, and happily alighted almost uninjured. -</p> -<p>Whilst he and his squire were busily employed in lifting Sir John Assueton from the -ditch, their attention was attracted to the walls above them, where a desperate struggle -was going on between two figures distinctly seen against the sky. But it was of short -duration. -</p> -<p>“Uve, uve! an she wonnot let her go, by St. Giles, but she shall go wi’ her,” cried -Duncan MacErchar, who was one of them; and griping his enemy fast, he sprang with -him over the battlements. -</p> -<p>Duncan had by no means time to be so select in the choice of the spot where he was -to alight as Sir Patrick Hepborne had been. But he took care to leap with his antagonist -before him, and his doing so was the saving of his life, his fall being broken by -the body of the wretch who participated in it, and who was crushed to death against -the very bottom of the ditch, whilst <span class="pageNum" id="pb421">[<a href="#pb421">421</a>]</span>Duncan, though stunned, escaped with some considerable bruises, and immediately regaining -his legs, assisted Sir Patrick and his esquire to carry off Sir John Assueton to the -Scottish camp. -</p> -<p>We have already apprised the reader that the brave knights were supported by two other -individuals besides their esquires. One of these, it may be guessed, was the brave -MacErchar. The other, when the little party was dispersed after their bold onset, -unfortunately missed his way in attempting to return to the rallying point, and, being -assailed by a crowd of his foes, was compelled to retreat before them, until he was -stopped by a wall, under which he took shelter, and prepared himself for a desperate -resistance. -</p> -<p>“Yield thee, Scot,” cried some of the first who came up to him. “On him—Seize him,” -cried a dozen of them at once. -</p> -<p>“By St. Lowry, ’tis right well for ye Southrons to cry yield to ane honest Scotchman. -But troth, I’ll tell ye it’s easier to say so to ane o’ my country than to gar him -do it, and mair, when ye speak to the henchman o’ the Yearl o’ Moray himsel’,” cried -Rory Spears; for it was he, no longer clad, indeed, in his fishing coat and otterskin -cap, but armed as became the Earl of Moray’s henchman, and wielding a long pole-axe -instead of his gaud-clip. -</p> -<p>“Take him alive,” cried an officer who was present; “let not his life be taken, as -you value your own. If he be of the Earl of Moray’s household, we may be the better -for knowing some of his secrets.” -</p> -<p>“Troth, ye’ll hae ill taking o’ me without taking my life too, my lads,” said Rory, -swinging his pole-axe so cleverly around him that no one was disposed to risk approaching -him. -</p> -<p>“In on him and take him, his ransom will be great,” cried the officer; and thus encouraged, -one or two of the hardiest did venture to attempt to close on him, but they paid dearly -for their daring, being prostrated to right and left like so many nine-pins. The rest -were so scared that they scrupled to approach him; and he might have kept them off -long enough had not a man who had climbed on the wall behind him suddenly dropped -down on his shoulders à califourchon, and brought him headlong to the ground. -</p> -<p>“Well done, Tom Turnberry,” cried a dozen voices at once, and in an instant Rory was -overpowered, and hastily dragged down a stair and thrust into a dark dungeon under -the ramparts, where he was left to his own reflections. -</p> -<p>“Is there ony ither poor deevil like mysel’ here?” demanded <span class="pageNum" id="pb422">[<a href="#pb422">422</a>]</span>Rory aloud, after he had in some measure recovered his breath; but finding that no -one answered, he went to talk to himself. “Na—nae answer. A-weel, Maister Spears, -thou art here, art thou, amang the foundations o’ Newcastle? This is seeing merry -England wi’ a vengeance. Troth, after a’, if this is to be the upshot, thou mightest -as weel hae turned back frae Norham yonder. Thou canst be of nae satisfaction to the -Yearl whiles thou art liggen here, I trow. And as to ony mair comfort or consolation -in the wars, thou mayest e’en bid them good day, for thou’lt hae nae mair o’ them, -I’ll promise thee. By my troth, an thou hadst not seen this day’s fighting, thou mightest -hae been as well liggen on the rocks at the Ess. A-weel, a-weel—it is most surprising -how a man o’ sense wull gae wrang at times. Hadst thou no been a fool, ye might hae -let thae wud chields climb the wa’s o’ Newcastle themlanes, that is, takin’ thy time -o’ life into consideration. By holy St. Mary, what wull become o’ poor Kate? Hoot, -the Leddy o’ Norham wull surely see her sent safe back to Tarnawa; though in conscience -I had rather been her guide mysel. I was a fool to leave the damosel. And then, St. -Lawrence protect me, how I wull be missed at hame.” The thought of his daughter, of -his wife, and of his home, grappled Rory by the heart, so that he did nothing but -sigh for some moments. “A-weel,” continued he at length, “I maun say, after a’, that -albeit there is a great pleasure in fighting, it is but a fool-thing for God’s rational -creatures to be cutting ane anither’s throats as if they war wild cats or wolf-beasts. -What for sould I come a’ the gate frae Findhorn-side to cleave the skull o’ some poor -honest deevil o’ the Tyne here, against whom, as I hope for mercy mysel, I hae no -decent or wiselike cause o’ quarrel? War is a fool-thing; but I wull say there is -some pleasure in’t, after a’.” -</p> -<p>“Ay!” said a long yawning voice from a deep recess in the dungeon. -</p> -<p>“St. Lowry defend us, wha’s that!” cried Rory. -</p> -<p>“One Roger Riddel,” replied the voice. -</p> -<p>“What hast thou been doing, that thou hast been so long silent?” demanded Rory. -</p> -<p>“Sleeping,” answered Roger. -</p> -<p>“Thou art esquire to that brave knight Sir John Assueton, if I err not?” said Rory. -</p> -<p>“Thou art right,” replied Roger. -</p> -<p>“And how, in the name of St. Andrew, camest thou here?” demanded Rory. -</p> -<p>“By being taken,” replied Roger. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb423">[<a href="#pb423">423</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Thou wert on the ramparts with us to the last,” said Rory. -</p> -<p>“I was,” replied Roger. -</p> -<p>“By St. Giles, but it was a noble escalade, comrade, an we had only been well backed,” -cried Spears with enthusiasm. -</p> -<p>“Noble,” cried Roger in the same tone. -</p> -<p>“Didst thou mark how the knaves fled afore sax o’ us?” cried Rory. “Sax against twa -hundred o’ them at least.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, three hundred, brother,” replied Roger. -</p> -<p>“Ay, faith, that may be,” said Rory; “I’ll no dispute as to that. There might be three, -ay, or four hundred o’ them, for I had no great leisure to count them. But this I -ken, neebour, that an it hadna been bigget ground, thou and I souldna hae been here.” -</p> -<p>“No, that I’ll promise thee,” replied Roger. -</p> -<p>“Where art thou, comrade? Gi’es thy hand; we fought like brave chields thegither,” -cried Rory in great glee, and groping about for Squire Riddel. “Thou art a prince -of brave fellows.” -</p> -<p>“And thou art a very king,” replied Roger, shaking him heartily by the hand. -</p> -<p>“’Tis a pleasure to meet thee, though it be in this dungeon,” cried Rory. “Would we -had but some yill to wet our friendship. St. Lowry grant that we had but a wee sup -yill.” -</p> -<p>“Ay, would indeed we had a drop of ale,” re-echoed Roger with a deep sigh. -</p> -<p>At this moment steps were heard descending, a light glimmered faintly for a moment -through a chink beneath the door, and the key being turned, the round, rosy visage -of Master Thomas Turnberry, the squire equerry of Norham, appeared within it. He entered, -bearing a lamp in his hand, and was followed by an attendant, who carried an enormous -pasty, that had been just broken upon, and a huge stoup of ale. -</p> -<p>“So!” said Master Turnberry; “put thee down these things, and let the gentlemen eat -and drink. Having put a man into captivity by mine own hard riding, I do think it -but consistent with charity to see that he starveth not. Yea, and albeit I am but -a soberish man myself, yet do I know that there be others who love ale; and having -mortal bowels of compassion in me, I have pity for the frailties of my fellow-men.” -</p> -<p>“Sir,” said Rory, lifting the vessel with great readiness from the ground, “an thou -hadst been St. Lowry himsel, thou couldst not have ministered to my present wants -more cheeringly. I <span class="pageNum" id="pb424">[<a href="#pb424">424</a>]</span>drink to thee from the bottom o’ my soul——Hech!” cried he, after having swallowed -half the contents of the vessel, with the nicest measurement, and most scrupulous -justice to him who was to come after him; “hech, ’tis most invigorating to the very -spinal marrow. It must be allowed that ye do brew most excellent nut-brown to the -south o’ the Tweed.” -</p> -<p>“Excellent, indeed, judging by its good sale,” cried Roger Riddel, looking into the -flagon before he put it to his head; then nodding to Master Turnberry, he drained -it to the bottom. -</p> -<p>“By’r lackins, but ye have good go-downs, my masters,” cried Turnberry, taking the -flagon, and raising the bottom of it, so as to show that it was empty, and at the -same time betraying some disappointment. “Methinks I could ha’e ta’en a drop of ale -myself. But there be more where this came from. See that the gentlemen lack for nothing,” -said he, turning to the attendant. “And so, good night, my merry masters.” -</p> -<p>It was about the middle of the ensuing day that Rory Spears was sitting indulging -in soliloquy, Roger Riddel having retired to the farther part of the vault, where -he had thrown himself down, and buried himself among the straw, to sleep away the -time. -</p> -<p>“I hae sat for days by mysel, as a relay to watch for the deer,” said Rory—“ay, and -I hae lien for weeks by my lane, watching the saumonts loupin’, without hearing voice -save the water-kelpy roarin’ in the Ess—yet was I never sae tired as I am at this -precious moment, sitting in this hole, wi’ a bit chink yonder aboon just enew to let -a poor deevil ken that it’s daylight, and that he mought be happy thereout i’ the -sun. As for that chield, Roger Riddel there, my ain Oscar would be mair companionable, -I wot. He lies rucking and snorting there as composed as if he were in the best hostel -in a’ bonny Scotland. As St. Lowry kens, I wad be content to be in its warst, rather -than whaur I am. Holy St. Mungo, the chield hath buried himsel like a very mouldiwort; -I can see nought but his nose. A-weel, an I could only gie owre thinking o’ Alice, -and Kate, and the Yearl o’ Moray, I mought peraunter sleep mysel.” -</p> -<p>As he was stretching himself along the bench where he had been sitting, with the resolution -of trying the experiment, he was disturbed by a coming step. The door opened, and -an officer entered in great seeming haste. -</p> -<p>“Thou art a body attendant of the Earl of Moray, art thou not?” said he, glancing -at Spears. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb425">[<a href="#pb425">425</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Yea, I am the noble Yearl’s henchman, as I mought say,” replied Rory. -</p> -<p>“Doubtless thou knowest well the person of the Lord Douglas?” said the officer. -</p> -<p>“Ay, weel do I that,” replied Rory; “and mair, he hath a great good-wull to me, for -mony is the time we hae hunted thegither. Is he not my master the Yearl’s brother-in-law?” -</p> -<p>“Follow me then without loss of time,” said the officer; “Sir Henry Piersie would -have conference with thee.” -</p> -<p>Rory said no more, but joyfully obeyed; and the officer, too much occupied with his -errand to investigate things closely, and having no suspicion that the place contained -two prisoners, tripped up the stair that led from the dungeon, leaving the door open -behind him. -</p> -<p>Master Roger Riddel was not asleep; he had only dosed, to save himself the trouble -of forming replies to the incessant talk which Rory had carried on; on peeping out -from his straw after the officer and his fellow-prisoner had left him, and seeing -the door of the dungeon wide open, he slowly raised himself up, walked out of the -place, and ascended the short winding stair, from the top of which he quietly emerged -into the pure air. With the utmost composure, he then struck into one of the lanes -that led from the walls, and walked coolly down a street, through crowds of anxious -individuals, all of whom were too busily occupied with anticipations of glory or defeat, -to notice a man in the attire of a squire, of whom there were many. Following a crowd -that was pressing forwards, he reached the gate. There was a muster at the barriers. -</p> -<p>“Where are thy weapons, Sir Squire?” demanded a spearman as he passed by. -</p> -<p>“Lend me thy lance, good fellow,” said Roger; “I am in haste—here be money to get -thee another.” -</p> -<p>The man gave him the spear, took the money, and thanked him; and Roger went on. At -the gate stood three horses held by a single groom. Roger went boldly up to him. -</p> -<p>“Thou waitest thy master, friend?” said he in a tone of inquiry. -</p> -<p>“Yea; and what be that to thee?” replied the fellow surlily. -</p> -<p>“Because I have got an angel for thee, and I would know if thou be’st the right man,” -replied Riddel. -</p> -<p>“Give it me straight, then, good master,” said the man, eagerly. -</p> -<p>“Nay, that will I not, neither straight nor crooked,” replied <span class="pageNum" id="pb426">[<a href="#pb426">426</a>]</span>Riddel; “that is, not till I know thy master’s name from thee, that I may know whether -in very deed thou be’st the man I do look for.” -</p> -<p>“’Tis Sir Robert Ogill that be my master,” replied the man. -</p> -<p>“Then art thou the very good fellow I would speak with,” said Roger. “Give me that -roan as fast as may be, and this angel here is the token thy master Sir Robert sent -thee. I ride on business of his to the barrier.<span class="corr" id="xd31e5675" title="Not in source">”</span> -</p> -<p>Without more ado, and without interruption from the groom, he leaped into the saddle, -and riding by the guards at a careless pace, got beyond the barriers, and put his -horse to speed for the Scottish camp. A shout was raised among a party of spearmen -who were forming without, and some dozen or two of them spurred after him; but he -had gained so much start of them, and his horse was so good, that he escaped in spite -of all their exertions, and got fairly within the lines occupied by his countrymen. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch58" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e787">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER LVIII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Combat between Douglas and Hotspur—The Fight for the Pennon.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">As the Earl of Douglas was sitting in his pavilion, in conversation with his chaplain, -Richard Lundie, on the second day of his being before Newcastle, a squire in waiting -announced to him that one of Lord Moray’s men wished to have a private interview with -him. -</p> -<p>“Give him entrance speedily,” said the Douglas, “his business may be of moment. He -seeth me in private when he seeth me alone with him who knoweth mine inmost soul.” -</p> -<p>The squire bowed and retired, and immediately returned to introduce—Rory Spears. -</p> -<p>“Rory Spears!” exclaimed the Douglas; “what hath brought thee hither, and what hath -my brother of Moray to tell my private ear through thy mouth? Thou art not the messenger -he is used to send between us for such affairs. Were it a matter of wood or river -craft, indeed, we might both recognize thee as a right trusty and merry ambassador; -but at this time we have other game upon our hands. What hath Lord Moray to say?” -</p> -<p>“My Lord Yearl o’ Douglas, naebody kens whaur gowd lies till it be howkit out,” replied -Rory, with an obeisance. “Albeit that thou and the Yearl o’ Moray, my noble master, -have never <span class="pageNum" id="pb427">[<a href="#pb427">427</a>]</span>yet discovered my talents that way, it proveth not that I do lack them. He who is -stranger to the soil may chance to divine that, the which he who owneth it hath never -dreamt of; and he——” -</p> -<p>“What doth all this tend to, Rory Spears?” demanded the Earl of Douglas, interrupting -him rather impatiently. “Trust me, though I may have trifled with thee at Tarnawa, -this is no time for such idlesse.” -</p> -<p>“Bide a wee, my Lord Yearl, bide a wee,” said Rory, with great composure; “call it -not trifling till thou art possessed of the value of what I have to effunde unto thee. -I was going to tell thee that he who doth own a man like me, ay, or a horse beast, -for instance, may ken less o’ his qualifications than he who doth see him but for -a gliff.” -</p> -<p>“But what hath all this to do with thy message from Moray to me?” cried the Douglas. -</p> -<p>“Nought at all, my Lord Yearl,” replied Rory, “for I hae no message frae him. But,” -added he, assuming an air of unusual importance, “it hath much to do, I rauckon, with -the embassage the which I am at this moment charged with by the Hotspur.” -</p> -<p>“The Hotspur—thou charged with a message from the Hotspur!—How can that be? Quick—try -not my patience longer; where hast thou encountered the Hotspur?” exclaimed the Douglas -eagerly. -</p> -<p>Rory proceeded to give the Earl a sketch of the history of his capture, as well as -of his being sent for by Sir Harry Piersie. -</p> -<p>“He telled me, my Lord Yearl o’ Douglas,” continued he, “that he heard I confessed -mysel to be ane esquire o’ the Yearl o’ Moray’s. I didna daur to contradick Hotspur, -the mair because I am in a manner the Yearl’s henchman. ‘I hae made yelection o’ thee,’ -said he to me, ‘as the fittest man for my job amang a’ the Scottish prisoners in Newcastle. -Thou art to bear a message of importance frae me to the gallant Douglas. Tell him -Hotspur hath had the renommie o’ his prowess rung in his lugs till the din hath stirred -up his inmost soul and made his very heart yearn to encounter sae mokell bravery. -Yet hath my evil fortune so willed it,’ quoth he, ‘that though I have sought him unceasing -for these two days, yet have I never had the chance to meet him hand to hand.’ ” -</p> -<p>“Nay, and God wot, I have not been wanting in my search after the noble Hotspur,” -replied Douglas with energy. “But what said he more?” -</p> -<p>“ ‘Get thee to the Douglas, Sir Squire,’ said he to me. <span class="pageNum" id="pb428">[<a href="#pb428">428</a>]</span>‘Tell him that I do entreat him, for the love he bears to chivalry, that he may so -order his next assault that I may not fail to meet him in person. Be the manner and -terms of our encounter of his own fixing, and let him trust to the word of a Piersie -for their fulfilment on this side, as I shall to the unbroken faith of a Douglas. -Bear this to him, Sir Squire, and take thy liberty and this golden chain for thy guerdon.’ ” -</p> -<p>“Bravo, Harry Hotspur!” cried the Douglas, rising from his seat, whilst his eyes flashed -fire from the joyous tumult of his heroic spirit; “bravo, brave heart! trust me thou -shalt not lack thy desire. Quick—let me hasten to reply to the gallant Piersie’s challenge -with that promptness the which it doth so well merit. My most faithful and attached -Lundie,” continued he, addressing his chaplain,—“get thee to the provost, if thou -lovest me, and use thy good judgment to choose me out from among our English prisoners -one who may be best fitted for being the bearer of mine answer. Let him be an esquire, -for we would rather surpass than fall short of Hotspur’s courtesy.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, an ye would surpass the courtesy of the gallant Hotspur,” said Rory, who stood -by, “ye maun e’en send him a knight, for he did send thee ane esquire,—ay, and ane -esquire with a golden chain round his craig.” -</p> -<p>“Right,” cried the Douglas in the fulness of his joy—“right, Squire Rory Spears; for -esquire thou shalt hereafter be, sith it hath pleased Harry Piersie to make thee so. -And if a knight is not to be had, by St. Andrew I’ll make one for the purpose of this -embassage.” -</p> -<p>“Hear ye, Maister Ritchie Lundie,” cried Rory; “I take thee witness that my Lord the -Yearl o’ Douglas hath allowed me the rank the which the noble Hotspur did confer on -me when I did act as his ambassador. Let not this escape thy memory”. -</p> -<p>“Fear thee not, Rory Spears,” said the Douglas; “I shall myself see that thine honours -shall be duly recognized.” -</p> -<p>Lundie soon returned with an English esquire, selected from among the prisoners. The -Earl of Douglas made Rory repeat over in his presence the message of which he had -been the bearer from Hotspur. -</p> -<p>“And now, Sir Squire,” said Douglas, “thou hast heard the wish of that gallant leader, -the noble Hotspur. Be thou the bearer of mine answer. Tell Sir Harry Piersie that -for a man to have oped his eyes at noon-day without beholding the light of heaven -would have been as easy as to have had ears without their being filled with the renowned -achievements of the flower of English chivalry. The Douglas burns to meet him; and -that <span class="pageNum" id="pb429">[<a href="#pb429">429</a>]</span>time may in no wise be lost, but each forthwith have his desire, tell him that the -Douglas will be on the field anon with fifty lances. Let Sir Harry Piersie come forth -with a like number at his back, and let this be the understanding between the parties, -that both escorts halt within view of each other, and that both knights singly run -a career with grounden spears at the outrance, the knights to be left to themselves. -Be thou, I say, the bearer of these terms and conditions; but ere thou goest vouchsafe -me thy name.” -</p> -<p>“My name is Thomas Scrope, so please thee, my Lord,” replied the esquire. -</p> -<p>“Within there,” said the Douglas; “call in my knights and officers. And now, Sir Squire,” -said he, after the pavilion was filled, and he had given some necessary orders, “kneel -down on this cushion, that before this brilliant knot of Scottish chivalry I may do -due honour to him who is to bear my message to the Hotspur.” The English esquire obeyed. -The Douglas ordered a pair of golden spurs to be buckled on his heels by the hands -of the two eldest Scottish knights present. They then belted him with a magnificent -sword, a gift from the Earl, who immediately bestowed on him the accolade, saying— -</p> -<p>“I dub thee Knight, in the name of God and St. Michael; be faithful, bold, and fortunate. -And now rise up, Sir Thomas Scrope.” -</p> -<p>Astounded and confused with this unlooked-for honour, the newly-created knight but -awkwardly received the congratulations which poured in on him from those present. -The Douglas himself conducted him to the door, where a noble horse, fully caparisoned, -awaited him. -</p> -<p>“Get thee to saddle, then, Sir Thomas Scrope,” cried he, “and tarry not till thou -hast possessed the Hotspur of our reply to his message. Say more—that if he liketh -not the terms let him name conditions of his own, to the which I do hereby agree par -avance; and let me have them forthwith, for in an hour hence I shall be in the field -in front of these lines. God speed thee, Sir Thomas.” -</p> -<p>“Might it not have been better, my Lord,” said Richard Lundie, after they were again -alone, “might it not have been better to have taken a new sun to gild so glorious -a combat? The day is already far spent.” -</p> -<p>“Yea, it is so,” replied the Douglas; “but to-morrow we move hence from this idle -warfare, and I would not willingly go without proving the metal of the gallant Hotspur, -so ’tis as well that his impatience be gratified.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb430">[<a href="#pb430">430</a>]</span></p> -<p>The bruit of the coming encounter spread like wild-fire through the camp, and the -whole chivalry within its circuit pressed forward to be admitted of the chosen band -who were to witness the onset of the two bravest knights in Christendom. Lord Douglas’s -difficulty was how to select so as to avoid giving offence, and he required all his -judgment to manage this. Sir Patrick Hepborne had the good fortune to be one of those -who were admitted into the honourable ranks. -</p> -<p>When the gay little cohort of mounted lances were drawn forth in array, and the Douglas’s -banner was displayed, the stout Earl sprang on a powerful black war-horse, that had -neighed and pranced whilst he was held by two esquires, but that became quiet and -gentle as a lamb when backed by his heroic master. The whole Scottish line turned -out to gaze, and shouts of applause arose that re-echoed from the walls of Newcastle. -Immediately afterwards Sir Harry Piersie appeared before the barriers of the town, -mounted on a milk-white steed, and as Douglas, even at that distance, could perceive -that his escort was of similar strength and description to his own, he had the satisfaction -of thinking that the terms he had proposed had been accepted. The fortifications were -soon covered by the garrison, who crowded to behold the combat, and the Scottish cheers -were loudly returned by the English. A trumpet call from the Piersie band was instantly -returned by one from that of Lord Douglas, who immediately gave the word for his knights -to advance, whilst he rode forward so as to gain a position about fifty yards in front -of them, that he might be the better seen by the opposite party. Having brought up -his escort to a point sufficiently near (as he judged) for the arrangement agreed -on, he halted them, and ordered them to remain steady, whilst he continued to approach -until he came within a due distance for running his course against Hotspur, who had -also come forward a considerable way before his attendants. -</p> -<p>The trumpets from both bands sounded nearly at once, as if by mutual consent—both -knights couched their lances—their armed heels made the blood spring from the sides -of their coursers—and they flew like two thunderbolts towards the shock. Anxious suspense -hung on both sides as they were stretching over the field, and the silence of the -moment was such that the full crash of the collision entered every listening ear, -however distant. Loud and exulting cheers from the Scottish lines, which, though they -came so far, altogether drowned the uncouth sounds of dismay that ran along the walls -of Newcastle, proclaimed the success of the Douglas, whose resistless arm, nerved -<span class="pageNum" id="pb431">[<a href="#pb431">431</a>]</span>with a strength that few men could boast, bore the no less gallant Hotspur clean out -of his saddle, though, owing to his adroitness in covering his person against his -adversary’s point, he was hardly if at all wounded. -</p> -<p>The band of English knights who attended him, forgetting the nature of the combat, -as well as the express orders they had received from Piersie, saw their adored leader -on the green sward, and thinking only of the jeopardy he lay in, began shouting—“Hotspur, -Hotspur, to the rescue!” and ere the bold Douglas could well check the furious career -of his horse, he was in the midst of a phalanx of his advancing foes. Abandoning his -ponderous lance, he grasped the enormous mace that hung at his saddle-bow, and bestirred -himself with it so lustily that three or four of the English chevaliers were in as -many seconds dashed from their seats to the earth, in plight so grievous that there -was but little chance of their ever filling them again. But the throng about the hero -was so great, and their blows rained so thickly and heavily upon him, that his destruction -must have been inevitable long ere his own band could have reached him, had not the -noble Hotspur, whom some of his people were by this time carrying hurriedly away, -called out to the knights of his party in a voice of command that was rarely disobeyed— -</p> -<p>“Touch not the Douglas—harm not a hair of his head, as ye would hope for heaven. What, -would ye assault at such odds the brave Douglas, who hath relied on the word of a -Piersie? Shame, shame on ye, gentlemen. Your zeal for Hotspur’s safety came not well -at this time for Hotspur’s honour. Trust me, his life stood in no peril with so chivalric -a foe.” -</p> -<p>Awed and ashamed by these chiding words, the English knights fell back abashed, and -made way for the valiant Douglas, who emerged from among them like a hunted lion from -among the pack of puny hounds who have vainly baited him. -</p> -<p>“Halt! chevaliers,” cried he, rising in his saddle, and raising his right arm, as -he in his turn addressed his own band, who were pouring furiously down on the English -knights, shouting, “Douglas, Douglas, to the rescue!” “Halt,” cried he again, “halt, -in the name of St. Andrew! Let the gallant Hotspur retreat in peace. I blame not him -for this small mistake of his trusty followers, the which, after all, was but an excusable -error of affection. And as for thee, Piersie, I thank thee for thy courtesy. Depardieux, -thou hast proved thyself to be brave as honourable and honourable as brave. Can I -say more? By the honour of knighthood, thou hast proved thyself to be Harry <span class="pageNum" id="pb432">[<a href="#pb432">432</a>]</span>Piersie, and in that name all that is excellent in chivalry is centred. The chance -hath been mine now; it may be thine anon, if it do so please Heaven. Get thee to refresh -thyself then, for we shall forthwith beat up thy quarters with a stiffer stoure than -any thou hast yet endured.” -</p> -<p>“Douglas,” cried Piersie, who was by this time remounted, “Douglas, thou art all, -and more than all that minstrels have called thee. Farewell, till we again meet, and -may our meeting be speedy.” -</p> -<p>With these parting words, the two leaders wheeled off their respective bands. -</p> -<p>Immediately after the Earl of Douglas had returned to the camp, a council of war was -held, and, after a short deliberation, preparations were made for instantly assaulting -and scaling the fortifications. The army was drawn out from its entrenchments and -was led to the attack arranged in three divisions. The Earl of Douglas, attended by -the little chosen band of knights who had that day vowed him their special service, -led on the central body directly against the barriers. The right and left wings, commanded -by the Earls of Dunbar and Moray, marched on steadily, to attempt the storm of the -walls at two several points on each side of the gates, in defiance of a heavy shower -of arrows from the English bowmen, mingled with some weightier missiles from the balistæ, -which sorely galled them, and which they could but ill return with their cross-bows. -Each of these flanking divisions covered the approach of a number of wains, laden -with hay and straw collected from the neighbouring country; and so soon as they had -come near enough to the fortifications, a signal was given, the wains were brought -suddenly forward, and hurled one over another into the ditch, so as in many places -to fill it up, and admit of the ladders being raised against the wall with great success. -The Scottish soldiers rent the air with their shouts, and wielding their destructive -battle-axes, rushed like furies to the escalade. But the English were so well prepared, -and defended themselves so manfully that they beat back the assailants at every point, -and soon succeeded in setting fire to the combustible materials in the ditch, by throwing -down lighted brands, so that all hope of forcing an entrance in that way was soon -at an end. -</p> -<p>Meanwhile the Douglas forcibly assaulted the wooden barriers that defended the entrance -to the town; and Piersie and his chivalry, who were immediately within them, no sooner -heard the war-cry of “Douglas, Douglas! jamais <span class="corr" id="xd31e5743" title="Source: arriere">arrière</span>!” than, collecting themselves into one great body, they rushed out on <span class="pageNum" id="pb433">[<a href="#pb433">433</a>]</span>the Scottish forces with so resistless an impetus, that nothing could withstand the -fury of the stream. Douglas and his troops were borne away like trees of the forest -before some bursting torrent. But no sooner had the English spread themselves out -upon the plain like exhausted waters, than the voice of the Scottish hero was heard -above all the clang of the battle, cheering his men to the charge, and his superb -figure, exalted on his black courser, was seen towering onwards against the slackening -foe, gathering the firmest Scottish hearts around him as he went. -</p> -<p>The English now in their turn gave back; but Harry Piersie, recovered from his stunning -fall, mounted on a fresh roan, and, surrounded by the brave knights by whom he was -formerly attended, restored their courage both by his voice and example. Shouts of -“Piersie, Piersie!” and “Douglas, Douglas!” arose from different parts of the field, -and were re-echoed from the walls. At length the two leaders caught a glimpse of each -other amid the volumes of smoke that, tinged by the setting sun, were rolling along -the ground from the blazing straw, which the descending damps of evening now hardly -permitted to rise into the air. -</p> -<p>“Ha, Douglas, have I found thee at last?” cried Piersie, turning towards him. -</p> -<p>“Trust me, ’twas no fault of mine that we met not sooner, Harry Piersie,” cried Douglas, -spurring to encounter him with his mace, his lance having been shivered in the melee. -</p> -<p>There was time for no more words. Piersie ran his lance at the Douglas as he came -on, who with wonderful dexterity turned it aside, and catching it in his hand, endeavoured -to wrench it from his owner. Piersie’s embroidered pennon was waving from the spear -head. Douglas snatched at it, but his adversary disappointed him, by forcing up the -point, and each retaining his grasp, they were now drawn together into close contact. -The little silken trifle, utterly worthless in itself, glittered like a child’s bauble -over their heads; but if it had been a kingdom they were contending for, they could -not have been more eagerly set on the contest. Each forgetful of the defence of his -own life, put forth all his strength and skill, the one to obtain what he considered -so glorious a prize, and the other to keep what he thought it would be so disgraceful -to lose, and what, moreover, he so much valued, for the sake of her whose taper fingers -had interwoven its golden threads. The struggle was strong, but it was short in duration, -for the iron hands of Douglas snapt the slim ashen shaft in twain, and in an instant -he held up <span class="pageNum" id="pb434">[<a href="#pb434">434</a>]</span>the broken lance, and waved the pennon triumphantly over his head. -</p> -<p>“The Piersie’s pennon! recover the Piersie’s pennon!” was the instant cry, and the -English crowded to assist Hotspur, led on by Sir Rafe Piersie. -</p> -<p>At that moment a body of Scottish lances, headed by Sir Patrick Hepborne, came pouring -down in tremendous charge, shouting “Douglas, Douglas!” and dividing the two combatants -as they swept onwards, they bore away the Piersies and the English before them to -the very barriers, where the press of the combat was so hot, that they were soon compelled -to retreat within their palisadoes, and to close up their defences. The partial breathing -of an instant ensued, during which Douglas looked eagerly for Hotspur, and at length -having descried him over the pales— -</p> -<p>“By St. Andrew,” he cried, rising in his stirrups, and again waving the captured pennon -high in the air, “I have good reason, Harry Piersie, to be thankful for the glorious -issue of this bicker. Trust me, I value this pennon of thine above all the spoil of -Newcastle, nay, or of an hundred such towns. I shall bear it with me into Scotland, -fair Sir, in token of our encounter; and in remembrance of thy prowess, I do promise -thee it shall grace the proudest pinnacle of my Castle of Dalkeith.” -</p> -<p>“Be assured, Douglas,” replied Piersie courteously, though with manifest signs of -great vexation, “ye shall not bear it over the Border; nay, ye shall not pass the -bounds of this county till ye be met withal in such wise that ye shall make none avaunte -thereof.” -</p> -<p>“Well, brave Sir,” replied the Earl of Douglas, “it shall be set up before my pavilion -this night; so come thither to seek for thy pennon, and take it thence if thou canst; -till then, farewell.” -</p> -<p>The Lord Douglas turned away, proudly bearing his trophy; and the night was now approaching, -and all hopes of succeeding in the assault being at an end, he ordered the retreat -to be sounded, and collecting his forces, he retired behind his trenches. -</p> -<p>The Scottish troops were no sooner withdrawn than Hotspur, smarting under the stinging -disgrace of the loss of his pennon, summoned a council of war, in which he bravely -proposed to lead on the English troops to a night attack against the Scottish entrenchments. -This proposition was warmly supported by Sir Rafe Piersie, who participated largely -in his brother’s injured feelings; but an opinion prevailing among the English knights -<span class="pageNum" id="pb435">[<a href="#pb435">435</a>]</span>that the Earl of Douglas’s party was but the Scottish vanguard, and that the large -army, of which they had heard so much, was hovering at no great distance, ready to -avail itself of any imprudent step they might take, very generally opposed his wishes. -</p> -<p>“Sir,” said the prudent Seneschal of York, who was present, and who seemed to speak -as the organ of the rest, “there fortuneth in war oftentimes many chances. Another -day thou mayest gain greater advantage of Earl Douglas than he hath this day won of -thee. Let us not peril the cause of England for a paltry pennon, when the power of -Scotland is abroad. Who knoweth but this empty skirmish of theirs may be a snare to -lure us out to destruction? Better is it to lose a pennon than two or three hundred -brave knights and squires, and to lay our country at the mercy of these invading foemen.” -</p> -<p>Though some of the young and impetuous, and even the old Sir Walter de Selby, showed -symptoms of being disposed to support the plan proposed by the Hotspur, yet this prudent -counsel was so generally applauded, that, though boiling inwardly with indignation -at their apathy, he was compelled to yield with the best face he could, while his -lip was visibly curled with a smile of ineffable contempt for what he considered their -pusillanimity. -</p> -<p>“What a hollow flock of craven pullets, brother Rafe!” said he, giving way to a burst -of passionate vexation after the council had broke up, and they were left alone. “What, -a paltry pennon, saidst thou, Sir Seneschal? May thy tongue be blistered for the word! -Depardieux, were it not unwise to stir up evil blood among us at such a time, I would -make him eat it, old as he is, and difficult as he might find the digestion of it. -Oh, is’t not bitter penance, brother Rafe, for falcons such as we are to be mewed -up with such a set of grey geese? By Heaven, it is enough to brutify the noble spirit -we do inherit from our sires. What will the Douglas, I pr’ythee, think of Harry Hotspur, -now that after all his vaunts he cometh not out to-night to give him the camisado -in his tent, and to pluck his pennon from the disgraceful soil in the which it doth -now grow so vilely? But, by St. George, though I should be obliged to go with no more -than our vassals, I will catch the Douglas ere he quits Northumberland, and I will -have my pennon again or die in the taking of it.” -</p> -<p>The Douglas was well prepared to give Harry Piersie a welcome had circumstances enabled -him to have paid his visit to the Scottish camp before they broke up from Newcastle. -The <span class="pageNum" id="pb436">[<a href="#pb436">436</a>]</span>sentinels were so stationed that the whole army would have been alarmed and under -arms in a few minutes. His sleep was therefore as sound as if he had been in his own -Castle of Dalkeith, though he slept in his armour, that he might be ready to meet -the foe on the first rouse. -</p> -<p>“Well, my trusty esquires,” said he to Robert Hart and Simon Glendinning, as they -came to wait on him in the morning, “doth Harry Piersie’s pennon still flutter where -these hands did place it yesternight?” -</p> -<p>“Yea, my good Lord,” replied Glendinning, “thy challenge hath gone unheeded.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, then, we bide no longer for him here,” said Douglas; “an he will have it now, -he must come after us to take it. Are my Lords Moray and Dunbar astir?” -</p> -<p>“They are, my Lord,” replied Hart. -</p> -<p>“Go to them, then, Robert, and tell them, that with their leave we shall march anon. -But, by St. Andrew, there shall be no appearance of unseemly haste. Let the sun, that -saw the Piersie’s pennon planted yesternight ere he did go to bed, be suffered to -look upon it for some time after he be well risen again, so that we may not be accused -of being more dexterous in carrying off our prey than bold in defending it.” -</p> -<p>The little Scottish army broke up from their encampment with as much composure as -if they had been in a friendly country, and marched leisurely off with loud cheers. -Harry Piersie was on the wall, and his blood boiled at the very sound. -</p> -<p>“By the holy St. Cuthbert, they mock me,” cried he, his face flushing with anger; -“ay, an well may they too,” continued he, striking his forehead. “Oh, I could leap -over these walls from very despite. By the mass, their numbers are naught; see how -small their columns appear; already the last of them are gone; oh, is it not enow -to drive me to madness!”—and, dashing his mailed foot to the ground, he turned away -to gnaw his nails with vexation. -</p> -<p>After taking two or three turns with his brother along the rampart, he suddenly called -for an esquire, and ordered him to procure some intelligent scouts; to these he gave -orders to follow the Scottish line of march, and to bring him frequent and accurate -intelligence of their numbers, their route, and all their actions; and, having taken -this precaution, he and Sir Rafe Piersie continued to pace the walls by themselves, -giving vent, from time to time, to their indignation and disappointment, in abrupt -sentences addressed to each other. During that day and the evening following it, large -reinforcements of troops poured <span class="pageNum" id="pb437">[<a href="#pb437">437</a>]</span>into Newcastle, from different quarters of the circumjacent country; and the stronger -Hotspur found himself, the more impatient he became to make use of his strength. -</p> -<p>“Ay, ay, see where they come; see where they come, brother Rafe,” said he in a pettish -tone. “But what come they for, an we have them not in the field? Depardieux, from -the careless guise and strutting gait of some of these butter-headed burghers, and -clod-pated churls, meseems as if they came more to parade it in a fair than to fight.” -</p> -<p>“If we can but get them once into the field,” said Sir Rafe Piersie, “by all that -is good, we shall teach the knaves another bearing and another step.” -</p> -<p>“Ay, marry, would that we but had them in the field, indeed,” replied Hotspur; “the -very smell of battle hath a marvellous virtue in it, and doth oftentimes convert the -veriest dolt into a hero. Of such fellows as these men, one might make rare engines -for recovering a lost pennon, yea, as of finer clay. Would we but had them fit the -proof. But a plague upon these cautious seniors of the council, methinks my patience -was miraculous; nay, in truth, most miraculous, to hear that old driveller talk of -my paltry pennon, and not to dash my gauntlet in his teeth for the word.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, I could hardly keep my hands down,” cried Sir Rafe Piersie. “Methinks our blood -must be cooling, or else even his age should have been no protection.” -</p> -<p>“’Tis better as it is, Rafe,” replied Hotspur; “but why tarry these scouts of mine? -I shall fret me to death ere they return. Why are we not blessed with the power of -seeing what doth pass afar off? Had I this faculty, how would mine eyes soar over -the Douglas and my pennon!” -</p> -<p>In such talk as this the brothers wasted great part of the night. The impatient Hotspur -was kept in suspense until next morning, when, much to his relief, the arrival of -the wearied scouts was announced to him. He ordered them instantly into his presence, -and having closely interrogated them, he soon gathered from them all the intelligence -he wanted. -</p> -<p>The Earl of Douglas had marched slowly and circumspectly, and although his little -army had sufficiently marked his course, by plundering and burning whatever came in -its way, the troops had not been suffered to spread far to the right or left. They -halted at Pontland, and took and burnt the town and castle, making prisoner of Sir -Aymer de Athele, who defended it. Thence they marched to Otterbourne, where they encamped, -apparently with the intention of besieging the castle of that <span class="pageNum" id="pb438">[<a href="#pb438">438</a>]</span>name next day. The scouts also brought certain information that the Scots did not -amount to more than three thousand men-at-arms, and three or four hundred lances, -and that the main body of the army was nowhere in the neighbourhood, but still lying -indolently on the Western Marches. Full of these particulars, Hotspur, with a bounding -heart, again summoned the council of war, and bringing in his scouts, he made them -tell their own story. -</p> -<p>“What say ye now, gentlemen?” cried he with a triumphant air; “was I right, or not? -By the Rood, I was at least wrong to listen to the cold caution of some few frozen -heads here; for, an I mistake not the general voice of the council yesterday was with -me. We mought have spared these Scots many a weary mile of march, I ween. By St. George, -they were a mere handful for us, a mere handful; not a man of them should have escaped -us; ay, and such a price should they have paid for the ruin they have wrought on these -fine counties, that Scotland should have quaked for a century at the very thought -of setting foot across the Border.” -</p> -<p>“Frozen heads, didst thou say, Sir Harry Piersie?” demanded the Seneschal of York -calmly; “methinks that thy meaning would be to accuse those frozen heads of being -leagued with frozen hearts; but let me tell thee, Hotspur, where snow is shed on the -poll we may look for a cool judgment; and if a cool, then probably a wise judgment.” -</p> -<p>“Pshaw!” said Hotspur, half aside to his brother; “this fusty utterer of worn-out -saws and everyday wisdom goadeth me beyond all bearing; yet must I temper mine answer. -Trust me, I meant not to impeach thine ordinary judgment, Sir Seneschal,” continued -he aloud, “though I do think that it did for once err grievously in our yesterday’s -council. But let us not talk of this. I am now here to tell ye, gentlemen, that, by -the faith I owe to God, and to my Lord my father, go who list with me, I shall now -go seek for my pennon, and give Lord Douglas the camisado this night at Otterbourne; -yea, by St. George, though I should do it without other aid than that of my brother -Rafe, and the faithful vassals of the Piersie. What, am I to put up, think ye, with -the loss of my pennon, and the disgrace of our house and name? By heaven, though it -were but a hair’s-breadth of the hem of my Lady’s mantle, the Douglas should not carry -it into Scotland. But if disgrace doth attend the losing of Hotspur’s pennon, depardieux, -let it be borne by those who, calling themselves his friends, will not yield him their -help to retake it; for Hotspur is resolved to wipe off shame from himself<span class="pageNum" id="pb439">[<a href="#pb439">439</a>]</span>—he will follow his pennon to the Orcades, yea, pluck it from their most northern -cape, or fall in the attempt. Disgrace shall never cleave to Hotspur.” -</p> -<p>“No, nor to Rafe Piersie neither,” cried his brother. “Let those who fear to follow -stay at home. We shall on together, hand in hand, and seize the pennon, though grim -death held its shaft; yea, paltry as it may be thought, it shall be the sun on whose -beams our dying eyes shall close. Let us on then.” -</p> -<p>The loud murmurs of applause which arose from among the younger knights manifested -how much they sympathized with the feelings of the Piersies. But the old Seneschal -of York again put in his word of prudence. -</p> -<p>“Gentlemen,” said he, “I see that, in speaking as I must do, I shall have but few -to agree with me, yet must I natheless freely speak my mind, more especially as I -do perceive that those knights who, like myself, have seen more years of warfare than -the rest, do seem disposed to think with me. I must confess, that, albeit some potent -reasons do now cease to war with your opinion, mine is but little altered. Meseems -it still is an especial risk to move so far from garrison after an uncertain enemy, -for a mere shred of silk and gold.” -</p> -<p>“A shred of silk and gold!” exclaimed Sir Walter de Selby. “What, dost thou not think -that all England is disgraced by this triumph of the Scottish Douglas over the Hotspur? -And dost thou regard nought but the shred of silk and gold? Talk not of the old ones, -I pray thee, Sir Seneschal of York. Trust me, old as is Sir Walter de Selby, he shall -never rest idle whilst gallant deeds are adoing to wipe off a foul stain from the -name of England. Be it death or victory, he shall have his share on’t.” -</p> -<p>“Thy hand, my brave old soldier,” cried both the Piersies at once. -</p> -<p>“Thou shalt go with us,” exclaimed Hotspur; “though thine years might have well excused -thee leaving thine own Castle of Norham, yet hast thou come hither; yea, and thou -shalt now forward with us to the field, were it but to show how the noble fire of -a warlike soul may burn through the thickest snows of age.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, then,” said the Seneschal of York, “thou shalt see, Sir Harry Piersie, that -albeit I do advise caution, yet shall I do my part as well as others, when my words -do cease to avail aught; yet would I fain have thee tarry until thou art joined by -the Bishop of Durham, who is looked for with his force this night.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb440">[<a href="#pb440">440</a>]</span></p> -<p>“What, while we can muster eight thousand good soldiers without him, and six hundred -gallant lances? Shall we wait for the Bishop, and so permit the Scots to ’scape from -our vengeance? Nay, nay, let’s to horse, my brave friends; my heart swells at the -thought of reaping so glorious a field. Let’s to horse without delay, if your blood -be English.” -</p> -<p>Hotspur’s call was hailed with loud approval, and the brave though cautious Seneschal, -seeing that it was in vain to urge more, joined heartily with the rest in getting -the army under arms, and in hastening the march. -</p> -<p>The Scots had begun to sound their bugles at an early hour that morning, and to assault -the Castle of Otterbourne, and they wasted the whole of the day in unsuccessful attempts -against it. A council of war being held in the evening, it was found that there were -cautious heads among the Scotch as well as among the English knights. Some of those -who spoke were of opinion that they should abandon all further attempts against the -Castle, and march forward towards Scotland. But the Earl of Douglas opposed this. -</p> -<p>“What, my brave Lords and Knights of Scotland,” cried he with energy, “would ye give -Harry Piersie cause to say that we have stolen this pennon of his? Let us not creep -away with it like thieves in the dark; nay, rather let us show these Southerns that -we do earnestly covet their promised visit to us. Let us, I pray ye, tarry here for -some two or three days at least; we shall find occupation enough in beleaguering and -taking of this Castle hard by, the which is assuredly pregnable to bold and persevering -men, and will yield us the more honour that it be strong. Then shall Hotspur have -leisure to bethink himself how he may best come to fetch his pennon; and if it should -so list him to come, depardieux, he may take my banner too, if he can.” -</p> -<p>The old and the cautious hardly in secret approved this counsel; but so much was the -heroic Douglas the idol of all, that his wishes were of themselves enough to determine -the resolution of those who heard him. Measures were accordingly taken for securing -the army against surprise, and for rendering their camp as strong as circumstances -would allow; and seeing that they were to remain for so much longer a time than they -at first imagined, the soldiers hastily threw up huts, composed of sods and branches -of trees, to give them better shelter. The baggage-wains and baggage, with the wainmen, -sutlers, and other followers of the army, were stationed so as to block up the approach -to the camp; and their position was so defended by <span class="pageNum" id="pb441">[<a href="#pb441">441</a>]</span>morasses and woods, flanking it on either side, as to render it almost unassailable. -At some distance from this, the troops were encamped on the slope of a hill, and the -wooded rising grounds on either hand contributed to form defences which left it open -to attack nowhere but in front, and even there only after the outwork formed by the -baggage at a distance in the meadow below should be broken through. -</p> -<p>Earl Douglas said little to those around him, but made his various dispositions with -the cool and skilful eye of an expert commander. He surveyed the ground with thoughtful -attention, as the sun was setting bright on the hill. It glanced upon Piersie’s pennon, -that fluttered as if idly impatient of its captivity beside the large banner of Scotland, -the heavy drapery of which, drooping to the ground in ample folds, hung in silent -and majestic dignity, unruffled by the gentle evening breeze. He thought on the Hotspur -and his threats—on the violence and impotence of man’s passions—on the actual insignificance -of the object which had so stirred up himself and Harry Piersie, compared with the -number and value of the lives of those who might soon be called on to fight for it -to the death. He mused on the peaceful quiet that now hung over the scene, and of -the change that in a few short hours it might undergo; on the change, above all, that -might affect many of those brave hearts which were now beating high with the pulses -of life, eager to return to their native soil, and to fulfil schemes of future happiness, -never, perhaps, to be realized. -</p> -<p>“There is something solemn and grand in the stillness of this lovely evening,” said -the Douglas at last to the Earl of Moray, who was with him. “The parting radiance -of day in yonder western sky might make us fancy that the earth was yblent with heaven. -Why might we not pass to that long-wished-for country on those slanting rays of glory, -without intervening death, or the penitential pains of purgatory?” -</p> -<p>“’Tis a whimsical conceit, brother,” replied Moray with a smile; “but why, I pray -thee, are thy thoughts so employed at a time like this?” -</p> -<p>“I will tell thee,” said Douglas gravely. “I know not why it is, but my memory hath -been at this time visited by the recollection of a strange dream I once had, and which, -long forgotten, doth now arise to me afresh with all its circumstances. Methought -I was sitting on a hill side, when, all at once, I beheld a furious battle on the -plain of the valley below. One side was led by a figure the which I was conscious -bore striking resemblance to mine own. He rushed to the fight, but was quickly <span class="pageNum" id="pb442">[<a href="#pb442">442</a>]</span>pierced with three lances at once, and fell dead on the field. Dismay began to fasten -on his army, and defeat appeared certain, when the dead corpse of the knight arose, -and, towering to a height ten-fold greater than it had when alive, moved with the -solemn step of the grave towards the foe. The shout of victory arose from those who -were about to yield, and their enemies were dispersed like chaff before the wind, -when the giant figure and all vanished from my fancy’s eye.” -</p> -<p>“Strange!” cried Moray, his attention grappled by this singular communication from -the Douglas. -</p> -<p>“Thou canst never believe me to be a driveller, Moray,” continued Douglas, without -noticing his brother-in-law’s interruption, “far less one whom the approach of death -may affright. Death must succeed life, as the night doth follow the day, and we who -can know little how much of our day is gone, must be prepared to couch as decently -when and where the night doth overtake us.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Douglas,” said Moray, again interrupting him, “I well wot that those grave sayings -of thine are anything but the offspring of a quailing heart; I know that they are -begotten by thy dauntless and well-grounded courage that doth accustom itself to survey -death at all times, in thought as well as in field, till thou has converted his grim -image into the familiar figure of a friend. Yet why should such thoughts find harbour -with thee now? Harry Piersie, if he do come at all for his pennon, will hardly be -here to-night.” -</p> -<p>“I think not of the Piersie,” said Douglas, taking Moray’s hand, and warmly pressing -it between his, while a tear glistened in his manly eye, “I think not of the Piersie -or his pennon; but promise me now, when mine hour hath come, and I shall have gloriously -fallen in battle, as I well trust may be my fate, that thou wilt yield thine especial -protection, and thy love and cherisaunce, to my widowed Margaret. I need not tell -thee what she hath been to me. Our brother-in-law Fife is cold, and calculating, and -politic, yea, and heartless. He doth aim at the Regency, and he will doubtless gain -his end. Margaret is his much-loved sister while she is the proud wife of Douglas; -but trust me, little of her brother’s sunshine will fall upon her widow’s weeds. Be -it thine, then, to be her prop and comfort. I well know that the warmth of thy Margery’s -love will go hand in hand with thee. I am a man, Moray—we are both men—why should -we be ashamed of a few tears shed at a moment like this?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, but Douglas, why shouldst thou talk thus?” said <span class="pageNum" id="pb443">[<a href="#pb443">443</a>]</span>Moray. “Fate may call for my life first, and then thou wilt have those duties to perform -for Margery the which thou dost now claim from me for her sister.” -</p> -<p>“Nay,” replied Douglas, with ominous seriousness of aspect. “Yet be it so,” said he, -after a pause; “do thou but listen to my sad humour. Mine attached Lundie doth well -deserve thy care; see that he do meet with that advancement his piety to God and his -devotion to me hath so well merited. And then as for my gallant Archibald, my brave -esquires Hart and Glendinning, and my faithful shield-bearer Hop Pringle, they have -already carved out a shining reputation for themselves; yet do thou never let it be -forgotten that they have been faithful followers of the Douglas.” -</p> -<p>“Canst thou believe that the name of Douglas can ever lose its potent charm?” exclaimed -the Earl of Moray with energy, yet deeply affected; “or canst thou doubt that to me -thy will must ever be a sacred law? But why should we now talk of matters so sad?” -continued he, endeavouring to rally his own spirits as well as those of Douglas; “the -banquet doth abide us in thy pavilion yonder, and the lords and knights of Scotland -do doubtless wait for thee there, in obedience to thine invitation.” -</p> -<p>“I had forgotten,” said Douglas, resuming his usual cheerful countenance. “Let us -then attune our spirits to mirth and joyous manly converse, sith we have discussed -these melancholy themes. Allons, let us to the banquet—such banquet as the rude cookery -of the field may furnish.” -</p> -<p>It was at this time that Rory Spears, having collected a little knot of friends about -him, thus addressed them— -</p> -<p>“Captain MacErchar, and you most worthy esquires, Masters Mortimer Sang and Roger -Riddel, yea, and you, brave Robin Lindsay and Ralpho Proudfoot, and the rest, who -are nobly ettling to rise by your deeds as others hae done afore ye—ahem—panting after -that most honourable honour and dignified dignity of an esquire, I do hereby invite -ye all to go down wi’ me to the baggage-camp and sutlerages, whaur we may find comfortable -and cozy houf in a braw new bigget sodden hostel, yereckit for the accommodation o’ -Dame Margaret MacCleareye’s yill-barrels and yill-customers, and there, at my proper -expense, to eat the bit supper I bid her prepare as I came up the hill, and to drink -till ye hae weel wet the honours, the which, descending on mine unworthy head from -the gallant Hotspur (whose health we shall not fail to drink, albeit we may yet hope -to hae the cleaving o’ his skull), have been approven of by our noble Lord of Douglas, -and by mine especial dear Lord of <span class="pageNum" id="pb444">[<a href="#pb444">444</a>]</span>Moray, for both of whom we are not only bound to drink to the dead, but to fight to -the dead.” -</p> -<p>“Oich, hoich, Maister Spears, surely, surely—he, he, he!” cried MacErchar. -</p> -<p>“Bravo, Master Spears, I shall willingly go with thy squireship,” cried Sang; “nay, -and never trust me an I do not my best honour to thine entertainment.” -</p> -<p>“Squire Spears, I am thine,” cried Roger Riddel; and the rest all heartily joining -in ready acquiescence in his invitation, they followed Rory joyously down the hill -in a body. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch59" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e797">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER LIX.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Battle at Otterbourne.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Rory Spears was presiding with joyous countenance over the supper to which he had -invited his friends—the more solid part of the entertainment had been discussed—and -the ale jug had already performed several revolutions, to the great refreshment and -restoration of the strength of those who partook of it, when the jovial companions -were suddenly disturbed in their revelry by a very unusual cry from some of the sentinels -posted along the line of entrenchment that protected the baggage-camp. The hilarious -esquires and men-at-arms were silenced in the midst of their mirth, and sat looking -at one another with eyes of inquiry. But they sat not long so, for the cry was repeated, -and ran rapidly along the chain of sentinels. -</p> -<p>“By St. Lowry, it’s the English, as I’m a Christian man!” cried Rory Spears. “My troth, -it was maist ceevil of the chields to wait till we had souped; natheless, it erketh -me to think that they carried not their courtesy so far as to permit us to drink but -ae ither can. Yet, by the Rood, we shall have at it. Here, Mrs. MacCleareye—d’ye hear, -guidwife?” -</p> -<p>“Phut, tut!—oich, hoich!—fye, fye, let us awa, Maister Spears,” cried Duncan MacErchar. -“Troth, she’ll no wait for us, the Southron loons.” -</p> -<p>“Hark again,” cried Sang; “by all that is good, they will be in on us in the twinkling -of an eye.” -</p> -<p>“Let’s out on them, then, without further talk,” cried Rory, brandishing his battle-axe. -“Troth, I wad maybe hae had mair mercy on them an they had gi’en us but time for ae -ither stoup; but as it is, let’s at them, my friends, and let them take care o’ their -heads.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb445">[<a href="#pb445">445</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Pay for the supper and yill, Master Spears,” cried Mrs. MacCleareye, thrusting herself -forward. -</p> -<p>“This is no time, woman, to settle sike affairs,” cried Rory. -</p> -<p>“Better now, I trow, than after thou art amortized by the sword o’ some Southron thrust -through thy stomach, Master Spears,” said Mrs. MacCleareye. “Pay to-day, I pray thee, -and have trust to-morrow.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, of a truth, we have no time to stand talking to thee, good woman,” cried Rory -impatiently; “had it been to drink mair yill, indeed, I mought hae tholed it; but, -holy St. Barnabas, an thou dost keep us much longer there will be guests in thy hut -who will drain thy casks without filling thy pockets. Let me past: Rory Spears’ word, -though that of ane esquire only, is as sicker as that o’ the best knight in the land. -Thou shalt be paid after the scrimmage. Nay, I’ll no die, woman, till thou be’st paid, -so fear thee not—and stand out o’ my gate, I tell thee.” -</p> -<p>With a turn of his wrist, Rory shoved Mrs. MacCleareye aside. She was jostled by Sang, -who followed; and her round and rolling person was fairly run down by MacErchar, who -was pressing hastily after them. The rest sprang impetuously over her. The cries now -came more distinctly upon them, mingled with the clash of weapons. -</p> -<p>“The English, the English!—Piersie!—The English!” were the words now distinguishable. -</p> -<p>“To the trenches, my friends; not a moment is to be lost,” cried Mortimer Sang. -</p> -<p>“Blow, blow!” cried Roger Riddel; and Rory putting to his mouth an old hunting bugle -that hung from his shoulder, blew a shrill and potent blast, that awakened the very -echoes of the hills. -</p> -<p>“Let us disperse ourselves through the baggage-lines, and rouse up the wainmen and -varlets, and the other camp followers,” cried Rory Spears, after taking the bugle -from his mouth. -</p> -<p>“Thou art right, Rory,” said Sang; “we may do much to support the guard. Let Riddel, -and I, and some others, hasten to the entrenchments, to keep up spirit among those -who may now be fighting, with the hope of speedy aid, and do thou and the rest quickly -gather what force ye may, and straightway bring them thither. The point of assault -is narrow. If we can keep back the foe, were it but until the main body of the army -be alarmed, should our lives be the forfeit, they would be <span class="pageNum" id="pb446">[<a href="#pb446">446</a>]</span>bravely spent, for we might be the saving of Scotland’s honour this night.” -</p> -<p>“Ralpho Proudfoot, companion of my youth,” cried Robert Lindsay, kindly, “we have -striven together for many a prize; now let our struggle be for glory.” -</p> -<p>“Away, away,” cried Sang; and he and Riddel sprang off to the trenches, followed by -Lindsay and Proudfoot, whilst Rory hied him away at the head of the others, all blowing -their horns, and shouting loudly through the lines, as if the whole Scottish array -had been there, and ready to turn out. The huts were soon deserted. Such as they met -with in their way they collected together, and armed as fast as they could with whatever -weapons lay nearest to hand; and in a very short time these few intelligent and active -heads had assembled a force, neither very numerous nor very well appointed, it is -true, but, when headed by men so determined, amply sufficient to defend a narrow pass -between marches for a considerable time, especially against assailants who were awed -by the conviction, favoured by the darkness, that they were attacking the camp where -the whole Scottish army were lodged. -</p> -<p>While things were in this state in the baggage camp, the banquet in the pavilion of -Lord Douglas was going on with all that quiet and elegant cheerfulness of demeanour -beseeming a party chiefly composed of the very flower of Scottish chivalry. The talk -was of the love of the ladies, and the glories of tilts and tournaments. Sir Patrick -Hepborne was seated between Sir John Halyburton and Sir William de Dalzel. With the -former of these knights he recalled some of the circumstances of their friendly meeting -at Tarnawa, and the Lady Jane de Vaux was not forgotten between them. Sir William -de Dalzel changed the theme to that of the challenge which had passed between the -Lord Welles and Sir David Lindsay. Then Sir David Lindsay himself and several others -joining in the conversation, it gradually became general around the board. Sir William -de Keith, the Marischal of Scotland, displayed his consummate learning on the subject -of such challenges between knights; and Sir John de Gordon, Lord of Strathbolgy; Sir -John Montgomery; Sir Malcolm Drummond, brother-in-law to the Douglas, as well as to -the Scottish champion, who was the person most concerned in the debate; Sir Alexander -Fraser of Cowie, and many others, spoke each of them ably as to particular points. -The Douglas himself then delivered his judgment with clearness and precision, and -the attention with which his words were listened to showed how valuable they were -esteemed by <span class="pageNum" id="pb447">[<a href="#pb447">447</a>]</span>those who heard them. After this topic was exhausted, the Earl was indefatigable in -ministering to the entertainment of his guests by ingeniously drawing forth the powers -of those around him; and his deportment was in every respect so much more than ordinarily -felicitous, and so perfectly seasoned by graceful condescension, that all at table -agreed he never had charmed them more, and that, as he was the hardiest warrior of -all in the field, and the most resistless lance in the lists, so was he by far the -most accomplished and witty chevalier at the festive board. -</p> -<p>The rational happiness of the evening was approaching its height, and the Douglas -was occupying universal attention by something he was saying, when, to the surprise -of every one, he suddenly stopped in the middle of his sentence, and turned up his -ear to listen. -</p> -<p>“Methought I heard a bugle-blast from the baggage lines,” cried he, with a flash in -his eye that denoted the utter extinction of every other thought but that of the enemy. -</p> -<p>“Perdie, I did hear it also,” cried the Earl of Moray; “nor was it strange to me. -Methought I did recognize it for one of Rory Spears’ hunting-mots. He doth feast his -friends to-night at the sutlerage, in honour of his newly-acquired squireship; so, -peraunter, he doth give them music with their ale.” -</p> -<p>“Ha, heard ye that?” cried several of the knights at once. -</p> -<p>“Nay, there be more performers than one there,” cried the Douglas, rising quickly -to gain the outside of the pavilion, whilst the whole of the knights crowded after -him. -</p> -<p>“’Tis dark as a sightless pit,” cried some of them. -</p> -<p>“Yea,” cried the Earl of Douglas; “but dost thou see those lights that hurry about -yonder? Trust me, there is some stirring cause for the quickness of their motions.” -</p> -<p>“Hark ye, I hear distant and repeated cries,” said the Earl of Dunbar. “Hark, a horse -comes galloping up the hill. Hear ye how he snorts and blows? I’ll warrant the rider -hath hot news to tell.” -</p> -<p>“The English!—the English in the baggage-camp!—Piersie and the English!” cried the -rough voice of a wainman, who made towards the light in the pavilion, mounted on a -bare-backed and unharnessed wain-horse, that heaved its great sides as if it would -have burst them. -</p> -<p>“Arm, arm, chevaliers,” cried the Douglas in a voice like thunder; “arm ye in haste, -and turn out your brave bands without a moment’s let. Mine arms—mine arms, my faithful -esquires. My horse, my horse!” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb448">[<a href="#pb448">448</a>]</span></p> -<p>All was now hurry, bustle, and jostling; cries, orders, oaths, and execrations arose -everywhere. Horses were neighing, and steel was clashing, and every one tried to buckle -on his armour as fast as he could. Meanwhile Douglas, with Moray near him, stood calm -and undismayed, putting one question after another rapidly to the varlet who brought -the alarm, until he had gained all the information he could expect from him. -</p> -<p>“By the Rood, but thy new esquire Rory Spears hath well demeaned himself, brother -Moray,” said Douglas. “He and those with him have done that the which shall much avail -us if we but bestir ourselves. Let us arm then, and get the line formed. I did well -mark the ground, my friend. By skirting the woods upon our right, and if the moon -will but keep below the hill-tops long enow, we shall steal down unseen upon the enemy, -and pour out our vengeance on his defenceless flank. May St. Andrew grant that thy -gallant squire may but keep his own until then. Haste, haste, Glendinning. Where is -Robert Hop Pringle, my brave shield-bearer? Haste thee, Hart, mine arms and my horse. -Ha, Archibald,” cried he to a young man of noble carriage who was passing him at the -moment; “get thee my standard, my son; thou shalt bear my <i>jamais arriere</i> to-night. Part with it not for thy life; and bastard though thou be’st, show thyself -at least to be no counterfeit Douglas. Quit it not even in death, boy.” -</p> -<p>From time to time the shouts of the combatants now came faintly up the hill-side, -and hurried those hands that were busily engaged in arming, so that many a buckle -was put awry, and many a tag was left to hang loose. The Douglas staid not to complete -his harnessing, but sprang into his saddle ere he was half armed, while Lord Moray -rode away to his post without discovering that he had forgotten to put his helmet -on. -</p> -<p>The night still continued extremely dark, and had not Lord Douglas taken accurate -note of the ground below him whilst the light of the sun had shone upon it, he must -have found it almost impracticable to have led his men on, notwithstanding that his -ears were admonished by the din of the distant skirmish, and the discordant braying -of at least five hundred bullocks’ horns, blown by the varlets and wainmen who were -not engaged; for such were in those days always carried by the Scottish soldiers, -and Rory Spears had taken care that all who could not fight should at least blow, -that the extent of their force might appear the greater to the enemy. -</p> -<p>The Douglas conducted his little army with great silence and circumspection through -the skirting brushwood; and it so <span class="pageNum" id="pb449">[<a href="#pb449">449</a>]</span>happened, that just as he approached the place of action, the full-orbed moon arose -to run her peaceful and majestic course through a clear and cloudless sky, throwing -a mimic day over the scene. Loud shouts arose from the powerful army of the English, -for now they began to comprehend the actual situation of their affairs; and making -one bold and determined charge, they burst at once through the whole breadth of the -entrenchments, overwhelming all who attempted to stand before them. Now it was that -the Scottish Earl gave the word to his men, and just as the English were pushing rapidly -on towards the slope of the high ground where the Scottish camp hung glittering in -the moonbeam, driving a handful of brave men before them, who were still fighting -as they retired, the shout of “Douglas!—Douglas!—Scotland!—Scotland!—Douglas!—<i>Jamais arriere?</i>” ascended to Heaven, and the determined Scots poured from their covert out upon the -open plain, and rushed against the troops of Piersie. -</p> -<p>Confounded by this unexpected charge from an enemy whom they expected to find asleep -in their tents, the English army was driven back in considerable dismay. Then might -Harry Piersie and his brother Sir Rafe have been seen flying from standard to standard -vainly endeavouring to rally their men; but it was not until they had been driven -into the open ground that they could succeed in stopping what almost amounted to a -flight. -</p> -<p>“What, Englishmen—is this your mettle?” cried Hotspur with vehemence. “Fly, then, -cowards, and leave Harry Piersie to die. He may not outlive this disgrace on the standards -of St. George.” -</p> -<p>These upbraiding words had the effect of checking their panic, and gave them time -to observe the comparatively small body to whom they were so basely yielding. The -two brothers quickly restored the battle by their daring example. Deafening cheers -arose, shouts of “Piersie” and “St. George” being loudly mingled with them; and a -fresh and very impetuous onset was made, that drove the Scottish troops entirely through -their entrenchments. The struggle was now tremendous, and the clash of the Scottish -axes was terrific; but, although the success of the English wavered a little now and -then, yet the weight of their mass was so very superior, that the Scottish army lost -ground inch by inch, till, after a long contest, the Piersie found himself almost -at the Scottish tents. -</p> -<p>“Piersie!—Piersie!—The pennon of the Piersie!” cried he, shrieking with the wildest -joy, and sanguine with the hope of <span class="pageNum" id="pb450">[<a href="#pb450">450</a>]</span>success; while backed by a band of his choicest warriors, he made a bold dash towards -the standard of Scotland, that stood before the pavilion of Douglas, with the pennon -beside it. The Douglas was at that time fighting in another part of the field, where -the press against his men was greatest. The Earls of Moray and Dunbar were bravely -striving to withstand the numbers that came against the respective wings they commanded, -supported by Montgomery, Keith, Fraser, and many others. Assueton, though but half -recovered from the bruise he had received at Newcastle, and Halyburton, Lindsay, and -some others were doing their best to resist the tide of the English in those parts -of the battle where fortune had thrown them. Sir William de Dalzel had been carried -to his tent grievously wounded to the loss of an eye; and already had the brave Sir -Malcolm Drummond, and the gallant Sir John de Gordon, Lord of Strathbolgy, fallen, -covered by glorious wounds. Yet was not the standard of Scotland, nor the Piersie’s -captive pennon, left altogether undefended; for before them stood the dauntless Sir -Patrick Hepborne of Hailes the elder, with his son by his side, backed by a small -but resolute band of their own immediate dependents. -</p> -<p>“My brave boy,” cried the elder knight, “trust me there is nowhere in the field a -more honourable spot of earth to die on than that where we do now stand.” -</p> -<p>“Then we quit it not with life, my father, save to drive the Piersie before us,” cried -his son. -</p> -<p>“Piersie—Piersie!—Piersie’s pennon!—Hotspur’s pennon!” cried those who came furiously -on to attack them. -</p> -<p>The father and the son, with their little phalanx, remained immovable, and, receiving -them on the point of their lances, an obstinate and bloody contest took place. Harry -Piersie and his brother fought for the fame of their proud house, and their eager -shouts were heard over all the other battle cries, as well as above the clashing of -the weapons and the shrieking of the agonized wounded, as they were trodden under -foot and crushed to death by the press; but the bulwark of lion hearts that defended -the standard was too impregnable to be broken through. Piersie’s men already began -to slacken in their attack, and to present a looser and wider circle to the Scottish -band; and now the elder Sir Patrick Hepborne, seeing his time, and eager to catch -his advantage, brandished a battle-axe, and his son following his example, they joined -in the cry of “A Hepborne, a Hepborne!” and charged the enemy so furiously at the -head of their men, that Piersie and his followers were driven down the <span class="pageNum" id="pb451">[<a href="#pb451">451</a>]</span>slope with immense slaughter. The axes of the bold knight and his son never fell without -the sacrifice of an English life. “A Hepborne, a Hepborne!” they cried from time to -time, and “A Hepborne, a Hepborne!” was returned to them from those who ran together -to their banner; and yet more and more of the English line gave way before the accumulating -aid that crowded after Sir Patrick and his son, who went on gradually recovering the -lost ground, by working prodigies of valour. -</p> -<p>Whilst the Hepbornes were so manfully exerting their prowess in one part of the field, -the Douglas was toiling to support the battle where it was most hopeless. The great -force of the enemy had been accidentally directed to the point where he fought, although -they knew not against whom they were moving. The dense body opposed to him so encumbered -him, that his men were unable to stand before it, and defeat seemed to be inevitable. -Finding himself hampered on horseback, he retired a little back, and leaping from -his horse, and summoning up his gigantic strength, he seized an iron mace, so ponderous, -that even to have lifted it would have been a toil for almost any other individual -in the field, and, swinging it round his head, he threw himself amidst the thickest -of the foe, bearing ruin and death along with him. At every stroke of the tremendous -engine he whirled whole ranks of the English were levelled before him, like grass -by the scythe of the mower; and he strode over the dead and dying, down a broad lane -cleared through the densest battalions that were opposed to him. Terror seized upon -the English, and they began to give back before him. On he rushed after their receding -steps, reaping a wide and terrible harvest of death, and strewing the plain with the -victims of his matchless courage and Herculean strength. From time to time he was -hardily opposed for a few minutes by small bodies of the enemy, that closed together -to meet the coming storm, unconscious of its tremendous nature. But his resistless -arm bore away all before it, until, encountering a column of great depth and impenetrability, -the hero was transfixed by no less than three spears at once. -</p> -<p>One entered his shoulder between the plates of his epaulière; another, striking on -his breast-plate, glanced downwards, and pierced his belly; and the third easily penetrated -his thigh, which in his haste had been left without the cuisse. For a moment did the -wounded Douglas writhe desperately on the lance shafts, to rid himself of their iron -heads, which had so suddenly arrested his destructive progress. But fate had decreed -that his glorious career should be terminated. He received <span class="pageNum" id="pb452">[<a href="#pb452">452</a>]</span>a severe blow on the head; his muscles, so lately full of strength and energy of volition, -now refused to obey his will, and he sank to the ground borne down by those who had -wounded him, and who knew not how noble and how precious that life’s blood was, to -which they had opened so many yawning passages of escape. -</p> -<p>His brother-in-law, Sir David Lindsay, and John and Walter Saintclaires, ever the -tried friends of the Douglas, and a few others who had been fighting along with him -before he thus plunged from their sight into the midst of his foes, took advantage -of the terror which his onset had occasioned, and followed bravely in his course, -until accident led them to fall in with the stream of victorious Scots who were pouring -onwards under the triumphant Hepbornes. Recognizing each other, and joining together -with loud cheers they swept away all that ventured to oppose them. They had cleared -the plain ground of the enemy for several bowshots before them; the English battalions -had been thinned and dispersed over the ground, and the Scottish troops were urging -after them without order, when Sir Patrick Hepborne the younger, with Lindsay and -the Saintclaires, who were pushing forward together, saw before them the brave and -good Richard Lundie, sorely wounded, yet boldly bestriding the body of a warrior, -and dealing death with a battle-axe to every Englishman who ventured to approach within -his circle. Those who still contended with him quickly fled at their approach, and -then, to their great grief, they discovered that it was the noble Douglas that lay -weltering in his blood. He had not fallen alone, for his faithful esquires, Simon -Glendinning and Robert Hart, lay near him both covered with mortal wounds, and already -lifeless, surrounded by heaps of the slaughtered foe. His gallant natural son, too, -the handsome Archibald Douglas, faithful to the trust reposed in him, though severely -wounded, and bleeding helplessly on the grass, still held his banner with the grasp -of death. -</p> -<p>“How fares it with thee, Lord Douglas?” cried Sir John Saintclaire, overwhelmed with -grief at the sad spectacle before him, and hastening to assist the others in raising -him up. -</p> -<p>“Well, right well, I trow, my good friends,” replied Douglas feebly, “seeing that -I die thus, like all my ancestors, in the field of fame. But let not the death of -Douglas be known, for ‘a dead man shall yet gain a glorious field.’ Hide me, then, -I pray thee, in yonder brake; let some one rear my standard, the <i>jamais arriere</i> of the Douglas, and let my war-cry be set up, and I promise that ye shall well revenge -my death.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb453">[<a href="#pb453">453</a>]</span></p> -<p>By this time the English, who had been driven for several bowshots beyond that part -of the field where the Earl of Douglas had fallen, were now rallying under the heroic -efforts of the Hotspur, who, aided by his brother, was again cheering them on to the -charge. The Scottish troops began again to give ground before their superior force, -and were already retreating in numbers past the group who were occupied about the -dying hero. They saw the immediate necessity of conveying him away while the ground -was yet clear of the enemy, and Lundie, Lindsay, and the two Saintclaires hastened -to obey his injunctions. He uttered not a word of complaint to tell of the agonizing -tortures he felt whilst they were removing him. They laid him on a mossy bank among -the long ferns, in the closest part of the thicket. Then he took their hands in succession, -squeezing them with affection, and when he had thus taken leave of Lindsay and the -two Saintclaires— -</p> -<p>“Go,” said he faintly to them, “ye have done all for the Douglas that humanity or -friendship might require of ye; go, for Scotland lacketh the aid of your arms. Leave -me with Lundie; ’tis meeter for his hand to close the eyes of his dying lord.” -</p> -<p>The brave knights looked their last upon him, covered their eyes and stole silently -away from a scene that entirely unmanned them. Lundie took out a silver crucifix, -and, bending over the Douglas, held it up under a stream of moonlight that broke downwards -through an opening in the thick foliage above them. -</p> -<p>“I see it, Lundie,” said Douglas; “I see the image of my blessed Redeemer. My sins -have been many, but thou art already possessed of them all. My soul doth fix herself -on Him, in sincere repentance, and in the strong hope of mercy through His merits.” -</p> -<p>The affectionate Lundie knelt by the Earl’s side, and whilst his own wounds bled copiously, -his tears were dropping fast on his dying master. -</p> -<p>“I know thine inmost heart, Lord Douglas,” said he in a voice oppressed by his grief; -“thy hopes of Heaven may indeed be strong. Hast thou aught of worldly import to command -me?” -</p> -<p>“Margaret,” said Douglas in a voice scarcely audible, “my dearest Margaret! Tell Moray -to forget not our last private converse; and do thou—do thou tell my wife that my -last thought, my last word was—Margaret!” -</p> -<p>His countenance began to change as Lundie gazed intently <span class="pageNum" id="pb454">[<a href="#pb454">454</a>]</span>on it under the moonbeam. The weeping chaplain hastily pronounced the absolution, -administered the consecrated wafer from a casket in his pocket, and performed the -last religious duties bestowed upon the dying, and the heroic spirit of the Douglas -took its flight to Heaven. -</p> -<p>The grief of Lindsay and the Saintclaires subdued them only whilst they beheld the -noble Douglas dying. No sooner had they left the thicket where he lay, than, burning -with impatience to revenge his death, they hurried to the field. The younger Sir Patrick -Hepborne had already reared his fallen standard, and shouts of “Douglas! Douglas! -<i>Jamais arriere!</i>—A Douglas! a Douglas!” cleft the very skies. At this moment the English were gaining -ground upon the Scottish centre, but this animating cry not only checked their retreat, -but brought aid to them from all quarters. Believing that the Douglas was still fighting -in person, down came the Earl of Moray, with Montgomery, Keith, the Lord Saltoun, -Sir Thomas Erskine, Sir John Sandilands, and many others, and the shouts of “Douglas, -Douglas!” being repeated with tenfold enthusiasm, the charge against the English was -so resistless that they yielded before Scotland in every direction. Bravely was the -banner of Douglas borne by the gallant Hepborne, who took care that it should be always -seen among the thickest of the foes, well aware that the respect that was paid to -it would always ensure it the close attendance of a glorious band of knights as its -defenders. As he was pressing furiously on, he suddenly encountered an English knight, -on whom his vigorous arm, heated by indiscriminate slaughter, was about to descend. -The knight had lost his casque in the battle; the moon shed its radiance over a head -of snow-white hair, and an accidental demivolt of his horse bringing his countenance -suddenly into view, he beheld Sir Walter de Selby. -</p> -<p>“I thank God and the Virgin that thou art saved, old man,” cried Hepborne, dropping -his battle-axe “oh, why art thou here? Had I been the innocent cause of thy death——” -</p> -<p>He would have said more, and he would moreover have staid to see him in safety. But -the press came thick at the moment, and they were torn asunder; so that Hepborne, -losing all sight of him in the melée, was compelled to look to himself. -</p> -<p>And now, “A Douglas, a Douglas!” continued to run through the field, and the English, -thrown into complete confusion, were driven through the baggage-camp at the place -they had first entered, flying before the Scottish forces. Hotspur alone stood to -defend his brother, who was lying on the ground grievously <span class="pageNum" id="pb455">[<a href="#pb455">455</a>]</span>wounded. Harry Piersie had abandoned his horse, and was standing over Sir Rafe, fighting -bravely against a crowd of Scottish men-at-arms, when Sir Hugh Montgomery, Sir John -Maxwell, and Sir William de Keith came up. -</p> -<p>“Yield thee,” said Sir Hugh Montgomery, “yield thee, noble Hotspur. God wot, it were -bitter grief to see so brave a heart made cold.” -</p> -<p>“And who art thou who would have the Hotspur yield?” cried Piersie. -</p> -<p>“I trust, Sir Harry Piersie, that to yield thee to Sir Hugh Montgomery will do thee -as little dishonour as may be,” replied the Scottish Knight; “yield thee, then, rescue -or no rescue.” -</p> -<p>“I do so yield to thee and fate, Sir Hugh Montgomery,” said Hotspur; “but let my brother -Rafe here have quick attendance, his wounds do well out sorely, and his steel boots -run over with his blood.” -</p> -<p>“Let him be prisoner to these gentlemen,” said Sir Hugh, turning to Keith and Maxwell, -“and let us straightway convoy him to the Scottish camp.” -</p> -<p>The flying English were now driven far and wide, and day began to break ere the pursuit -slackened. Among those who followed the chase most vehemently was Sir David Lindsay. -Infuriated by the loss of the hero to whom he was so devoted, he seemed to be insatiable -in his vengeance. Whilst he was galloping after the flying foe at sunrise, the rays, -as they shot over the eastern hill, were sent back with dazzling splendour from the -gold-embossed armour of a knight who had stopped at some distance before him to slake -his thirst at a fountain. He was in the act of springing into the saddle as Lindsay -approached; but the Scottish warrior believing, from the richness of his armour, that -he was some one of noble blood, pushed after him so hard, and gained so much upon -him, that he was nearly within reach of him with his lance-point. -</p> -<p>“Turn, Sir Knight,” cried Lindsay. “It is a shame thus to flee. I am Sir David Lindsay. -By St. Andrew, an thou turn not, I must strike thee through with my lance.” -</p> -<p>But the English knight halted not; on the contrary, he only pricked on the more furiously, -and Lindsay’s keenness being but the more excited, he followed him at full gallop -for more than a league, until at last the English knight’s horse, which had shot considerably -ahead of his, suddenly foundered under him. The rider instantly sprang to his legs, -and drew out his sword to defend himself. -</p> -<p>“I scorn to take unfair vantage of thee, Sir Knight,” said <span class="pageNum" id="pb456">[<a href="#pb456">456</a>]</span>Lindsay, dismounting from his horse, when he came up to him, and throwing down his -lance and seizing a small battle-axe that hung at his sadle-bow, he ran at the English -knight, and a well-contested single combat ensued between them. But the weight of -Lindsay’s weapon was too much for the sword of the Englishman; and after their strokes -had rung on each other’s arms for a time, and that the Scot had bestowed some blows -so heavy that the plates of the mail began to give way under them— -</p> -<p>“I yield me, Sir David Lindsay,” cried the English knight, breathless and ready to -sink with fatigue; “I yield me, rescue or no rescue.” -</p> -<p>“Ha,” replied Lindsay, “’tis well. And whom, I pray thee, mayest thou be who has cost -me so long a chase, and contest so tough, ere I could master thee?” -</p> -<p>“I am Sir Matthew Redman, Governor of Berwick,” replied the English knight. -</p> -<p>“Gramercy, Sir Governor,” said Sir David Lindsay; “sit thee down, then, with me on -this bank, and let us talk a while. We seem to be both of us somewhat toil-spent with -this encounter, yea, and thy grey destrier and my roan do seem to have had enow on’t -as well as their masters. Behold how they feed most peaceably together.” -</p> -<p>“Let us then imitate their example, good Sir Knight of Scotland,” said Sir Matthew -Redman. “I have a small wallet here, with some neat’s tongue, and some delicate white -bread; and this leathern bottle, though it be small, hath a cordial in it that would -put life into a dead man.” -</p> -<p>The two foes, who had so lately endeavoured to work each other’s death, sat down quietly -together and silently partook of the refreshment, and then alternately applying the -little leathern flask to their lips, they talked in friendly guise of the result of -the battle. -</p> -<p>“And now, Sir David of Lindsay,” said Redman, “I am thy prisoner, and bound to obey -thy will. But I have ever heard thee named as a courteous knight, the which doth embolden -me to make thee a proposal. I have a certain lady at Newcastle, whom I do much love, -and would fain see. If thy generosity may extend so far, I shall be much beholden -to thee if thou wilt suffer me to go thither, to assure her of my safety, and to bid -her adieu; on which I do swear to thee, on the word of a knight, that I will render -myself to thee in Scotland within fifteen days hence.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, now I do see, Sir Matthew,” said Lindsay archly—<span class="pageNum" id="pb457">[<a href="#pb457">457</a>]</span>“now I do see right well why thou didst ride so hard from the field; but I am content -to grant thee thy request; nay, if thou dost promise me, on the faith of a knight, -to present thyself to me at Edinburgh within three weeks from the present time, it -is enow.” -</p> -<p>“I do so promise,” replied Redman. And so shaking hands together, each took his horse -and mounted to pursue his own way. -</p> -<p>By this time a thick morning mist had settled down on the face of the country, and -Lindsay had hardly well parted from the prisoner ere he perceived that he had lost -his way. As he was considering how he should recover it, he beheld a considerable -body of horsemen approaching, and believing them to be some of the Scottish army who -had pushed on thus far in the pursuit, he rode up to them with very great joy; but -what was his surprise when he found himself in the midst of some three or four hundred -English lances! -</p> -<p>“Who art thou, Sir Knight?” cried the leader, who, though clad in armour, yet wore -certain Episcopal badges about him that mightily puzzled the Scottish knight. -</p> -<p>“I am Sir David Lindsay,” replied he; “but whom mayest thou be, I pray thee?” -</p> -<p>“I am the Bishop of Durham,” replied the other; “thus far am I come to give mine aid -to the Piersie.” -</p> -<p>“Thine aid cometh rather of the latest, Sir Bishop,” replied Lindsay; “for, certes, -his army is routed with great slaughter, and he and his brother Sir Rafe are prisoners -in the Scottish camp.” -</p> -<p>“I have heard as much already from some of those who fled,” replied the Bishop: “<i lang="la">Quæ utilitas in sanguine meo?</i> what good would my being killed do my cousins the Piersie? Now I do haste me back -again to Newcastle; but thou must bear me company, Sir David.” -</p> -<p>“Sith thou dost say so, my sacred Lord,” replied Sir David, “I must of needscost obey -thee, for, backed as thou art, I dare not say thee nay. Such is the strange fortune -of war.” -</p> -<p>Sir David now rode towards Newcastle with the Bishop, and soon overtook the large -army which he commanded that was now returning thither. After being fairly lodged -within the walls of the town, the Bishop treated him with the utmost kindness and -hospitality, and left him to wander about at his own discretion, rather like a guest -than a prisoner. The place was filled with mourning and lamentation, and every now -and then fresh stragglers, who had fled from the field of Otterbourne, were dropping -in to tell new tales of the grievous loss and mortifying <span class="pageNum" id="pb458">[<a href="#pb458">458</a>]</span>disgrace which had befallen the English arms. Murmurs began to rise against the Bishop -because he had not proceeded against the Scots, and attempted the rescue of the Piersies. -At all events, he might have revenged their loss. The Bishop himself, too, began to -be somewhat ashamed that he should have retired so easily, and without so much as -looking on the Scottish army. At last he consented to summon a council of war, and -in it he was persuaded, by the importunity of the knights and esquires who were present, -to order immediate proclamation for the assembling of his army, consisting of ten -thousand men, to march long before sunrise. -</p> -<p>“Verily, our foes shall be consumed,” said the Bishop, his courage rising. “<i lang="la">Si consistent adversum me castra non timebit cor meum.</i> Let the whole Scottish force be there, yet will my heart be bold for the encounter.” -</p> -<p>After the council of war, the Bishop introduced Sir David Lindsay to the guests who -filled his house. The Scottish knight, so closely connected with the Douglas, was -courteously received by the English chevaliers, who, though much cast down in reality -by the failure of the Piersies’ attempt, did their best to assume an air of gaiety -before him. They vied with one another who should show him greatest kindness. Many -were the questions put to him about the fate of the Douglas, but he was too cautious -to say anything that could lead them to believe that he had fallen. -</p> -<p>The ladies crowded around him to satisfy their curiosity about the particulars of -the battle, and he answered them with becoming gallantry. Among those who so addressed -him was a lady in a veil, who hung pensively on the arm of the Bishop, and whose figure -bespoke her young and handsome. After some general conversation with him, during which -she endeavoured to ascertain from him all that he knew as to what English knights -had been killed or taken— -</p> -<p>“Sir Knight,” said she, with a half-suppressed sigh, “I have heard of a certain brave -chevalier of Scotland who did distinguish himself in France, Sir Patrick Hepborne, -the younger of that name. Was he in the bloody field? and hath he escaped unhurt, -I pray thee?” -</p> -<p>“I do well know him, lady,” replied Sir David Lindsay. “To him, and to his gallant -father, was chiefly due the gaining of the glorious victory the Scots did yesternight -achieve over the bravest army that did ever take the field. I saw him safe ere I left -the fight. Proud might he be, I ween, to be so inquired after by one so lovely as -thou art.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb459">[<a href="#pb459">459</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Nay,” said the lady, in some confusion, “I do but inquire to satisfy the curiosity -of a friend.” And so saying, she retreated towards the protection of the Bishop of -Durham, who seemed to take an especial charge of her. -</p> -<p>Sir David Lindsay, for his part, to avoid being annoyed by further questions, retired -within the deep recess of a Gothic window, where he sat brooding over the untimely -fate of the Douglas, and weeping inwardly at the blow that Scotland had sustained -by his loss. He was awakened from his reverie by a friendly tap on the shoulder. -</p> -<p>“Ha, Sir Matthew Redman!” said Lindsay, looking up with surprise. -</p> -<p>“Sir David de Lindsay!” cried Redman, with signs of still greater astonishment; “what, -in the name of the holy St. Cuthbert, dost thou make here at Newcastle? Hath my cordial -bottle bewildered thy brain so, that thou hast fancied that it was I who took thee, -not thou who took me? Did I not promise thee, on the word of a knight, to go to thee -at Edinburgh? and thinkest thou that I would not have kept my word?” -</p> -<p>“Yea, Sir Matthew,” replied Lindsay, “I have full faith in thine honour; but I believe -there may now be little need that thou shouldst journey so far, or make to me any -fynaunce; for no sooner hadst thou parted from me than I did fall into the hands of -His Grace the Lord Bishop of Durham, who hath brought me hither as his prisoner; and -if ye be so content, I do rather think we shall make an exchange, one for the other, -if it may so please the Bishop.” -</p> -<p>“God wot how gladly I shall do so,” replied Redman, shaking him cordially by the hand; -“but, by my troth, thou shalt not go hence until thou hast partaken of my hospitality; -so thou shalt dine with me to-day, yea, and to-morrow alswa; and then we shall talk -anon with the Bishop, after which thou shalt have good safe-conduct for Scotland; -nay, I shall myself be thy guard over the Marches, yea, and moreover, give thee hearty -cheer in mine own good town of Berwick as thou dost pass thither.” -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch60" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e807">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER LX.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Bishop’s Army—Sorrow for the Fate of the Heroic Douglas.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The two brothers, the Earls of Dunbar and Moray, were now <span class="pageNum" id="pb460">[<a href="#pb460">460</a>]</span>left to command the Scottish army after the afflicting death of the Earl of Douglas. -Deeply as they grieved for him, they had but little leisure for mourning, since every -succeeding moment brought them in harassing rumours that the Bishop of Durham was -coming against them with a great army. During the whole of the day succeeding the -battle, and of the night which followed it, they were so kept on the alert that they -could even do but little to succour the wounded or bury the dead. The prisoners, however, -among whom were many renowned knights, besides the two Piersies, were treated with -all that chivalric courtesy and hospitality for which the age was so remarkable. Sir -Rafe was immediately despatched in a litter to Alnwick, that he might have the benefit -of such careful treatment as might be most likely to cure the many and severe wounds -he had received. -</p> -<p>After various false alarms, the second morning after the battle brought back the scouts, -who had been sent to follow the flying enemy, and to gather what intelligence they -might in the neighbourhood of Newcastle. By these men they were informed of the proclamation -which had been made in the town, and of the proposed march of the Bishop of Durham’s -large army. A council of war was immediately held, and the opinion was unanimous that -they should remain where they were to receive the Bishop in their present position, -which they had already proved to be so favourable for successful defence against superior -numbers, rather than march harassed as they were with a number of wounded and prisoners, -and with the risk of being overtaken in unfavourable ground. They accordingly hastened -to strengthen themselves in the best way they could; and, as they had but little time -for a choice of plans, they piled up an abattis, formed of the dead bodies of the -slain, on the top of the broken rampart that stretched across between the flanking -marches, and defended the entrance to their position. -</p> -<p>Before the enemy appeared, a very serious question arose for the consideration of -the leaders. Their prisoners amounted to above a thousand, and what was to be done -with them? To have put them to death would have been so barbarous that such an idea -could not be entertained for a moment in such times; yet, as their number was nearly -equal to half their little army, the danger they ran from their breaking loose upon -them during the fight, and even turning the tide of battle against them, was sufficiently -apparent to every one. At length, after much debate and deliberation, it was generally -resolved to trust them. They were accordingly drawn up in the centre of the camp, -and an <span class="pageNum" id="pb461">[<a href="#pb461">461</a>]</span>oath administered to them that they should not stir from the spot during the ensuing -battle, and that, be the result what it might, they should still consider themselves -as prisoners to Scotland. After this solemnity, they left them slenderly guarded by -some of the varlets and wainmen, with perfect confidence that they would keep their -oath. -</p> -<p>Then it was that the Earl of Dunbar thus encouraged his soldiers, after having drawn -them up behind their lines. -</p> -<p>“My brave Scots,” said he, “ye who have hardly yet well breathed sith that ye did -conquer the renowned Piersies of Northumberland, can have little fear, I trow, to -encounter a mitred priest. Verily, though his host be great, it will be but two strokes -when both shepherd and sheep will be dispersed, and we shall teach this pastoral knight -that it were better for him to be a scourger of schoolboy urchins with birchen rods -than to essay thus, with the sword, to do battle against bearded soldiers.” -</p> -<p>This speech was received with shouts by the little army to which it was addressed, -and, “Douglas, Douglas! revenge our brave, our beloved Douglas!” was heard to break -from every part of the line. The two Earls had hardly completed their preparations, -when the approach of the Bishop of Durham’s army was announced. Orders were immediately -issued for each soldier to blow the horn he carried, and the loud and discordant sound -of these rude and variously-toned instruments being re-echoed and multiplied from -the hills, was distinctly audible at several miles’ distance. It rung in the ears of the Bishop, and very much appalled him. Had it not been for a spice -of shame he felt, he would have been disposed to have gone no farther; but the knights -and esquires who were with him were still sanguine in their hopes of successfully -attacking, with so large a force, the small army of the Scots, wasted as it was by -the recent bloody engagement. -</p> -<p>“Verily, it is a sinful thing to trust in the arm of flesh,” said the Bishop, growing -paler and paler. “Who knoweth what may be the issue of the battle? Trust not in numbers. -<i lang="la">Non salvatur rex per multam virtutem</i>; even the bravery of a Bishop shall not always win the fight. <i lang="la">Gigas non salvabitur in <span class="corr" id="xd31e6042" title="Source: mul titudine">multitudine</span> virtutis suæ</i>; even the courage of the greatest of Churchmen shall not always prevail. <i lang="la">Fallax equus ad salutem</i>; a horse is counted but a vain thing to save a man. St. Cuthbert grant,” ejaculated -he in a lower tone—“St. Cuthbert grant that our steeds may be preserved.” -</p> -<p>The Bishop, however, dissembling his feelings as well as he <span class="pageNum" id="pb462">[<a href="#pb462">462</a>]</span>could, continued to advance in good order until he came within sight of the Scots; -when, beholding the strength of their position, and the horrible bulwark of defence -they had constructed with the heaps of the dead bodies of the English whom they had -already sacrificed, and listening to their wild shrieks of defiance, mingled with -the increased sound of their horns, his blood froze within him, and he halted to reason -with those who had been so prone to attack the foe. But opinions had been mightily -changed in the course of a mile’s march. The knights and esquires, who had been lately -so bold, now listened with becoming patience to the prudent arguments of their reverend -leader; and when, after a considerable halt, and holding a communication with the -Castle of Otterbourne, the Bishop did at last give the word for his army to retreat, -there was not a single voice lifted in condemnation of the movement. -</p> -<p>When it was fully ascertained in the Scottish army that the retrograde march of the -English was no manœuvre, but a genuine retreat, a strong guard of observation was -planted, and orders were given to proceed with the sad duty, already too long neglected, -of collecting such of the wounded as had lain miserably on the plain, without food -or attention, ever since they had fallen. Parties were also appointed to bury the -dead. -</p> -<p>The body of the heroic Douglas had never been deserted by the affectionate Lundie, -who, though himself grievously wounded, sat watching it by the thicket where he died, -until the termination of the battle and the break of day enabled the Saintclaires, -the Earl of Moray, and the Hepbornes, to come to his aid. Then was his honoured corpse -carried to the camp; but it was not till after the departure of the Bishop of Durham, -that the Earls of Moray and Dunbar, accompanied by the whole chivalry of the Scottish -army, met together at night in the pavilion of the Douglas. There—sad contrast to -the happy night which they had so lately spent in the same place, under the cheering -influence of his large, mild, and benignant eye!—they came to behold his body laid -out in state. It was attended, even in death, by those who had never abandoned him -in life. By the side of his bier lay his brave son Archibald, who had so well fulfilled -his last injunctions. At his feet were stretched his two faithful esquires, who had -so nobly perished with their master. Near them stood Robert Hop Pringle, leaning on -the Douglas’s shield, who, having been separated from him in the thickest press, had -fought like a lion, vainly searching for him through the field, and who now looked -with an eye of mingled grief and envy on his comrades. Richard Lundie too was there, -wounded <span class="pageNum" id="pb463">[<a href="#pb463">463</a>]</span>as he was, to perform a solemn service for that soul with which he had long held the -closest and dearest converse. The place was dimly illuminated by the red glare of -numerous torches, held by some hardy soldiers, who, though formed of the coarsest -human clay, were yet unable to look towards the bier where lay the body of their brave -commander, whose fearless heart had so often led them on to glory, without the big -tears running down the furrows of their weather-beaten cheeks. Those who were tempered -of finer mould, and whose rank had brought them into closer contact with the Douglas, -and, above all, those whom strict friendship had bound to him, though they struggled -hard to bear up like men, were forced to yield to the feelings that oppressed them. -So overpowering indeed was the scene that Harry Piersie himself, who had craved permission -to be present, wept tears of unfeigned sorrow over the remains of him who had been -so lately his noble rival in the field of fame. “Douglas,” said he with a quivering -lip that marked the intensity of his feelings, “what would I not give to see that -lofty brow of thine again illumined with the radiant sunshine of thy godlike soul? -Accursed be my folly—accursed be my foolish pride! Would that the curtailment of half -the future life of Hotspur could be given to restore and eke out thine! God wot how -joyously he would now make the willing sacrifice. Thou hast not left thy peer in chivalry, -and even Hotspur’s glory must wane for lack of thee to contend with.” -</p> -<p>This generous speech of the noble Piersie deeply affected all present. Sir Patrick -Hepborne stole silently out of the tent to give way to his emotions in private, and -to breathe the invigorating breeze of the evening, that sported among the dewy furze -and the wild thyme that grew on the side of the hill. The moon was by this time up. -Hepborne looked over the lower ground, that was now widely lighted up by her beams, -where the furious and deadly strife had so lately raged, and where all was now comparatively -still. The only signs of human life—and they spoke volumes for its folly, its frailty, -and its insignificance—were the few torches that were here and there seen straggling -about, carried by those who were creeping silently to and fro, over the field of the -dead, looking for the bodies of their friends. -</p> -<p>Hepborne’s heart was already sufficiently attuned to sadness; and it led him to descend -the slope before him, that he might be a spectator of the melancholy scene. As he -wandered about from one busy group to another, he met his esquire, Mortimer Sang, -who, so actively engaged at the beginning of <span class="pageNum" id="pb464">[<a href="#pb464">464</a>]</span>the battle, had fortunately escaped, covered indeed with wounds of little importance -in themselves. His friend Roger Riddel, who had been a good deal hurt, but who had -been also fortunate enough to survive an attack where it appeared almost impossible -that a mouse could have escaped with life, was with him. They were employed in the -pious duty of looking for some of their friends who had not appeared. After they had -turned over many an unknown and nameless corpse, and many a body whose face had been -familiar to them, on each of whom Roger Riddel had some short and pithy remark to -bestow, they at last discovered the well-set form of Ralpho Proudfoot. -</p> -<p>“Good fellow, thy pride is laid low, I well wot,” cried Roger Riddel, as he held up -the head of the dead man to the light of the torch, and discovered who he was. -</p> -<p>The same haughty expression that always characterised him still sat upon his forehead -in death; his eyebrows were fiercely knit and his lip curled. His battle-axe was firmly -grasped with both his hands, and a heap of English dead lay around him. He had fallen -across the body of a Scottish man-at-arms, and on turning him up, Hepborne was shocked -to behold the features of Robert Lindsay. -</p> -<p>“Ah me!” cried Roger Riddel; “what will become of thine ould father, Robin.” -</p> -<p>“Robert Lindsay!” said Sang—“Blessed Virgin!—no—it cannot be—ay—there is indeed that -open countenance of truth the which was never moved with human wrath or wickedness. -This is indeed a bitter blow to us all; and as for his poor father, as thou sayest, -Roger, Heaven indeed knows how the old man may stand it, for poor Robert here was -the only hope and comfort of his life. Let me but clip a lock of his hair, and take -from his person such little trinkets as may peraunter prove soothing, though sad memorials, -to the afflicted Gabriel.” -</p> -<p>“Alas, poor Robert Lindsay!—alas for poor Gabriel!” was all that Hepborne’s full heart -could utter, as recollections of home, and of his boyish days, crowded upon him until -his eyes ran over. -</p> -<p>The position in which their bodies were found sufficiently explained that Lindsay -and Proudfoot had been fighting side by side in the midst of a cloud of foes. Lindsay -had fallen first, and Proudfoot had stood over him, defending his dying friend, until, -overpowered by numbers, he had been stretched across him, covered with mortal wounds. -Near him lay the body of an English knight, and some of those who knew him declared -him to be Sir Miers de Willoughby. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb465">[<a href="#pb465">465</a>]</span></p> -<p>Hepborne saw that a grave was dug to contain the bodies of Lindsay and Proudfoot, -and he himself assisted the esquires in depositing them in the earth, locked in each -other’s embrace. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch61" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e817">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER LXI.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Field of Otterbourne after the Fight.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">After Sir Patrick Hepborne had assisted to perform the last sad duties to the remains -of Robert Lindsay and Ralpho Proudfoot, his attention was caught by the appearance -of a solitary cluster of lights on the distant part of the field, where the slaughter -of the English had been greatest. Curiosity led him to approach, when he perceived -that they were borne by a party who followed a bier, that was slowly carried in the -direction of Otterbourne Castle. Advancing to a point which they must necessarily -pass, he saw, as the procession drew nearer, that the bier was supported by some English -spearmen, and that it was followed by a group of women. -</p> -<p>Hepborne’s attention was particularly attracted by a lady in the midst of them, who -walked with her head veiled in the folds of her mantle, and seemed to be deeply affected -by that grief in which the others only sympathised. She took her mantle from her head, -and threw her eyes upwards as if in inward ejaculation. Sir Patrick started, for he -beheld that very countenance the charms of which, though seen but by glimpses at Norham, -had made too deep an impression upon his heart ever to be forgotten; but now they -seemed to be more than ever familiar to him, as he was disposed to believe, from their -frequent presence to the eye of his imagination. He gazed in silent rapture. The strong -resemblance between his page Maurice de Grey and the lady now struck him the more -powerfully, that he had a full opportunity of perusing every trait; he was confounded; -the mantle dropped over the alabaster forehead, and the countenance was again shrouded -from his eyes. The procession moved on, and he followed, almost doubting whether it -was not composed of phantoms, until it approached the gate of the Castle of Otterbourne, -where the captain of the place, attended by his garrison, appeared to receive it. -Still Hepborne had difficulty in convincing himself that the whole was not a waking -vision—a belief warranted by the superstition of his country. It slowly entered the -gateway. The lady in <span class="pageNum" id="pb466">[<a href="#pb466">466</a>]</span>whom he felt so deep an interest was about to disappear. He could bear suspense no -longer. -</p> -<p>“Lady Eleanore de Selby—Lady de Vere,” cried he, in a frantic voice. -</p> -<p>The lady started at the sound of it, threw back the mantle from her head, and cast -her eyes around in strong agitation, until they glanced on Hepborne’s face, when she -uttered a faint scream, and fell back senseless into the arms of her attendants, who -crowded around her, and hastily bore her within the gateway of the Castle, the defences -of which being immediately closed, she was shut from his straining sight. -</p> -<p>Hepborne stood for some time in a state of stupefaction ere he could muster sufficient -self-command to return to his tent. The abrupt termination of the scene, which still -remained fresh on his mind, almost convinced him of the accuracy of his conjecture -as to its having been some strange supernatural appearance he had beheld. He slowly -found his way to his friends, his soul vexed by a thousand contending conjectures -and perplexities, which he found it impossible to satisfy or reconcile. -</p> -<p>Meanwhile Mortimer Sang, who had been earnestly searching for the body of Rory Spears, -of whose death he had begun to entertain great apprehensions, was surprised by the -appearance of a damsel, whom he saw bearing a torch and bitterly weeping. -</p> -<p>“Holy St. Andrew!” exclaimed he; “Katherine Spears, can it be thee in very body—or -is it thy wraith I behold? Speak, if thou be’st flesh and blood—for the love of the -Holy Virgin, speak.” -</p> -<p>“Oh, dear Master Sang,” cried Katherine, running to him and proving by the gripe that -she took of his arm, that she was indeed something corporeal, “the blessed St. Mary -be praised that I have met with thee; thank Heaven, thou art safe at least. But, oh, -tell me, tell me, hast thou seen aught of my dear father? Hath he ’scaped this dreadful -field of death?” -</p> -<p>“Thy father, I trust, is well,” replied Sang, much perplexed; “but how, in the name -of all that is wonderful, didst thou come here?” -</p> -<p>“I came with an English lady, who is now at the Castle of Otterbourne,” replied Katherine -evasively. “But, oh, tell me, tell me, I entreat thee,” said the poor girl, earnestly -seizing his hand, “tell me, hast thou seen my father sith the fight was over?” -</p> -<p>“He hath not appeared since the battle,” said Sang in a half-choked voice, and with -considerable hesitation; “but we trust <span class="pageNum" id="pb467">[<a href="#pb467">467</a>]</span>he may be prisoner with the English, for as yet we have searched for him in vain among -the slain scattered over the field. Yes,” continued he, in a firmer and more assured -tone, as he observed the alarm that was taking possession of her; “yes, he hath not -been found—and as he hath not been found, dear Katherine, it is clear that he must -be a prisoner—so—and—and so thou wilt soon see him again; for as there must be a truce, -the few prisoners ta’en by the English must speedily be sent home again.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, but do they seek him still, Sir Squire?” cried Katherine, but little satisfied -with this attempt of Sang’s to soothe her apprehension<span class="corr" id="xd31e6098" title="Not in source">.</span> “Alas, I must seek for him.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, this is no scene for thee, dear Katherine,” replied Sang; “return I pray thee -to the Castle, and I will search, and thou shalt quickly know all.” -</p> -<p>“Try not to hinder me, Sir Squire,” replied Katherine; “I will go seek for my father. -I have already seen enow of those grim and ghastly faces not to fear in such a cause.” -</p> -<p>“Then shall I go with thee, Katherine,” cried Sang, seeing her determination. “Here, -lean upon mine arm.” -</p> -<p>When they came into the thickest part of the field of slaughter, Katherine shuddered -and shrank as they moved aside, from time to time, to shun the heaps of slain. Sang -looked everywhere for his comrade Roger Riddel, and at last happily met him; but, -alas! Riddel could give no intelligence of him they sought for. By this time they -had approached the abattis of dead bodies which had been so hastily piled up for defence -against the expected attack of the Bishop of Durham. -</p> -<p>“Come not this way, Katherine,” cried Sang; “this rampart of the dead is horrible.” -</p> -<p>Katherine’s heart was faint within her at the sight; she stopped and turned away, -when, just at that moment, her ear caught the whining of a dog at a little distance. -</p> -<p>“That voice was Oscar’s,” cried she eagerly. “Oh, let us hasten, my father may be -there.” -</p> -<p>They followed her steps with the lights, and there she beheld her father lying on -the ground, grievously wounded, and half dead with want and loss of blood. Luckily -for him, poor Oscar had been accidentally let out at the time that Sang and Riddel -went forth to search among the slain, and having sought more industriously for his -master than all the rest, he had discovered the unhappy Rory Spears built into the -wall of the dead. Rory had fallen before the tremendous charge made by the English, -when they burst through the line of entrenchment, <span class="pageNum" id="pb468">[<a href="#pb468">468</a>]</span>where he had fought like a lion himself, and inspired a something more than human -courage into those around him. Having lost his basinet, he had received a severe cut -on the head, besides many other wounds, which affected him not. But the thrust of -a lance through his thigh was that which brought him to the ground; after which, he -was nearly trampled to death by the rush of English foot and horsemen that poured -over him. During the time that had passed since he was laid low, he had fainted repeatedly, -and had been for hours insensible to his sufferings. Whilst lying in one of his mimic -fits of death, he had been taken up by some of those who were employed in heaping -the slain into a rampart, and who, having little leisure for minute examination, had -made use of him as part of its materials. Fortunately his head was placed outwards, -so that when he recovered he was enabled to breathe, and consequently was saved from -suffocation. Oscar had no sooner found him than, seizing the neck of his haqueton -with his teeth, he pulled him gently out upon the plain. -</p> -<p>“My father, my dear father!” cried Katherine Spears, running to support him, and much -affected by the sight of his wan visage, the paleness of which, together with his -sunken eye, showed more ghastly from the blood that had run down in such profusion -from his wound, that the very colour of his beard was changed, and the hairs of it -matted together by it. -</p> -<p>“What dost thou here, Kate?” demanded Rory, in a firmer voice than his appearance -would have authorized the bystanders to have expected from him; “sure this be no place -for a silly maiden like thee.” -</p> -<p>“Oh, father, father,” cried Katherine, embracing him, and doing her best to assist -Sang in raising him up by the shoulders; “the holy Virgin be praised that thou art -yet alive.” -</p> -<p>“Alive!” answered Rory; “troth, I’m weel aware that I’m leevin, for albeit that the -agony o’ my head wad gi’e me peace enow to let me believe that I had really depairted -in real yearnest, the very hunger that ruggeth so cruelly at my inside wad be enew -to keep me in mind that I was still belonging to this warld. For the sake o’ the gude -Saint Lawrence, Maister Sang, gar ane o’ them chields rin and see gif Mrs<span class="corr" id="xd31e6117" title="Not in source">.</span> Margaret MacCleareye can gi’e me a bit o’ cauld mutton or sike like, and a wee soup -yill. Tell the woman I’ll pay her for the score o’ yestreen and a’ thegither. But, -aboon a’ thing, see that they mak haste, or I’ll die ere they come back. What sould -I hae done an it hadna been for the gude wife’s wee bit supper afore we fell to!” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb469">[<a href="#pb469">469</a>]</span></p> -<p>Sang immediately despatched one of the camp followers who was standing by, and who -quickly returned with the melancholy intelligence that Mrs<span class="corr" id="xd31e6122" title="Not in source">.</span> MacCleareye’s frail hut had been levelled with the earth by the press—that her provender -had been scattered and pillaged—that her ale barrels had been rolled away and emptied—and -that she herself had also disappeared. -</p> -<p>“Hech me,” cried Rory, altogether forgetful of his own craving stomach; “poor woman, -I’m sorry for her loss; aboon a’, it erketh me sair that I paid her not her dues yestreen. -But, an a’ live, she or her heirs shall hae it, as I’m a true esquire. But, och, I’m -faunt!” -</p> -<p>“Take some of this, Master Spears,” cried Mortimer Sang, holding a leathern bottle -to Rory’s mouth, and pouring a few drops of a cordial into it. -</p> -<p>“Oich, Maister Sang, that is reveeving!” said Rory. “A wee drap mair, for the love -o’ St. Lowry. Mercy me! Weel, it’s an evil thing after a’ to be killed in battle (as -I may be allowed to judge, I rauckon, wha has been half killed), was it no for the -glory that is to be gotten by it. But to be cut down and then travelled ower like -a mercat-causey, and then to be biggit up like a lump o’ whinstane intil a dyke—ay, -and that, too, for the intent o’ haudin out the yenemy, and saving the craven carcages -o’ ither fouk, and a’ to keep the dastard sauls in chields that ane is far frae liking -as weel as ane’s sell—troth, there’s onything but honour or pleasure in’t to my fancy.” -</p> -<p>“Uve, uve! sore foolish speech, Maister Spears,” said a voice from the heap of dead -bodies. “Great pleasures and high honours in troth, sure, sure.” -</p> -<p>“Captain MacErchar!” cried Sang. “Run, Roger, and yield him relief.” -</p> -<p>Squire Riddel hastened to the assistance of MacErchar, and drew forth his great body -from the place it had occupied in the bottom of the fortification, where the skilful -architect had, with much judgment, made use of him as a substantial foundation. His -history had been something similar to that of Rory Spears, and he had not suffered -less from wounds. He was brought forward and placed on a bank beside Rory, and a portion -of Squire Sang’s life-inspiring bottle was given to him with the happiest effect. -</p> -<p>“Hech me,” cried Spears, looking round with great compassion on his companion in glory -and misfortune—“hech me, Captain MacErchar, wha sould hae thought that thou wert sae -near? Had we but kenn’d we mought hae had a crack thegither, <span class="pageNum" id="pb470">[<a href="#pb470">470</a>]</span>albeit hardly sae cosy as in Mrs<span class="corr" id="xd31e6135" title="Not in source">.</span> MacCleareye’s. Troth, I was sair weary and lonesome wi’ lying, and even the converse -o’ the sagaciousome brute there was a comfort to me. This is but ane evil way o’ weeting -a squireship. We sould hae done it in ane ither gate, I rauckon, had the English chields -but defaured a wee. But I trust that neither have you disgraced your captaincy nor -I my squireship. I saw you fighting like a very incarnate deevil, ay, and sending -the Southrons back frae the rampyre like raquet ba’s frae a wa’, though it may be -premeesed that nane o’ them ever stotted again.” -</p> -<p>“Ouch ay, troth ay,” replied MacErchar, “it was a bonnie tuilzie, Maister Spears. -She did her pairts both—both, both. Ou ay; it was a great pleasures, in troth, to -see her chap the chields on the crown.” -</p> -<p>“Poor Oscar, poor man,” said Rory, patting his dog’s head as he put his nose towards -his face to claim his share of his master’s attention; “troth, I maun say that thou -didst do me a good turn this blessed night. I was just thinking as I lay here that -as I must now bear the proper armorial device of ane esquire, I sould take the effigy -of ane allounde couchant beside his master sejant, with this motto, ‘<i>Fair fa’ the snout that pu’d me out</i>.’ ” -</p> -<p>“How couldst thou think of such things, my dear father, whilst thou didst lie in plight -so pitiful!” cried Katherine Spears. -</p> -<p>“Troth, I had naething else to think o’, ye silly maiden, but that or hunger,” said -Rory; “and that last, I’ll promise thee, was a sair sharp thought. And, by St. Lowry, -it doth sore sting me at this precious moment.” -</p> -<p>“Uve, uve! sore hungry—sore hungry,” cried MacErchar. -</p> -<p>“Nay, then, let us hasten to carry both of them to camp without further let,” cried -Sang. -</p> -<p>“Come, bestir ye, varlets,” said he to a crowd of camp-followers who were standing -near; “lend us your aid.” -</p> -<p>“Nay,” said Katherine, “my father must be carried to Otterbourne Castle.” -</p> -<p>“Otterbourne Castle!” cried Rory; “what mean ye, silly quean?” -</p> -<p>Katherine bent over him, and put her mouth to his ear to whisper him. -</p> -<p>“Ay—aweel—poor thing!—very right—an it maun be sae, it just maun,” said he, after -hearing what she had to say. “Aweel, Maister Sang, ye maun just tell the Yearl that -as I can be o’ nae mair service in fighting at this present time, I <span class="pageNum" id="pb471">[<a href="#pb471">471</a>]</span>may as weel gae till the Castle o’ Otterbourne as ony ither gate to be leeched, mair -especially as it is my belief that kitchen physic will be the best physic for me. -Tell him that I’m gaun there wi’ my dochter Kate till a friend of his, and that he -sall ken a’ about it afterhend.” -</p> -<p>Rory was accordingly carried straight to Otterbourne Castle, whither the gallant Mortimer -Sang accompanied Katherine. Their parting at the gate was tender—but he could wring -nothing from her that could elucidate the mystery of her present conduct. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch62" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e828">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER LXII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Withdrawal of the Scots Army—Obsequies of the Gallant Dead—The Mystery solved.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Although the morning sun rose bright and cheerful upon Otterbourne, yet were its rays -incapable of giving gladness to those in the Scottish camp. The little army of heroes -had gained a great and glorious victory, but they had dearly paid for it in the single -death of Douglas. There was, therefore, more of condolence than of exultation among -them, as they gave each other good morrow. They broke up their encampment with silence -and sorrow, and marched off towards Scotland, under the united command of the Earls -of Moray and Dunbar, with the solemn pace and fixed eyes of men who followed some -funeral pageant; indeed, it was so in fact; for at the head of the main body of the -army was the car that carried the coffin of the Douglas. Before it was borne his banner, -that “<i lang="fr">Jamais Arriere</i>” which, in the hands of Sir Patrick Hepborne the younger, had so happily turned the -fate of the battle; and, in compliment to the gallant young knight, it was his esquire, -Mortimer Sang, to whom the honour of carrying it was assigned. Behind it came the -fatal pennon of Piersie, which had been the cause of so much waste of human life, -and around the machine were clustered all those brave knights who had lately looked -up to the hero for the direction of their every movement—at whose least nod or sign -they would have spurred to achieve the most difficult and dangerous undertakings, -and whose applause was ever considered by them as their highest reward. The life and -soul of the army seemed now to have departed. They hung their heads, and marched on, -rarely breaking the silence that prevailed, except to utter some sad remark calculated -to heighten the very sorrow that gave rise to it. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb472">[<a href="#pb472">472</a>]</span></p> -<p>The last of their columns disappeared from the ground, and when Katherine Spears and -the lady on whom she attended cast their eyes over it from the window of the tower -in the Castle of Otterbourne, it was again as much a scene of peace as if no such -fierce warfare had ever disturbed it. Huge heaps, and long lines, indeed, marked the -places under which hundreds of those who had merrily marched thither now reposed, -Scot and Englishman, in amity together. The ruined huts and broken-down entrenchments -too were still visible; but the daisies and the other little flowers that enamelled -the field, refreshed by the morning dew, had again raised their crushed heads, and -the timid flocks and herds which had been scared by the din of arms, had again ventured -forth from the covert whither they had been driven, and were innocently pasturing -on the very spot where heroes had been so lately contending in the mortal strife. -The lady, however, suffered her attention to be occupied with these objects for a -brief space only ere she returned to perform her melancholy task of watching by those -beloved remains she had so piously rescued from the promiscuous heaps of slaughter -that covered the battle-field. She again sought the Chapel of the Castle, where lay -the brave old knight Sir Walter de Selby, for it was he who, having met with some -less merciful foe than Sir Patrick Hepborne, had been cut down in the melée. The mortal -wound now gaped wide on his venerable head, and the beauty of his silver hair was -disfigured with clotted gore. The tears of her who now seated herself by his bier -fell fast and silently, as she bent over that benignant countenance now no longer -animated by its generous spirit. Now it was she recalled all that affection so largely -exhibited towards her from her very childhood. His faults had at this moment disappeared -from her memory, and as the more remarkable instances of his kindness arose in succession, -she gave way to that feeling natural to sensitive minds on such occasions, and bitterly -accused herself of having but ill requited them. -</p> -<p>The body of Sir Walter remained in the Castle of Otterbourne for several days, until -proper preparations were made there and at Norham for doing it the honours due to -the remains of so gallant a knight, and one who had enjoyed so important a command. -After the escort was ready, the lady parted with much sorrow from Katherine Spears, -whose father was yet unable to bear the motion of a journey. She commended both to -the especial protection of the Captain of the Castle, and then hastily seating herself -in her horse-litter to hide her grief from observation, the funeral procession moved -away. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb473">[<a href="#pb473">473</a>]</span></p> -<p>It was long after the sunset of the second day, that the troops of the garrison of -Norham, under the Lieutenant Oglethorpe, marched out in sad array to meet the corpse -of their late governor. Clad in all the insignia of woe, and each soldier bearing -a torch in his hand, they halted on the high ground over the village, and rested in -mute and sorrowful expectation of the approach of the funeral train. Lights appeared -slowly advancing from a distance, and the dull chanting of voices and the heavy measured -tread of men were heard. The coffin had already been removed from the car in which -it had hitherto been carried, and four priests who had gone to meet it, one of them -bearing a crucifix aloft, now appeared walking bareheaded before it, and chanting -a hymn. The coffin itself was sustained on the shoulders of a band of men-at-arms, -who accompanied it from Otterbourne; and after it came the horse litter of the lady, -attended by a train of horsemen who rode with their lances reversed. Among these, -alas! no man belonging to the deceased was to be seen, for all had perished with him -in the field. -</p> -<p>When the procession had reached the spot where the troops from Norham were drawn up -to receive it, those who formed it halted, and the bearers, resigning their burden -to the chief officers of the garrison, fell back to join their fellows. One-half of -the soldiers of the Castle then moved on before the body, whilst the other half filed -in behind the lady’s litter, and the men of Otterbourne were left to close up the -rear of the pageant. -</p> -<p>As they descended the hill, the inhabitants of the village turned out to gaze on the -imposing spectacle; and after it had passed by, they followed to witness the last -obsequies of one whose military pomp had often delighted their eyes, and the hardy -deeds of whose prime were even now in every man’s mouth. -</p> -<p>Having reached the entrance to the church, the soldiers formed a double line up to -the great door, each man leaning upon his lance, in grief that required no acting. -The lady descended from her litter. With her head veiled, and her person enveloped -in black drapery, she leaned upon the arm of Lieutenant Oglethorpe, and followed the -body with tottering steps and streaming eyes into the holy fane. The church was soon -filled by the Norham soldiery, ranked up thickly around it, the blaze of the torches -pierced into the darkest nook of its Gothic interior, and the solemn ceremony proceeded. -</p> -<p>The lady had wound up her resolution to the utmost, that she might undergo the trying -scene without flinching. She <span class="pageNum" id="pb474">[<a href="#pb474">474</a>]</span>stood wonderfully composed, with her eyes cast upon the ground, endeavouring to fix -her thoughts on the service for the dead, which the priests were chanting; when, chancing -to look up, her attention was suddenly caught by the figure of a Franciscan monk, -who, elevated on the steps of the altar, stood leaning earnestly forward from behind -a Gothic pillar that half concealed him, his keen eyes fixed upon her with a marked -intensity of gaze. Her heart was frozen within her by his very look, and, uttering -a faint scream, she swooned away, and would have fallen on the pavement but for the -timely aid of Oglethorpe and those who were present. Dismay and confusion followed. -The ceremonial was interrupted; and the bystanders believing that her feelings had -been too deeply affected by the so sad and solemn spectacle, hastened to remove her -from the scene, so that she was quickly conveyed to her litter, and escorted to the -Castle. -</p> -<p>The funeral rites were hurried over, and the body was committed to the silent vault, -with no other witnesses than the officiating priests, the populace, and such of the -officers and soldiers as had been bound to the deceased by some strong individual -feeling of affection, and who now pressed around the coffin, to have the melancholy -satisfaction of assisting in its descent. -</p> -<p>While the remains of Sir Walter de Selby were conveying from Otterbourne Castle, the -Scottish Nobles and Knights who had accompanied the body of the Douglas were engaged -in assisting at the obsequies of that heroic Earl at Melrose. All that military or -religious pomp could devise or execute was done to honour his remains, and many a -mass for the peace of his soul was sung by the pious monks of its abbey. The brave -Scottish Knights surrounded his tomb in silence and sorrow, all forgetting that they -had gained a victory, and each feeling that he had lost a private friend in him whose -body they had consigned to the grave. -</p> -<p>It was only that morning that Sir Patrick Hepborne had heard accidentally from his -esquire the particulars of his unexpected meeting with Katherine Spears; and this -information, added to those circumstances which had so strangely occurred to himself, -determined him to proceed to Norham the very next day, where he hoped to unravel the -mystery that had been gradually thickening around him. The truce that had been already -proclaimed ensured his safety, so that he entered the court-yard of the Norham Tower -Hostel with perfect confidence. Although Hepborne and his esquire came after it was -dark, the <span class="pageNum" id="pb475">[<a href="#pb475">475</a>]</span>quick eye of Mrs. Kyle immediately recognized them; and, conscious of the share she -had had in the treachery so lately attempted against them, she took refuge in the -innermost recesses of the kitchen part of the building. But Sang was determined not -to spare her, and, after searching everywhere, he at last detected her in her concealment, -from which he led her forth in considerable confusion. -</p> -<p>“So, beautiful Mrs. Kyle,” said he, “so thou wert minded to have done our two noble -knights and their humbler esquires a handsome favour, truly, the last time they did -honour thy house? By St. Andrew, we should have made a pretty knot dangling from the -ramparts of Norham.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, talk not so, Sir Squire,” replied the hostess in a whining tone; “it was the -wicked Sir Miers de Willoughby who did bribe me to put ye all in his power. And then -he did never talk of aught else but the ransom for thy liberty; and in truth, love -did so blind me that I thought no more of the matter. But I trow I am well enow punished -for my folly; for here he came, and by his blazons and blandishments, he did so overmatch -me that he hath ta’en from me, by way of borrow (a borrow, I wis, that will never -come laughing home again), many a handful of the bonny broad pieces my poor husband -Sylvester, that is gone, did leave me. Yet natheless have I enow left to make any -man rich; and when Ralpho Proudfoot doth return frae the wars——” -</p> -<p>“Poor Ralpho Proudfoot will never return,” said Sang, interrupting her, in a melancholy -tone; “these hands did help to lay him in the earth.” -</p> -<p>“Poor Ralpho,” cried Mrs. Kyle, lifting her apron to a dry eye, “poor Proudfoot! He -was indeed a proper pretty man. But verily,” added she, with a deep sigh, whilst at -the same time she threw a half-reproachful, half-loving glance at Sang, “verily, ’twere -better, perhaps, for a poor weak woman to think no more of man, seeing all are deceivers -alike. Wilt thou step this gate, Sir Squire, and taste my Malvoisie? Or wilt thou—” -</p> -<p>“What tramp of many feet is that I hear in the village?” demanded Sang, interrupting -her. -</p> -<p>“’Tis nought but the burying o’ our auld Captain o’ Norham,” replied Mrs. Kyle; “I -trust that we sall have some right gay and jolly knight to fill his boots. Auld de -Selby was grown useless, I wot. Gi’e me some young rattling blade that will take pleasure -in chatting to a bonny buxom quean when she comes in his way. I haena had a word frae -the auld man for this I kenna how lang, but a rebuke now and then for the deboshing -<span class="pageNum" id="pb476">[<a href="#pb476">476</a>]</span>o’ his men-at-arms, the which was more the fault o’ my good ale than o’ me. But where -are ye running till, Master Sang?—Fye on him, he’s away.” -</p> -<p>Sang did indeed hasten to tell his master of the passing funeral procession, and Hepborne -ran out to follow it. It had already reached the church, and by the time he got to -the door the interior was so filled that it was only by immense bodily exertion that -he squeezed himself in at a small side door. His eyes immediately caught the figure -of the lady, and there they rested, unconscious of all else. The moment she lifted -her head he recognized the features of Maurice de Grey and of her whom he had seen -on the battle-field of Otterbourne. But her fainting allowed him not a moment for -thought. The crowd of men-at-arms between him and the object of his solicitude bid -defiance to all his efforts to reach her, and ere he could regain the open air her -litter was already almost out of sight. -</p> -<p>“Poor soul,” said a compassionate billman, who had been looking anxiously after it, -“thou hast indeed good cause to be afflicted. Verily, thou hast lost thy best friend.” -</p> -<p>“Of whom dost thou speak, old man?” demanded Hepborne eagerly. -</p> -<p>“Of the poor Lady Beatrice, who was carried to the Castle but now,” replied the man. -</p> -<p>“What saidst thou?” demanded Hepborne; “Lady Beatrice! Was not that the daughter of -thy deceased governor? was not that the Lady Eleanore de Selby, now the Lady de Vere?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Sir Knight, that she be not,” replied the man, “nouther the one nor the other, -I wot; and if I might adventure to speak it, I would say that there be those who do -think that the Lady Eleanore de Selby, now the Lady de Vere, hath no small spice of -the devil in her composition, whilst the Lady Beatrice is well known to all to be -an angel upon earth.” -</p> -<p>“Who is she, and what is her history, my good fellow?” demanded Hepborne, slipping -money into his hand. -</p> -<p>“Meseems thou art a stranger, Sir Knight, that thou knowest not the Lady Beatrice,” -said the man; “but I can well satisfy thy curiosity, seeing I was with good Sir Walter -in that very Border raid during which she did become his. Our men had driven the herds -and flocks from a hill on the side of one of the streams of Lammermoor, when, as we -passed by the cottage of the shepherd who had fed them, his wife, with an infant in -her arms, and two or three other children around her, came furiously out to attack -Sir Walter with her tongue, as he rode at the head of his lances. ‘My curse upon ye, -ye English loons!’ cried <span class="pageNum" id="pb477">[<a href="#pb477">477</a>]</span>she bitterly; ‘no content wi’ the sweep o’ our master’s hill, ye hae ta’en the bit -cow that did feed my poor bairns. Better take my wee anes too, for what can I do wi’ -them?’ A soldier was about to quiet her evil tongue by a stroke of his axe. ‘Fye on -thee,’ said Sir Walter; ‘what, wouldst thou murder the poor woman? Her rage is but -natural. Verily, our prey is large enow without her wretched cow.’ And then, turning -to her with a good-natured smile on his face, ‘My good dame, thou shalt have thy cow.’ -And the beast was restored to her accordingly. ‘The Virgin’s blessing be on thee, -Sir Knight,’ said the woman. ‘And now,’ said Sir Walter, ‘by’r Lady, I warrant me -thou wouldst have ill brooked my taking thee at thy word. Marry, I promise thee,’ -continued he, pointing to a beautiful girl of five years, apparently her eldest child, -‘marry, I’ll warrant me thou wouldst have grudged mightily to have parted with that -bonny face?’ ‘Nay, I do indeed love Beatrice almost as well as she were mine own child, -albeit I did only nurse her,’ replied the dame; ‘but of a’ the bairns, she, I wot, -is the only one that I could part with.’ ‘Is she not thy child, then?’ said Sir Walter; -‘whose, I pr’ythee, may she be?’ ‘That is what I canna tell thee, Sir Knight,’ replied -the woman. ‘It is now about four years and a-half sith that a young lordling came -riding down the glen. He was looking for a nurse, and the folk did airt him to me, -who had then lost my first-born babe. He put this bairn, whom he called Beatrice, -into my arms, and a purse into my lap, and away he flew again, saying that he would -soon be back to see how the bairn throve. The baby was richly clad, so methought it -must be some fair lady’s stolen love-pledge. But I hae never seen him sithence, nor -need I ever look for him now. And troth, Robby and I hae enew o’ hungry mouths to -feed withouten hers, poor thing—ay, and maybe a chance o’ mair.’ ‘Wilt thou part with -the child to me, then?’ said Sir Walter; ‘I have but one daughter, who is of her age, -and I would willingly take this beauteous Beatrice to be her companion.’ The poor -woman had many scruples, but her husband, who now ventured to show himself, had none; -and, insisting on his wife’s compliance, Beatrice was brought home with us to Norham, -adopted by the good Sir Walter, and has ever been treated by him sithence as a second -daughter. What marvel, then, Sir Knight, that she should swoon at his burying?” -</p> -<p>Light now broke in at once on Sir Patrick Hepborne. As we have seen in the opening -chapter of our story, he was struck, even in the twilight, by the superior manner -and attractions of the lady who had lost her hawk, and whose gentle demeanour <span class="pageNum" id="pb478">[<a href="#pb478">478</a>]</span>had led him to conclude that she was the Lady Eleanore de Selby, of whose charms he -had heard so much. Having been thus mistaken at first, he naturally went on, from -all he heard and saw afterwards, and especially in the interviews he had at Norham, -with her who now turned out to have been the companion of the Lady Eleanore de Selby, -to mislead himself more and more. He returned to his inn to ruminate on this strange -discovery; but be the beautiful Beatrice whom she might, he had loved her, and her -alone, and he felt that his passion now became stronger than ever. His mind ran hastily -over past events; he at once suspected that his inconsiderate jealousy had been, in -fact, awakened by accidentally beholding an interview between the real Eleanore de -Selby and her lover, and he cursed his haste that had so foolishly hurried him away -from Norham; he remembered the fair hand that had waved the white scarf as he was -crossing the Tweed; he recalled the countenance, the behaviour, and the conversation -of his page, Maurice de Grey; he kissed the emerald ring which he wore on his finger; -and his heart was drowned in a rushing tide of wild sensations, where hope and joy -rose predominant. His generous soul swelled with transport at the thought of being -the protector of her whom he now adored, and whom he now found, at the very moment -she was left, as he believed, in a state of utter destitution. His impatience made -him deplore that decency forbade his visiting the Lady Beatrice that night, but he -resolved to seek for an audience of her early the next morning. -</p> -<p>At such hour, then, as a lady could be approached with propriety, he despatched his -esquire on an embassy to the Castle. He had little fear of the result, from what had -already passed between them; but what was his mortification to learn that the Lady -Beatrice had been gone from Norham for above five or six hours, having set out during -the night on some distant journey, whither no one in the Castle could divine. -</p> -<p>It is impossible to paint the misery of Sir Patrick Hepborne. Hope had been wound -up to the highest pitch, and the most grievous disappointment was the issue. He was -so much beside himself that he was little master of his actions, and Mortimer Sang -was obliged to remind him of the necessity of returning immediately to Melrose, to -join his father, who, with the other Scottish nobles and knights, had resolved to -stay there for the space of three days ere they should separate. -</p> -<p>The warriors parted, with solemn vows uttered over the grave of the Douglas; and Sir -Patrick Hepborne and his son, accompanied by the Earl of Moray, Assueton, Halyburton, -and <span class="pageNum" id="pb479">[<a href="#pb479">479</a>]</span>a number of other knights, set out for Hailes Castle. The Lady Isabelle was ready -to receive them on their arrival. She sprang into the court-yard to clasp her father -and her brother to her bosom; and although modesty and maiden bashfulness checked -those manifestations of love towards her knight with which her heart overflowed, yet, -as he kissed her hand, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes sparkled with a delight that -could not be mistaken. -</p> -<p>Among those who came out to welcome the war-like party was old Gabriel Lindsay. Leaning -on his staff on the threshold, he eagerly scanned each face that came near him with -his dim eyes. -</p> -<p>“Where is my gallant boy?” cried he. “I trow he need seldom fear to show his head -where valorous deads hae been adoing; he hath had his share o’ fame, I warrant me. -Ha, Master Sang, welcome home. Where loitereth my gallant boy Robin? he useth not -to be so laggard in meeting his old father, I wot. A plague on these burnt-out eyes -of mine, I canna see him nowhere.” -</p> -<p>“Who can undertake the task of breaking poor Robert’s death to the old man?” cried -Sang, turning aside from him in the greatest distress. “Sure I am that I would rather -face the fierce phalanx of foes that did work his brave son’s death than tell him -of the doleful tidings.” -</p> -<p>“Where hast thou left Robin, Master Sang?” said the doting old man again. “Ah, there -he is; nay, fye on my blindness, that be’s Richie Morton. Sure, sure my boy was never -wont to be laggard last; ’twas but the last time he came home with Sir John Assueton -that he had his arms round my ould neck or ever I wist he was at hand; he thought, -forsooth, I would not have ken’d him: but, ah, ha, Robin, says I to him——” -</p> -<p>“My worthy old friend,” said Sang, quite unable any longer to stand his innocent garrulity, -so ill befitting the reception of the bitter news he had to tell him, and taking his -withered arm to assist him into the Castle, and leading him gently to his chamber—“my -worthy friend, come this way, and I will tell thee of thy son—we shall be better here -in private. Robert Lindsay’s wonted valour shone forth with sun-like glory in the -bloody field of Otterbourne; but——” -</p> -<p>“Ah, full well did I know that he would bravely support the gallant name of Lindsay,” -cried the old man, interrupting him with a smile of exultation. “Trust me, the boy -hath ever showed that he hath some slender streams of gentle blood in his veins; we -are come of good kind, Master Sang, and maybe my boy Robin shall yet win wealth and -honours to prove <span class="pageNum" id="pb480">[<a href="#pb480">480</a>]</span>it. My great-great-grandfather—nay, my grandfather’s great-great——” -</p> -<p>“But, Robert,” said Sang, wishing to bring old Gabriel back to the sad subject he -was about to open. -</p> -<p>“Ay, Robert, Master Sang,” replied the old man, “where tarrieth he?” -</p> -<p>“At Otterbourne,” replied Sang, deeply affected. “Thy son, thy gallant son, fell gloriously, -whilst nobly withstanding the whole force of the English line as they burst into our -camp.” -</p> -<p>“What sayest thou, Master Sang?” said the infirm old man, who perfectly comprehended -the speaker, but was so stunned by his fatal intelligence that his feeble intellect -was confused by the blow—“what sayest thou, Master Sang?” -</p> -<p>“Thy heroic son was slain,” replied Sang, half choked with his emotions. “This lock -of Robert Lindsay’s hair, and these trinkets taken from his person ere we committed -his body to the earth, are all that thou canst ever see of him now, old man.” -</p> -<p>The esquire sat down, covered his face with his hands, and wept; and then endeavouring -to command himself, he looked upward in the face of Gabriel Lindsay, who was standing -before him like the decayed trunk of some mighty oak. The time-worn countenance of -the old man was unmoved, and his dull eyes were fixed as in vacancy. The wandering -so common to wasted age had come over his mind at that moment, sent, as it were, in -mercy by Providence to blunt his perception of the dire affliction that had befallen -him. Fitful smiles flashed at intervals across his face—his lips moved without sound—and -at last he spoke— -</p> -<p>“And so thou sayest my boy will be here to-night, Master Sang, and that this is a -lock of his bride’s hair? It is golden like his own; my blessing be on him, and that -of St. Baldrid. But why feared he to bring her to me attence? Ha, doubtless he thought -that the joyful surprise mought hae made my blood dance till it brast my ould heart. -But no, Master Sang, joy shall never do for me what sorrow hath failed to work. I -lost his mother—lost her in a’ her youth and beauty, and yet I bore it, and humbled -myself before Him who giveth and taketh away, and was comforted; and shall I sink -beneath the weight of joy? Nay, even had he died in the midst of his glory, I trust -I am soldier enow, though I be’s ould, to have borne the news of my son having fallen -with honour to Scotland, and to the name of Lindsay; but doth he think that his ould -father may not be told, without risk, how he hath fought bravely—how he was noticed -by the gallant Douglas—and, aboon a’, how he is coming <span class="pageNum" id="pb481">[<a href="#pb481">481</a>]</span>hame in triumph with a bonny gentle bride? And didst thou say they would be here to-night, -Sir Squire? Fye, I must gang and tell Sir Patrick—and the brave young knight—and my -Lady Isabelle; they will all rejoice in Gabriel’s glad tidings. A bonny bride, thou -sayest, Master Sang; and shall I yet have a babe o’ Robin’s on my knee ere I die? -But I must away to Sir Patrick.” -</p> -<p>He made an effort to go. Sang rose gently to detain him. He stopped—looked around -him wildly—fastened his eyes vacantly for some moments on the ceiling—reason and recollection -returned to him, and his dream of bliss passed away. -</p> -<p>“Oh, merciful God!” he cried, clasping his hands together in agony of woe. “Oh, my -boy, my brave, my virtuous boy, and shall I never see thee more?” -</p> -<p>Nature with him was already spent; his failure was instantaneous; his limbs yielded -beneath him, and he sank down into the arms of the esquire, who hastily laid him on -the bed and ran for assistance. Sir Patrick Hepborne, his son, and the Lady Isabelle, -as well as many of the domestics, quickly appeared in great consternation; but they -came only to weep over the good old Seneschal—He was gone for ever. -</p> -<p>The death of this old and faithful domestic threw a gloom over the Castle, so that -Assueton felt that he could hardly press on his marriage-day. At last, however, it -was fixed. The preparations were such as became the house of Hepborne; and the ceremony -was performed in presence of some of the first nobles and knights of Scotland. -</p> -<p>The Countess of Moray had come from Tarnawa to meet her Lord. Sir Patrick Hepborne, -the younger, eagerly sought an opportunity of having private conversation with her, -hoping to have some explanation of the strange disappearance of his page. But the -noble lady, maintaining the same distance towards him she had so mysteriously used, -seemed rather disposed to shun the subject; and it was not until Hepborne had prefaced -his inquiry with a full exposition of all he suspected, and all he knew, regarding -the Lady Eleanore de Selby and the Lady Beatrice, and that she really saw where his -heart was sincerely fixed, that she would consent to betray the secret she possessed. -Hepborne was then assured that his page Maurice de Grey was no other than the Lady -Beatrice. -</p> -<p>Believing that Hepborne loved her, she had looked with joy to other meetings with -him; she had been filled with anxiety when she heard of the encounter between him -and Sir Rafe Piersie; and she was exulting in his triumph over that knight <span class="pageNum" id="pb482">[<a href="#pb482">482</a>]</span>at the very moment they came to tell her of his departure. She hastened to a window -overlooking the Tweed, where she beheld the boat that was wafting him to Scotland. -It was then, when she thought herself deserted, that she really felt that she loved. -Almost unconscious of what she did, she waved her scarf. He replied not to the signal. -Again and again she waved, and in vain she stretched her eyeballs to catch a return -of the sign. The boat touched the strand; he sprang on shore, and leaped into his -saddle. Again in despair she waved; the signal was returned, and that faint sign from -the Scottish shore was to her as the twig of hope. So intense had been her feelings -that she sank down overpowered by them. Recovering herself, she again gazed from the -window. The ferry-boat had returned, and was again moored on the English side. She -cast her eyes across to the spot where she had last beheld Sir Patrick. The animating -figures were now gone—some yellow gravel, a green bank, a few furze bushes, and a -solitary willow, its slender melancholy spray waving in the breeze, were all that -appeared, and her chilled and forsaken heart was left as desolate as the scene. -</p> -<p>It was at this time that she was called on by friendship to dismiss her own griefs, -that she might actively assist the high-spirited Eleanore de Selby. By the result -of Sir Rafe Piersie’s visit, that lady was relieved from his addresses; but they were -immediately succeeded by the strange proposals of her infatuated father, when deluded -by the machinations of the Wizard Ancient. All her tears and all her eloquence were -thrown away, and so perfect was Sir Walter’s subjection to the will of the impostor -that even his temper was changed, and his affection for his daughter swallowed up, -by his anxiety to avert the fate that threatened. Such coercion to a union so <span class="corr" id="xd31e6249" title="Source: digusting">disgusting</span> might have roused the spirit of resistance in the most timid female bosom; but Eleanore -de Selby, who was high and hot tempered, resolved at once to fly from such persecution; -and, taking a solemn vow of secrecy from the Lady Beatrice, she made her the confidant -of a recent attachment which had arisen between her and a certain knight whom she -had met at a tilting match held at Newcastle a short time before, when she was on -a visit to an aunt who resided there. The Lady Eleanore informed her friend that her -lover was Sir Hans de Vere, a knight of Zealand, kinsman to the King’s banished favourite -the Duke of Ireland, who had lately come from abroad, and who looked to gain the same -high place in King Richard’s affections which the Duke himself had filled. From him -she had received a visit unknown to her father, and it <span class="pageNum" id="pb483">[<a href="#pb483">483</a>]</span>was the parting of the lovers after that meeting which had so filled Hepborne with -jealousy. In the urgency of her affairs she implored her friend to aid her schemes, -which were immediately carried into effect by means of the Minstrel. -</p> -<p>Having thus been gradually, though unwillingly, drawn to be an accomplice in the Lady -Eleanore’s plans, Beatrice felt that she could not stay behind to expose herself to -the rage of the bereft father. Having assisted her friend, therefore, to escape, she -accompanied her, in male attire, to the place where her lover waited for her at some -distance from Norham. There she parted, with many tears, from the companion of her -youth, having received from her the emerald ring which Sir Patrick Hepborne afterwards -became possessed of. Her own depression of spirits, occasioned by Sir Patrick’s unaccountable -desertion of her, had determined her to seek out some convent, where she might find -a temporary, if not a permanent retreat. Under the protection of old Adam of Gordon, -therefore, she crossed the Tweed into Scotland. There he procured her a Scottish guide -to conduct her to North Berwick, where he had a relation among the Cistertian nuns, -and thither she was proceeding at the time she met Hepborne in the grove by the side -of the Tyne. -</p> -<p>When Sir Patrick addressed her she felt so much fluttered that it was some time before -she could invent a plausible account of herself; and when he proposed to her to become -his page, love triumphed over her better judgment, and she could not resist the temptation -of an offer that held out so fair an opportunity of knowing more of him, and of trying -the state of his heart. As to the latter she became convinced, by some of those conversations -we have detailed, that she had been cruelly deceived, and that she had in reality -no share in it. She heard him passionately declare his inextinguishable love for the -<span class="corr" id="xd31e6257" title="Source: lady">Lady</span> Eleanore de Selby, and when he said that he had seen too much of her for his peace -of mind, she naturally enough concluded that they had met together on some former -occasion. She became unhappy at her own imprudence in so rashly joining his party, -and was anxious to avail herself of the first opportunity of escaping from one whose -heart never could be hers. The Countess of Moray’s kindness to her as Maurice de Grey -induced her to discover herself to that lady. She earnestly entreated that she might -remain concealed, and that Sir Patrick might not be informed. It was the Lady Jane -de Vaux who laid the plan for deceiving him about the departure of his page, and she -and the Countess of Moray could not resist indulging in tormenting one whom they believed -to have wantonly sported with the affections of <span class="pageNum" id="pb484">[<a href="#pb484">484</a>]</span>the Lady Beatrice, and who had consequently suffered deeply in the good opinion of -both. -</p> -<p>The Minstrel, who, to do away suspicion, had returned to Norham immediately after -the escape of the ladies, no sooner learned from the guide the change which had taken -place in Beatrice’s plans, and that she had gone to Tarnawa, than he determined to -follow her thither, under pretence of going to the tournament. Having learned from -him that her benefactor, Sir Walter de Selby, had been overwhelmed with affliction -for the loss of his daughter, of whose fate he was yet ignorant, and that he had also -grievously complained of her own desertion of him, she was filled with remorse, and -determined to return to him immediately, and to brave all his reproaches; but indisposition, -arising from the trying fatigue of body and the mental misery she had undergone, prevented -her setting out until several days after the departure of the Earl of Moray and his -knights for Aberdeen. Hepborne could now no longer doubt of the attachment of the -Lady Beatrice. The thought that he had ignorantly thrown away a heart so valuable -as that which his intercourse with his page had given him ample opportunity to know, -was a source of bitter distress to him. His spirits fled, he loathed society, and -he industriously shunned the huntings, hawkings, dancings, and masquings that were -going merrily forward in honour of his friend’s nuptials with his sister the Lady -Isabelle. -</p> -<p>But Assueton was not so selfishly occupied in his own joys as not to be struck with -the change in his beloved Hepborne. He besought him to unbosom the secret sorrow that -was so evidently preying on his mind, and Sir Patrick, who had hitherto generously -concealed it, that he might not poison the happiness in which he could not participate, -at last yielded to the entreaty, and told him all. Sir John had but little of comfort -to offer: the subject was one that hardly admitted of any. He saw that the only way -in which friendship could be useful was by rousing him to do something that might -actively divert his melancholy. -</p> -<p>Sir David de Lindsay having returned from his captivity in England, had lately arrived -at Hailes, where Sir William de Dalzel and Sir John Halyburton had remained, to witness -Assueton’s marriage. They were now about to proceed to London, to make good the pledge -given to Lord Welles. Hepborne would have fain excused himself from the engagement -he had so cheerfully made with them at Tarnawa, but Assueton contrived to pique his -chivalric spirit, and at length succeeded in inducing him to become one of the party. -Sir John even <span class="pageNum" id="pb485">[<a href="#pb485">485</a>]</span>offered to accompany his friend, but Hepborne would by no means permit him to leave -his newly-married Lady. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch63" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e839">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER LXIII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Scottish Knights at the English Court—The wealthy London Merchant—Combat on London -Bridge.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Everything that art could achieve, by means of steel, gold, embossing, embroidery, -and emblazoning, was done to give splendour to the array of Sir David Lindsay, and -his companions and attendants, that Scotland should, if possible, be in no whit behind -England upon this occasion. A safe-conduct was readily granted them by the English -court, and they departed, all high in spirits, save Hepborne alone, who seemed to -suffer the journey rather than to enjoy it. They travelled very leisurely, and frequently -halted by the way, that their horses might not be oppressed; and they were everywhere -received with marked respect. -</p> -<p>It was towards the end of the third week that they found themselves crossing a wide -glade among those immense forests which then covered the country, lying immediately -to the north of the English metropolis, when they were attracted by an encampment -of gay pavilions, pitched among the thin skirting trees. A strong guard of archers -and well-mounted lances, that patrolled around the place, proved that there was some -one there of no mean consequence. Within the circle was a vast and motley crowd of -people, moving about in all the rich and varied costumes which then prevailed. There -could be descried many nobles, knights, and esquires, some equipt in fanciful hunting-garbs, -and others in all the foppery of golden circlets, flowing robes, party-coloured hose, -and long-pointed shoes, attached to knee-chains of gold and silver; and these were -mingled with groups of huntsmen, falconers, pages, grooms, lacqueys, and even hosts -of cooks and scullions. Many were on horseback, and whole rows of beautiful horses -were picketted in different places, and their neighing mingled cheerily with the baying -of tied-up hounds and the hum of many merry voices. -</p> -<p>It was a spectacle well calculated to arrest the attention of the Scottish knights, -and accordingly they halted to enjoy it, and to listen to the trumpets and timbrels -that now began to sound. In a little time they observed a party of horsemen <span class="pageNum" id="pb486">[<a href="#pb486">486</a>]</span>leave the encampment, and they were soon aware that it came to meet them. At the head -was a knight clad in a white hunting-coif richly flowered with gold, and a sky-blue -gippon of the most costly materials, thickly wrought with embroidery, while the toes -of his tawny boots, being released from their knee-chains, hung down nearly a yard -from his stirrup-irons. On his wrist sat a falcon, the badge of a knight. He rode -a superb horse, and his housings corresponded in grandeur with everything else belonging -to him. -</p> -<p>“Ha!” exclaimed he, as he reined up his steed affectedly in front of the group, raised -himself in his high-peaked saddle, and, standing in his stirrups, put his bridle-hand -to his side, as if selecting the attitude best calculated to show off his uncommonly -handsome person; “ha! so I see that my divination doth prove to have been true to -most miraculous exactitude. My Lord of Welles must forfeit an hundred pieces, in compliment -to my superior accuracy of vision and of judgment. Sir David de Lindsay, I knew thy -banner. I do give thee welcome to England, beausir; nay, I may add, welcome to London -too, seeing thou art barely two leagues from its walls, and that the very spirit of -its greatness is here in these sylvan solitudes, in the person of the Royal Richard, -attended as he is by his chivalrous Court.” -</p> -<p>“Sir Piers Courtenay,” exclaimed Sir David de Lindsay, “perdie, it doth rejoice me -to behold thee, strangers as we are, in these parts.” -</p> -<p>“Trust me, ye shall be strangers no longer, gentle sir,” replied Sir Piers, with a -condescending inclination of body, that he now deigned to continue round, with his -eyes directed to the other knights severally, whom he had not noticed until now. “When -I, with singularly fortunate instinct, did assert that it was thee and thy bandon -we beheld, the Lord Welles did wager me an hundred pieces that I did err in sagacity; -but as I parted from him to ride hither, to bring mine accuracy to the proof, he charged -me, if I were right, to invite thee and thy company to the Royal camp.” -</p> -<p>“Travel-worn and dust-begrimed as we are,” said Sir William de Dalzel, “meseems we -shall be but sorry sights for the eyes of Royalty, especially amid a crowd of gallants -so glittering as the sample thou hast brought us in thine own sweet and perfumed person, -beausir.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay,” replied Sir Piers Courtenay, glancing with contempt at Dalzel’s war-worn -surcoat, and taking his ironical remark as an actual compliment, “we are but accoutred, -as thou <span class="pageNum" id="pb487">[<a href="#pb487">487</a>]</span>seest, for rustic sport; we are shorn of our beams among the shades of these forests. -But let us not tarry, I pray thee; the sports of the morning are already over; the -sylvan meal is about to be spread in the grand pavilion, and rude though it be, it -may not come amiss to those who have already travelled since dawn. Let us hasten thither, -then, for the King doth return to London after feeding.” -</p> -<p>Under the guidance of this pink of fashion, the Scottish knights advanced towards -the Royal hunting-encampment; and long ere they reached it, the Lord Welles, who already -saw that he had lost his wager, came forth to meet them, and received them with all -that warmth of hospitality which characterized the English people of all ranks even -in those early days, and for which they were already famed among foreign nations. -He led them through a mass of guards, who, though they appeared but to form a part -of the pageantry of the Royal sports, were yet so completely armed, both men and horses, -that it was manifest security from sudden surprise was the chief object of their being -placed there. -</p> -<p>Sir David Lindsay and his companions, after quitting their saddles, were led by the -Lord Welles to his own tent, where they soon rendered themselves fit to appear before -Royal eyes. They were then conducted to the King’s pavilion, which they found surrounded -by a strong body of archers, and they had no sooner entered the outer part of it than -they were introduced to the Earls of Kent and Huntingdon, half-brothers to the King, -who were in waiting. These were now Richard’s chief favourites since the late banishment -of De Vere, Duke of Ireland, and others. By these noblemen they were immediately introduced -into the Royal presence. -</p> -<p>The young Richard was not deficient in that manly beauty possessed by his heroic father, -the nation’s idol, Edward the Black Prince, but his countenance was softened by many -of those delicate traits which gave to his lovely mother the appellation of the Fair -Maid of Kent. His eyes, though fine and full, were of unsteady expression, frequently -displaying a certain confidence in self-opinion, that suddenly gave way to doubt and -hesitation. Though the dress he had on was of the same shape as that worn by his courtiers, -being that generally used by noblemen of the period when hunting, yet, costly as was -the attire of those around him, his was most conspicuous among them all, by the rich -nature of the materials of which it was composed, as well as by the massive and glittering -ornaments he wore. The gorgeous furniture of his temporary residence too, with the -<span class="pageNum" id="pb488">[<a href="#pb488">488</a>]</span>endless numbers of splendidly habited domestics who waited, might have been enough -of themselves to have explained to the Scottish knights whence that dissatisfaction -arose among his subjects, who were compelled to contribute to expenditure so profuse. -</p> -<p>The King’s natural disposition to be familiar with all who approached him would of -itself have secured a gracious reception to Sir David de Lindsay and his companions, -but the cause of their visit made them doubly welcome. Their coming ensured him an -idle show and an empty pageant which would furnish him with an apology for making -fresh draughts on his already over-drained people. Every honour, therefore, was paid -them, as if they had been public ambassadors from the nation to which they belonged, -and the most conspicuous places were assigned them at that luxurious board where the -Royal collation was spread, and where, much as they had seen, their eyes were utterly -confounded by the profusion of rarities that appeared. -</p> -<p>The King had been hunting for nearly a week in these suburban wilds, and he was now -about to return to his palace in the Tower, which he at this time preferred as a residence -to that of Westminster. But the pleasures of the table, seasoned by dissolute conversation -with the profligate knights and loose ladies, who were most encouraged at his Court, -together with that indolence into which he was so apt to sink, had at all times too -great charms for him to permit him easily to move from them. He therefore allowed -the hours to pass in epicurean indulgence, whilst he gazed on the wanton attitudes -of the women who danced before him, or on the feats of jugglers and tumblers. -</p> -<p>At length the camp was ordered to be broken up, and then the whole Royal attention -became occupied in the arrangement of the cavalcade, so that it might produce the -most imposing effect, and the humblest individuals were not considered as unworthy -of a King’s notice on so important an occasion. All were soon put into the wished-for -order, and Richard himself figured most prominently of all, proudly mounted on a magnificently-caparisoned -horse, having housings that swept the ground. A canopy was borne over him by twelve -esquires, and he was surrounded by his archers. Sir David de Lindsay and his companions -formed a part of this pageant, which they failed not to remark was carefully defended -on all sides by well-armed horsemen. -</p> -<p>From the summit of an eminence the Scottish knights caught their first view of London, -then clustered into a small space <span class="pageNum" id="pb489">[<a href="#pb489">489</a>]</span>within its confined walls. It seemed to be tied like a knot, as it were, on the winding -thread of the majestic Thames, which, after washing the walls of the Palace of Westminster, -flowed thence gently along its banks, fringed by the gardens and scattered country-dwellings -of the nobility and richer citizens, until it was lost for a time amid the smoke arising -from the dusky mass of the city, to appear farther down with yet greater brilliancy. -The sun was already getting low, and was shooting its rays aslant through the thick -atmosphere that hung over the town. They caught on its most prominent points, and -brought fully into notice the venerable tower and spire of the then Gothic St. Paul’s, -and the steeples of the few churches and monasteries which the city contained, together -with its turreted walls and its castles. All between the partially wooded slope they -stood on and the gates, was one wild pasture, partly covered with heath, interspersed -with thickets, and partly by swamps, and a large lake. -</p> -<p>As they drew nearer to the city, they passed by crowds of young citizens engaged in -athletic exercises. Some were wrestling; others, mounted on spirited horses and armed -with lances, were tilting at the quintaine, or jousting with wooden points against -each other. In one place they were shooting with bows at a mark; and in another, groups -of young men and damsels were seen dancing under the shade of trees, to the gratification -of many a father and mother who looked on. Besides these, the ground was peopled by -vendors of refreshments; and, in diverse corners, jugglers and posture-masters were -busy with their tricks before knots of wondering mechanics. So keenly were all engaged, -that the Royal hunting party, carefully as the order of its march had been prepared, -passed by unheeded, or, if noticed at all, it was by a secret curse from some of the -disaffected, who grudged to see that Richard had been hunting in that part of the -forest which it was more particularly the privilege of the citizens of London to use. -Nor did the haughty courtiers regard these humbler people, except to indulge in many -a cutting jest at their expense, which Richard’s ready laugh of approbation showed -they were thoroughly licensed to do. -</p> -<p>“We have seen some such jousting as this before,” said Courtenay, with a sly toss -of his head, immediately after an awkward exhibition that had accidentally attracted -notice. -</p> -<p>“Yea, so have I too,” observed Dalzel calmly; “I did once see ane English knight tilt -so on the Mead of St. John’s.” -</p> -<p>Crossing the broad ditch of the city by a drawbridge, they <span class="pageNum" id="pb490">[<a href="#pb490">490</a>]</span>made their entry between the towers of Cripplegate, having its name from the swarms -of beggars by which it was generally infested, and they immediately found themselves -in narrow streets of wooden houses, uncouthly projecting as they rose upwards, and -detached shops, which were already shut up for the day. Here and there the windows -were decorated with coloured cloth or carpets, and some few idle vagabonds ran after -the cavalcade crying out, “Long live King Richard!” looking to be recompensed for -their mercenary loyalty by liberal largess. But the respectable citizens were already -enjoying their own recreation in the Moorfields, those who did remain having little -inclination to join in the cry where the Monarch was so unpopular; and many a sturdy -black muzzled mechanic went scowling off the street to hide in some dark lane as he -saw the procession approaching, bestowing his malediction on that heartless prodigality -and luxury which robbed him and his infants to supply its diseased appetite. Hepborne -and Halyburton, who rode together, could not help remarking this want of loyal feeling -towards the young English Monarch; and, calling to mind the enthusiasm with which -they had seen the aged King Robert of Scotland, in his grey woollen hose, greeted -by his people, they began to suspect that there must be faults of no trifling sort -in a Prince to whom nature had given so pleasing an exterior. -</p> -<p>Having got within the fortifications of the Tower, the Scottish knights were astonished -with the immense army of the minions of luxury who filled its courts. The King himself -signified his pleasure to Sir David Lindsay and his friends that they should enter -the Royal apartments, where they partook of wine and spices, handed about in rich -golden cups; after which a banquet followed in a style of magnificence calculated -to make everything they had before seen to be altogether forgotten in comparison with -it. The King honoured them with his peculiar attention, and even deigned to attend -to making provision for their proper accommodation. For this purpose, he called for -the Lord Welles, and gave him a list of those persons who were to be honoured with -the expense of lodging and entertaining these strangers and their people. With singular -contradiction to his own wish that they should be treated with exemplary hospitality, -he chose to select as their hosts certain persons who had offended him, and whom he -had a desire to punish, by thus exposing them to great expense; and so the strangers -were thrown into situations where anything but voluntary kindness might be looked -for. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb491">[<a href="#pb491">491</a>]</span></p> -<p>When the King gave them their leave, they found their esquires in waiting for them. -Mortimer Sang led Hepborne into the Vintry, to the house of a certain Lawrence Ratcliffe, -a wine merchant. His dwelling was within a gateway and courtyard, on each side of -which there were long rows of warehouses and vaults extending nearly quite down to -the river wall. -</p> -<p>It was dark when Sir Patrick entered the court-yard, and as he passed onwards to where -he saw a lamp burning within the doorway of the dwelling house, he heard the voice -of a man issuing from an outbuilding. -</p> -<p>“Jehan Petit,” said the person, who spoke to some one who followed him, “see that -thou dost give out no wine to this Scot but of that cargo, the which did ship the -sea water, and that tastes brackish. An the King will make us maintain all his strange -cattle, by St. Paul, but as far as I have to do with them they shall content themselves -with such feeding as it may please me to bestow. Let the esquire and the other trash -have sour ale, ’tis good enow for the knaves; and I promise thee it will well enow -match the rest of their fare, and the herborow they shall have. Alas, poor England! -ay, and above all, alas, poor London! for an we have not a change soon, we shall be -eaten up by the King’s cormorants—a plague rot ’em!” -</p> -<p>By this time Hepborne and his landlord met in the stream of light that issued from -the open doorway. Hepborne made a courteous though dignified obeisance to Master Ratcliffe, -a stout elderly man, whose face showed that he had not been at all negligent during -his life in tasting, that he might have personal knowledge of what was really good -before he ventured to give it to his friends. The wine merchant was taken somewhat -unawares. He had made up his mind to be as cross and as rude as he well could to the -guest that had been thus forced upon him. But Hepborne’s polite deportment commanded -a return from a man who had been in France, and he bent to the stranger with a much -better grace than he could have wished to have bestowed on him. -</p> -<p>“I do address myself to Master Lawrence Ratcliffe, if I err not?” said Hepborne, in -a civil tone. -</p> -<p>“Yea, I am that man,” replied the other, recovering something of his sulky humour. -</p> -<p>“Master Ratcliffe,” said Hepborne, with great civility of manner, “I understand that -His Majesty the King of England’s hospitality to strangers hath been the cause of -throwing me to thy lot. But I cannot suffer his kindness to a Scottish knight to do -injury to a worthy citizen of his own good city of <span class="pageNum" id="pb492">[<a href="#pb492">492</a>]</span>London. To keep me and my people in thy house, would run thee into much trouble, not -to talk of the expense, the which no man of trade can well bear. I come, therefore, -to entreat thee to permit me to rid thee and thy house of unbidden guests, who cannot -choose but give thee great annoy, and to crave thine advice as to what inn or hostel -I should find it most convenient to remove to. By granting me this, thou wilt make -me much beholden to thee.” -</p> -<p>Master Lawrence Ratcliffe looked at Hepborne with no small astonishment. This was -a sort of behaviour to which he had been but little used, and for which he was by -no means prepared. -</p> -<p>“Nay, by St. Stephen, Sir Knight, thou shalt not move,” said he at last; “by all the -blessed saints, thou shalt have the best bed and the best food that London can furnish; -yea, and wine, too, the which let me tell thee, the King himself cannot command. Go, -get the key of the trap cellar, Jehan Petit,” said he, turning briskly to his attendant; -“bring up some flasks of the right Bourdeaux and Malvoisie. Thou dost well know their -marks, I wot.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, send him not for wine, I pray thee, good Master Ratcliffe,” cried Hepborne; -“I trow I have already drank as much as may be seemly for this night.” -</p> -<p>“Chut,” cried the wine merchant, with a face of glee, “all that may be; yet shall -we drain a flask to our better acquaintance. Fly, sirrah Jehan! This way, Sir Knight. -Would that Heaven mought send us a flight of such rare birds as thou art; thine ensample -mought peraunter work a change on these all-devouring vultures of King Richard’s Court. -This way, Sir Knight. Have a care, there be an evil step there.” -</p> -<p>Master Lawrence Ratcliffe ushered Hepborne into a very handsomely furnished apartment, -the walls of which were hung round with costly cloths. It was largely supplied with -velvet and silk covered chairs, and with many an ancient cabinet, and it was lighted -by a small silver lamp. They were hardly seated, when a lacquey brought in a silver -basket of sweetmeats and dried fruits, and soon afterwards Jehan Petit appeared with -the venerable flasks for which Master Ratcliffe had despatched him. It was with some -difficulty that Hepborne could prevent the liberal Englishman from ordering a sumptuous -banquet to be prepared, by declaring that repose, not food, was what he now required; -but he made up for this check on his hospitality by giving ample directions for the -comfort of all the members of Hepborne’s retinue, quadrupeds as well as bipeds. The -wine <span class="pageNum" id="pb493">[<a href="#pb493">493</a>]</span>was nectar, yet Hepborne drank but little of it; but Master Ratcliffe did ample duty -for both. -</p> -<p>“I fear, Sir Knight, that thy people were but scurvily treated ere thou camest,” said -he to Hepborne; “but, in good verity, I have too much of this free quartering thrust -upon me by the Court. I promise thee, King Richard is not always content with his -two tuns out of each of my wine ships. By’r Lady, he doth often help himself to ten -tuns at a time from these cellars of mine, and that, too, as if he were doing me high -honour all the while. It did so happen lately that he lacked some hundred of broad -pieces for his immediate necessities. Down came my Lord of Huntingdon with his bows -and fair words. ‘Master Lawrence Ratcliffe,’ said he, ‘it is His Majesty’s Royal pleasure -to do thee an especial honour.’ ‘What,’ cried I, ‘my Lord of Huntingdon, doth the -King purpose to make an Earl of me?’ ‘Nay, not quite that,’ replied his Lordship, -somewhat offended at my boldness, ‘not quite that, Master Ratcliffe, but, knowing -that thou art one of the richest merchants of his good city of London, he hath resolved -to prefer thee to be his creditor rather than any other. Lend him, therefore, five -hundred pieces for a present necessity. And seeing it was I who did bring this high -honour upon thy shoulders, by frequently enlarging to the King of thy princely wealth, -thou mayest at same time lend me fifty pieces from thine endless hoards, for mine -own private use.’ ‘My Lord,’ replied I, ‘seeing that thou thyself hast been altogether -misinformed as to my wealth, thou mayest hie thee back speedily to undeceive the King, -else may the Royal wrath peradventure be poured out upon thee, for filling his ear -with that which lacketh foundation. I have no money hoards to play the Jew withal.’ -‘Nay, then,’ replied Huntingdon, with a threatening aspect, ‘thou mayest look for -the King’s wrath falling on thine own head, not on mine. By St. Paul, thou shalt repent -thee of this thy discourteous conduct to the King.’ The profligate Earl was hardly -gone when I felt that I had permitted my indignation to carry me too far, and that -it would have been wiser to have paid five times the demand, and I soon had proof -of this. I judged it best to pay the money; yet hardly hath a week elapsed sithence -that I have not been tormented in a thousand ways by orders from the Court. But, by’r -Lady, such a state of things may not last,” said he, after a pause; and then starting, -as if he thought he had perhaps said too much, “for what poor merchant’s coffers may -stand out against such drafts as these? And now, Sir Knight, thou mayest judge why -I was resolved to receive thee <span class="pageNum" id="pb494">[<a href="#pb494">494</a>]</span>so vilely. But thou mayest thank thine own courtesy for so speedily disarming my resolution.” -</p> -<p>On the ensuing morning the Lord Welles came, by the King’s order, to wait on Sir David -Lindsay, and to invite him and his companions to a Royal banquet, to be given that -day at the Palace of Westminster, whither they were to go in grand procession by land, -and to return by water to the Tower at night. The Scottish knights, therefore, joined -the Royal party, and leaving the city by Ludgate, descended into the beautiful country -which bordered the Thames, their eyes delighted, as they rode along, by the appearance -of the suburban palaces and gardens which lay scattered along the river’s bank. Passing -through the village of Charing, they approached the venerable Abbey and Palace of -Westminster, and were received within the fortified walls of the latter. The entertainment -given in the magnificent hall was on a scale of extravagance perfectly appalling, -both as to number of dishes and rarity of the viands; and the aquatic pageant of painted -boats was no less wonderful. It was impossible for the poor commons to behold the -money wrenched from their industry thus scattered in a useless luxury that but little -nourished their trade or manufactures, or at least could not appear to their ignorance -to have such a tendency, without their becoming disaffected; and, accordingly, every -new pageant of this kind only added to the mass of the malcontents. -</p> -<p>The handsome Courtenay had this day outshone all his former splendour of attire. -</p> -<p>“Didst thou mark that popinjay Sir Piers Courtenay?” demanded Sir William de Dalzel, -as they were returning in the boat; “didst thou mark the bragging device on his azure -silk surcoat?” -</p> -<p>“I did note it,” replied Halyburton; “a falcon embroidered in divers silks, that did -cunningly ape the natural colours of the bird.” -</p> -<p>“Yea, but didst thou note the legend, too?” continued Sir William de Dalzel. “It ran -thus, methinks— -</p> -<div class="lgouter"> -<p class="line">I bear a falcon fairest of flight: -</p> -<p class="line">Whoso pinches at her his death is dight, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e6344">In graith.”</p> -</div> -<p class="first">“Ha,” said Hepborne, “by St. Andrew, a fair challenge to us all; the more, too, that -it doth come after the many taunts he did slyly throw out against Scottish chivalry -at Tarnawa. But he shall not lack a hand to pinch at his falcon, for I shall do it -this night, lest the braggart shall change his attire.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay, leave him to me, I entreat thee,” said Sir William <span class="pageNum" id="pb495">[<a href="#pb495">495</a>]</span>de Dalzel. “He is mine by right, seeing I did first note his arrogant motto. Trust -me, I shall not leave London without bringing down this empty peacock, so that he -shall be the laughing-stock of his own companions.” -</p> -<p>On the plea of giving sufficient repose to the Scottish champion, Richard ordained -that yet three more days should pass ere the joust should take place between Sir David -Lindsay and the Lord Welles; and the time was spent in divers amusements, and in balls, -masquings, and feastings. -</p> -<p>At length the day of the tilting arrived, and everything had been done to make the -exhibition a splendid one. Triumphal arches had been erected in several parts of Thames -Street; and the inhabitants were compelled by Royal proclamation to garnish their -windows with flowers and boughs, and to hang out cloths and carpets; while many of -those who had houses on London Bridge were forced by an edict to vacate their dwellings, -for the use of the King and such of his courtiers and attendants as he chose to carry -thither with him. These houses were wretched enough in themselves, being frail wooden -tenements, arising from each side of the Bridge, partly founded on it, so as to narrow -its street to about twenty-three feet, and partly resting on posts driven in to the -bed of the stream, so that they hung half over the water, and were, in some cases, -only saved from falling backwards into it by strong wooden arches that crossed the -street from one house to another, and bound them together. -</p> -<p>The Royal procession was to be arranged in the Tower-yard, and in obedience to the -commands of King Richard, the Scottish knights repaired thither to take their place -in it. The banner of Sir David Lindsay, bearing <i>gules</i>, a fess cheque <i>argent</i> and <i>azure</i>, with his crest an ostrich proper, holding in his beak a key <i>or</i>, appeared conspicuous; and his whole party, esquires as well as knights, were mounted -and armed in a style that was by no means disgraceful to poor Scotland, though in -costliness of material and external glitter they were much eclipsed by the English -knights. Of these Sir Piers Courtenay, who was to perform the part of second to the -Lord Welles, seemed resolved to be second to none in outward show. His tilting-helmet -was surmounted by a plume that was perfectly matchless, and there the falcon, which -on this occasion he had chosen as his crest, was proudly nestled. His coat of mail -was covered with azure silk. The belt for his shield, and the girdle-stead for his -sword, were of crimson velvet, richly ornamented with golden studs and precious stones. -The roundels on his shoulders and elbows were, or at least appeared to be, of gold. -His mamillieres were <span class="pageNum" id="pb496">[<a href="#pb496">496</a>]</span>of wrought gold ornamented with gems, and heavy golden chains, of sufficient length -not to impede his full action when using the weapon, depended from them, so as to -attach the hilt of his sword to his right breast, and the scabbard of it to his left. -His sword and his dagger were exquisite both as to materials and workmanship; but -what most attracted attention was the azure silken surcoat embroidered with the falcon -upon it, and the vaunting motto— -</p> -<div class="lgouter"> -<p class="line">I bear a falcon fairest of flight: -</p> -<p class="line">Whoso pinches at her his death is dight, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e6344">In graith.</p> -</div> -<p class="first">Courtenay rode about, making his horse perform many a fanciful curvet, full of self-approbation, -and throwing many a significant glance towards the Scottish party, as he capered by -them, evidently with the desire of provoking some one among them to accept the mute -and general challenge he gave, and winking to his friends at the same time, as if -he believed that there was little chance of its being noticed. The sagacious Sir John -Constable and some others said all they could to check his impertinent foolery, but -their friendly advices were thrown away on the coxcomb. -</p> -<p>All being prepared, King Richard was becoming impatient to move off, when it was signified -to him that Sir William de Dalzel, who was to be second to Sir David de Lindsay, had -not yet appeared. The King ordered an esquire to hasten to his lodgings to tell him -he was waited for, when just at that moment a knight appeared attired in a style of -splendour that was only to be equalled by Sir Piers Courtenay himself; but what was -more wonderful, he seemed to be in every respect the very double of that magnificent -cavalier. All eyes were directed towards him, and when he came nearer, the King himself -gave way to immoderate fits of laughter, in which he was heartily joined by every -one in the court-yard, down to the lowest groom; in short, by all save one, and that -was Sir Piers Courtenay. -</p> -<p>This second edition of the English exquisite was Sir William de Dalzel, who, having -found out beforehand what Courtenay was to appear in, had contrived, with great exertion, -pains, and expense, to fit himself with a surcoat and appendages exactly resembling -those of the coxcomb; with this difference only, that his azure silk surcoat had on -it a magpie, embroidered with divers coloured threads, with this motto— -</p> -<div class="lgouter"> -<p class="line">I bear a pyet pykkand at ane piece: -</p> -<p class="line">Whasa pykes at her I sall pyke at his nese, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e6344">In faith.</p> -</div> -<p><span class="pageNum" id="pb497">[<a href="#pb497">497</a>]</span></p> -<p>The laugh continued, whilst the square-built Dalzel rode about with his vizor up, -wearing a well-dissembled air of astonishment, as if he could by no means divine what -it was that gave rise to so much merriment. But Courtenay could bear it no longer. -He even forgot the Royal presence of Richard, which, however, was but seldom wont -to throw much awe over those with whom he was in the habit of being familiar. -</p> -<p>“By the body of Saint George,” exclaimed Courtenay, riding up to Dalzel, “thou hast -attired thyself, Sir Scot, but in mockery of me. By the Holy St. Erkenwold, thou shalt -speedily answer for thine unknightly rudeness.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, by the body of St. Andrew, Sir Englishman, the which I do take to be an oath -that ought to match thine,” said Dalzel, with great coolness, seasoned with an air -of waggery, “I do in nowise insult thee by mine attire more than thine attire doth -insult me. Perdie, on the contrarie, I do but give thee infinite honour, in the strict -observance of thine excellent fashion. Didst thou not, with great condescension, bestow -upon the Scottish chivauncie at Tarnawa, myself being one, full many a wise saw on -the supereminent judgment of English knights, or rather of thyself, the cream of all -English knighthood, in matters of dress and arming? Didst thou not discuss it, buckle -by buckle? Hither then am I come, in all my clownishness, to profit by thy wisdom; -and such being mine errand, how, I pray thee, can I do better than copy thee to the -nail—thou, I say, who canst so well teach me to put on a brave golden outside, where -peradventure the inner metal may be but leaden?” -</p> -<p>“By the rood of St. Paul,” cried Courtenay, “thine evil chosen attirement was but -small offence, compared to that thou hast now heaped on me by thy sarcastic commentary -on it. I will hear no more. There!” said he, dashing down his gauntlet on the pavement. -“With permission of the Royal presence, in which I now am, I do hereby challenge thee -to combat of outrance, to be fought after the tilting-match.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, sith that thou wilt fly thy fair falcon at my poor pie,” said Dalzel, “and run -his head into my very talons with thy eagerness, by the blessed bones of St. Dunstan, -I will pinch her as well as ever the monk did the beak of the Evil One;” and saying -so, he leaped from his saddle, and taking up the gauntlet stuck it in his helmet. -</p> -<p>The procession being now formed, moved off in order and with sound of trumpet by the -Tower-gate, and so along Thames Street, towards the bridge, where the Royal party -were accommodated in the balconies and windows of the central houses, <span class="pageNum" id="pb498">[<a href="#pb498">498</a>]</span>close to where the shock of the encounter was expected to take place. The bridge was -then cleared of all obstacles, and the gates at either end were shut so as to act -as barriers to keep out all but the combatants or those who waited on them. -</p> -<p>The scene was now very imposing. The antique wooden fronts of the houses, of different -projections and altitudes, approaching nearer and nearer to each other, as they rose -storey above storey, till they came so close at top as to leave but a mere riband’s -breadth of sky visible; the endless variety of windows and balconies, decorated with -webs of various-coloured cloths, tapestry, and painted emblazonments; the arches that -crossed from one side of the way to the other, hung with pennons and streamers of -every possible shade; the Gothic tower that rose from one part of the bridge, where -the banner of England waved from a flag-staff set among the grizzly heads of many -a victim of tyranny, as well as many a traitor, among which last that of Wat Tyler -was then conspicuous; and these, contrasted with the crowds of gay knights and ladies -who shone within the lattices and balconies, the gorgeous band of heralds, the grotesque -trumpeters, and musicians of all kinds, and the whimsical attire of the numerous attendants -on the lists were objects singularly romantic in themselves, and the effect of them -was heightened by the courtly-subdued whisper that murmured along on both sides, mingling -with the deafened sound of the river dashing against the sterlings of the bridge underneath. -</p> -<p>It being signified to the King that the knights were ready, he ordered the speaker -of the lists to give the word, “Hors, chevaliers!” and the heralds’ trumpets blew. -The barriers at both ends of the bridge were then opened, and Sir David Lindsay entered -from the north, attended by Sir William de Dalzel. The Lord Welles and Sir Piers Courtenay, -who had purposely crossed into what is now Southwark, appeared from that direction. -The trumpets then sounded from both ends of the lists, and the challenge was proclaimed -by one herald on the part of the Lord Welles, and accepted by another on the part -of Sir David de Lindsay, while the articles of agreement as to the terms of combat, -which had been regularly drawn up and signed by both parties at Tarnawa, were read -from the <span class="corr" id="xd31e6393" title="Source: balony">balcony</span> of the heralds. The combatants then rode slowly from each end until they met and -measured lances, when their arms were examined by the marshal, and their persons searched -to ascertain that neither carried charms or enchantments about him. The knights then -crossed each other, <span class="pageNum" id="pb499">[<a href="#pb499">499</a>]</span>and each attended by his companion and one esquire, rode slowly along to the opposite -end of the bridge, and then returned each to his own place, by this means showing -themselves fully to the spectators. The Lord Welles was mounted on a bright bay horse, -and Sir David Lindsay rode a chestnut, both of great powers. But the figures, and -still more the colours, of the noble animals, were hid beneath their barbed chamfronts -and their sweeping silken housings. -</p> -<p>The King now gave his Royal signal for the joust to begin by the usual words, “<span lang="fr">Laissez les aller</span>,” and the heralds having repeated them aloud, the trumpets sounded, and they flew -towards each other with furious impetus, the fire flashing from the stones as they -came on. An anxious murmur rushed along the line of spectators, eagerly were their -heads thrust forward to watch the result. The combatants met, and both lances were -shivered. That of Sir David Lindsay took his opponent in the shield, and had nearly -unseated him, whilst he received the point of the Lord Welles’ right in the midst -of his ostrich-crested casque; but although the concussion was so great as to make -both horses reel backwards, yet the Scottish knight sat firm as a rock. The seconds -now came up, and new lances being given to the combatants, each rode slowly away to -his own barrier to await the signal for the next course. -</p> -<p>It was given, and again the two knights rushed to the encounter, and again were the -lances shivered with a similar result. Sir David Lindsay received his adversary’s -point full in the bars of his vizor, yet he sat unmoved as if he had been but the -human half of a Centaur. A murmur ran along among the spectators; with some it was -applause for his steadiness of seat, but with by far the greater number it was dissatisfaction. -It grew in strength, and at length loud murmurs arose. -</p> -<p>“He is tied to his saddle—Sir David de Lindsay is tied to his saddle. Never had mortal -man a seat so firm without the aid of trick or fallas. Prove him, prove him—let him -dismount if he can!” -</p> -<p>Sir David Lindsay soon satisfied them. He sprung to the ground, making the bridge -ring again with the weight of his harness, and walking up opposite to the balcony -where the King sat, he made his obeisance to Majesty. His well-managed horse followed -him like a dog, and the knight, after thus satisfying the Monarch and every one of -the falsehood of the charge that had been made against him, leaped again into his -saddle, armed as he was. Hitherto the choice breeding of those who were present had -confined the applause to the mere courtly clapping <span class="pageNum" id="pb500">[<a href="#pb500">500</a>]</span>of hands. But now they forgot that they were nobles, knights, and ladies of high degree, -and the continued shout that arose might have done honour to the most plebeian lungs. -</p> -<p>The combatants now again returned each to his barrier. The trumpets again sounded, -and again the generous steeds sprang to their full speed. But now it was manifest -that Sir David Lindsay was in earnest, and that he had hardly been so before, was -proved by the tremendous violence of the shock with which his blunt lance head came -in contact with the neck-piece of the Lord Welles, who was lifted as it were from -his saddle, and tossed some yards beyond his horse. So terrific was the effect of -Sir David Lindsay’s weapon that the operation of the lance borne by the Lord Welles -was so absolutely overlooked that no one could tell what it had been, and so admirably -was Lindsay’s skill and strength displayed by this sudden and terrible overthrow of -his opponent, that the spectators, with all the honest impartiality of Englishmen -and Englishwomen, shouted as loudly as if the triumph had been with their own champion, -when the trumpets proclaimed the victory of the Scottish Knight. -</p> -<p>The gallant Lindsay leaped from his horse, and, altogether unheeding the praises that -were showering upon him, ran to lift up his opponent, who lay without motion. With -the assistance of the seconds and esquires, he raised him, and his helmet being unlaced, -he was discovered to be in a swoon, and it was judged that he was severely bruised. -A litter was immediately brought, and the discomfited knight speedily carried off -to his lodgings in the Tower. Meanwhile Lindsay’s attention was called by the voice -of the King. -</p> -<p>“Sir David de Lindsay,” said he, addressing him from his balcony, “we do heartily -give thee joy of thy victory. Thou hast acquitted thyself like a true and valiant -knight. Come up hither that we may bestow our Royal guerdon on thee.” -</p> -<p>Lindsay ran up stairs to the balcony where the King sat, and kneeling on one knee -before him— -</p> -<p>“Accept this gemmed golden chain, in token of Richard’s approbation of thy prowess,” -said the Monarch, throwing the chain over his neck; “and now thou hast full leave -to return to thine own country when thou mayest be pleased so to do, bearing with -thee safe-conduct through the realm of England.” -</p> -<p>“Most Royal Sir,” said Lindsay, “I shall bear this thy gift as my proudest badge; -but may I crave thy gracious leave to tarry at thy Court until I do see that the Lord -Welles is restored to health by the leeches? Verily, I should return but <span class="pageNum" id="pb501">[<a href="#pb501">501</a>]</span>sadly into Scotland did I believe that I had caused aught of serious evil to so brave -a lord.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, that at thy discretion, Sir Knight,” replied Richard; “our Court shall be but -the prouder while graced by such a flower of chivalry as thyself.” -</p> -<p>Lindsay bowed his thanks, and then retreated from the applauses which rang in his -ears, that he might hasten to follow the Lord Welles to his lodgings, where he took -his place by his bed-side, and began to execute the duties of a nurse, rarely quitting -him for many days, that is, until his cure was perfected. -</p> -<p>Lindsay was no sooner gone than the gay Sir Piers Courtenay, who had by this time -mounted, and who had been all along writhing under the ridicule which Sir William -de Dalzel had thrown upon him, now prepared to give his challenge in form. Bringing -his horse’s head round to front the Royal balcony, and backing him with the most perfect -skill, he rose in his stirrups, and made a most graceful obeisance to his King. -</p> -<p>“What wouldst thou with us, Courtenay?” said Richard, with a smile playing about his -mouth. -</p> -<p>“My liege,” replied Courtenay, bowing again with peculiar grace, “I have to ask a -boon of your Royal favour.” -</p> -<p>“Speak, then, we give thee license,” replied the King. -</p> -<p>“So please your Majesty, I do conceive myself grossly insulted by a Scottish knight; -in such wise, indeed, that the blood of one of us must wash out the stain. May we -then have thy Royal leave to fight before thee even now, to the outrance?” -</p> -<p>“Name the Scottish knight of whom thou dost so complain,” said the King, with difficulty -composing his features; “thou hast our full license to give him thy darreigne.” -</p> -<p>“’Tis he who now rideth this way,” replied Courtenay, “Sir William de Dalzel.” -</p> -<p>“Ha! what wouldst thou with me, most puissant Sir Piers?” said Dalzel, who just then -returned from riding slowly along the whole length of the bridge, with his vizor up, -a grave face, and a burlesque attitude, so as to show his pie off to the greatest -advantage, bringing a roar of laughter along with him from the balconies and open -lattices on both sides of the way, and who now approached Courtenay with a bow so -ridiculous, that it entirely upset the small portion of gravity that the young King -was blessed with; “what wouldst thou with me, I say, most potent paragon of knighthood?” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb502">[<a href="#pb502">502</a>]</span></p> -<p>“I would that thou shouldst redeem thy pledge,” replied Courtenay, with very unusual -brevity. -</p> -<p>“What, then, Sir Piers,” replied Dalzel, “must it then be pie against popinjay? Nay, -cry you mercy, I forgot. Thy bird, I do believe, is called a falcon, though, by St. -Luke, an ’twere not for the legend, few, I wis, would take it for aught but an owl, -being that it is of portraiture so villanous.” -</p> -<p>“By the blessed St. Erkenwold, but thy bantering doth pass all bearing,” cried Courtenay -impatiently, and perhaps more nettled at this attack on the merits of his embroidery -than he had been with anything that had yet passed. “Depardieux, my falcon was the -admiration of the Westminster feast. By the holy St. Paul, it was the work of the -most eminent artists the metropolis can boast.” -</p> -<p>“Perdie, I am right glad to hear thy character of them,” replied Dalzel, “for my pie -is here by the same hands; nay, and now I look at it again, ’tis most marvellously -fashioned. By the Rood, but it pecks an ’twere alive.” -</p> -<p>“Thou hast contrived to turn all eyes upon me by thy clownish mockery,” cried Courtenay, -getting still more angry, as the laugh rose higher at every word uttered by his adversary. -</p> -<p>“Nay, then,” replied Dalzel, with affected gravity, “methinks thou shouldst give me -good store of thanks, Sir Knight, for having brought so many bright and so many brave -eyes to look upon the high perfections of thee and thy buzzard.” -</p> -<p>“My liege,” replied Courtenay, no longer able to stand the laugh that ran around from -window to window at his expense, “am I to have thy Royal license?” -</p> -<p>“Go, then, without further let,” said the King; “let the heralds of the lists proclaim -the challenge.” -</p> -<p>The usual ceremonies were now gone through, and Sir Piers Courtenay rode off to the -barrier lately tenanted by the Lord Welles. Dalzel sat looking after him for some -seconds, until he was master of his attitude, and then turning his horse, cantered -off to his own barrier, so perfectly caricaturing the proud and indignant seat of -the raging Courtenay, that he carried a peal of laughter along with him. But the universal -merriment was much increased when the banner of the falcon was contrasted with that -of the pie, which was raised in opposition to it. It was silenced, however, by the -trumpets of warning, that now brayed loudly from either side of the bridge. -</p> -<p>A second and a third time they sounded, and Courtenay flew against his opponent with -a fury equal to the rage he felt. Even <span class="pageNum" id="pb503">[<a href="#pb503">503</a>]</span>the serious nature of the combat could not tame the waggery of the roguish Dalzel, -who, though he failed not to give due attention to the manner in which he bore his -shield, as well as to the firmness of his seat, rode his career in a manner so ludicrous -as altogether to overcome that solemn silence of expectation that generally awaited -the issue of a combat where death might ensue. The spectators, indeed, were made to -forget the probability of such a consequence, and Courtenay’s ears continued to be -mortified by the loud laugh which, though it followed his adversary, fell with all -its blistering effect upon him. Though much disconcerted, the English knight bore -his lance’s point bravely and truly against Dalzel’s helmet; but the cunning Scot -had left it unlaced, so that it gave way as it was touched, and fell back on his shoulders -without his feeling the shock; whilst his own lance passed high over the head of his -antagonist. -</p> -<p>This appeared to be the result of accident, and they prepared to run again. The signal -was given, the encounter came, Dalzel’s helmet gave way a second time, whilst he with -great adroitness pierced the silken wreath supporting the falcon that soared over -Courtenay’s casque, and bore it off in triumph. -</p> -<p>“Ha!” exclaimed he, “by St. Andrew, but I have the popinjay!” And so saying, he waited -not for further talk, but rode off along the bridge with pompous air, and returned -bearing it on high, to the great mortification of Courtenay, and the no small amusement -of the spectators. -</p> -<p>Courtenay’s ire was now excited to the utmost. The trumpet sounded for the third career, -and he ran to Dalzel with the fullest determination to unhorse him; but again the -treacherous helmet defeated him, while he received the point of his adversary’s lance -so rudely on the bars of the vizor, that they gave way before it. -</p> -<p>“Come hither, come hither quickly,” cried Courtenay to his esquire. “By the blessed -St. George, I have suffered most fatal damage, the which the clownish life of that -caitiff Scot would but poorly compensate.” -</p> -<p>All eyes were now turned towards him; and his esquire having released him from his -helmet, showed his mouth bleeding so profusely, that those who were near him began -seriously to fear that he had really suffered some fatal injury. -</p> -<p>“As I am a true knight, my liege, I shall never lift my head again,” said Courtenay. -“I have lost the most precious ornaments of my face, two pearls from my upper jaw—see -here they are,” said he, holding them out, “fresh, oriental, and shaped by nature -with an elegance so surprisingly and scrupulously <span class="pageNum" id="pb504">[<a href="#pb504">504</a>]</span>accurate, that they were the admiration of all who saw them. What shall I do without -them?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, in truth, thou must even make war on thy food with the wings of thine army, -instead of nibbling at it with the centre, as I did remark thou were wont to do,” -said Sir William Dalzel, looking over his shoulder. -</p> -<p>“Dost thou sit there, my liege, to see one of thy native knights made a mock of? Had -not the traitor’s helmet been left unclosed, by the holy shrine of St. Erkenwold, -but he should have bit the dust ere now. I demand justice.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, of a truth I did greatly err, most valiant sir,” said Sir William Dalzel, with -mock penitence. “It was that hawk-shaped nese of thine that my pie would have pyked -at.” -</p> -<p>“Give me but one course all fair, and thou mayest pick as it may please thee,” replied -Courtenay. -</p> -<p>“Nay, I am willing to pleasure thee with six courses, if thou wouldst have them, good -Sir Knight of the Howlet,” replied Dalzel; “but then, mark me, it must be on equal -terms. Hitherto thou hast fought me with a secret vantage on thy side.” -</p> -<p>“Vantage!” cried Courtenay with indignation; “nay, methinks the vantage hath been -all thine own, Sir Scot.” -</p> -<p>“In truth, it must be owned I have had the best of it, Sir Englishman,” said Dalzel -with a sarcastic leer; “natheless, ’tis thou who hast had the secret vantage.” -</p> -<p>“Let us be judged then by the Royal Richard,” said Courtenay. -</p> -<p>“Agreed,” said Dalzel. “But let each of us first pledge in the Royal hands two hundred -pieces of gold, to be incontinently forfaulted by him who shall be found to have borne -the secret vantage.” -</p> -<p>“Agreed,” cried Courtenay confidently. -</p> -<p>A murmur of highly-excited curiosity now ran along the lists, and the knights despatched -their esquires for the money. Dalzel gave a private hint to his as he went. In a short -time the two esquires returned, each carrying a purse on a pole, both of which were -put up in the balcony where the King sat. But what surprised every one was the appearance -of a farrier, who followed Dalzel’s squire, bearing a burning brand in his hand. -</p> -<p>“And now,” said Dalzel aloud, “I do boldly accuse Sir Piers Courtenay, the knight -of the How——, nay, he of the Falcon, I mean, of having fought against me with two -eyes, whilst one of mine was scooped out at Otterbourne, doubtless by one of the hot-spurring -sons of Northumberland’s Earl. I do therefore <span class="pageNum" id="pb505">[<a href="#pb505">505</a>]</span>claim his forfaulted purse. But as I do fully admit the bravery of the said Sir Piers, -the goodness of whose metal is sufficiently apparent, though it be besprent with so -much vain tinsel, I am willing to do further battle with him, yea, for as many as -six courses, or sixty times six, if he be so inclined, but this on condition that -he doth resign that unfair vantage the which he hath hitherto had of me, and cheerfully -submit to have one of his eyes extinguished by the brand of this sooty operator.” -</p> -<p>“Sir Piers Courtenay,” said Richard, laughing heartily at a joke so well suited to -the times, and which had renewed the convulsions of laughter so severely felt by Dalzel’s -antagonist, “art thou prepared to agree to this so reasonable proposal?” -</p> -<p>But Sir Piers Courtenay was so chagrined that he wanted words. He hung his head, and -was silent. -</p> -<p>“Then must we of needscost forbid all further duel, and forthwith decide incontinently -against thee. The purses are thine, Sir William de Dalzel, for, sooth to say, thou -hast well earned them by thy merry wit.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, then, Sir Piers Courtenay,” said Dalzel, riding up to his opponent, “let not -this waggery of mine cause me to tyne thy good will. Trust me, I will have none of -thy money; but if thou art disposed to confess that thou hast no longer that contempt -for Scottish knights the which thou hast been hitherto so much inclined to manifest, -let it be laid out in some merry masquing party of entertainment, the which shall -be thine only penance. When all else, from the Royal Richard downwards, have been -so hospitable, why should we have to complain of the despisal of one English knight? -Let us shake hands, then, I pray thee.” -</p> -<p>“Sir William de Dalzel, though thou hast worked me a grievous loss, the which can -never be made good,” replied Courtenay, laying his hand on his mouth, “verily I do -bear thee no unchristian ill-will; and sith that his Majesty hath absolved us of our -duel, I do hereby cheerfully give thee the right hand of good fellowship.” -</p> -<p>“’Tis well,” said Dalzel. “Instead of fighting thee, I will strive with thee in that -for the which neither eyes nor teeth may be much needed. I will dance a bargaret with -thee, yea, or a fandango, if that may please thee better, and there I shall ask for -no favour.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb506">[<a href="#pb506">506</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch64" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e849">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER LXIV.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Lady de Vere and her Lovely Guest. Innocence and Purity endangered. The King’s Confessor -and the Franciscan Friar.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">After the spectacle was over, and whilst the homeward procession was forming, Sir -Patrick Hepborne was surprised by the wave of a fair hand, accompanied by a smiling -bow of acknowledgment from a very beautiful woman in one of the balconies close to -that of the King. From the richness of her attire, and the place that had been allotted -to her, she was evidently a lady of some consequence. He returned the compliment, -but, whilst he did so, he felt unconscious of having ever spoken to her, although, -upon re-perusing her face, he remembered her as one whom he had seen at the King’s -banquets, where he had observed that she was particularly noticed by the Sovereign. -Turning to Sir Miles Stapleton, who stood by him, he besought him to tell her name. -</p> -<p>“What,” exclaimed Sir Miles in reply, “hast thou been at our English Court for so -many days, Sir Patrick, and yet knowest thou not the Lady de Vere? Depardieux, it -doth much surprise me that she hath not sooner sought thine acquaintance, for, by -the Rood, she is a merry madam, and fond of variety. She hath been married but a short -space, yet she already changeth her lovers as she doth her fancy robes.” -</p> -<p>“Is it possible?” cried Hepborne, in astonishment. -</p> -<p>“Possible, Sir Patrick!” returned the English knight; “perdie, I am surprised at thy -seeming wonder. Are Scottish ladies then so constant to their lords that thou shouldst -think this fickleness so great a marvel in the Lady de Vere? She hath been for some -time an especial favourite of Majesty; that is, I would have thee to understand me, -in friendship, not par amours, though there be evil tongues that do say as much.” -</p> -<p>“Indeed?” cried Hepborne. -</p> -<p>“Yea, they scruple not to say so,” continued Sir Miles; “but I, who better know the -King, do verily believe that, albeit he is much given to idle dalliance with these -free ladies of this licentious Court, there be but little else to accuse him of. Thou -needst have no fear, therefore, Sir Patrick, that the dread of Majesty will interfere -with thy happiness, if it be her will to receive thee as a lover; so I wish thee joy -of thy conquest. <span class="pageNum" id="pb507">[<a href="#pb507">507</a>]</span>Trust me, I do more envy thee than I do the brave conqueror of the Lord Welles, much -glory as he hath gained.” -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick turned away, at once confounded and disgusted. What! the Lady Eleanore -de Selby, of whose excellence he had heard so much, the friend of the Lady Beatrice—was -it possible that the contamination of a Court could have already rendered her a person -of character so loose? He was shocked at the thought. He turned again to watch her -motions, when he observed the King himself advance towards her as she was preparing -to get into her saddle, and a private conversation pass between them, that drew the -eyes of all the courtiers upon them; but Sir Patrick being called away to join the -Scottish party, lost the opportunity of observing the conclusion of their conference. -</p> -<p>Whilst the procession was dispersing in the court-yard of the Tower, the Lady de Vere -entered, riding on a piebald palfry, richly caparisoned. She was surrounded by a group -of gay chevaliers, with whom she was talking and laughing loudly; but she no sooner -espied Hepborne than she broke from among them and advanced to meet him. -</p> -<p>“Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said she, smiling, “it erketh me that mine evil fortune hath -hitherto yielded me no better than public opportunity to know him, who, by consent -of all, is acknowledged to be the flower of Scottish chivalry. Trust me, my private -apartments shall be ever open to so peerless a knight.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Lady,” replied Sir Patrick, “the title thou hast been pleased to bestow on me -belongeth not to me but to Sir David Lindsay and Sir William Dalzel, who have this -day so nobly supported the honour of Scotland.” -</p> -<p>“They are brave knights, ’tis true,” replied the lady; “yet be there other qualifications -in knighthood than mere brute strength or brute courage. That thou hast enow of both -of these to the full as well as they, we who have heard of Otterbourne do well know. -But in the graces of knightly deportment there be few who admit them to be thine equal, -and of that few I do confess myself not to be one.” -</p> -<p>Hepborne bowed; but, disgusted alike with her freedom and flattery, he gave token -of approval neither by manner nor words. -</p> -<p>“These are my apartments, Sir Knight,” continued the lady, pointing to a range of -windows in a wing of the palace. “If thou canst quit the banquet to spend some merry -hours with me this evening, trust me, thou shalt meet with no cold reception from -the Lady de Vere.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb508">[<a href="#pb508">508</a>]</span></p> -<p>This invitation was seasoned by some warm glances, that spoke even more than her words; -but Sir Patrick received both the one and the other with a silent and formal obeisance. -The lady turned towards a flight of steps, and being assisted to dismount by an esquire, -she tripped up stairs and along a covered terrace. A door opened at its farther extremity, -and a lady appeared for a moment. It was the Lady Beatrice; he could not be mistaken; -her image was now too deeply engraven on his heart. The blood bounded for a moment -within his bosom, rushed through each artery with the heat and velocity of lightning, -and then, as the thought of the Lady de Vere’s character arose within his mind, it -returned cold as ice to its fountain-head, and froze up every warm feeling there. -He felt faint, and his head grew giddy. He looked towards the door where the ladies -were saluting each other with every mark of kindness, and his eyes grew dim as they -vanished within the entrance. -</p> -<p>Almost unconscious of what he was doing, Sir Patrick turned his horse to go to his -lodgings. As he recovered from the stunning effect of the spectacle he beheld, his -mind began to be agonized by the most distressing thoughts. It was impossible that -the Lady Beatrice, whom he believed to be so pure, could be the willing guest of so -vile a woman, knowing her to be such. Yet, though such was his impression, he knew -not well what to think. It was most strange that the Lady de Vere should have thus -urged him to visit her while Beatrice was with her; unless, indeed, the latter were -privy to it, and that it was on her account. But be this as it might, he liked not -the complexion of matters; and, in a state of great perplexity and unhappiness, he -reached the wine merchant’s, where, having given his horse to a groom, he slowly sought -his chamber, unwillingly to prepare for the banquet. -</p> -<p>In going along the passage which led to his apartments, thinking of what so much occupied -him, he, in a fit of absence, opened a door, believing it to be his own; and, to his -great surprise, he found himself in a room, where some dozen or twenty persons were -seated at a long table, on which lay some papers. His host was there among the rest, -and the appearance of the knight threw the whole party into dismay and confusion. -Hepborne drew back with an apology, and hastily shut the door; but he had hardly reached -his own, when he heard the steps of his host coming hurrying after him. -</p> -<p>“Sir Knight,” said Master Ratcliffe, “’twas but some of those with whom I have had -money dealings, come to settle interest with me.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb509">[<a href="#pb509">509</a>]</span></p> -<p>As Hepborne looked in his face, he was surprised to notice that it had exchanged its -generous ruby red for a deadly paleness; the wine merchant was evidently disturbed; -but neither this observation, nor the confusion he had occasioned among the party -whom he had seen surrounding the table, could then find room in his mind for a moment’s -thought. He therefore hastily explained that the interruption had been quite accidental -on his part, and the wine merchant left him apparently satisfied. It will be easily -believed that Sir Patrick Hepborne was but ill attuned for the revelry of the Royal -banquet. He sat silent and abstracted, ruminating on the monstrous and afflicting -conjunction he had that day witnessed, and perplexing himself with inventing explanations -of the cruel doubts that were perpetually arising in his mind. The King broke up the -feast at an earlier hour than usual, and Sir Patrick, glad to escape from the crowd, -stole away by himself. -</p> -<p>As he was leaving the palace, he turned his eyes towards the casements of the Lady -de Vere. They were eminently conspicuous, for they were open, and lighted up with -great brilliancy, while the sound of the harp came from them. He thought of the invitation -he had received, and hung about for some time, weighing circumstances, and hesitating -whether he should immediately avail himself of it, that he might ascertain the truth, -or whether he should, in the first place, endeavour to gather it by some other means. -Passion argued for the first, as the most decided step, and prudence urged the second -as the wisest plan; but whilst he was tossed between them, he was gradually drawn -towards the windows by the unseen magnet within. As he got nearer, he ascertained -that it was a man’s voice that sung the melody and words, to which the instrument -was an accompaniment; and by the time he reached the bottom of the flight of steps, -he could catch the remaining verses of a ballad, part of which had been already sung. -They were nearly as follows:— -</p> -<div class="lgouter"> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">“And wilt thou break thy faith with me, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">And dare our vows to rend?” -</p> -<p class="line">“Hence!” cried the angry sire; “with thee -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">My Eda ne’er shall wend. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">“Her name doth prouder match demand; -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Lord Henry comes to-night; -</p> -<p class="line">He comes to take her promised hand, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">And claim a husband’s right. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">“Then hence!”—The knight, in woful guise, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Turned from the perjured gate; -</p> -<p class="line">The maiden heard her lover’s sighs, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">All weeping where she sate. -</p> -</div> -<p><span class="pageNum" id="pb510">[<a href="#pb510">510</a>]</span></p> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">“Now up and run, my bonnie page, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Fly with the falcon’s wing, -</p> -<p class="line">Fly swiftly to Sir Armitage, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">And give to him this ring. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">“And tell him, when the rippling ford -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Shall catch the moonbeams light, -</p> -<p class="line">I’ll leave the hated bridal board, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">To meet him there to-night.” -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">The boy he found Sir Armitage -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">In greenwood all so sad; -</p> -<p class="line">But when he spied his lady’s page, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">His weeping eyne grew glad. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">And up leaped he for very joy, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">And kissed his lady’s ring, -</p> -<p class="line">And much he praised the bonny boy -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Who did such message bring. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">“I’ll meet my lady by the stream, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">So, boy, now hie thee home; -</p> -<p class="line">I’ll meet her when the moon’s broad beam -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Comes dancing over the foam.” -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">And now to grace the wedding-feast -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">The demoiselles prepare; -</p> -<p class="line">There were the bridegroom, sire, and priest, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">But Eda was not there. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">She left her tyrant father’s tower, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">To seek her own true knight; -</p> -<p class="line">She met him at the trysted hour, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Prepared to aid her flight. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">“Sir Armitage, with thee I’ll ride -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Through flood, o’er fell so steep; -</p> -<p class="line">Though destined for another’s bride, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">My vow to thee I’ll keep.” -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">“Oh bless thee, bless thee, lady mine, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">That true thy heart doth prove; -</p> -<p class="line">Before yon moon hath ceased to shine, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">The priest shall bless our love.” -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">He raised her on his gallant steed, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">And sprang him to his selle; -</p> -<p class="line">“Keep, keep thy seat, my love, with heed, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">And grasp my baldrick well.” -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">Beneath the moon the wavelets flash’d, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Struck by the courser’s heel, -</p> -<p class="line">And through the ford he boldly dash’d, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Spurr’d by the pointed steel. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">High up his sides the surges rose, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">And washed the blood away; -</p> -<p class="line">They lav’d fair Eda’s bridal-clothes, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">And fill’d her with dismay. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">“Alas, the stream is strong,” she cried. -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">“Fear not, my love,” said he; -</p> -<p class="line">“’Tis here the waters deepest glide, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Anon we shall be free.” -</p> -</div> -<p><span class="pageNum" id="pb511">[<a href="#pb511">511</a>]</span></p> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">Behind them rung a wild alarm, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">And torches gleam’d on high; -</p> -<p class="line">Forth from the Castle came a swarm, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">With yells that rent the sky. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">Again the knight his iron heel -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Dash’d in his courser’s side. -</p> -<p class="line">He plung’d—his powerful limbs did reel— -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">He yielded to the tide. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">Down went both mailed horse and knight; -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">The maid was borne away, -</p> -<p class="line">And flash’d the moonbeam’s silver light -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Amid the sparkling spray. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">His daughter’s shriek the father heard, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Far on the moonlit wave; -</p> -<p class="line">A moment Eda’s form appear’d, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Then sunk in watery grave. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">Peace never blest the sire again; -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">He curst ambitious pride, -</p> -<p class="line">That made him hold his promise vain, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">And sacred oaths deride. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">Still in his eye his sinking child, -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Her shriek still in his ear, -</p> -<p class="line">Reft of his mind, he wanders wild -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Midst rocks and forests drear. -</p> -</div> -<div class="lg"> -<p class="line">But where that cross in yonder shade -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Oft bends the pilgrim’s knee, -</p> -<p class="line">There sleep the gentle knight and maid -</p> -<p class="line xd31e2067">Beneath their trysting tree.</p> -</div> -</div> -<p class="first">When the musician had finished, Sir Patrick Hepborne still continued to loiter with -his arm on the balustrade of the stair, when the door opened, and he heard a feeble -step on the terrace above. He looked upwards, and the light of a lamp that was burning -in a niche fell on the aged countenance of a man who was descending. It was Adam of -Gordon. -</p> -<p>“Adam of Gordon!” exclaimed Sir Patrick. -</p> -<p>“And who is he, I pray, who doth know Adam of Gordon so far from home?” demanded the -minstrel. “Ah, Sir Patrick Hepborne; holy St. Cuthbert, I do rejoice to see thee. -Trust me, the ready help thou didst yield me at Forres hath not been forgotten; though -thou didst sorely mar my verses by thine interruption. Full many sithes have I tried -to awaken that noble subject, but the witchery of inspiration is past, and——” -</p> -<p>“But how camest thou here?” demanded Hepborne, impatiently interrupting him. -</p> -<p>“Sir Knight, I came hither with a lady from the Borders,” said Adam, hesitatingly; -“a lady that——” -</p> -<p>“Nay, speak not so mystically, old man,” replied Hepborne; <span class="pageNum" id="pb512">[<a href="#pb512">512</a>]</span>“I am already well aware of the story of the Lady Beatrice, and heartily do I curse -mine own folly for permitting jealousy so to hoodwink mine eyes as to make me run -blindly away from mine own happiness. I already guess that it was she whom thou didst -accompany hither, and I know that she is now an inmate of those apartments, with the -Lady de Vere, the daughter of the late Sir Walter de Selby.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay, so far thou art wrong, Sir Knight,” replied the Minstrel. “She to whom -these apartments do belong is not the daughter of Sir Walter de Selby. True it is, -indeed, that when the Lady Eleanore did leave Norham Castle, she did call the companion -of her flight by the name of Sir Hans de Vere, a Zealand knight, kinsman to the Duke -of Ireland; but some strange mystery doth yet hang over this affair, for he who doth -own these gay lodgings, and who is the husband of this gay madam, is the identical -Sir Hans de Vere I have just described, and yet he knoweth nought of the Lady Eleanore -de Selby.” -</p> -<p>“Thy speech is one continued riddle, good Adam,” said Hepborne; “canst thou not explain -to me?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, of a truth, Sir Knight, thou dost know as much as I do,” said the minstrel. -“What hath become of the Lady Eleanore de Selby no one can tell. If he that she married -be indeed a De Vere, he is at least no kin to the Duke of Ireland, as he or she would -have us believe. There have been De Veres enow about the English Court since this -King Richard began his reign, albeit that the day may be gone by with many of them, -sith that their chief, the Duke of Ireland, hath been forced to flee into Zealand, -where his race had its origin. But of all the De Veres, none doth answer the description -of him whom the Lady Beatrice and I did see carry off the Lady Eleanore de Selby from -Norham.” -</p> -<p>“Strange, most strange,” said Sir Patrick Hepborne; “but knowest thou aught of this -Lady de Vere? Men’s tongues do talk but lightly of her.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, in good truth, I have begun to entertain strange notions of her myself,” replied -Adam. “By’r Lady, she would have had me sing some virelays to-night that were light -and warm enow, I promise thee, had I not feigned that I knew them not; and, by my -troth, she spared not to chide me for my sober minstrelsy, the which she did tauntingly -compare to the chanting of monks. My Lady, quoth I, consider I am but a rude Border——” -</p> -<p>“But say, old man,” cried Hepborne, impatiently interrupting him, “how did the Lady -Beatrice seek shelter with such a <span class="pageNum" id="pb513">[<a href="#pb513">513</a>]</span>woman? Quick, tell me, I beseech thee, for I must hasten to rescue the poor and spotless -dove from the clutch of this foul howlet.” -</p> -<p>“In the name of the Virgin, then, let us lose no time in thinking how it may best -be done,” said Adam of Gordon earnestly; “St. Andrew be praised that thou, Sir Knight, -art so willing to become the protector of an angel, who——Yet I dare not say how much -thou art beloved. But, hush! we may be overheard here in the open air. Let us retreat -to my garret yonder, where I will tell thee all I can, and then we may, with secrecy -and expedition, concert what steps thou hadst best take.” -</p> -<p>Hepborne readily followed the minstrel to his small chamber, and there he learned -the following particulars. -</p> -<p>The Lady Beatrice had no sooner recovered from the swoon into which she had been thrown -by the appearance of the Franciscan at Sir Walter de Selby’s funeral, than she sent -for the Minstrel, of whose attachment and fidelity she had already had many a proof, -and imparted to him her design of quitting Norham Castle immediately. Without communicating -her intention to any one else, she mounted that milk-white palfrey which had been -the gift of Hepborne, and travelled with all speed to Newcastle, where she sought -shelter in the house of a widowed sister of Sir Walter de Selby. There she lived for -a short time in retirement, until at last she adopted the resolution of visiting London -in search of her friend the Lady Eleanore, whom she believed now to be the Lady de -Vere, that she might communicate to her the death of her father, if she had not already -heard of that event, and entreat from her a continuance of that protection which she -had so long afforded her. She and the Minstrel, therefore, went on board a ship sailing -for the Thames; but having been tossed about by contrary winds, and even compelled -to seek safety more than once in harbours by the way, they had only arrived in the -metropolis three days before that of which we are now speaking. -</p> -<p>The Minstrel was immediately employed by the Lady Beatrice to make inquiry for the -Lady de Vere, and he was readily directed to the lodgings of the lady of that name -in the Tower. But he was no sooner introduced into her presence and that of her husband, -Sir Hans de Vere, than he discovered that there was some strange mistake. To exculpate -himself for his seeming intrusion on a knight and lady to whom he was an utter stranger, -he explained the cause of his coming, and told whom he sought for, when, to his great -dismay, he learned that no such <span class="pageNum" id="pb514">[<a href="#pb514">514</a>]</span>persons as those he described were known about the Court. Filled with chagrin, he -returned to the Lady Beatrice, whose vexation may be more easily conceived than described. -She was a stranger in London, in a wretched hostel, without a friend but old Adam -to advise her, and severed for ever, as she feared, from the only human being on whom -she could say that she had the least claim for protection. Despair came upon her, -and hiding her face in her hands, she gave full way to her grief. -</p> -<p>Whilst she sat in this wretched situation, in which Adam in vain exerted himself to -comfort her, a page arrived, with a kind message from Sir Hans and Lady de Vere, in -which they offered her their house as a home, until she should have time to determine -as to her future conduct. So friendly, so seasonable a proposal, was not to be rejected -in her circumstances, even coming as it did from strangers, and the Lady Beatrice -gladly became the guest of the Lady de Vere. -</p> -<p>So far went the Minstrel’s knowledge; but leaving Sir Patrick to question him as he -pleases, we shall ourselves more deeply investigate the circumstances, as well as -the secret springs of action which produced this event. It happened that just after -the Minstrel’s interview with the Lady de Vere, King Richard came to idle an hour -with her as he was often wont to do to gather the gossip of the Court. The lady told -him what had passed, and the Monarch joined with her in the laugh it occasioned. The -Lady de Vere had extracted enough of Beatrice’s history from the Minstrel to be able -to answer the King’s questions. -</p> -<p>“And who may this Beatrice be?” demanded Richard. -</p> -<p>“A damsel, I believe, whom old De Selby picked up at the door of a Scottish peasant, -and whom he fancied to educate as a companion to his daughter Eleanore,” replied Lady -de Vere; “doubtless, now that he is dead, she seeks to hang herself about the neck -of the heiress of her patron.” -</p> -<p>“And sith that she hath so come, might we not find some other neck for her to hang -about?” said the King laughing. “Pr’ythee, send for her hither; we should be well -contented to see this stray bird.” -</p> -<p>The Lady de Vere well knew her advantage in humouring all the wild fancies that entered -the King’s head, and accordingly gave immediate obedience to his wishes, by sending -to Beatrice the message we have already noticed. Fatigued to death by her voyage, -Beatrice had no sooner complied with the invitation she had received, than she was -compelled to retire to the apartment <span class="pageNum" id="pb515">[<a href="#pb515">515</a>]</span>the Lady de Vere had prepared for her; and she continued so long indisposed that she -was unable to be present at the tilting. -</p> -<p>Towards the evening of that day, however, she was so far recovered as to quit her -room; and, accordingly, when the procession returned from London Bridge, she hastened -to pour out her gratitude to the Lady de Vere for the hospitable reception she had -given her. -</p> -<p>Sir Hans went to the King’s banquet, but his lady remained with Beatrice; and the -Minstrel was sent for to amuse them with his ballads. There was something free and -bold in the manner of the Lady de Vere that was by no means agreeable to Beatrice; -but believing that there was nothing worse in it than an unfortunate manner, she endeavoured -to reconcile herself to it, in one who had shown her so much apparent friendship. -</p> -<p>They were seated in a luxuriously-furnished apartment, hung with tapestry of the richest -hues, and lighted up by silver lamps, when the door opened, and Sir Hans de Vere entered, -ushering in a young man, whom he introduced as the Earl of Westminster. The Lady de -Vere smiled on the young nobleman, and Beatrice, though she had never heard of such -a title, was aware that new lords were created so frequently, that there was little -wonder she should be ignorant of it. The young Earl, who was very handsome, seemed -to be on habits of great intimacy with Sir Hans de Vere and his lady. He seated himself -by the Lady Beatrice, and began to trifle pleasantly with her, mixing up a thousand -courtly compliments with the agreeable nothings that he uttered. Spiced wine and sweetmeats -were handed round, and soon afterwards a small, but very tasteful and exquisitely -cooked supper appeared, with wines of the richest flavour. The Lady Beatrice ate little, -and refused to touch wine. The night wore apace. The young Earl of Westminster became -more and more earnest in his endeavours to make himself agreeable to Beatrice, who -began to find considerable amusement in his conversation, and insensibly permitted -him to absorb her whole attention. Suddenly he began, in a sort of half-serious manner, -to address her in a strain of tenderness that by no means pleased her. She prepared -to shift her place; but what was her astonishment, when, on looking up, she saw that -she and the young Earl were alone. Sir Hans de Vere and his lady had stolen unnoticed -from the apartment. Beatrice started up to follow them. -</p> -<p>“Nay, stay to hear me, lovely Beatrice,” cried the Earl, endeavouring to detain her. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb516">[<a href="#pb516">516</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Unhand me, my Lord,” cried she boldly, and at the same time tearing herself from -him. -</p> -<p>“Hear me, only hear me,” cried the Earl, springing to the door, so as to cut off her -retreat. -</p> -<p>This action still more alarmed her. She screamed aloud for help, and flying to the -casement, threw it open; but the Earl dragged her from it by gentle force, and having -shut it, he was vainly endeavouring to compose her, when the chamber door was burst -open by a furious kick, and Sir Patrick Hepborne appeared, with his drawn sword in -his hand. -</p> -<p>“King Richard!” cried the knight, starting back with astonishment: “Doth England’s -King so far forget the duty of the high office he doth hold, as to become the destroyer -instead of the protector of innocence? Yet, by St. Andrew, wert thou fifty times a -king, thou shouldst answer to me for thine insult to that lady. Defend thyself.” -</p> -<p>The cool presence of mind exhibited by Richard whilst yet a stripling, on the memorable -occasion of Wat Tyler being struck down by Walworth the Lord Mayor, showed that he -was not constitutionally deficient in courage; but in this, as in everything else, -he was wavering and uncertain, and no one was more liable than he to yield to sudden -panic. Seeing Hepborne about to spring on him, he darted into an inner room, the door -of which stood ajar. -</p> -<p>“Sir Patrick Hepborne!” cried the Lady Beatrice, her lovely face flushing with the -mingled emotions of surprise, joy, gratitude, and love. -</p> -<p>“Yes,” cried the knight, throwing himself on one knee before her, “yes, Lady Beatrice, -he who may now dare to call himself thine own faithful and true knight—he who hath -now had his eyes cleared from the errors which blinded him—he who, whilst deeply smitten -by those matchless charms, believed that in his adoration of them he was worshipping -the Lady Eleanore de Selby—he who thus believing himself to be deceived and rejected, -did yet continue to nourish the pure and enduring flame in his bosom after all hope -had fled, and who now feels it glow with tenfold warmth, sith that hope’s gentle gales -have again sprung up to fan it—he who will——But whither is my passion leading me?” -cried he, starting up, and taking Beatrice’s hand; “this is no time for indulging -myself in such a theme, dear as it may be to me. Lady, thou art betrayed. This is -no fit place of sojournance for spotless virtue such as thine. The false Lady de Vere -is one who doth foully minister to the King’s pleasures. Lose not a moment, I beseech -you. I have seen <span class="pageNum" id="pb517">[<a href="#pb517">517</a>]</span>Adam of Gordon, who waits for us without. Fly then,” cried he, leading her towards -the door, “fly with me; I will be thy protector. Let us haste from the impure den -of this wicked woman, who would have——” -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick threw open the door as he pronounced these words, and in an instant he -was prostrated on the floor by the blow of a halbert. -</p> -<p>“Seize him and drag him to a dungeon,” cried the Lady de Vere, with eyes flashing -like those of an enraged tigress; “I accuse him of a treasonable attack on the sacred -person of the King of England. He shall die the death of traitor.” The guards obeyed -her, and lifting up the inanimate body of the knight, bore him away. -</p> -<p>“So,” cried the fury, “so perish those who shall dare to insult the love of the Lady -de Vere; and as for thee, minion,” she said, turning round, “thou art a prisoner there -during my pleasure.” And saying so, she pushed Beatrice into the room, and locked -and bolted the door on the wretched damsel, who fell from her violence, and instantly -swooned away. -</p> -<p>When the Lady Beatrice recovered, and began to recollect what had passed, she arose -in a tremor, and tottering to a seat, rested herself for some moments, throwing her -eyes fearfully around the apartment. Everything in it remained as it was. No one seemed -to have entered since. The lamps had begun to burn so faintly, that they appeared -to tell of the approach of midnight, and this idea was strengthened by the silence -that prevailed everywhere both without and within the palace. She tried the bolts -of the door, but, to her great horror, she found them fast. A faint hope of escape -arose, when she remembered that the King had disappeared by the inner apartment, whence -there might be a passage leading to other chambers. She snatched up an expiring hand -lamp, and hastened to explore it. But there was no visible mode of exit from the room, -and she now became convinced that the King must have returned through the apartment -whilst she lay insensible, and that some one had liberated him from without. The recollection -of the cruel wound, which she almost feared might have been Sir Patrick’s death blow, -together with the certainty of his captivity, and the probable issue of it, now filled -her mind with horror; and this, added to the perplexity of her present situation, -so overcame her, that she sat down and wept bitterly. -</p> -<p>The lamps now, one after another, expired, until she was left in total darkness. She -groped her way into the inner apartment, and, having fastened the door within, <span class="pageNum" id="pb518">[<a href="#pb518">518</a>]</span>threw herself upon the couch, and abandoned herself to all her wretchedness. -</p> -<p>Whilst the Lady Beatrice was lying in this distressing situation, she was startled -by a noise. Suddenly a glare of light flashed upon her eyes; she rubbed them, and -looked towards the spot whence it proceeded. A man in a friar’s habit stood near the -wall; he held a lamp high, that its light might the better fill the room. Immediately -behind him was an opening in the tapestry, the folds of which being held aside by -a hand and arm, admitted the entrance of another shaven crowned head. To the terror -of the Lady Beatrice, she recognized in this second monk the piercing eyes and powerful -features of the very Franciscan whose dagger had so alarmed her at Lochyndorbe, and -the sight of whom had so affected her at Sir Walter de Selby’s funeral. She attempted -to scream, but fear so overcame her, that, like one who labours under a nightmare, -her lips moved, but her tongue refused to do its office, and she lay with her eyes -wide open, staring on the object of her dread, in mute expectation of immediate murder. -</p> -<p>“Is she there, Friar Rushak?” said he whom we have known by the name of the Franciscan. -</p> -<p>“She is here,” said the first monk, who bore the lamp; “all is quiet too—thou mayest -safely enter.” -</p> -<p>The Franciscan who followed now stepped into the apartment, and came stealing forward -with soft, barefooted tread. -</p> -<p>“Give me the light, Friar Rushak, that there may be no mistake,” said he, taking the -lamp from his companion. -</p> -<p>The blood grew chill in the Lady Beatrice’s veins as the Franciscan approached the -couch where she lay. He held the lamp so as to throw its light strongly upon her face. -</p> -<p>“It is she indeed,” said he, in a muttering voice, while his features were lighted -up by a grim smile of satisfaction, which gradually faded away, leaving a severe expression -in his lightning eye. -</p> -<p>“She trembles,” said Friar Rushak, advancing towards the couch with a terrible look; -“conscious of her own depravity, she is guilt-stricken.” -</p> -<p>“Ay, she may well be guilt-stricken,” said the Franciscan. -</p> -<p>“Alas, of what am I accused, mysterious man?” cried the Lady Beatrice, clasping her -hands together, and throwing herself on her knees before them. “Murder me not—murder -me not. Let not the holy garments you wear be stained with the blood of innocence.” -</p> -<p>“Innocence!” cried Friar Rushak, “talk not thou of innocence! <span class="pageNum" id="pb519">[<a href="#pb519">519</a>]</span>Why art thou in these apartments if thou be’st innocent?” -</p> -<p>“So help me the pure and immaculate Virgin, I am not here by mine own consent,” said -the unhappy lady. “Murder me not without inquiry—I am a prisoner here—I was eager -to escape—I should have escaped with Sir Patrick Hepborne, had not——” -</p> -<p>“Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said the Franciscan, with a ferocious look. “Ay, so! The curse -of St. Francis be upon him!” -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay, curse him not—oh, curse him not!” cried Beatrice, embracing the Franciscan’s -knees. “Murder me if thou wilt, but, oh, curse not him, who at peril of his noble -life would have rescued me from these hated walls.” -</p> -<p>“Yea, again I do say, may he be accursed,” cried the Franciscan, with increased energy -and ferocity of aspect. “Full well do we know thy love for this infamous knight—full -well do we know why he would have liberated thee.” -</p> -<p>“But to find thee here as a toil spread by the Devil to catch the tottering virtue -of King Richard!” cried Friar Rushak. -</p> -<p>“Yea,” said the Franciscan, striking his forehead with the semblance of intense inward -feeling, “to find thee a monster so utterly depraved, is indeed even more than my -worst suspicions.” -</p> -<p>“What couldst thou hope, minion!” said Friar Rushak sternly; “what couldst thou hope -from fixing thine impure affections on the Royal Richard.” -</p> -<p>“Blessed Virgin,” cried the tortured Beatrice, clasping her hands and throwing her -eyes solemnly upwards, “Holy Mother of God, thou who art truth itself, and who canst -well search out the truth in others, if I do speak aught else than truth now, let -thy just indignation strike me down an inanimate corpse. I am here as an innocent -victim to the treachery of the Lady de Vere. She it was who inveigled me into these -apartments by pretended friendship, that she might make a sacrifice of me. I knew -not even the person of King Richard; and had it not been for Sir Patrick Hepborne, -who so bravely rescued me from his hand——” -</p> -<p>“Um,” said Friar Rushak, somewhat moved by what she had uttered; “thine appeal is -so solemn, and it must be confessed that the evidence of those who did accuse thee -of plotting against the King’s heart is indeed but questionable. It may be—But, be -it as it may, it mattereth not, for thou shalt soon be put beyond the reach of weaving -snares for Richard. Yet shall we try thee anon, for thou shalt see the King, and if -by word or <span class="pageNum" id="pb520">[<a href="#pb520">520</a>]</span>look thou dost betray thyself, this dagger shall search thy heart, yea, even in the -presence of Richard himself.” -</p> -<p>“King Richard!” cried Beatrice, with distraction in her looks. “Take me not before -the King; let me not again behold the King. Where have they carried Sir Patrick Hepborne? -In charity let me fly to him; he may now want that aid which I am bound to yield him.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, thou shalt never see him more.” said the Franciscan. -</p> -<p>“Oh, say not so, say not so—tell me not that he is dead,” cried the Lady Beatrice, -forgetting everything else in her apprehension for Sir Patrick; “oh, if a spark of -charity burns within your bosoms, let me hasten to him. I saw him bleeding, and on -the ground—I heard him cruelly condemned to a dungeon—oh, let me be the companion -of his captivity—let me watch by his pillow—let me soothe his sorrows—let me be his -physician. If my warm life’s-blood were a healing balm, this gushing heart would yield -it all for his minutest wound.” Her feelings overcame her, and she fell back, half -fainting, on the floor. -</p> -<p>“Raise her head,” said Friar Rushak to the Franciscan, who was bending over her with -some anxiety; and he applied to her nostrils a small golden box, containing some refreshing -odour, which speedily began to revive her. -</p> -<p>“Alas!” said the Franciscan, “however innocently she may be here, as affects the King, -her abandoned love for her seducer hath been too clearly confessed.” -</p> -<p>“She reviveth,” said Friar Rushak; “raise her to her feet. And now let us hasten, -brother; the moments fly fast, and we have yet to effect our perilous passage through -the——” -</p> -<p>“Is there no other way?” demanded the Franciscan. -</p> -<p>“None,” replied the Friar Rushak; “and if the King should——” -</p> -<p>“The King!” repeated Beatrice, with a thrill of dread. -</p> -<p>“Ay, Lady, the King,” replied the Friar Rushak, with a strong emphasis and a desperate -expression; “but thou must wear this disguise to conceal thee,” continued he, opening -out a bundle containing a Franciscan’s habit. “Draw the cowl over thy head and face; -follow me with caution; and whatever thou mayest see, utter no word, or give no sign, -else——Nay, let not thy breath he heard, or——Come on.” -</p> -<p>The Friar Rushak now led the way with the lamp, and the Lady Beatrice, shaking from -a dread that even her loose disguise could not conceal, stepped after him through -a spring door behind the tapestry, that led into a passage in the centre of the wall. -The Franciscan followed, and shut the door behind him. <span class="pageNum" id="pb521">[<a href="#pb521">521</a>]</span>The passage was so narrow, that one person only could advance at a time. It was strangely -crooked also, frequently bending at right angles, so as to defy all Beatrice’s speculation -as to where they might be leading her. A dead silence was preserved by both her attendants, -and they moved with a caution that allowed not a step to be heard. Friar Rushak halted -suddenly, and turned round; the lamp flashed upon his face, and showed his angry eye; -the Lady Beatrice fell back in terror into the arms of the Franciscan behind her. -Friar Rushak put his finger to his open mouth, and then told her, in a whisper, to -suppress the high breathing which her fears had created. The Lady Beatrice endeavoured -to obey. Friar Rushak motioned to her and the Franciscan to remain where they were; -he advanced three or four paces with great caution, and, slowly opening a concealed -door, listened for a moment; then gently pushing aside the tapestry within, he thrust -forward his head, and again withdrawing it, motioned to Beatrice and the Franciscan -to advance. -</p> -<p>“They sleep,” whispered he. “Follow me—but no word, sign, or breath, as thou dost -value thy life.” -</p> -<p>Friar Rushak entered within the tapestry, and the Lady Beatrice followed him into -a magnificent chamber, lighted by a single lamp. A gorgeous bed occupied one end of -the apartment. Over it, attached to the heavy Gothic ceiling, was a gilded crown, -whence descended a crimson drapery, richly emblazoned with the Royal Arms of England, -under which lay a young man, his head only appearing above the bed-clothes. She hastily -glanced at his features, which the lamp but dimly illuminated. It was King Richard. -His dark eye-lashes were closed, but she trembled lest he should awaken. Around the -room were several couches, where his pages ought to have watched, but where they lay -as sound as their Royal master. -</p> -<p>They had hardly stepped into the room, when a little dog came growling from under -the King’s bed. The Lady Beatrice had nearly sunk on the floor, but the little favourite -of the monarch instantly recognized Friar Rushak as a well-known friend, and quietly -retreated to his place of repose. The pages showed no symptom of alarm, but the King -turned in bed, and exposed his head more fully to view. The Lady Beatrice shook from -head to foot as she looked towards him; but her apprehension was excited yet more -immediately, when she beheld Friar Rushak at her side, with a menacing eye, and a -dagger in his grasp. A sign at once conveyed to her that it was silence he wanted; -and though she ventured not to breathe, her heart beat so against her side as she -stood, that she felt as if the very <span class="pageNum" id="pb522">[<a href="#pb522">522</a>]</span>sound of its pulsations would break the slumbers of all around her. Again the King -was quiet, and Friar Rushak moved on towards the opposite door. The Lady Beatrice -drew the cowl more over her face, and, without daring to repeat her glance at the -King, followed with as much caution as her sinking knees would permit her to use. -</p> -<p>The door was opened by Friar Rushak with the utmost gentleness, and they found themselves -at one extremity of a suite of apartments, the long perspective of which was seen -running onwards from one to another, and where they could perceive groups of dozing -domestics lying on chairs, and stretched on benches, in every possible position. Through -one of these rooms they passed, and then retreated by a side-door into a narrow circular -stair, by which they descended to the hall of entrance, where they found about a dozen -archers sitting slumbering by a great fire. These men roused themselves on their approach, -and, starting up, sprang forward to bar their passage with their halberts. The Lady -Beatrice became alarmed, and, in the trepidation that seized her, dropped the friar’s -habit that had hitherto concealed her. -</p> -<p>“Ha!” exclaimed one of the soldiers, “a woman and two monks! Who may that considerate -lord have been who hath thus taken the shrift with the sin?” -</p> -<p>“Silence, Barnaby,” cried another man; “that is the holy Father Rushak, the King’s -Confessor.” -</p> -<p>“Let me pass, knaves,” cried Rushak. -</p> -<p>“Ay, ay, let him pass,” said another man; “he hath right of entrance and outgoing -at all hours. I would not have thee try to stop him, an thou wouldst sleep in a whole -skin to-morrow night.” -</p> -<p>The passage was cleared in a moment. The Lady Beatrice, overpowered with apprehension, -was supported by the Franciscan. -</p> -<p>“Come on, brother,” cried Friar Rushak. -</p> -<p>“She faints,” cried the Franciscan. -</p> -<p>“Lift her in thine arms, then,” cried Rushak. -</p> -<p>The Franciscan raised her from the ground, and carried her half senseless to the door. -At that moment a man entered, and brushed by them in breathless haste. He looked behind -him at the group. -</p> -<p>“The Lady Beatrice!” cried he. “Ha, whither do ye carry her, villains?” -</p> -<p>“Answer him not, but run,” said Rushak, flying off at full speed across the court, -followed by the sturdy Franciscan, <span class="pageNum" id="pb523">[<a href="#pb523">523</a>]</span>who carried his fair burden as if he felt not her weight. The steps of many people -were heard following them. All at once the noise of a desperate scuffle ensued behind -them, and the two monks, who stayed not to inquire the nature of it, pressed on towards -a low archway that ran under the river-wall. The air blew fresh from the river on -Beatrice’s cheek. She revived, and found that he who carried her was standing near -an iron gate of ponderous strength, which Friar Rushak was making vain attempts to -open. -</p> -<p>“Holy St. Francis assist us!” cried he, “I fear that my hands have erred, and that -I have unluckily possessed myself of the wrong key.” -</p> -<p>“Hush,” said the Franciscan, “and keep close. The step of the sentinel on the wall -above falls louder. He cometh this way.” -</p> -<p>They drew themselves closer to the wall. The sentinel’s step passed onward to the -extremity of his walk, and then slowly returning, it again moved by, and the sound -of it sank along the wall. -</p> -<p>“Try the key again, brother,” said the Franciscan; “the man is beyond hearing.” -</p> -<p>Friar Rushak again applied the key; the great bolt yielded before it; the gate creaked -upon its hinges, and the Franciscan deposited his trembling burden, more dead than -alive, in a little skiff that lay in the creek of the river running under the vault. -</p> -<p>“Thanks, kind brother,” said the Franciscan in a low tone of voice, to Friar Rushak; -“a thousand thanks for thy friendly aid.” -</p> -<p>“Hush! the sentinel comes again,” whispered Friar Rushak. -</p> -<p>They remained perfectly still until the man had completed his turn, and was gone beyond -hearing. -</p> -<p>“Now thou mayest venture to depart,” said Friar Rushak—“away, and St. Francis be with -thee!” And so saying, he waved his hand, shut the gate, and quickly disappeared. -</p> -<p>The Franciscan got into the boat. A little crooked man, who had hitherto lain like -a bundle of clothes in the bottom of it, started up, and began pushing it along by -putting his hands against the side-walls until he got beyond the vault. Then he sat -down and pulled the oars. -</p> -<p>“Who goes there?” cried the sentinel, “who goes there?—Answer me, an thou wouldst -not have a quarrel-bolt in thy brain.” -</p> -<p>The Franciscan minded not, and the little figure went on, pulling with all his might. -Beatrice sat trembling with affright. <span class="pageNum" id="pb524">[<a href="#pb524">524</a>]</span>It was dark, but she heard the sentinel’s step running along the wall, as if following -the sound of the oars. He halted; the click of the spring of his arbaleste reached -her ear, and the bolt that it gave wings to had nearly reached her too, for it struck -with great force on the inside of the boat that was opposite to the man who shot it. -The rower pulled off farther into the stream. The sentinel’s cry for raising the guard -was heard; but the tide was now running down, and it bore the little boat on its bosom -with so much swiftness that they soon lost all sound of the alarm. -</p> -<p>“Tell me, oh, tell me who art thou, and whither dost thou carry me?” cried Beatrice, -her heart sinking with alarm as she beheld the walls of the city left behind them. -</p> -<p>“Daughter, this is neither the time nor the place for the explanation thou dost lack,” -replied the Franciscan; “methinks I do hear the sound of oars behind us. Let me aid -thee, Bobbin,” cried he, taking one of the oars, and beginning to pull desperately. -</p> -<p>The united strength of the two rowers now made the little boat fly like an arrow, -and in a short time the eyes of the Lady Beatrice were attracted by five lights that -burned bright in the middle of the river, and hung in the form of St. Andrew’s cross. -</p> -<p>“St. Francis be praised,” cried the Franciscan; “we are now near the bark that is -to give us safety. Pull, Bobbin, my brave heart.” -</p> -<p>The lights grew in magnitude in the Lady Beatrice’s eyes, and the water beneath the -shadowy hull blazed with the bright reflection. -</p> -<p>“Hoy, the skiff!” cried a stern voice in a north-country accent. -</p> -<p>“St. Andrew!” replied the Franciscan. -</p> -<p>“Welcome, St. Andrew,” said the voice from the vessel. “Hast thou sped, holy father?” -</p> -<p>“Yea, by the blessing of St. Francis and the Virgin,” replied the Franciscan. -</p> -<p>The lights, which were suspended to a frame attached to the round top of the short -thick mast, were at once extinguished. The skiff came alongside, and the Lady Beatrice -was lifted, unresisting, into the vessel, and carried directly into the cabin, and -in a few minutes the anchor was weighed. -</p> -<p>“So, my brave men,” cried the master to his sailors, after they had got the anchor -on board, “now, hoise up the mainsail. Take the helm, Bobbin; we shall drop slowly -down till daylight doth appear.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb525">[<a href="#pb525">525</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Art thou sure of shaping thy course safely through all these intricate windings?” -demanded the Franciscan. -</p> -<p>“Yea,” replied the commander, “as sure as thou hast thyself seen me when running between -the Bass and the May. What, dost thou think that I have been herrying these English loons so long without gathering sea-craft as well as plunder? And then, -have I not crooked Bobbin here as my pilot, who was bred and born in this serpent -of a river? By St. Rule, but he knoweth every sweep and turn, yea, and every sand -and shoal bank, blindfold. Had I not had some such hands on board, how dost thou think -I could have carried off that spice-ship so cunningly, having to steer her through -so many villainous eel-knots?” -</p> -<p>“I see thou art not a whit less daring than thy sire,” said the Franciscan. -</p> -<p>“Nay, an I were, I should ill deserve the gallant name of Mercer,” replied the other. -“Thou didst witness enow of his exploits, I ween, the while that thou wert aboard -of him, to remember thee well that he did neither want head to conceive, boldness -to dare, nor coolness to execute. Trust me, I lack not my father’s spirit; and though -I have not the fortune to sail with a fleet of stout barks at my back, as he was wont -to do, yet, while the timbers of the tough old Trueman do hold together beneath me, -I shall work these Southrons some cruel evil, to revenge the loss of my father and -his ships. Haul from the land, Bobbin; haul off, to weather that point. Climb the -forecastle and look out there, he who hath the watch.” -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch65" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e859">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER LXV.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>In the Dungeons of the Tower of London.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Let us now return to Sir Patrick Hepborne, and inquire into his fate, as well as endeavour -to explain how he was enabled to render so speedy aid to the Lady Beatrice. -</p> -<p>After having heard everything from the Minstrel, he resolved to avail himself of the -invitation he had received from the Lady de Vere; by doing which immediately, he hoped -to have some happy accidental opportunity of seeing and conversing with the Lady Beatrice. -He had no sooner presented himself at the door of her apartments, than a page, who -seemed to have been on the watch for him, sprang forward, and ushered him into a small -chamber, voluptuously furnished, and moderately lighted <span class="pageNum" id="pb526">[<a href="#pb526">526</a>]</span>by a single lamp. In his way thither he heard voices and laughing in another place. -The page left him, and in a very short time he heard the light trip of a woman’s foot. -The door opened, and the Lady de Vere entered alone. She accosted him with an easy -gaiety of manner, and, ordering her page to bring in spiced wine, she began to assail -his heart with all the allurements of which she was mistress. Sir Patrick, still hoping -for an opportunity of seeing her whom he so much loved, mustered up all his ingenuity -to keep the lady in play, but his mind was so much employed in thinking of the Lady -Beatrice, that he ministered but awkwardly to the coquetry of the Lady de Vere, and -met her warm advances so coldly, that she began to think in her own mind that this -phœnix of Scottish chivalry was little better than a frigid fool. -</p> -<p>It was whilst he was engaged in playing this truly difficult game that the shrieks -of the Lady Beatrice reached his ear. He started up at once from the Lady de Vere’s -side, and, drawing his sword, made his way with the speed of lightning towards the -chamber whence the screams proceeded, and, with the force of a thunderbolt centred -in his foot, burst open the door as we have already seen. The Lady de Vere, boiling -with indignation at being so abandoned by him, called for some of the King’s guards, -and, arriving with them just in time to hear the language in which he was talking -of her to Beatrice, her rage knew no bounds, and the reader is already aware to what -a cruel extremity it carried her against the hapless lovers. -</p> -<p>The blow which Sir Patrick received, though it effectually stunned him, was by no -means fatal. When he recovered from the swoon into which it had thrown him, he found -himself stretched on a heap of straw, on the floor of a dungeon. The grey twilight -that peeped through a small grated window placed high in the wall, told him that morning -was approaching. He arose, with a head giddy from the blow it had received, and found -that the axe-wound in his scalp had bled so profusely as to have deluged his hair, -and so clotted it together that it had of itself stopped the effusion. The knight -then began to examine the place of his confinement, when, to his surprise, he beheld -another prisoner in the vault, who seemed to sleep soundly. Sir Patrick approached -to look upon him, and he was not a little astonished to discover that it was no other -than his landlord, Master Lawrence Ratcliffe. He hesitated for a time to disturb so -sound a repose; but at length curiosity to know how he came there got the better of -everything else, and he gently shook him from his slumbers. The wine merchant <span class="pageNum" id="pb527">[<a href="#pb527">527</a>]</span>started up—rubbed his eyes, and betrayed, by his look of terror, that he was awakened -to a full recollection of his situation, and that he feared he was called to meet -his doom; till, seeing that it was his Scottish guest whose countenance he beheld, -his expression changed. -</p> -<p>“So thou hast come to look upon the victim of thy traiterie,” said he, with a reproachful -tone. -</p> -<p>“What meanest thou, my good friend?” replied Hepborne; “I am a prisoner here, as well -as thyself.” -</p> -<p>“Ha, ha! So then, whilst they listened to thy tale, they did begin to suspect thee -of having had some share in the treason,” said Ratcliffe. -</p> -<p>“What treason?” demanded Hepborne; “I protest, on the honour of a knight, that I am -altogether ignorant of what thou dost mean. Believe me, I am here for no matter connected -with aught that thou mayest have done. My crime is the having dared to rescue a virtuous -demoiselle from the wicked assault of King Richard. I was on the eve of springing -forward to punish him on the spot for his villainy, when he fled. I was suddenly rendered -senseless by a blow from the halberd of one of his guards, and I recovered not from -my swoon until I found myself on yonder straw. But what, I pr’ythee, hath made thee -the tenant of this gloomy dungeon?” -</p> -<p>“And art thou really innocent of betraying me then?” demanded Ratcliffe, with a strong -remnant of doubt in his countenance. -</p> -<p>“I have already declared, on the faith of knighthood, that I know not what I could -have betrayed thee in,” replied Hepborne, a little displeased that his truth should -be thus questioned; “Depardieux, I am not wont to be thus interrogated and suspected.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, pardon me, good Sir Knight,” cried Master Ratcliffe, starting up, and stretching -out his hand to Hepborne; “by St. Paul, I do now most readily believe thee, and I -am heartily ashamed of having ever doubted thee for a moment. But thou camest in on -us so strangely, as we were in secret conclave assembled, that when my arrest came -at midnight, I could not but believe that thou hadst betrayed me.” -</p> -<p>“What could I have betrayed thee in?” said Sir Patrick. “I came in on thee and thy -friends by an accident, and I neither did know, nor did I seek to know, the subject -of your deliberation.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, trust me, it was matter of no weight, Sir Knight,” cried Ratcliffe eagerly; -“simple traffic, I promise thee. Yet <span class="pageNum" id="pb528">[<a href="#pb528">528</a>]</span>men’s most innocent dealings be cruelly perverted in these slippery times; and some -one, I trow, hath sorely misrepresented mine, else had I not been here. But right -glad am I to find that thou art free from such suspicion; for verily the disappointment -I felt in discovering that thou wert, as I did then think, a traitor, was even more -bitter to me than the effect of the traiterie of the which I did suppose thee guilty. -But tell me, Sir Knight,” said he, rapidly changing the subject, and speaking with -an air of eagerness, “tell me how did King Richard escape thine arm? Methought that -arm of thine mought have crushed him like a gnat. Ha! trust me, thou needst have no -fear that England should have lacked a monarch, if thou hadst chanced to have rid -her of him who now reigns. But, blessed St. Erkenwold, what noise is that I hear? -Holy St. Mary, grant that there be not spies about us!” -</p> -<p>The door of the dungeon opened, a man entered, and the guards who brought him retreated, -after again locking the door. -</p> -<p>“Mortimer Sang!” cried Sir Patrick Hepborne; “what, I pray thee, hath brought thee -hither? There was at least some spark of kindness in their thus admitting thee to -visit thy master.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, not a whit, Sir Knight,” replied Sang; “for albeit I am right glad to have the -good fortune thus to share thy captivity, by St. Baldrid, I came thither as no matter -of favour, seeing I am a prisoner like thyself.” -</p> -<p>“A prisoner!” cried Hepborne; “and what canst thou have done to merit imprisonment?” -</p> -<p>“I sat up for thee yesternight, until I did become alarmed for thy safety, Sir Knight,” -replied Sang; “and knowing those who had the guard at the Tower gate, I made my way -in, and was in the act of entering the Palace to inquire about thee, when, as I crossed -the threshold, I was met by two friars, one of whom bore a lady in his arms. She was -disguised in a monk’s habit; but my recollection of Maurice de Grey, together with -what your worship hath told me, made me recognize her at once as the Lady Beatrice. -The Franciscan who carried her——” -</p> -<p>“Franciscan!” cried Hepborne. “What! he who came to Lochyndorbe to denounce the Bishop -of Moray’s threatened excommunication against Lord Badenoch?” -</p> -<p>“The same,” replied Sang. -</p> -<p>“Then,” cried Hepborne in distraction, “then hath the hapless lady’s murder been made -the consummation of their guilt. <span class="pageNum" id="pb529">[<a href="#pb529">529</a>]</span>That friar was an assassin. He did once attempt her life at midnight. Ah, would I -could break through these walls, to sacrifice him who hath been the author of a deed -so foul; would I were led forth to death, for that alone can now give relief to my -misery. But,” continued he, turning reproachfully to his esquire, “how couldst thou -behold her whom my soul adores thus borne to her death, and not strike one blow for -her deliverance?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, verily I did rush to her rescue, Sir Knight,” replied Sang; “but ere I could -reach her, I was beset by some dozen of the guards from the Palace, and, ere I wist, -I was beaten to the earth, captured, and thrown into a vault, where I lay for the -remainder of the night, and whence I have been this moment brought hither, being accused -of treason, in attempting to enter the Royal Palace at midnight, with intent to kill -the King.” -</p> -<p>Hepborne threw himself down on his straw, and yielded himself up to the full flood -of the affliction that came on him with the thought of the Lady Beatrice’s fate. He -reproached himself in a thousand ways for not having prevented that over which he -could have had no control; and neither his esquire nor Master Lawrence Ratcliffe could -succeed in giving him the smallest consolation. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch66" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e869">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER LXVI.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>A Ship of Olden Times—Tempest Tossed—Arrival at the Maison Dieu in Elgin.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The bark which we left threading its way down the mazes of the Thames made a tedious -and difficult passage northwards along the coast of England. It was sometimes borne -on by favouring breezes, but it often encountered furious contrary blasts that compelled -the dauntless Mercer, its commander, to yield before them, and to submit to be driven -back for many a league. We must not forget that naval architecture and nautical science -were then, comparatively speaking, in their infancy. The hull of this Scottish privateer, -or pirate, as she was called by the English, was awkwardly encumbered by two enormous -erections. One of these, over the stern, is still recognized in some degree in the -poop of our larger ships. Of the other, called the forecastle, although nothing now -remains but the name, it was then in reality a tower of considerable height, <span class="pageNum" id="pb530">[<a href="#pb530">530</a>]</span>manned during an engagement by cross-bow men, who were enabled to gall the enemy very -severely from that elevated position. The masts were three, one rising from the middle -of the vessel, and the others from the two extremities, each formed of one thick short -tree, the mainmast being the largest. At the upper end of each mast was fixed a circular -stage, walled strongly in with wood; these were called the round-tops, and were large -enough to admit of several warriors being stationed in them. Each mast had but one -sail hanging from its yard, and that attached to the mainmast was the only sheet of -magnitude. -</p> -<p>“Ha! what sayest thou now, Barnard?” exclaimed Mercer, slapping on the shoulder his -steersman, an old sailor, who had served him and his father before him for some fifty -years in the same capacity, and whose back was bent by his constant position at the -helm; “methinks this is the only breeze that hath promised to be steady during these -fourteen days of our wearisome voyage. An it do but last for some good hour or twain, -we may hope to see the other side of St. Abb’s yonder.” -</p> -<p>“Ay,” replied Barnard, casting his eye over his left shoulder, “but I like not yonder -wide-flaming cloud that doth heave itself up so i’ the sou’-west, Master Mercer. I’m -no sailor an it be not big with something worse than aught we have had yet to deal -with.” -</p> -<p>“Come, come, no evil-omened croaking, Master Barnard,” replied Mercer; “should the -breeze freshen, we shall speed but the faster.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, but I do tell thee, there is some cruel ill-nature yonder,” said Barnard, sticking -testily to his point. -</p> -<p>“By St. Rule, but it doth look somewhat angry,” replied Mercer. “We must get more -under the lee of the land ere the mischief cometh.” -</p> -<p>“By St. Paul, but it doth come already,” cried Barnard; “seest thou not yonder white-topped -waves tripping after us?” -</p> -<p>“By the mass, but it doth come indeed,” cried Mercer, jumping forward. “Ha, there -goeth the foresail flying through the air like a sea-mew. Down with the mainsail. -Come, stir ye, stir ye, my hearts. Out with your long-sweeps, my brave spirits—put -her head to the land, Barnard. Pull yarely now, my gallants. There is a lull yonder -beneath the rocks.” -</p> -<p>“’Tis a lull thou wilt never reach, I’ll promise thee, Master Mercer, pull as thou -wilt,” said old Barnard gruffly. “Better let her drive to the open sea before the -storm. See how angry yonder sinking sun doth look. Trust me, no human power <span class="pageNum" id="pb531">[<a href="#pb531">531</a>]</span>may force her against the tempest. But thou art ever for working impossibilities.” -</p> -<p>“Tush, old man,” cried Mercer; “time enow to give in when we shall have tried and -failed. I have no fancy for a run to Norway, if by any means we may reach the bonny -Frith o’ Forth. So put her head more to the land, I say.” -</p> -<p>In obedience to the command of his resolute master, the old helmsman, grumbling like -a bear, put the bark into the course he had ordered, and the mariners, aided by the -pike and cross-bow men, put their hands steadily to the long oars. The brave Mercer -moved actively about, giving life and spirit to their exertions. The storm rapidly -increased, and he climbed the forecastle to look out ahead. -</p> -<p>“Mercy on us,” cried old Barnard, “there burneth a blue flame at the foremast head. -’Tis gone. Some one is near his end, I trow. Run, boy, and tell the master to come -down. He is, as it were, mine own son, and I like not to see him yonder after that -dismal warning.” -</p> -<p>The ship-boy carried the steersman’s message, but Mercer laughed and heeded it not. -</p> -<p>“Here, Peter Patullo, do thou take the helm a bit,” cried the old man, becoming anxious. -“He is so wilful, I must go to him myself.” -</p> -<p>Barnard had hardly spoken, when a tremendous wave came rolling on against the head -of the ship, and striking the forecastle, a dreadful crash followed, the huge timber -tower being swept away like a cobweb. -</p> -<p>“Holy Mother of God, he is gone,” cried Barnard. “My master—Oh! the boy I nursed, -as I may say. Ha, see’st thou nought of Him?” cried the distracted old man, running -to the lee-side of the ship, which was drifting broadside on, from the sudden cessation -of the panic-struck rowers. “Ha, he’s there; I see him; I saw him as he was heaved -up on the bosom of the billow. I’ll save him, or I’ll perish with him.” -</p> -<p>“Stop him,” cried the Franciscan, who had rushed from the cabin on hearing the confused -cry; “stop him, he plunges to certain destruction.” -</p> -<p>But old Barnard was too alert for them all. He was overboard ere any of them could -reach him. -</p> -<p>“Madman,” cried the Franciscan, hastily picking up a rope; and as the sea lifted up -the bulky form of the old skipper, who hung for some moments poised as it were on -the crest of the wave, he, with great dexterity, threw a coil over him, and Barnard -was dragged most miraculously on board, being unwillingly <span class="pageNum" id="pb532">[<a href="#pb532">532</a>]</span>saved from his rash, though generous, but utterly hopeless attempt. -</p> -<p>Meanwhile the brave Mercer was borne away, seemingly to certain destruction. Everything -was done by the active Franciscan to bring the bark near him. He was seen, now tossed -on the high top of a mountainous surge, and now far down in the gulf out of which -it had swelled itself. Sometimes he was thrown violently towards them, and again he -was whirled far away with the velocity of thought; yet amidst all the horrors of the -apparently inevitable death that surrounded him, he struggled with a calmness that -showed his undaunted soul, and seemed determined to husband his strength as long as -hope remained. A rope with a noose upon it was thrown to him. He had watched the endeavours -his friends were making to save him, and he now exerted all his strength and skill -to aid them. After many an unsuccessful effort, he at last caught the rope, and, with -great adroitness, passed the noose over his head and arms. The Franciscan and the -half-frantic helmsman, aided by some of the crew, began to pull him gently towards -the vessel. A long rolling wave came and dashed him against the ship’s side. He was -hastily pulled up—but life was for ever extinct. -</p> -<p>The deepest grief fell upon the crew when they beheld their beloved commander thus -stretched inanimate before them; and they forgot their own safety and that of the -vessel in their affliction for his loss. Poor old Barnard hung over the dripping corpse -of his master, and seemed to be utterly unconscious of all that was passing around -him. -</p> -<p>“Alas!” he cried, looking in his face, and putting back his drenched locks with his -rough hand as he said so, “would I had but sunk ere I had beheld thee so. I had never -the blessing of wife or of children, but I did esteem thy father as my son; yea, and -thou wert as the grandchild of mine old age<span class="corr" id="xd31e6924" title="Source: ,">.</span> Thou didst grow to be a man under mine own especial nurture. I had pride and pleasure -in thy gallantry and in thy success. Right cheerfully did I work for thee; ay, and -would have worked for thee whiles my old timbers did hang together; but now, sith -thou art gone, I have but little tie to this world. I care not how soon I weigh anchor -for the land of souls; for what have I, a poor old lonesome man, to do here without -thee? Let fresher hands take the watch, for—I—I—” his feelings overcame his hardy -nature for a moment, but he recovered himself. “Take care no harm comes over his corpse,” -cried he, looking sternly round upon his shipmates. “Let it be <span class="pageNum" id="pb533">[<a href="#pb533">533</a>]</span>laid decently out in his own berth—and—and——” His voice again became choked—he coughed—he -put his hands to his eyes—and turning hastily away, disappeared into the hole that -was his usual place of repose, to bury his emotions in darkness and silence. -</p> -<p>After the loss of Mercer, there was an utter confusion and want of system among the -under officers and crew, until the Franciscan monk boldly assumed the command. Many -of those on board had sailed with him in the days of old Mercer, and being well acquainted -with his resolute mind, as well as with his nautical knowledge, they scrupled not -to obey him. He was indefatigable in his exertions; but nothing he could do availed, -and he was compelled to allow the bark, crazed as she was, to drift before the wind -with every fear of her foundering. -</p> -<p>Dreadful was the night that ensued, and anxiously did every soul on board long for -morning, but when it came it was like a mimic night. The clouds hung darkly over the -sea, as if about to mingle with it. Torrents of rain fell; and the waves arose like -peaked mountains, their whitened tops piercing the black vault of the clouds. The -tempestuous wind seemed to shift from one point to another; and they were so tossed -to and fro that they became bewildered, and could not even avail themselves of the -imperfect needle then in use. Land they could see none; and when the second night -fell upon them, each man gave his soul to the care of the Virgin or his patron saint, -persuaded that there was but little chance of ever seeing another sun. -</p> -<p>Meanwhile the hardy Franciscan never quailed, nor did he ever leave the deck. Little -could be done to aid the ship, but he ceased not to encourage the mariners, both by -his voice and his example. -</p> -<p>At last the tempest seemed to yield. The wind became hushed, and although the swell -of the sea continued for some hours, yet it diminished every moment, and went on gradually -moderating until daybreak. By this time the sky had cleared itself of the clouds that -had hitherto obscured it, the sun rose above the horizon in full splendour, and a -faint hope arose with it that the vessel might yet be saved. But no land was yet visible. -The needle was consulted, and it was determined to hoist the mainsail, and to avail -themselves of an eastern breeze, to steer in that direction where they knew the British -coast must lie; and two men, who were placed in the round-top to look out a-head, -soon cheered them with the intelligence that the land was visible; upon which they -gave thanks to Heaven, <span class="pageNum" id="pb534">[<a href="#pb534">534</a>]</span>and, as they scudded gently before the breeze, the blue mountains began to appear -in the distant haze, and were swelling every moment upon their sight. -</p> -<p>Now it was that some of the older men in the ship came to inform the Franciscan that -it had been the wish of Mercer, repeatedly expressed during his life, that wherever -he might die, he should, if possible, be buried at sea; and, since the cessation of -the storm permitted them to have some leisure, the monk gave directions accordingly -to prepare for the solemn rite. Old Barnard had never appeared since the moment he -left the deck after the catastrophe that befel Mercer, and the struggle the crew had -been maintaining ever since with the angry elements had hindered any one from visiting -him where he had retreated. He was now sent for; but the sailor who went for him speedily -returned with a face of alarm, to report that he could get no answer from him. The -Franciscan then lighted a lamp, and went below, followed by several anxious faces. -There lay the old man, wrapped up in a blanket, in his berth. His head was turned -from them. The Franciscan shook him gently, but he stirred not. He then turned him -round, and the light of the lamp fell upon his face. It was ghastly—the eyes were -glazed, and the rough features fixed in death. He seemed to have died soon after he -had lain down; but whether he had suffered some fatal injury in his noble attempt -to save Mercer, or whether he had died of a broken heart for the loss of the brave -young man, to whom he was so much attached, it was impossible to say. -</p> -<p>Preparations were made for bestowing upon old <span class="corr" id="xd31e6939" title="Source: Bernard">Barnard</span> the same funeral rites as were contemplated for his master. The religious duties -were performed over both by the Franciscan, and both were consigned together to the -deep amidst the tears that fell from many a weather-beaten face. -</p> -<p>The breeze continued, and the distant mountains grew every moment more and more distinct; -but long ere they had approached the land sufficiently near to enable them to determine -what part of the coast they were borne towards, a thick fog arose, and put an end -to every speculation on the subject, by shutting it entirely from their eyes. The -vessel laboured exceedingly, from her shattered condition, and there was no hope of -safety left for them but to avail themselves to the utmost of the favourable breeze -that still continued to blow. It lasted them bravely, and earned them cheerily on -until sunset, but then it fell calm; and the mist clearing away, the moon arose, and -showed them a bold coast some miles to the south. Farther on <span class="pageNum" id="pb535">[<a href="#pb535">535</a>]</span>the land became lower, and thither the Franciscan made the crew pull with all their -might. As they neared the land, the Lady Beatrice was brought out, half-dead, upon -the deck, to be prepared for disembarking immediately, the frail vessel beginning -every moment to show more alarming symptoms of the shattered state to which the continued -storm had reduced it. They now beheld the lights in some fishermen’s huts on shore, -and the distant murmur of the waves, breaking gently on the beach, was the cheering -music of hope to them. All at once the vessel struck upon some sunken rock or sand, -and instantly began to fill. The confusion was dreadful. The Franciscan approached -Beatrice, and quickly made her sensible of her danger. The boat was got out, but it -was instantly overloaded—sunk—and all were in the water. -</p> -<p>“Hold fast by my cowl, and fear not,” cried the Franciscan, who had the wisdom to -stick to the vessel, and who now committed himself to the waves, as it went down under -them. Where all were men accustomed to the sea, all were necessarily swimmers, and -all made lustily for the shore. Thither also did the bold monk press his way, the -Lady Beatrice hanging with the gripe of fate to his cowl; and the distance being but -short, and the sea smooth, she was soon placed in safety upon the beach, whence he -quickly carried her to the fishermen’s cottages. -</p> -<p>The poor inhabitants of the fishing hamlet did all in their power to cherish the unfortunate -people who were thus shipwrecked amongst them, but it was little they could do; and -the comfort of a large fire was the utmost that any of the hovels could furnish. The -Franciscan eagerly inquired what part of the coast they had been thrown on; and he -declared that, since it had pleased the saints to deny them an entrance into the Frith -of Forth, where lay their destination, he had reason to rejoice that they had taken -land on the eastern coast of Moray. The Lady Beatrice, who had never held up her head -during the tempestuous voyage, was grievously weakened by sickness. She sank down -exhausted on the wretched pallet that was provided for her, and, eager as was the -Franciscan to proceed with her to Elgin, the following day was far spent before she -could gather strength enough to undertake even so short a ride. Horses were then procured, -and they arrived at the gates of the Hospital of the Maison Dieu, where they were -kindly received by the pious brethren and the sisterhood, who administered the hospitalities -of the institutions to pilgrims and strangers of the better sort, as well as its charities -to the poor. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb536">[<a href="#pb536">536</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch67" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e879">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER LXVII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Wolfe of Badenoch again—The Burning of Elgin Cathedral.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The Franciscan left the Lady Beatrice with the nuns of the establishment, and hastened -to present himself before the Bishop of Moray, who was then at his Palace of Spynie, -at some distance from the town. He found the good man in deep conference with some -of his canons, and he received him joyfully. -</p> -<p>“Blessed be St. Francis that thou art arrived, Friar John,” said the Bishop aloud, -after they had whispered together apart. “Thou comest right seasonably, seeing we -do discuss the endless theme of the Wolfe of Badenoch.” -</p> -<p>“What! my Lord Bishop of Moray,” cried the Franciscan, “hath that destroying angel -been again let loose, to invade the holy territory of the Church?—to burn and to devastate?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay, Friar John,” replied the Bishop, “for this time the news we have to tell -thee are good. The King hath sent a body of troops to dispossess his sacrilegious -son from our Badenoch lands, and they are now again in the hands of the tenants of -the Church. What sayest thou to this?” -</p> -<p>“Um,” replied the Franciscan, doubtfully shaking his head—“and do the King’s troops -tarry in Badenoch, to guard the possessions of the Church?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, that I do not believe,” replied the Bishop, “but methinks he will hardly try -so daring an attempt again.” -</p> -<p>“Hast thou brought down his proud spirit, then, to entreat on his knees for the removal -of thine anathema?” demanded the Friar. -</p> -<p>“Nay, as well hope to make the eagle stoop to the earth, and quail before me,” replied -the Bishop. -</p> -<p>“In truth, then, my Lord Bishop,” said the Franciscan, “thou mayest as well hope to -reclaim the eagle, so that he shall sit on thy wrist like a falcon, as look for a -peace from the Wolfe of Badenoch.” -</p> -<p>“Dost thou indeed think so?” demanded the Bishop. “Methought that after his Royal -father’s reproof, and this his late signal interference against him, we might have -looked for peace. Something must be tried, then. To thee, Friar John, we shall look -for counsel, and the sooner we do have it the better. So <span class="pageNum" id="pb537">[<a href="#pb537">537</a>]</span>shall we straightway ride with thee to Elgin, and summon a Chapter, that we may consider -of this weighty matter.” -</p> -<p>The Franciscan accordingly returned to the town with the Bishop and his attendants, -and such of the canons as were within call were immediately summoned. The Bishop then -occupied his stall within the Chapter-House, supported by his Dean, Archdean, Chancellor, -and Chanter; and the other members having taken their places, they remained some hours -in council. When the Chapter broke up, the Bishop held some private conference with -the Franciscan, and then permitted him to go to his lodging in the Maison Dieu, whither -he was happy to retire, being overpowered by exhaustion from his late fatigues, and -glad to be at last allowed to seek the needful refreshment of a few hours’ rest. -</p> -<p>The vesper hymn had died away through the lengthened aisles of the venerable Cathedral; -every note of labour or of mirth was silenced within the town. The weary burghers -were sunk in sleep, and even the members of the various holy fraternities had retired -to their repose. No eye was awake, save those of a few individuals among the religious, -who, having habits of more than ordinary severity of discipline, had doomed themselves -to wear the hard pavement with their bare knees, and the hours in endless repetition -of penitential prayers before the shrine of the Virgin, or the image of some favourite -saint. Not even a dog was heard to stir in the streets. They were as dark, too, as -they were silent; for, with the exception of a feeble lamp or two, that burned in -niches, before the little figures set up here and there for Popish worship, there -was nothing to interrupt the deep obscurity that prevailed. -</p> -<p>Suddenly the sound of a large body of horsemen was heard entering the town from the -west. The dreams of the burghers were broken, and they were roused from their slumbers; -the casements were opened, one after another, as the band passed along, and many a -curious head was thrust out. They moved on alertly, without talking; but although -they uttered no sounds, and were but dimly seen, the clank of their weapons, and of -their steel harness, told well enough that they were no band of vulgar, peace-loving -merchants, but a troop of stirring men-at-arms; and many was the cheek that blenched, -and many was the ejaculation that escaped the shuddering lips of the timid burghers, -as they shrunk within their houses at the alarming conviction. They crossed and blessed -themselves after the warriors had passed by, and each again sought his bed. -</p> -<p>But the repose of the inhabitants was for that night doomed <span class="pageNum" id="pb538">[<a href="#pb538">538</a>]</span>to be short. Distant shrieks of despair, mingled with shouts of exultation, began -to arise in the neighbourhood of the Cathedral and the College, in which all the houses -of the canons were clustered; and soon the town was alarmed from its centre to its -suburbs by the confused cries of half-naked fugitives, who hurried along into the -country, as if rushing from some dreadful danger. -</p> -<p>“Fire, fire!—murder!—fire, fire!—the Wolfe of Badenoch!” -</p> -<p>The terrible name of the fell Earl of Buchan was enough, of itself, to have spread -universal panic through the town, even in the midst of broad sunshine. But darkness -now magnified their fears. Every one hastened to huddle on what garments might be -at hand, and to seize what things were most valuable and portable; and all, without -exception—men, women, and children—hurried out into the streets, to seek immediate -safety in flight. As the crowd pressed onwards, scarcely daring to look behind them, -they beheld the intense darkness of the night invaded by flames that began to shoot -upwards in fitful jets. The screams and the shouts rang in their ears, and they quickened -their trembling speed; their voices subdued by fear, as they went, into indistinct -whispers of horror. No one dared to stop; but, urging on his own steps, he dragged -after him those of his feeble parents, or tottering wife, or helpless children. -</p> -<p>Those who were most timorous, halted not until they had hid themselves in the neighbouring -woods; but those whose curiosity was in some degree an equipoise to their fears, stopped -to look behind them whenever a view of the town could be obtained, that they might -judge of, and lament over, the devastation that was going forward. Already they could -see that the College, the Church of St. Giles, and the Hospital of the Maison Dieu, -were burning; but these were all forgotten, as they beheld the dire spectacle of the -Cathedral, illuminated throughout all the rich tracery of its Gothic windows by a -furious fire, that was already raging high within it. Groans and lamentations burst -from their hearts, and loud curses were poured out on the impious heads of those whose -fury had led them to destroy so glorious a fabric, an edifice which they had been -taught to venerate from their earliest infancy, and to which they were attached by -every association, divine and human, that could possibly bind the heart of man. In -the midst of their wailings, the pitchy vault of heaven began to be reddened by the -glare of the spreading conflagration; and the loud and triumphant shouts that now -arose, unmingled with those cries of terror <span class="pageNum" id="pb539">[<a href="#pb539">539</a>]</span>which had at first blended with them, too plainly told that the power of the destroyer -was resistless. -</p> -<p>As the Lady Beatrice and the Franciscan were the last comers among the crowd of pilgrims -and travellers who that night filled the charitable caravansera of the Maison Dieu, -they had been put to lodge in the very uppermost storey of the antique and straggling -building. The lady occupied a chamber at the extremity of a long passage, running -through one wing that was dedicated to the use of the few sisters who inhabited the -Hospital, and their female guests. The Franciscan was thrust into a little turret -room that hung from one angle of a gable at the very opposite end of the edifice, -being connected with the garrets that lay over that wing occupied by the preaching -brethren and the guests of their own sex. There was no direct communication between -the opposite parts of the building where the lady and the friar were lodged. The main -stair, that opened from the doorway of the Hospital, arose within the body of the -house, and several narrow passages branched off from it, having separate stairs leading -to the different parts of the higher regions. -</p> -<p>The brethren and sisters of the institution, as well as the numerous temporary inmates -of its various chambers, were alarmed by the shrieks that arose when the firebrands -were at first applied to the Cathedral, and the houses of the clergy connected with -it. Neither the permanent nor the accidental tenants of the house had much personal -property to remove, and what they had was instantly carried out by a general rush -into the courtyard, whence they hastily escaped, each prompted by a desire of self-preservation. -Not so the Lady Beatrice and the Franciscan. Both of them had suffered so much from -want of natural rest, and the monk especially had undergone fatigue of body so lengthened -and so severe during the protracted storm they had lately had to struggle with, that -they lay as unconscious of the noise as if their senses had been locked up by the -influence of some powerful opiate. The Lady Beatrice, indeed, was half awakened by -the din occasioned by the escape of those who were in the house. But she had been -dreaming of the ship and of the sea, and the hurry of the retreating steps and the -confused voice of alarm having speedily subsided within the Hospital, she turned again -to enjoy a more profound repose, believing it was her fancy that had made her imagine -she had heard the sound of the waves and the winds, and the bustling tread of the -mariners. -</p> -<p>Again a noise came that increased and jarred in her ears, <span class="pageNum" id="pb540">[<a href="#pb540">540</a>]</span>and a vivid light arose that flickered through the casement into the place where she -lay, and falling strongly on her face, her silken eyelashes were gradually opened, -and, terror seizing upon her, she sprang at once from her couch to the window. Then -it was that she beheld the court of the Hospital below filled with mounted men-at-arms, -together with numbers on foot, who seemed to be active agents in kindling combustibles, -by the employment of which the whole main body of the building was already in flames—as -she could easily guess from the suffocating smoke that arose, and the red glare that -was thrown over the features of those who, with their faces turned upwards, were watching -the progress of the devouring element with a fiendish expression of satisfaction. -</p> -<p>Half-dead with fear, the Lady Beatrice began to hurry on her garments, doubtful, in -the state of distraction she was thrown into, whether she might or ought to hope to -escape from the fire, since she could not possibly do so without exposing herself -to the fury of a savage band, whose present occupation was enough to proclaim them -enemies of the most reckless description. She was bewildered, and knew not what to -do. The towers and spires of the Cathedral were blazing like gigantic torches. The -darkness of night seemed to be put to flight, and distant yells arising from time -to time, proclaimed the multitude who were actors in this scene of ruin. -</p> -<p>But the more pressing danger brought her at last to recollection, and she rushed from -her chamber to make an effort to escape. Already were the narrow passages filled with -a stifling smoke, which she made some faint efforts to penetrate; but finding it impossible -to proceed, she returned to her chamber, and, throwing herself upon her knees, grew -faint from despair. Recovering herself in some degree, she grasped her croslet, and -began offering up her prayers for that mercy in the next world of which she believed -she had now no hope in this; and, as she was so employed, she thought she felt the -very boards heating beneath her. She sprang to her feet, and again approached the -open casement, that she might breathe more freely. At that moment a loud murmur, rather -than a cry, arose in the court below. -</p> -<p>“He cometh—’tis he—’tis he himself.—The Earl—the Earl of Buchan—the Wolfe of Badenoch!—Hush!”—And -their clamour was instantly silenced. -</p> -<p>“Out o’ my way,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, as, armed cap-a-pie, and with his vizor -up, he came galloping furiously in at the Gothic gateway, followed by his four younger -sons, and <span class="pageNum" id="pb541">[<a href="#pb541">541</a>]</span>some forty or fifty mounted spearmen and axemen. The pavement rattled under the clatter -of their iron shod hooves, and their polished mail flashed back the blaze of the flaming -edifice. -</p> -<p>“Ha, ha, ha! by all the fiends, but the mischief doth work well here too,” shouted -he laughing wildly as he reined up his steed, with a check that threw him backwards -on his haunches; “yet this is but baby’s work compared to the blazing towers yonder—ha, -ha, ha! The haughty pile on the which the pride of that scurvy Priest-Bishop hath -heretofore been so loftily perched, will soon be prostrate amidst its own dust and -ashes. Ha! by the beard of my grandfather, but it is a glorious vengeance. What was -the brenning of Forres to this?—ha, ha, ha! Not a hole shall these corbies have to -hide their heads in. Every nest polluted by these stinking carrions shall be levelled. -Such be the fate of those who dare to contend with the Wolfe of Badenoch! But have -all escaped from this burning house? I would not have the hair of a human head singed—not -a hair of a head, I tell ye. Didst thou see all escape them hence?” -</p> -<p>“I did, my noble Lord,” replied one of his esquires, who had superintended the execution -of this part of his commands; “with our own eyes did we see them, as we arrived, scour -from the walls, like an army of mice from a hollow cheese.” -</p> -<p>“Ha! by my faith, but thou liest, villain,” cried the Wolfe, turning hastily round, -and levelling the speaker to the earth with one blow of his truncheon; “thou dost -lie black as hell. By all that is unlucky, I did even now behold a female form at -yonder window. Nay, now the smoke doth hide it; but—see, see—ha! why hath it been -so, knaves? Did I not warn ye all that not a life should be tint?” -</p> -<p>“Help, help, Lord Badenoch,” cried the Lady Beatrice—“help, help, or I perish! The -boards burn.—Help, help, for the love of mercy—for the love of the blessed Virgin, -save me, save me!” -</p> -<p>“By the holy mass, I should know that voice,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch; “nay, ’tis -she indeed, or ’tis her wraith I do behold.” -</p> -<p>“’Tis some evil spirit, father,” said Sir Andrew Stewart, who had accompanied his -father in this expedition, not willingly, but because the Wolfe of Badenoch had resolved -that he should have a share in it. -</p> -<p>“Evil spirit!” cried the Wolfe, turning angrily around on him; “ha! ’tis thou who -art the evil spirit, son Andrew. Thou darest not to look on her whom thou wouldst -have injured. But, by this hand, thou shalt. The damsel shall not perish, if <span class="pageNum" id="pb542">[<a href="#pb542">542</a>]</span>I can help her. I will go rescue her, and thou, son Andrew, shalt follow me.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, try not anything so rash, father,” exclaimed Sir Andrew Stewart, dreadfully -alarmed to find that he was expected to participate in an attempt so desperate; “the -whole body of the house is in flames.” -</p> -<p>“What, villain,” cried the Wolfe indignantly; “so, thou couldst love the damsel to -do her violence, and yet art base enow to shrink from the glorious achievement of -saving her life, or perishing in the attempt. Unworthy whelp of the Wolfe of Badenoch! -Dastard, dismount and in with me, or, by the blood of the Bruce, the spears of my -men-at-arms shall goad thee to it.” And saying so, he sprang from his horse, while -Sir Andrew Stewart, though half-dead with fear, was compelled to follow him with all -the alertness that might have befitted a hero well stomached for the desperate undertaking. -</p> -<p>“What, Andrew going thither!” cried Walter Stewart, leaping from his horse; “by this -hand, but I shall in too, then.” -</p> -<p>“And so shall I,” cried James, following his brother’s example. -</p> -<p>“And by my beard that is to grow,” cried the boy Duncan, “but I shall not be left -behind.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, stay, Sir Duncan,” cried an esquire. “By the mass, but he is in after the others; -and what will my Lord say if anything doth befall him? He loveth the boy more than -all the rest put together. I’ll in after him.” Upon which the man rushed in, followed -by a crowd of the others, who were equally afraid of the rage that might fall upon -their heads for having permitted the boy to escape from them. -</p> -<p>And now a terrible scene ensued. The crowd who entered soon wedged themselves in the -narrow passages just within the doorway, so that they could neither advance nor retreat. -The smoke accumulated about them from the stoppage of its vent. They struggled and -crushed, and poured out half-choked curses. Some fell, and were trampled under foot; -and at length the voice of the Wolfe was heard from within— -</p> -<p>“Ha! clear the passage, or I am suffocated; clear the passage, villains, or I will -murder ye all.” -</p> -<p>The fear of their violent master did for them what they could not before accomplish. -An unusual exertion on the part of those who were outermost extricated them from the -doorway, and the passage being now less wedged, the force from within sent them all -out headlong into the court, and out rushed <span class="pageNum" id="pb543">[<a href="#pb543">543</a>]</span>the Wolfe, nearly spent by the continued suffocation he had endured. -</p> -<p>“By all that is miraculous, I do believe that it was a spirit after all,” said the -Wolfe, half in soliloquy, as soon as he had gathered breath to speak; “I did make -my way to the chamber where she did appear, and she was not there; nor was she anywhere -else to be seen. Such tricks of fancy are often played by sprites. And how, after -all, could she have been there—she who must be even now in Norham? But, ha!” cried -he aloud, “what figure is that I do now behold in yonder hanging towernet that doth -blaze so fiercely?” -</p> -<p>All eyes were now directed towards the spot he had indicated, and there, to the astonishment -of every one, appeared the form of the Franciscan, brightly illumined by the jets -of flame that surrounded it. -</p> -<p>“Holy Virgin!” cried his followers, crossing themselves, “’tis a sprite—’tis a devil. -Mercy on us, ’tis no monk, but something unholy,” cried half-a-dozen voices. -</p> -<p>The teeth of the stern Wolfe himself were heard to chatter as he gazed on his old -enemy, of the reality of whose present appearance he almost doubted. The keen eyes -and strongly expressive countenance of the Friar were now wildly distorted by the -alarm which had seized him, on suddenly awaking from the deep sleep he had been plunged -in, and finding himself surrounded by all the horrors of the most dreadful of deaths. -A red and unearthly light was thrown on his features, and broadly illumined his tonsure, -giving him a most terrific and ghastly look. It was, therefore, little to be wondered -that even the hardy-minded Wolfe of Badenoch should have for an instant believed that -it was the Devil he beheld. -</p> -<p>“By all the fiends of hell, ’tis wonderful!” cried he, as he stood fixed in a kind -of stupor. -</p> -<p>“Help, help!” cried the Franciscan. -</p> -<p>“Ha!” cried the Wolfe, recovering himself, “if thou be’st in very deed the chough -Friar, bren, bren, and welcome. But if thou be’st the Devil, thou mayest well enow -help thyself.” -</p> -<p>“Help, in mercy help!” cried the Franciscan; “a ladder, a ladder.” -</p> -<p>“A ladder!” cried the Wolfe, now sufficiently reassured, and becoming convinced that -it really was the very Franciscan in true flesh who had so bearded him at Lochyndorbe, -and no phantom nor demon. “Ha! prating chough, is it thee, in troth? A ladder, saidst -thou? Thou couldst have lacked a ladder but <span class="pageNum" id="pb544">[<a href="#pb544">544</a>]</span>for thy hanging, and now thou needst it not, seeing thou art in the way of dying a -better death.” -</p> -<p>“Help, help!” cried the unfortunate wretch, who seemed hardly to have yet gained a -knowledge of those who were below. -</p> -<p>“Help!” repeated the Wolfe; “by my trusty burlybrand, but I shall hew down the first -villain who doth but move to give thee help. What, did I say that no hair of life -should be touched? By the blessed bones of mine ancestors, but there lacked only this -accident to make my revenge complete. Ha, ha, ha! did I not swear, thou grey-hooded -crow, that as thou didst escape from the pit of water, thou shouldst be tried next -by the fire? By my head, I did little imagine that I should thus so soon see thee -bren before mine eyes; and bren thou shalt, for no man of mine shall risk the singeing -of his beard to pluck thee from the destruction thine atrocious tongue has so well -merited.” -</p> -<p>The monk disappeared for some moments, and soon afterwards, to the astonishment of -all, was seen making his way along the roof through volumes of flame and smoke. Every -eye in the court below was turned towards him. It seemed impossible that anything -but a demon could have clambered where he went. Again he was lost to their eyes, and -anon he appeared in the very room which had been lately occupied by the Lady Beatrice. -He shrieked out her name; was again invisible; and then, again, was seen in all the -upper apartments, one after another. At last they saw him no longer. -</p> -<p>“He is either the Devil himself, or he is brent by this time,” whispered some of the -awe-stricken followers of the Wolfe. -</p> -<p>In an instant he again appeared on the top of the turret in which he had been first -seen; the flames arose everywhere around him; terrible was his aspect, and an involuntary -shudder crept through the silent crowd. -</p> -<p>“Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan, and Lord of Badenoch,” cried he with an appalling -voice, whilst he threw his arms abroad, in an attitude befitting the denunciation -he was about to pour out—“the red hand of thine iniquity hath again lifted the firebrand -of destruction, but as thou hast kindled these holy piles dedicated to God, so shall -the wrath of the Almighty be kindled against thee. The measure of thine iniquity is -now full, and yonder flaming heavens do bear witness to thy crimes. Seest thou yonder -fiery cloud that doth now float over thy devoted head? There sitteth the Angel of -Vengeance, ready to <span class="pageNum" id="pb545">[<a href="#pb545">545</a>]</span>descend on thee and thine. Prepare—for instant and direful punishment doth await thee.” -</p> -<p>The monk again disappeared. The Wolfe of Badenoch looked upwards to the sky, and beheld -the fiery cloud that hung as it were over him. Fancy depicted in it a countenance -that looked down upon him in terrible ire. He gnashed his teeth, and his features -blackened. At that moment shrieks arose from the higher chambers of the building. -</p> -<p>“Ha, ha, ha, ha!—let him die,” cried the Wolfe, clenching his fists and laughing wildly; -“let the villain die, I say.” -</p> -<p>The shrieks came again, and louder. -</p> -<p>“Ha! what voice was that?” exclaimed the Wolfe, in an altered tone, and in considerable -agitation. -</p> -<p>“Help, help!” cried a voice, and a figure appeared at an upper window, in the midst -of the flames. -</p> -<p>“Oh God!” cried the Wolfe, in an agony, “my son, my son!—my dearest boy, Duncan? Save -him, save him—save my child!” -</p> -<p>With the fury of a maniac he rushed fearlessly towards the burning building. His people -sprang after him. He had already reached the doorway, when the central stair fell -with a tremendous crash within; and had not his followers dragged him back the instant -before, he must have been crushed beneath the descending ruin. -</p> -<p>“Father, father!” cried a piteous voice from the ground. -</p> -<p>“Walter,” cried the unhappy Wolfe of Badenoch, running to lift up his son, “what hath -befallen thee?—Speak.” -</p> -<p>“I was knocked down and crushed by the men-at-arms as they rushed outwards,” said -the youth faintly; “I do feel as if I had tane some sore inward bruises.” -</p> -<p>“Merciful God!” cried the miserable father, removing his son farther from the danger. -“But where is James?” demanded he, looking wildly about him. -</p> -<p>“He also fell near me,” said Walter. -</p> -<p>The attendants now ran forward, and amongst several wounded people who lay on the -pavement they found and raised James Stewart, who was only known to be alive by his -quick breathing. But the distracted father had little leisure to attend to either -of these his wounded sons, and in an instant they were abandoned to the care of those -about him; for the boy Duncan, his youngest and his darling child, the pride of his -heart, was again heard to shriek from an upper window. The flames were rioting triumphantly -within, and every possible approach to him was cut off. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb546">[<a href="#pb546">546</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Ladders, ladders!” cried he, in a frenzy; and his people set off in a hopeless search -of what he called for. -</p> -<p>“Ladders!” cried the Franciscan, with a voice like thunder, as he unexpectedly appeared -behind the boy; “ladders! how dost thou dare to call for that help which thou didst -refuse to yield to others? Now doth thy fiendish joy begin to be transmewed into mourning, -thou accursed instrument in the hands of an incensed God. Already do two of thy lawless -brood lie on that pavement, to be carried home with thee to linger and die; and now -this child, thy youngest and dearest, shall be lost to thee by a more speedy fate.” -He caught up the boy in his sinewy arms with a savage laugh of triumph, and held him -aloft with a gripe so powerful, that his puny efforts to escape were utterly hopeless. -“Ha, ha, ha! now may I laugh in my turn,” cried the Franciscan, with a yell that struck -to the heart of the Wolfe of Badenoch, and subdued him at once. -</p> -<p>“Mercy!” cried he, clasping his hands and wringing them together, and his breath came -thick and laborious, so that he could hardly find utterance, as he looked up with -stretched eyeballs, expecting every instant to behold the horrible spectacle of his -best beloved son’s destruction. “Mercy!—fiend!—ha!—Ladders, ladders!—Oh, mercy, mercy!—Oh, -spare my boy!—Oh, mercy, mercy—mercy on my boy!” He sank down on his knees, his broad -chest heaving to his very cuirass with its labouring respiration, and his lips moving, -even after all power of utterance was denied him. -</p> -<p>“Ha! mercy, saidst thou?” cried the Franciscan, with a contemptuous smile and a glaring -eye; “what, mercy to thee—to thee, who hath no mercy!—mercy to thee, who hath incurred -God’s highest wrath!—mercy to thee, who hath wrapped all these holy buildings, and -these dwellings of God’s peaceful servants and people, in impious flames!—thou, who -wert but now revelling in the hellish joy of thy daring sacrilege—mercy to thee!—mercy -meanly begged, too, from him whom thou didst but this moment doom to the most cruel -death! Ha, ha, ha! But my life or death is not in thy weak power to withhold. My life -will be preserved by Him who gave it, that it may yet fulfil the purpose for which -He did bestow it. Thy fate doth hang in my grasp, and the gripe which I do now hold -of this frail fragment of thyself,” continued he, lifting up the trembling boy in -a terrific manner, “is but a symbol of the power which God hath given me over thee -to force thee to repentance.” -</p> -<p>“Oh, spare, spare, spare!” cried the miserable Lord of Badenoch, bereft of all thought -but of his son’s fate. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb547">[<a href="#pb547">547</a>]</span></p> -<p>The boy screamed for help, but the ruthless Franciscan laughed savagely, and then -sprang backwards with him through the flames. -</p> -<p>The wretched Lord of Badenoch remained fixed on his knees, his face still turned upwards, -and his eyes fastened on the casement so lately occupied by the figures of the Franciscan -and his lost boy. It was now filled by a sheet of brilliant flame. His lips muttered, -and “Mercy—oh, mercy!” were still the only words that escaped them. His followers -crowded around him in dismay, the whole group being broadly illuminated by the fire, -which had now gained complete mastery over the interior of the building. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch68" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e890">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER LXVIII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Bishop’s Palace at Spynie—The Wolfe gets a Surprise.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The wretched Wolfe of Badenoch was slowly raised by those who were about him; and -he submitted, as if altogether unconscious of what they were doing. His features were -immoveable, and his eyes vacant, until they rested on his two sons, Walter and James, -who lay wounded in the arms of his servants. -</p> -<p>“Where is my son Andrew?” cried he, suddenly recovering the use of speech. -</p> -<p>The attendants muttered to one another, but no one answered him. -</p> -<p>“Speak, ye knaves,” cried he, grinding his teeth, and at the same time springing on -them, and seizing one of them in each hand by the throat; “villains, I will choke -ye both with my grasp if ye answer me not.” -</p> -<p>“My noble Lord,” cried the men, terrified by his rage and his threats, “we saw him -enter the burning building with thee, but none of us saw him issue thence.” -</p> -<p>“Villains, villains, tell me not so!” cried the Wolfe, shaking the two men from him, -and sending them reeling away with such force that both were prostrated on the earth. -“What, hath he too perished?—And it was I who did myself compel him thither!” and, -saying so, he struck his breast, and moved about rapidly through the court, giving -vent to a frenzy of self accusation. -</p> -<p>“Ha!” cried he, halting suddenly, as he heard the clang of horses’ heels approaching; -“who comes there?—Alexander—my son—thou art all that is left to me now;” and springing -<span class="pageNum" id="pb548">[<a href="#pb548">548</a>]</span>forward, he clasped the knees of Sir Alexander Stewart, who at that moment appeared, -followed by the whole of his force. -</p> -<p>“Why tarriest thou here, father?” demanded his son; “depardieux, but I have sought -thee around all the glorious fires we have kindled. Little did I think to find thee -here in this by-corner, looking on so paltry a glede as this, when the towers of the -Cathedral do shoot out flames that pierce the heavens, and proclaim thy red vengeance -on the Bishop of Moray, yea, even to his brother-mitred priest of Ross, even across -the broad friths that do sunder them.—Come with me, I pray, and ride triumphant through -the flaming streets, that our shouts may ring terribly in the craven corbie’s ears, -and reach him even where he doth hide him in his Palace of Spynie.—But what aileth -thee, father, that thou seemest so unmanned.” -</p> -<p>“Alexander,” cried the afflicted father, embracing his son, who stooped over him, -“thy brethren have perished; Walter and James are there dying from their bruises, -and Andrew and Duncan—my beloved boy Duncan—have perished in these flames.” -</p> -<p>“How, what! how hath this happened?” cried Sir Alexander, leaping from his horse and -running to question the attendants who supported his two wounded brothers. From them -he gathered a brief account of the events that had occurred, and for some moments -gave way to the sorrow that afflicted his father. -</p> -<p>“But why grieve we here, my Lord?” cried he suddenly; “of a truth, whatever woe hath -befallen us, hath but come by reason of that ill-starred enemy of our house, Bishop -Barr, who has driven us to the desperation out of which all these evils have arisen. -He and his accursed flock of ill-omened crows have flown to the refuge of his Palace -of Spynie. Rouse, my noble father, and let us gallop thither and seek a sweet revenge -by pulling the choughs from their nests.” -</p> -<p>“Right, son Alexander,” cried the Wolfe, his native temper being so far roused for -the moment by this speech that he shook off the torpor that had come upon him, and -sprang into his saddle; “by this beard, but thou dost say right. ’Tis indeed that -accursed Priest-Bishop who hath embittered the whole stream of my life, and hath now -been the cause of hurling all this misery upon me. Alas, my poor boys!—But, by the -blood of the Bruce, they shall be avenged.—I shall take thy counsel, my son—My son, -said I?—Alas, Alexander, thou wilt soon, I fear, be mine only son.—Dost hear, Sir -Squire?” said he, turning fiercely to one of his attendants, “See that thou dost take -<span class="pageNum" id="pb549">[<a href="#pb549">549</a>]</span>care of my wounded boys. Take people enow with thee, and see that they be promptly -and tenderly carried on men’s shoulders to Lochyndorbe—Dost thou mark me?—Thy head -shall pay the forfeit of thy neglect of the smallest tittle of thy duty.” -</p> -<p>“Ay,” cried Sir Alexander Stewart, “our business, I trow, will soon be sped, and we -shall overtake them before they shall have gone many miles of the way.” -</p> -<p>“Come, then, Alexander, let’s to Spynie,” cried the Wolfe; and then turning again -to the esquire—“But take care of my boys, and see that they be gently borne.” -</p> -<p>“On, brave spears,” cried Sir Alexander; “ye shall have work peraunter to do anon.” -</p> -<p>Out dashed the Wolfe of Badenoch, gnashing his teeth, as if to wind himself up to -desperation, yet rather led than followed by Sir Alexander Stewart, and away rattled -about two hundred well-armed and well-mounted men-at-arms at their backs, leaving -behind them a sufficient force to escort the wounded youths homeward in safety. There -were but few among the troops that would not have willingly stayed behind. They liked -not this ungodly warfare, and although they witnessed the execution of the Wolfe of -Badenoch’s fell fury on the holy edifices, done by a few of the less scrupulous ministers -of his vengeance, they felt conscience-stricken at the sight, and this feeling had -not been diminished by the denunciations of the Franciscan, the direful fate of the -boy Duncan Stewart, and of his brother Sir Andrew, and that which had befallen the -youths Walter and James, of whose recovery there seemed to be but little hope. -</p> -<p>The Palace of Spynie offered them but a wretched defence against any assailant who -might choose to attack it, for it was not till the following century that it was so -strengthened as to enable Bishop David Stuart<a class="noteRef" id="xd31e7101src" href="#xd31e7101">1</a> to defy the proud Earl of Huntly. The buildings, indeed, were surrounded by a wall; -but, trusting to that awe which the sacred dignity of the possessor was calculated -to inspire, the wooden gate was left unprotected by any portcullis of iron. It therefore -promised to be easily assailable by the sledge-hammers which had been found so useful -in furthering the work of destruction they had already accomplished. -</p> -<p>The Wolfe of Badenoch, hurried on by his son, swept over <span class="pageNum" id="pb550">[<a href="#pb550">550</a>]</span>the gentle eminence lying between the town and the palace, and as the distance was -but a mile, his excitement had had hardly time to expend itself ere he found himself -approaching the walls. The lurid red vault of the sky reflected a dim light, which -might have been sufficient to enable them to discover the building before them. But, -independently of this, the summit of the outer walls was lined by a number of torches, -which began to flit about hastily, as soon as the thundering sound of the horses’ -feet reached those who carried them. -</p> -<p>“The place doth seem to be already alarmed,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, as they -advanced, his resolute soul shaken by his recent calamities. “These lights are not -wont to appear on the grass-grown walls of these mass-ensconced priests. Thou shalt -halt here, son Alexander, and let me advance alone to reconnoitre. I cannot, I wis, -afford to peril the life of thee, whom my fears do tell me I may now call mine only -son.” -</p> -<p>“Peril my life?” cried Sir Alexander indignantly; “what, talkest thou of peril, when -we have but these carrion crows to deal with? I trow there be garrison enow of them, -sith that all their rookeries, grey, black, and hooded, have doubtless gathered there -to-night. By my knighthood, but it doth almost shame me to attack them with harness -on my back, or men-at-arms at my heels. And see, the lights have disappeared. Never -trust me, but those who did flourish them have fled into the deepest cellar of the -place, at the very tramp of our war-steeds.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, but, son Alexander,” repeated the Wolfe, “I do command thee to halt; thou shalt -not advance until I shall have first——Where hath he vanished?” cried the Wolfe, losing -sight of him for a moment in the dark. “Ha! there he speeds him to the gate,” and, -leaping from his saddle, he launched himself after his son. Sir Alexander had snatched -a sledge-hammer from some one near him, and was already raising it to strike the first -blow at the gate, when his right arm fell shattered and nerveless by his side, and -he was crushed to the earth by some unseen power. The Wolfe of Badenoch reached his -son but to raise him up in his arms. At that moment a broad blaze arose on the top -of the wall, immediately over the gateway, in front of which the Wolfe of Badenoch -stood appalled by the apparition it illumined, and he grew deadly pale when he beheld -the figure of the Franciscan, of that very friar whom he believed nothing but superhuman -power could have saved from the flames of the Maison Dieu, again presented before -his eyes. The attitude of the monk was fearfully <span class="pageNum" id="pb551">[<a href="#pb551">551</a>]</span>commanding. He reared a large crucifix in his left hand, whilst the other was stretched -out before him. The light by which he was encircled shot around him to a great distance, -showing the walls thickly manned with crossbow-men prepared to shoot upon the assailants, -and exhibiting these assailants themselves with their faces turned to what they believed -to be a miraculous vision, which filled them with a terror that no merely human array -could have awakened. -</p> -<p>“Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan, and Lord of Badenoch,” cried the Franciscan, in -his wonted clear but solemn voice, “have I not told thee that the Omnipotent hath -resigned thee and thine into my grasp for penance or for punishment? Go, take thy -wounded son with thee, sith that thou hast sought this fresh affliction. His life -and the lives of those who are now borne to thy den hang on thy repentance.” -</p> -<p>A hissing sound was heard—a dense vapour arose—and all was again dark as before. Some -of the Wolfe of Badenoch’s terrified attendants ventured to approach the gate to assist -him. They carried Sir Alexander away; and the ferocious Earl, again subdued from the -high wrath to which his son’s sudden excitation had for a moment raised his native -temper, relapsed into that apathetical stupor from which he had been roused. He seemed -to know not what he was doing, or where he was; but, mechanically mounting his horse, -he retired from the walls of Spynie, and took his way slowly homewards. As the distant -conflagration flashed from time to time on his face, he started and looked towards -it with wild expression—and then elevated his eye towards his son, who was carried -on a bier formed of crossed lances, by some men on foot; but excepting when he was -so moved, his features were like those of the stone effigy which now lies stretched -upon his tomb. -</p> -<p>The Bishop and the dignitaries of the Cathedral who composed his Chapter, had assembled -in fear and trembling in the Chapel of the Palace, where they offered up prayers for -deliverance from their scourge; and the Wolfe of Badenoch and his formidable party -were no sooner ascertained to have permanently withdrawn, than they issued forth, -bearing some of the most holy of their images, with the most precious relics of saints, -which had been hastily snatched from their shrines on the first alarm of the enemy’s -approach, and began to move in melancholy procession towards Elgin, guarded by the -armed vassals of the Church, who had been summoned to man the Palace walls. As they -rose over the hill, they beheld the flames still raging in all their fury. The sun -was by this time rising over <span class="pageNum" id="pb552">[<a href="#pb552">552</a>]</span>the horizon, but his rays added little to the artificial day that already possessed -the scene. The smiling morning, indeed, served to show the extent of the devastation -which the flames had already occasioned; but the cheerful matin song of the birds -accorded ill with the wailings that burst from those who beheld this dismal spectacle. -The pride of the Bishop, if the good man ever had any, was indeed effectually humbled. -As he rode on his palfrey at the head of the sad procession, the reins held by two -attendants, one of whom walked on each side of him, he wept when he came within view -of the town; and, ordering them to halt, he crossed his hands meekly over his breast, -and looked up in silent ejaculation to Heaven. -</p> -<p>“<i lang="la">O speculum patriæ et decus regni</i>,” cried he, turning his eyes again towards the Cathedral, whilst the tears rolled -over his cheeks. “Oh, glory and honour of Scotland—thou holy fane, which we, poor -wretched mortals, did fondly believe to be a habitation worthy of the omnipotent and -mysterious Trinity, to whom thou wast dedicated—behold thee, for the sins of us the -guilty servants of a just God, behold thee yielded up a prey to the destroyer! Oh, -holy Father, and do thou, blessed Virgin Mother, cause our prayers to find acceptance -at the Almighty throne, through the merits of thy beloved Son—may we, thy sinful creatures, -be humbled before this thine avenging arm; and may the fasts, penances, and mortifications -we shall impose be the means of bringing us down, both body and soul, unto the dust, -that thy just wrath against us may be assuaged; for surely some great sin hath beset -us, seeing it hath pleased thee to destroy thine own holy temple, that our evil condition -might be made manifest to us.” -</p> -<p>Those who formed the procession bent reverently to the ground as the venerable prelate -uttered these words. -</p> -<p>“And now, my sons,” said he with a sigh, “let us hasten onwards, and do what we can -to preserve what may yet have escaped from the general destruction.” -</p> -<p>The first care of the good Bishop was to collect the scattered townsmen, who had already -begun to cluster in the streets; and every exertion was immediately used to put a -stop to the conflagration. The Franciscan was there, but his attention was occupied -with something very different from that which so painfully interested every one else. -The Lady Beatrice—was she safe? At the risk of his life he had clambered over the -blazing roof of the Maison Dieu to seek her in her chamber. She was gone from thence. -He had searched anxiously through all the upper apartments of the building, and yet -he had seen <span class="pageNum" id="pb553">[<a href="#pb553">553</a>]</span>no trace of her. Full of alarm, he had been compelled to rest on the hope that she -might have escaped with others from the flames; and, with an unspeakable anxiety to -have that hope confirmed, he went about inquiring impatiently of every one he met, -whether any damsel, answering to the description of the Lady Beatrice, had been seen; -but of all those to whom he addressed himself, there was no one who could say that -she was known to have escaped. -</p> -<p>“Miserable wretch that I am,” said he, “have her sins then been punished by so terrible -a death—sins for the which I myself must be called to dread account both here and -hereafter—I who deprived her of the blessing of a virtuous mother’s counsel, and of -a father’s powerful protection? Holy St. Francis forgive me, the thought is agony.” -</p> -<p>He sat him down on a stone in the court of the Maison Dieu, and he was soon joined -by sister Marion, the lame housekeeper of the Hospital, who came to mourn over its -smouldering ruins. -</p> -<p>“Oh, dear heart and alas!” cried the withered matron—“the blessed St. Mary defend, -protect, and be good unto us—and there is a dole sight to be sure. Under that very -roof hae I been housed and sheltered, come the feast of Our Lady, full forty——nay, -I should hae said fourteen years and upwards, and now I am to be turned out amidst -the snares and temptations of this wicked world, to be the sport and the pastime of -the profligate and ungodly. What will become of us, to whose lot beauty hath fallen -as a snare, and fair countenance as an aid to the Evil One? Where, alas! shall we -hide our heads that we fall not in the way of sinners? Where——” -</p> -<p>“Tell me, sister!” cried the Franciscan, impatiently interrupting her—“tell me, didst -thou see the Lady Beatrice, whom I escorted hither yesterday?” -</p> -<p>“Yea, in good verity, did I that, brother,” replied Marion. -</p> -<p>“Where?—where and when?” cried the anxious Franciscan. -</p> -<p>“Nay, be not in such a flurry, brother,” replied she. “I did first see her in the -refectory when thou didst bring her there, and a pretty damsel she be, I trow.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, but didst thou see her after the fire?” demanded the Franciscan. -</p> -<p>“In very deed, nay, brother,” replied the literal sister, Marion. -</p> -<p>“Wretch that I am,” cried the Franciscan, in an agony of suspense, “hath then no one -seen her escape?” -</p> -<p>“St. Katherine help us, an thou dost talk of her escape, <span class="pageNum" id="pb554">[<a href="#pb554">554</a>]</span>indeed, thou comest to the right hand in me,” replied she, “sith that it was I myself -who did show her how to escape; but that was neither before nor after the fire, I -promise thee, but in the very height of the brenning, when the flames were bursting -here, and crackling there—and the rafters——” -</p> -<p>“Nay, tell me, I entreat thee, sister,” cried the Franciscan, interrupting her, though -greatly relieved—“tell me how and where she did save herself?” -</p> -<p>“But I do tell thee thou art wrong, brother,” cried the peevish old woman, “for it -was in no such ways, seeing, as I said before, it was I myself that did save her<span class="corr" id="xd31e7150" title="Source: ,">.</span> But thou art so flustrificacious; an thou wouldst but let me tell mine own tale——” -</p> -<p>“Go on then, I pray thee, sister Marion,” cried the monk, curbing his ire, and patiently -resuming his seat upon the stone; “take thine own way.” -</p> -<p>“In good troth, my way is the right way,” replied sister Marion. “Well, as I was a-saying, -I was sound asleep in my bed, in the back turret at the end of the passage, when cometh -the Lady Beatrice to my room, and did shake, shake at me; and up did I start, for -luckily for me I had taken an opiate, tincture, or balsam, the which the good cellarer -doth give me ofttimes for the shooting toothache pain (but, alas! I doubt it be all -burnt now), and so I had somehow lain down in my clothes; and then came the cries -of the people, and the smoke and flame—and so I did bethink me straightway of the -nun’s private stair to the Chapel, the which did lead down from my very door. This -I did enter, and bid the Lady Beatrice follow me. But I being rather lame, and the -stair being fit only for one at a time, she did sorely hurry and hasten me; and methought -we should never hae gotten down to the Chapel. A-weel, as we were crossing the Chapel -to make our way out at the door that doth lead into the garden, who should I see coming -down the steps of the main-stair that doth lead from yonder passage on the ground -floor into the Chapel, but Sir Andrew Stewart, the son of the Wolfe of Badenoch himself. -Trust me, I stayed not long. But if the Lady Beatrice did complain of my delay in -the way down thither, I trow she had reason in sooth to think me liard enow in leaving -it. I was gone in a trice ere she did miss me; for of a truth I had no fancy to fall -into such hands, since who doth know what——” -</p> -<p>“And the Lady Beatrice?” interrupted the Franciscan. -</p> -<p>“Nay, I must confess I did see him lay his hands on her,” <span class="pageNum" id="pb555">[<a href="#pb555">555</a>]</span>answered Marion; “and I did see him behind me as I did flee through the garden. But——” -</p> -<p>“Then all is well,” interrupted the Franciscan, turning away from the fatiguing old -woman, and finishing the rest of his speech in grateful soliloquy. “It doth rejoice -me much that she hath fallen into the hands of Sir Andrew Stewart; for albeit the -Wolfe of Badenoch hath wrought so much evil, verily I have myself seen that he is -no enemy to the Lady Beatrice. And then, Sir Andrew Stewart hath the reputation of -being the best of his family—one who is a mirror of virtue and of peaceful gentleness; -a perfect lamb of patience in that ferocious litter of wild beasts. Even our holy -Bishop hath him in favourable estimation. He could not choose but take especial care -of her. Praised be the Virgin, I may now go about the Bishop’s affairs withouten care, -being sure that I shall hear good tidings of her anon.” -</p> -<p>All that day and night, and all the following day, had passed away—the flames had -been partly extinguished by active exertion, and had partly expired from lack of further -food, and much had doubtless been done by the influence of images and relics. Measures -also had been taken to preserve the quiet and peace of the town, as well as to ensure -the immediate accommodation and support of such of its inhabitants as had suffered -in the general calamity. Penitential prayers had been offered up, and hymns chanted -in the conventual churches and chapels which had not suffered. A general penance and -solemn fast had been ordered, after all which the Bishop sent for the Franciscan, -and held a long conference with him on the subject of the affairs of the Church, which -we shall leave them to discuss together, that we may now follow the humbled Wolfe -of Badenoch to Lochyndorbe. -</p> -</div> -<div class="footnotes"> -<hr class="fnsep"> -<div class="footnote-body"> -<div class="fndiv" id="xd31e7101"> -<p class="footnote"><span class="fnlabel"><a class="noteRef" href="#xd31e7101src">1</a></span> Having some debates with the Earl of Huntly, he laid him under ecclesiastical censure, -which so provoked the Gordons that they threatened to pull the Bishop out of his pigeon-holes. -“I will build a house,” said the Bishop, “out of which neither the Earl nor his clan -shall pull me,” and he accordingly erected that strong tower still known by the name -of Davy’s Tower. Even the present walls were of date posterior to that alluded to -in the text. <a class="fnarrow" href="#xd31e7101src" title="Return to note 1 in text.">↑</a></p> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch69" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e900">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER LXIX.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Changes at the Castle of Lochyndorbe—The Wolfe tamed—Alarm for the Lady Beatrice.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The scene within that fortress was materially changed since our last visit to it. -The boys, Walter and James Stewart, were laid in beds from which there was but small -hope of their ever rising. Sir Alexander Stewart also lay in a very dangerous and -distressing state, with a shattered arm and a bruised body, resulting from the heap -of heavy stones which had been thrown down <span class="pageNum" id="pb556">[<a href="#pb556">556</a>]</span>upon him from the wall of Spynie; and the hitherto hardy and impregnable mind and -body of the Wolfe of Badenoch himself, yielding before the storm of calamity that -had so suddenly assailed him, had sunk into a state of torpor, and he was now confined -to a sick bed by a low, yet rapidly consuming fever. In so short a time as two days -his gigantic strength was reduced to the weakness of a child. His impatience of temper -had not been entirely conquered by the disease, but its effects were sufficiently -moderated by his prostration, to render him no longer a terror to any one; and this -feeling was heightened in all around him, by the conviction that his malady was of -a nature so fatal that his existence must soon be terminated. -</p> -<p>The Lady Mariota was one of the first who became aware of this, and she prudently -regulated her conduct accordingly. Yes, she for whose illicit love he had sacrificed -so much—she who had ever affected so devoted an attachment to him—she who was the -mother of his five boys—she on whose account he had so resolutely braved so many tempests, -and who had been the original cause of the very feud with the Bishop of Moray which -had led to the commission of excesses so outrageous, and now produced so much fatal -affliction—she it was who, now beginning to show herself in her true character, sorrowed -not for him, but as her own importance and high estate must inevitably sink in his -deathbed. Even her grief for her lost sons, and her anxiety for those whom she feared -to lose, arose more from the thought that in them perished so many supporters and -protectors who might yet have enabled her to hold her head proudly, than from any -of that warm and perfectly unselfish feeling, which, if it anywhere exists, must be -found to throb in the bosom of a mother. Instead of flying in distraction from couch -to couch, administering all that imagination could think of, to heal, to support, -or to soothe, she wisely remembered that, in her situation, time was precious; and, -accordingly, she employed every minute of it in rummaging through the secret repositories -of many a curious antique cabinet, and in making up many a neat and portable package, -to be carried off the moment that the soul of the Wolfe of Badenoch should quit his -body. Nor were her active thoughts bestowed on things inanimate, or within doors only; -her tender care soared even beyond the Castle walls and the Loch that encircled them; -and by means of a chosen few of her own servants whom she had managed to secure by -large bribes to her especial interest, the surrounding country was raised, and the -cattle and sheep that fed in the lawndes of the forests for many a mile round, were -seen pouring in large bodies towards <span class="pageNum" id="pb557">[<a href="#pb557">557</a>]</span>the land-sconce, to be ready to accompany her, and to unite their lowings and bleatings -to her wailings, when she should be compelled to take her sad departure from Lochyndorbe. -</p> -<p>Nor was the knowledge of this base ingratitude spared to the dying man. She had not -visited him for the greater part of the day. He called, but the hirelings, who were -wont to fly to him ere the words had well passed his lips, were now glad to keep out -of his sight, and each abandoning to the rest the unwelcome task of waiting on him, -he was left altogether without help. He was parched with a thirst which he felt persuaded -the Loch itself would have hardly quenched; and in the disturbed state of his nerves -he was haunted with the eternal torture of the idea of its waves murmuring gently -and invitingly around him. It was night. A light step entered his room cautiously, -and the rays of a lamp were seen. He entreated for a cup of water, but no answer was -returned to his request. At length his impatience gave him a momentary command over -his muscles, and throwing down the bed-clothes, he sprang on his knees, and opened -wide the curtains that shaded the lower end of his bed. By the light of the lamp he -beheld the Lady Mariota occupied in searching through his private cabinet, whence -she had already taken many a valuable, the table being covered with rich chains of -gold, and sparkling gems of every variety of water and colour, set in massive rings, -buckles, brooches, collars, and head-circlets; and so intently was she busied that -she heard not his motion. -</p> -<p>“Ha, wretch,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, in a hollow and sepulchral voice of wasted -disease; “the curse of my spirit upon thee, what dost thou there?” -</p> -<p>The Lady Mariota gave him not time to add more, for, looking fearfully round, she -beheld the gaunt visage of the Wolfe of Badenoch, with his eyes glaring fiercely upon -her; and believing that he had already died, and that it was indeed his spirit which -cursed her, she uttered a loud scream, and rushed in terror from the apartment. The -Wolfe, exhausted by the unnatural exertion he had made, sank backwards in his bed, -and lay for some time motionless and unable to speak. -</p> -<p>“Oh, for a cup of water,” moaned the miserable man at length, the excruciating torture -of his thirst banishing even that which his mind had experienced in beholding so unequivocal -a proof of the Lady Mariota’s selfish and unfeeling heart; “oh, will no one bring -me a cup of water? And hath it then come so soon to this, that I, the son of a King, -am left to suffer this foretaste of hell’s torments, and no one hand to help me? Oh, -<span class="pageNum" id="pb558">[<a href="#pb558">558</a>]</span>water, water, water, for mercy’s sake! Alas! Heaven’s curse hath indeed fallen upon -me. My dead and dying sons cannot help me; and Mariota—ha! fiends, fiends! Ay, there -is bitterness—venom—black poison. Was it for this,” said he, casting his eyes towards -the glittering jewels on the distant table; “was it for a heart so worthless that -I did so brave the curse of the Church? Was it for such a viper that I did incur my -father’s anger? Was it for a poisoned-puffed spider like this that I did do deeds -that made men’s hair bristle on their heads, and their very eyes grow dim? Did I bear -her fiercely up before a chiding world, that she might turn and sting me at an hour -like this? Ha! punishment, dread punishment was indeed promised me; but I looked not -that it should come from her whom I did so long love and cherish—from her for whom -I have sacrificed peace in this life, and oh, worse than all, mercy in that to which -I am hastening.” He shuddered at the thoughts which now crowded on his mind, and buried -his head for some moments under the bed-clothes. -</p> -<p>It now approached midnight, and the solitary lamp left by the Lady Mariota was still -burning, when his ear caught a rustling noise. -</p> -<p>“Ha, Mariota, art there again?” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, impatiently lifting up -his head. -</p> -<p>He looked, and through the drapery of the bed, that still remained wide open, he beheld -the Franciscan standing before him. -</p> -<p>“Ha, what! merciful St. Andrew,” cried the Wolfe; “ha, is it thou, fiend, from whom -hath sprung all mine affliction? Devil or monk, thou shalt die in my grasp.” He made -a desperate effort to rise, and repeated it again and again; but he sank down nerveless, -his breast heaving with agitation, and his eyes starting wildly from their sockets. -“Speak, demon, what further vengeance dost thou come to execute on this devoted head? -Speak, for what fiendish torment canst thou invent that shall more excruciate the -body than racking and unsatisfied thirst? or what that shall tear the soul more cruelly -than the barbed arrows of ingratitude? Hence, then, to thy native hell, and leave -me to mine.” -</p> -<p>“Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan, and Lord of Badenoch,” said the Franciscan, “I -do come to thee as no tormenting fiend. The seal of death doth seem to be set on thy -forehead; thou art fast sinking into his fleshless arms. The damps of the grave do -gather on thy brow. ’Tis not for mortal man as I am, to push vengeance at such an -hour. When thou wert in thy full <span class="pageNum" id="pb559">[<a href="#pb559">559</a>]</span>strength and power I did boldly face thy wickedness; but now thou art feeble and drivelling -as the child that was born yesterday, or as the helpless crone over whose worn head -and wasted brain an hundred winters have rolled, I come not to denounce aught of punishment -against thee; for already hast thou enow here, and thou wilt soon be plunged for endless -ages in that burning sea to which it were bootless for me to add one drop of anguish. -Forgetting all thy cruelty against myself, I do come to thee as the hand of Mercy -to the drowning wretch. I come to offer myself as the leech of thy soul as well as -of thy body; and, as an offering of peace, and a pledge of my sincerity, behold thy -beloved son<span class="corr" id="xd31e7192" title="Source: ?">!</span>” -</p> -<p>The Franciscan threw aside the folds of his habit, with which he had hitherto concealed -something, and he held up the smiling boy, Duncan Stewart. -</p> -<p>“Mock me not, foul fiend,” cried the frantic father, believing that what he saw was -a phantom; “hence, and disturb not my brain.” -</p> -<p>“Again I repeat, I am no fiend,” said the Franciscan mildly. “I come to tell thee -that repentance may yet ensure thee salvation in the next world; nay, even life in -this; yea, and life also to thy sons; and as a gracious earnest of God’s infinite -mercy, behold, I here restore thee thy best beloved boy, the Benjamin of thy heart, -whose life mine hand did save from that raging fire thyself did so impiously kindle.” -</p> -<p>The Wolfe of Badenoch devoured the very words of the Franciscan as he spake. He gazed -wildly on him and on his boy alternately, as if he yet doubted the reality of the -scene; and it was not until the little Duncan’s joyous laugh rang in his ears, and -he felt the boy’s arms fondly entwining his neck, that he became satisfied of the -truth of what he heard and saw. He was no longer the iron-framed and stern-souled -Wolfe of Badenoch; his body was weak and his mind shaken, and he sank backwards in -the bed, giving way to an hysterical laugh. -</p> -<p>“Oh, my boy, my boy,” cried he at length, smothering the youth with his caresses; -“my beloved Duncan, what can I do for so great a mercy! What—what—but—Oh, mercy, one -cup of water, in mercy!—I burn—my tongue cleaveth—Oh, water, water, in mercy!” -</p> -<p>The Franciscan hastened to give him water; and the thirsty wretch snatched the cup -of life from the hand of him whom his unbridled rage had so wantonly consigned to -the cruellest of deaths. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb560">[<a href="#pb560">560</a>]</span></p> -<p>“More, more,” cried the impatient Wolfe of Badenoch; “mine entrails do crack with -the scorching heat within me.” -</p> -<p>“Drink this, then,” said the Franciscan, taking a phial from his bosom, and pouring -part of its contents into the cup; “drink this, and thou shalt have water.” -</p> -<p>“Ha!” cried the Wolfe, darting a glance of suspicion towards the monk. “Yet why should -I hesitate?” continued he, as his eyes fell upon Duncan. “He who hath restored my -son, can have little wish to hasten the end of a dying wretch.” -</p> -<p>“And he who might have used the dagger against thee,” said the Franciscan calmly, -“would never have thought of giving thee a death so tedious as that of poison. Drink; -there is health in the cup.” -</p> -<p>The Wolfe hesitated no longer. -</p> -<p>“Now water, oh, water, in mercy!” cried he again, after he had swallowed the drug. -</p> -<p>“Thy thirst must be moderately ministered unto for a time,” said the Franciscan; “yet -shalt thou have one cup more,” and he poured one for him accordingly. -</p> -<p>“Why art thou thus alone, father,” demanded the boy Duncan; “why is not my mother -here? she who doth ever so caress and soothe thee, if that the pulses of thy temples -do but throb unreasonably. I’ll go and fetch her hither straightway.” -</p> -<p>“Fetch her not hither, Duncan, if thou wouldst not have me curse her,” cried the Wolfe -of Badenoch, dashing away the half-consumed cup of water, in defiance of his thirst -“Oh, that I might yet be myself again, were it but for a day, that I might deal justice -upon her. Then, indeed, should I die contented.” -</p> -<p>“Hush,” said the Franciscan; “such is not the temper that doth best befit a dying -man; yea, and one, too, who hath so much for the which to ask forgiveness. It doth -more behove thee to think of thine own sins than of those of others. If it may so -please Heaven, I shall be the leech of thy body; but it were well that thou didst -suffer me to give blessed medicine to thy diseased soul, for thy life or thy death -hangeth in the Almighty hand, and no one can tell how soon thou mayest be called to -thy great account. Say, dost thou repent thee of all the evil thou hast wrought against -the Holy Church and her sacred ministers?” -</p> -<p>“I do, I do; most bitterly do I repent me,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, grinding -his teeth ferociously, and with an expression of countenance very different from that -becoming an humble penitent. “I do repent me, I say, in gall and bitterness; for verily -she for whom I did these deeds——” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb561">[<a href="#pb561">561</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Nay, talk not of her,” said the Franciscan, interrupting him; “mix not up thine angry -passions with thine abasement before thine offended Maker. Repent thee of thy sins—make -instant reparation to the Church from the abundance of thy wealth—resolve to put away -all thine abominations from thee—and, finally, make a solemn vow, that, if it should -please Heaven to restore thee to health, thou wilt do such penance as it may seem -fitting for the injured Bishop of Moray to impose upon thee—do these things, and all -may yet be well with thee. If thou art willing to vow solemnly to do these things, -if Heaven in its mercy shall yet spare thee, verily I will receive and be witness -to thy serment; and I do beseech thee to speak quickly, for I would fain leave thee -to that healing repose, for the which my medicine hath prepared thee, that I may go -to give healthful balsams to thy three sons, that they may yet be snatched from an -early grave.” -</p> -<p>“Yea, most merciful and beneficent monk,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, “thou whom -I did believe to be a fiend, but whom I do now find to be saint upon earth, most gladly -do I yield me to thee. I here most solemnly vow to the Virgin and the Holy Trinity, -that I do heartily repent me of mine outrages against the Holy Church of God and His -holy ministers; that I am ready to make what reparation I may; and that, if it so -please Heaven to rescue me from the jaws of death, I shall do penance in such wise -as to the Bishop and the King, my father, may seem best.” -</p> -<p>“Be thy vow registered in Heaven,” said the Franciscan, solemnly crossing himself. -“And now, with the blessing of St. Francis, thou shalt soon be in a state for fulfilling -it. But let me entreat thee to yield thyself to that repose, the which the healing -draught thou hast taken must speedily ensure to thee; when thou dost again awake, -thy consuming fever will have left thee, and in two or three days at most thou mayest -be again in thy saddle. Let me now hasten to help thy sons.” -</p> -<p>The boy Duncan Stewart had already paved the way for the Franciscan’s favourable reception -with his brothers, who gladly submitted themselves to his directions, and he speedily -administered to their respective cases. The domestics now began to be re-assured of -the probable recovery of the invalids, and they already quaked for the returning wrath -of the Wolfe of Badenoch. The Lady Mariota, sat trembling in her apartment. The Franciscan, -who had formerly disappeared so miraculously, and who now re-appeared so strangely -among them, was eyed with <span class="pageNum" id="pb562">[<a href="#pb562">562</a>]</span>fear by every one within the Castle, and his orders were obeyed as implicitly and -as promptly as the Wolfe himself, so that he lacked for nothing that his patient required. -Having done all for them that art could effect, he had time to think of the Lady Beatrice, -whom he believed to be an inmate of the Castle, seeing he had no doubt that Sir Andrew -Stewart must have brought her thither. But he found, on inquiry, that the knight had -not appeared. He was vexed at the disappointment, but taking it for granted that her -protector had carried her to some other fastness belonging to his father, he felt -no uneasiness, trusting that he should soon have tidings of her. -</p> -<p>Dismissing all thoughts of the Lady Beatrice, therefore, from his mind, he devoted -himself eagerly to the restoration of the sick, being filled with the idea of the -signal service he was about to perform to the Church, the extent of which would much -depend on the recovery of those who now lay in so precarious a state, that they might -appear before the world as living instances of penitence. For two days, then, he was -indefatigable in his attentions; and the effect of his care and skill was, that the -Wolfe of Badenoch’s cure was rapid. His disease had been chiefly caused by sudden -affliction, operating on an impatient temper, and a conscience ill at ease. The Franciscan’s -words, therefore, had happily combined with his medicines to produce an almost miraculous -effect; and, ere the time promised by the monk was expired, he appeared in the great -hall, haggard and disease-worn indeed, but perfectly ready to fill his saddle. The -recovery of his sons, though there was now little to be feared for them, promised -to be more tedious; and it was well for the peace of the Castle of Lochyndorbe that -it was so, for they might have made some objections to the decided step which their -father took the moment he again showed himself. -</p> -<p>“Ha, villains,” cried he as he came stalking through the opening crowd of domestics -that shrunk from him on either hand—“so the Earl of Buchan, the son of a King, mought -have died for all ye cared. Ha! whither did ye all hide, knaves, that I was nearly -perishing of thirst, and no one to give me a cup of water? But ’tis no marvel that -ye should have forgotten your master when—Ha! Bruce—send Bruce, the old esquire, hither. -What mighty lowing of cattle, and bleating of sheep, is that I do hear?” -</p> -<p>The domestics looked at each other, but no one dared to speak. The impatient Wolfe -hurried up a little turret-stair, from the top of which he had a view over the outer -walls of the Castle, and the narrow strait that divided that from the mainland. <span class="pageNum" id="pb563">[<a href="#pb563">563</a>]</span>There he beheld the whole of the flocks and herds which the Lady Mariota had so prudently -collected together, and which her trepidation had made her forget to order to be driven -again to their native hills and forests. He wanted no further information, for the -truth flashed on him at once. His eye reddened, his cheek grew paler than even the -disease had left it, his lip quivered, and he rushed precipitately down to the hall. -</p> -<p>“Where, in the fiend’s name, is Bruce?” cried he. “Ha! thou art there, old man. Get -thee quickly together some dozen or twain of mounted spears, with palfreys for the -Lady Mariota and her women, and sumpter-horses needful for the carriage of their raiment; -and let her know that it is my will she do forthwith depart hence with thee for my -Castle of Cocklecraig, the which is to be her future place of sojournance.” -</p> -<p>The esquire bowed obediently, and hastened to execute the command of his impatient -Lord. In a little time a page appeared, with an humble message from the Lady Mariota, -to know whether the Earl was to accompany her into Buchan. -</p> -<p>“Tell her no,” replied the Wolfe, turning round on the frightened page, and speaking -with a voice that shook the Gothic hall, which he was rapidly measuring backwards -and forward with his paces. -</p> -<p>Again a woman came to him from the Lady Mariota, most submissively entreating for -an interview. -</p> -<p>“Nay, the red fiend catch me then!” cried the furious Wolfe, his eyes flashing fire; -“I do already know too much of her baseness, ever to trust myself with a sight of -her again. ’Twere better, for her sake, that she urge me not to see her. Ha! tell -her I have sworn by my knighthood that the threads that hath bound my heart to her -worthlessness shall be for ever snapped. Let not the poisonous toad cross my path, -lest I crush her in mine ire, and give to my conscience another sin to be repented -of.—Away!” -</p> -<p>The Wolfe again paced the hall, very much moved. The neighing of horses and the noise -of preparation were heard in the court-yard; the warder’s call for the boats sounded -across the lake; and a wailing of women’s voices soon afterwards succeeded. The Wolfe -paced the hall with a yet more rapid step; he became much moved, and hid his face -from the Franciscan, who was the only witness of his agitation. But at last it became -too strong to be concealed, and he rushed up the turret-stair, whence he had before -looked out towards the land-sconce. He remained absent for a considerable time; and -when he returned, <span class="pageNum" id="pb564">[<a href="#pb564">564</a>]</span>his face was deeply marked with the traces of the strong contending emotions he had -undergone. -</p> -<p>“How doth thy leech-craft prosper, good Sir Friar?” demanded he at length, evidently -from no other desire than to talk away his present feelings, seeing that he had already -put the same question more than half-a-dozen times before. -</p> -<p>“I do trust that, under God, thy sons will yet be well,” replied the Franciscan. “But -be not impatient, my Lord; their cure must be the work of time. Meanwhile, be thankful -to a merciful Providence, who doth thus restore to thee all those of whom thou didst -fear thou wert bereft.” -</p> -<p>“All!” cried the Wolfe, shuddering, “nay, not all; all but Andrew, and he did perish -horribly in the flames of the Maison Dieu, whither I did myself enforce him. Heaven -in its mercy pardon me!” -</p> -<p>“Andrew!” cried the Franciscan, with surprise; “trust me, my Lord, Sir Andrew Stewart -is safe.” -</p> -<p>“Safe!” cried the Wolfe, clasping his hands together in an ecstacy—“then thanks be -to a merciful God, who hath saved me from the torturing thought of having been the -cause of working my son’s death. But where, I pray thee, was he seen?” demanded the -Wolfe eagerly. -</p> -<p>“He was seen in the Chapel of the Maison Dieu with a lady, whom he did thereafter -lead through the garden of the Hospital,” replied the Franciscan. -</p> -<p>“What, the Lady Beatrice!” demanded the Wolfe; “for that is all the name I did ever -know her to bear as a woman, albeit I do well recollect her masculine appellation -of Maurice de Grey.” -</p> -<p>“The same,” replied the Franciscan. -</p> -<p>“Then hath Andrew preserved her life,” replied the Wolfe. “By the beard of my grandfather, -but I do greatly rejoice to hear it. There is still some virtue in the caitiff after -all. My efforts to save the lady were vain; I did even gain her chamber, but I found -her gone; from which I was compelled with grief to believe that she had surely perished. -But whither hath my son Andrew conveyed her?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, that I have not yet discovered,” replied the Franciscan; “but Sir Andrew Stewart -saved not the Lady Beatrice from the flames. One of the sisters of the Hospital did -teach her how to escape; and as they crossed the Chapel together, Sir Andrew Stewart, -who had fled thither for safety——” -</p> -<p>“Ah, coward,” cried the Wolfe; “so, after all, he was the craven kestrel. By my beard, -I thought as much. And so <span class="pageNum" id="pb565">[<a href="#pb565">565</a>]</span>thou sayest that thou art yet ignorant where the Lady Beatrice hath been bestowed.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, my good Lord,” replied the Franciscan; “but with a knight of his good report -she is sure of protection, and——” -</p> -<p>“What sayest thou?—good report, sayest thou?” interrupted the Wolfe. “Though he be -a brauncher from mine own nest, yet must I, in honesty, tell thee, Sir Friar, that -a greater hypocrite presseth not the surface of the earth. Protection, saidst thou? -By St. Barnabas, but she hath already hath enow of his protection.” -</p> -<p>“What dost thou mean, my Lord?” replied the monk, in astonishment. -</p> -<p>“Why, by my knighthood, but I am ashamed to speak so of mine own son,” replied the -Wolfe; “yet am I bound to treat thee with candour, and so thou shalt e’en have it.” -And he proceeded to give the monk a short history of the infamous treachery of Sir -Andrew Stewart towards the Lady Beatrice. -</p> -<p>“My Lord of Buchan,” cried the Franciscan, with an agitation and earnestness of manner -which the Wolfe of Badenoch could by no means explain, “if I have found favour with -thee, lend me thine aid, I entreat thee, to recover the Lady Beatrice from thy son. -She is destined to take the veil, and in giving me thine aid to reclaim her thou wilt -be doing a pious duty, the which will assuredly tell for the good of thy soul, yea, -and help to balance the heavy charge of thine iniquities.” -</p> -<p>“Right joyfully shall I give thee mine aid,” replied the Wolfe of Badenoch; “the more -that she was the lady of the gallant Sir Patrick Hepborne, with whom she was here, -in the disguise of a page. Ha, ha, ha, ha! But wherefore doth she now take the veil?” -</p> -<p>“’Tis fitting that she doth atone for a youth of sin by a life of penitence,” replied -the Friar, unwilling to speak more plainly. -</p> -<p>“So,” said the Wolfe of Badenoch, with a significant look, “after all her modest pretence, -and after all Sir Patrick’s cunning dissembling, ’twas as I did suspect then, after -all?” -</p> -<p>“Thou didst suspect, then?” said the Friar; “alas! I do fear with too much reason. -Yet let us not tarry, but hasten to recover her, I pray thee.” -</p> -<p>“Squires, there—what, ho, within!” cried the Wolfe, “hath no one as yet heard aught -of Sir Andrew Stewart?” -</p> -<p>“No one, my noble Earl,” replied an esquire who waited. -</p> -<p>“By the holy mass, then,” said the Wolfe, “but the caitiff hath taken refuge in some -of my strongholds. But ’twill be <span class="pageNum" id="pb566">[<a href="#pb566">566</a>]</span>hard an we ferret him not out. Ha! knaves there, let fifty mounted lances be ready -in the lawnde beyond the land-sconce ere I can wind my bugle.” -</p> -<p>The Wolfe of Badenoch was restored to all his pristine vigour by the very thought -of going on an expedition, even though it was against his own son. The court-yard -rang with the bustle the Castle was thrown into, and all the boats were put in requisition -to ferry the horses across. Everything was ready for them to mount at the land-sconce -in an incredibly short space of time; but, however short the delay, still it was too -much for his impatience; nor was his companion less restless than the Wolfe, till -he found himself in saddle. When all were mounted, the monk showed, by his forward -riding, that there was little risk of his being a drag upon the speed of the furious-pricking -knight, and the Wolfe of Badenoch exulted to behold his horsemanship. -</p> -<p>“By the mass,” cried he, pulling up a little, “but thou art a prince of friars; ’tis -a pleasure, I vow, to have a stalwarth monk like thee as a confessor; wouldst thou -be mine, thou shouldst ever ride at my elbow. Where hadst thou thy schooling, Sir -Friar?” -</p> -<p>“I have rode in the lists ere now,” replied the Franciscan; “yea, and war have I seen -in all its fashions. But it doth now befit me to forget these vain carnal contentions, -and to fight against mine own evil passions, the which are harder to subdue than any -living foe. And in this let me be an ensample to thee, my Lord, for verily the time -is but short sith that I was as violent and tempestuous as thyself; and hard it is -even yet for me, frail man as I am, to keep down the raging devil that is within me. -May the blessed Virgin increase our virtuous resolution!” said he, crossing himself. -</p> -<p>To this pious ejaculation the Wolfe added a hearty “Amen;” and they again pushed on -at the same rapid pace at which they had originally started. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch70" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e910">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER LXX.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Bishop Barr at Lochyndorbe Castle—Reception by the Wolfe.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The Wolfe of Badenoch and the Franciscan had hardly reached the end of the lake, when -they descried a mounted knight approaching them. -</p> -<p>“By all that is marvellous,” cried the Wolfe, halting suddenly, “but yonder doth come -my very son Andrew!” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb567">[<a href="#pb567">567</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Is it indeed Sir Andrew Stewart?” said the Franciscan; “methinks he cometh as if -he had little fear of blame about him.” -</p> -<p>“By’r Lady, but his coming home thus at all doth look something like honesty,” said -the Wolfe; “but do thou let me question him, holy father, nor fear that I will deal -over gently with him. So, Sir Andrew,” cried he, as soon as his son was near enough -to hear him, “I do rejoice to behold thee again. Whence comest thou, I pray thee?” -</p> -<p>“From Elgin straightway, my noble father,” replied Sir Andrew Stewart. -</p> -<p>“Marry, and what hath kept thee there so long, then?” demanded the Wolfe; “methought -that thou hadst seen enow to teach thee that no whelp of mine could be welcome guest -there.” -</p> -<p>“In truth, I did so find it indeed,” replied Sir Andrew Stewart. -</p> -<p>“Then what a murrain hath kept thee there?” demanded the Wolfe sternly. “Come, thou -knowest I am not over patient. Thy story—thy story quickly. What befel thee after -thou didst enter the blazing Spital of the Maison Dieu? Didst thou rescue the damosel—the -Lady Beatrice?” -</p> -<p>“I did,” replied the unblushing knight; “verily, I rushed to the upper chamber through -the fire and the smoke, and I did snatch her from the very flames, and bear her forth -in safety.” -</p> -<p>“There thou liest, caitiff,” roared out the Wolfe; “thou dost lie in the very threshold -of thy story. By the mass, but we shall judge of the remainder of thy tale by the -sample thou hast already given us. But go on, Sir Andrew. What didst thou with her -after thou didst save her, as thou saidst? ay, and tell us, too, how thou didst escape?” -</p> -<p>“But first, where is she now?” demanded the Franciscan, breaking in. -</p> -<p>“Nay, Sir Friar, be not impatient,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch; “thou wilt gain nothing -by impatience. Interrupt him not, I entreat thee; but let him go on in order. Proceed, -sirrah.” -</p> -<p>“I retreated with the Lady Beatrice, through the Chapel of the Maison Dieu,” replied -Sir Andrew Stewart, now assuming greater caution as to what he uttered. -</p> -<p>“Well, Sir Knight,” exclaimed the Franciscan keenly, “what hast thou done with her? -Speak to that at once.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Sir Friar, why wilt thou thus persist in taking speech?” <span class="pageNum" id="pb568">[<a href="#pb568">568</a>]</span>demanded the Wolfe testily; “thou art most unreasonably hasty. By the beard of my -grandfather, but impatience and unbridled passion doth ever defeat itself. Dost thou -not see that I am cool and unflurried with this knave’s face? Answer me, villain,” -roared he to his son, “answer me, thou disgrace to him from whom thou art sprung—thou -child of thine infamous mother—answer me, I tell thee, quickly, and to the point, -or, by the blood of the Bruce, I shall forget that thou hast any claim to be called -my son.” -</p> -<p>“Be not angry with me, father,” said Sir Andrew, trembling; “verily the lady is safe, -for all that I do know of her; and——” -</p> -<p>“Where hast thou bestowed her, villain?” shouted the Wolfe; “speak, or, by all the -fiends, thou shalt never speak more.” -</p> -<p>“I will, father, if thou wilt but suffer me,” replied the terrified Sir Andrew Stewart. -</p> -<p>“Why dost thou not go on then?” cried the Wolfe yet more impatiently; “where hast -thou bestowed the lady, villain! An we be not possessed by thee of the whole of thy -story, and of the place where thou hast confined her, in less time than the flight -of an arrow doth consume, by the blessed house of my ancestors, I shall cause hang -thee up, though thou be’st called my son.” -</p> -<p>“The lady is not in my hands,” replied Sir Andrew Stewart in terrible alarm; “she -fled from me in the garden of the Maison Dieu, and I did never see her more.” -</p> -<p>“Hey—what?—but this may be all of a piece with the beginning of thy tale, which we -know was false as hell,” replied the Wolfe. -</p> -<p>“Nay, we do indeed know so much as that thou didst never save her,” cried the Franciscan; -“we do know right well how she was saved; yea, and we do know, moreover, that thou -didst seize her as she did pass through the Chapel, and thou wert heard with her in -the garden. Tell me speedily whither didst thou carry her, and where is she now?” -</p> -<p>“Ay, where is she now,” cried the Wolfe; “out with the truth, if thou wouldst escape -hanging. Be assured that every false word thou mayest utter shall be proved against -thee; so see that thou dost speak truth.” -</p> -<p>“Have mercy on me, father,” cried the wretched Sir Andrew Stewart, throwing himself -from his horse, and dropping on his knees between the Wolfe and the Franciscan; “have -mercy on me, and I will tell thee all the truth. To my shame I do confess that vanity -and the fear of my father’s wrath against <span class="pageNum" id="pb569">[<a href="#pb569">569</a>]</span>my cowardice did prompt me to utter that which was false; and——” -</p> -<p>“Ha! where is she, then, villain?” cried the Wolfe, interrupting him. -</p> -<p>“Distraction! where hast thou concealed her?” cried the Franciscan. -</p> -<p>“Verily, I know nothing of her,” said the knight. -</p> -<p>“Wretch, dost thou return to thy falsehood?” cried the Franciscan. -</p> -<p>“Nay, what I say in this respect is most true,” said Sir Andrew Stewart; “it was in -saying that I did rescue the Lady Beatrice that I spake falsely. I was too much daunted -by the fierceness of the flames to venture aloft; but having been once upon a time -a guest in the Maison Dieu, I well knew its various passages, one of which did lead -from the bottom of the main staircase of the building directly into the Chapel, whence -I was aware that a retreat into the garden was easy. As I entered the Chapel I beheld -one of the sisterhood of the Maison Dieu hobbling away with the Lady Beatrice. Mine -ancient passion returned upon me, and——” -</p> -<p>“Villain! thou didst carry her off,” cried the Franciscan, interrupting him. -</p> -<p>“Thou lying caitiff, where hast thou concealed her?” cried the Wolfe. -</p> -<p>“I did straightway attempt to lay hands upon her, when she fled before me into the -garden, and escaped among the trees and bushes, where I instantly lost all trace of -her.” -</p> -<p>“But where hast thou been all this time sithence?” demanded the Wolfe fiercely; “answer -me straightway to that.” -</p> -<p>“My Lord Earl,” replied Sir Andrew Stewart, “as I wandered in the garden I did encounter -the old gardener, who, under the light of the burning, did remember me for one of -thy sons. He instantly seized me, and having snatched my sword from my side, he did -swear potent oaths that he would put me to death if I dared offer to resist; and with -these threats he forced me through the garden, and plunged me into a deep vault at -its farther extremity, where I was immured without food for two days.” -</p> -<p>“Ha! and by the Holy Rood, thou didst well merit it all, I ween, thou most pitiful -of cowards,” cried the Wolfe, angrily gnashing his teeth; “what, thou the son of the -Wolfe of Badenoch, to be frayed and captured by an old doting unarmed gardener! By -all the fiends, but thou dost deserve to wear a <span class="pageNum" id="pb570">[<a href="#pb570">570</a>]</span>kirtle <span class="corr" id="xd31e7330" title="Source: aad">and</span> petticoat, and to have a distaff to handle. But what more hast thou to tell, thou -shame to knighthood?” -</p> -<p>“When I was nearly spent by hunger and thirst,” continued Sir Andrew, “the gardener -came, with some of the brethren of the Maison Dieu, to take me from my prison, and -I was led before the Bishop of Moray.” -</p> -<p>“Ha! and how did the Bishop treat thee?” interrupted the Wolfe. -</p> -<p>“He received me with much mildness and gentleness,” replied Sir Andrew Stewart; “and -he did severely chide those who so cruelly left me without food, and ere he would -allow a question to be put to me, he did straightway order my hunger and thirst to -be forthwith satisfied; and, when I had well eaten and drank, he ordered an apartment -to be instantly prepared for me, that I might enjoy the repose the which I had so -much need; and verily I was right glad to accept of the proffered blessing. The Bishop -did keep me with him until a messenger came to him from Lochyndorbe, after which he -entertained me rather as his favoured guest than as his prisoner.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, so far he speaketh truth” said the Franciscan; “that messenger was mine; he -was the messenger of peace.” -</p> -<p>“I do indeed speak the truth in everything now,” replied Sir Andrew Stewart, “the -which thou mayest soon learn from the Bishop himself, for I am sent before him to -announce a peaceful visitation from him, and he will be here anon.” -</p> -<p>“Ha! if thou hadst but listened, Sir Friar,” cried the Wolfe, “if thine impatience -had but suffered thee to listen, we had saved much time.” -</p> -<p>“Yea, much time mought have indeed been saved,” said the Franciscan; “but, sinner -that I am, what hath become of the Lady Beatrice? Her disappearance is most mysterious, -if what Sir Andrew Stewart hath told be indeed true.” -</p> -<p>“But didst thou not say that the Bishop was coming hither, son Andrew?” cried the -Wolfe of Badenoch; “what force doth he bring with him?” -</p> -<p>“He bringeth not a single armed man with him,” replied Sir Andrew Stewart; “nay, he -hath not above some fifteen or twenty persons in all his company.” -</p> -<p>“Had we not better hasten us homewards?” said the Wolfe to the Franciscan; “had we -not better hasten to prepare for receiving my Lord Bishop, sith that he doth honour -me so far?” -</p> -<p>“Thou art right, my Lord,” replied the Franciscan, starting from a reverie into which -he had fallen; “it may be that my <span class="pageNum" id="pb571">[<a href="#pb571">571</a>]</span>Lord Bishop may peraunter have some tidings to give me of her about whom I am so much -interested.” -</p> -<p>The Franciscan had little leisure to think more of the Lady Beatrice at that time. -They were no sooner within the Castle walls than he found that he had a sufficient -task to fulfil in preparing the fierce mind of the Wolfe of Badenoch for receiving -the Bishop with that peaceful humility which became a sincere penitent. It was so -far a fortunate circumstance that the Wolfe himself was already very greatly touched -by the prelate’s generous conduct towards his sons Duncan and Andrew, whom fortune -had placed at his mercy. -</p> -<p>“By the Rood,” exclaimed he, “but the Bishop hath shown kindness where, in truth, -I had but little reason to expect it at his hands. He might have hanged both my boys, -taken, as I may say they were, red-handed in a manner. Then his coming thus doth show -but little of that haughtiness of the which I did believe him to be possessed. By -this hand, we shall muster out our garrison and meet him on the land-sconce with all -our warlike parade, that we may do him all the honour that may be.” -</p> -<p>“Nay,” replied the monk mildly, “not so, I do entreat thee, my Lord. Let us appear -there with all the symbols of peace and humility, and——” -</p> -<p>“What,” interrupted the Wolfe hastily, “wouldst thou have me put myself in the power -of the prelate?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, thou needst hardly fear that, if thou rememberest what thy son Sir Andrew did -say of the unarmed state of his small escort,” replied the Franciscan; “and, in truth, -meseems that if the peaceful Bishop doth adventure so far as to entrust himself and -his people unarmed in thy stronghold, it would speak but little for the bold heart -of the Earl of Buchan to go armed, and attended by armed men. Nay, nay, my Lord; of -a truth, this is a bold act of the Bishop of Moray, when all that hath passed is well -considered. He hath indeed been generous, and now he doth prove himself to be dauntless. -Let him not have to boast, then, that he hath outdone thee either in generosity or -fearlessness. I need not call upon thee to remember thee of thy vow, the which I did -witness, and which is now registered in heaven. Show that thou art truly penitent -and humble, and remember that thine abasement before God’s minister is but thine abasement -before God, who hath already shown thee such tender mercy, and who will yet show thee -more.” -</p> -<p>After listening to this exhortation, the Wolfe of Badenoch became thoughtful, and -the Franciscan gradually ventured to propose to him the manner in which it would best -become him <span class="pageNum" id="pb572">[<a href="#pb572">572</a>]</span>to receive the Bishop. The countenance of the ferocious warrior showed sufficiently -how painful the humiliation was to his feelings; but he submitted patiently, if not -cheerfully, and the necessary preparations were accordingly made. -</p> -<p>The warder who was stationed in the barbican blew his horn to announce the first appearance -of the Bishop’s party, who were seen winding like black specks through the scattered -greenwood at the farther end of the lake. The colony of herons were scarcely disturbed -by their slow and silent march. The little fleet of boats clustered under the Castle -walls was manned, and the Wolfe of Badenoch and his whole garrison were rowed across -to the land-sconce, where they immediately formed themselves into a procession, and -walked onwards to meet those who were coming. -</p> -<p>First went fifty warriors, unarmed and with their heads bare. Then followed the Wolfe -of Badenoch himself, also unarmed, and wearing a black hood and surcoat. At his side -was the Franciscan, and behind him were his sons Andrew and Duncan, after whom came -fifty more of his people. The Bishop approached, mounted on his palfrey, surrounded -by some of the dignitaries of his diocese, and followed by a few monks and a small -train of attendants. The Wolfe of Badenoch’s men halted, and, dividing themselves -into two lines, formed a lane for the Bishop and his party to advance. The Wolfe moved -forward to meet the prelate; but though his garb was that of a humble penitent, his -eye and his bearing were those of a proud Prince. -</p> -<p>“Ah, there is the good Bishop, who was so kind to me at Spynie,” cried little Duncan, -clapping his hands with joy; “he did teach me to play bowls, father, and he gave me -so many nice <span class="corr" id="xd31e7362" title="Source: sweatmeats">sweetmeats</span>. Let me run to him, I beseech thee.” -</p> -<p>The boy’s innocent speech was enough; it brought a grappling about the heart of the -Wolfe of Badenoch; he hastened forward to the end of the lane of men, and made an -effort to reach the Bishop’s stirrup, that he might hold it for him to dismount. -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay,” said the good man, preventing his intention by quitting his saddle ere -he could reach him; “I may not allow the son of my King so to debase himself.” -</p> -<p>“My Lord Bishop,” said the Wolfe, prompted by the Franciscan, “behold one who doth -humbly throw himself on the mercy and forgiveness of God and thee.” -</p> -<p>“The mercy of God was never refused to a repentant sinner,” replied the Bishop; “and -as for the forgiveness of a fallible being like me, I wot I do myself lack too much -of God’s pardon <span class="pageNum" id="pb573">[<a href="#pb573">573</a>]</span>to dare refuse it to a fellow-sinner. May God, then, in his mercy, pardon thee on -thy present submission, and on the score of that penance to which thou art prepared -to submit.” -</p> -<p>“My Lord Bishop,” replied the Wolfe, “I am ready to submit to whatsoever penance it -may please thee to enjoin me. Thy mercy to my sons, and in especial that to my boy -Duncan, hath subdued me to thy will. But let me entreat of thee that, sinner though -I be, thou wilt honour my Castle of Lochyndorbe with thy sacred presence. There shall -I learn thy volunde, the which I do here solemnly vow, before the blessed Virgin and -the Holy Trinity, whom I have offended, to perform to the veriest tittle, were it -to be a pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulchre itself. Trust me, thy tender mercy towards -me and mine hath wrought more with me than all that thy power or thy threats could -have done.” -</p> -<p>“Let us not talk more of this matter at this time, my Lord,” replied the Bishop; “I -do hereby take upon me, in the meanwhile, conditionally to remove from thee the dread -sentence of excommunication, seeing thou hast made all the concession as yet in thy -power, and that thou art ready to make what reparation thou canst for what hath passed, -and to do such penance as may be required of thee; and so shall I cheerfully accept -thy hospitality for this night.” -</p> -<p>The Wolfe of Badenoch’s men stared at each other, to behold their fierce master thus -become the peaceable companion of the very prelate and monk against whom the full -stream of his fury had been so lately directed. They shrugged and looked wise at each -other, but no one ventured to utter a word; and the two processions having mingled -their truly heterogeneous materials together, they turned towards the land-sconce, -and peacefully entering the boats, crossed the Lake to the Castle, where the chief -personages were soon afterwards to be seen harmoniously seated at the same festive -board. But before they were so assembled, the Franciscan had a conference with the -Bishop in his private apartment. -</p> -<p>“Thou hast indeed well served the cause of the Church, Friar John,” said the prelate -to him; “yea, thou hast done God and our holy religion good service, by having thus -so miraculously tamed this wild and ferocious Wolfe. Thou hast tilled a hardened soil, -that hath heretofore borne but thistles, thorns, and brambles, that did enter into -our flesh and tear our very hearts. But thy hand must not be taken from the plough -until thy task be complete. Thou must forward with the Earl of Buchan towards Perth -to-morrow. ’Twere well to take him <span class="pageNum" id="pb574">[<a href="#pb574">574</a>]</span>while his mind is yet soft with the meliorating dews of penitence. I have spoken to -him apart sith I did come hither. Already hath he agreed to make over to me certain -large sums in gold, to be placed at the disposal of our chapter, as alswa divers annual -rents springing from a wide extent of territory, to be expended in the restoration -of our Cathedral. Moreover, he hath declared himself ready to perform the penance -I have enjoined him, the ceremonial of which thou wilt find detailed in this parchment, -after which he will be absolved by the godly Walter Traill, Bishop of St. Andrews, -in the Blackfriars Church of Perth. To thy prudence and care do I commit the proper -ordering and execution of all that this parchment and these directions I have written -do contain, seeing there be none other who could do it so well.” -</p> -<p>“I must obey all thy commands, my sacred Lord,” replied the friar; “yet is my mind -ill attuned to the task, seeing it is distracted because of the uncertain fate of -the Lady Beatrice. I beseech thee, hath any tidings of her reached thee?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, I heard not of her,” replied the Bishop, “save what I gathered from Sir Andrew -Stewart, who parted with her in the garden of the Maison Dieu. Yet did I not cease -to make inquiry—and, in truth, I do greatly fear that she hath availed herself of -her liberty to flee towards the south, to join herself to him with whom she did once -so scandalously associate, and for whom thou sayest she hath unblushingly confessed -her inextinguishable love. I hear our Scottish champions have returned from the English -expedition, and doubtless Sir Patrick Hepborne the younger is by this time at the -Court of King Robert, at Scone, if he hath not been detained in the Tower, to answer -for his outrage. From what thou hast told me there must have been some secret concert -between the knight and Beatrice. She must, therefore, have been well possessed of -all his intentions—and if so, she was well prepared to avail herself of any chance -of escape, that she might fly to join herself to him again. Hadst thou any talk with -her on the subject of Sir Patrick Hepborne?” -</p> -<p>“Never, my sacred Lord, sith the night when Friar Rushak enabled me to take her from -the Tower,” replied the Franciscan. “Nay, save some short dialogue between us after -the ship weighed anchor, when, to quiet her fears and compose her mind, I did tell -her the secret in which she was so much interested, and explained to her by what right -I so assumed control over her—the stormy voyage, and the fatigues that followed it, -left me no leisure to hold further converse with her. But thou art <span class="pageNum" id="pb575">[<a href="#pb575">575</a>]</span>right, my gracious Lord Bishop. She hath doubtless fled to her paramour, who seems -to carry some love enchantment about him that he hath so bewitched her.” -</p> -<p>“The King hath lately removed to Scone,” said the Bishop; “so, I do verily think that, -on going to Perth on this errand of the Church, thou shalt have the best chance to -recover her who hath fled from thee; at least, thou wilt hear of Sir Patrick Hepborne; -and where he is, there will she be also.” -</p> -<p>“I do verily believe so the more I turn the subject in my thoughts,” replied the Franciscan; -“nay, it can be no otherwise. Trust me, I do gladly give thee thanks for this hint, -as well as for all thy friendly actings towards me. I shall go hence with Lord Badenoch -to-morrow. My heart shall first of all be given to the service of the blessed Church, -the which I do yet hope to see raise her head but so much the higher from these her -late calamities. That accomplished, I shall seek for and find Beatrice, though her -foul seducer should conceal her in the bowels of the earth.” -</p> -<p>The hot feud had so long subsisted between the Wolfe of Badenoch and the Bishop of -Moray that each had for many years viewed the other through a false medium. The eyes -of the ferocious Earl had been specially diseased, and now that the scales had been -removed from them, he was astonished to discover the mild and unpretending demeanour, -and the forgiving disposition of the man whom he had believed to be his proud and -implacable enemy. This induced him to overwhelm the Bishop with all that the kindness -of his native hospitality could devise, and so a mutual re-action took place between -them, which the politic Franciscan took every opportunity to improve. The Wolfe even -listened with tolerable patience of countenance, and altogether without offensive -reply, to the Bishop’s remonstrance on the subject of his misconduct to his wife Euphame -Countess of Ross; and, strange as it may seem, he solemnly vowed that the first step -he should take after doing penance, would be to receive that injured woman again to -his bosom. -</p> -<p>Preparations for an early march next morning were made with that expedition with which -all his orders were generally executed by his well-disciplined people; and when the -time of departure came, the Bishop and he set out cordially together, and afterwards -separated, each to pursue his respective way, with a friendly regret that can only -be comprehended by those who are well conversant in the whimsical issues of the human -heart. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb576">[<a href="#pb576">576</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch71" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e920">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER LXXI.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Scottish Knights in London—Father Rushak’s Tale.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Allowing the Wolfe of Badenoch and his friend the Franciscan to proceed on their journey, -we must now return to inquire into the fate of Sir Patrick Hepborne. We left him lying -on the straw in his dungeon, giving way to a paroxysm of grief for having been so -cruelly rent from Lady Beatrice, tormenting himself with fears for her safety, and -refusing the comfort which his esquire Mortimer Sang, and Master Lawrence Ratcliffe, -were in vain attempting to administer to him. Whilst he was in this state of bitter -affliction, the door of the dungeon was again opened, and a number of guards entering, -silently approached him. Believing that they were about to lead him to immediate execution, -he rose to meet them. -</p> -<p>“I am ready,” said he recklessly; “my life is now but of little value to me. The sooner -it is over the better. Lead on, then, my friends.” -</p> -<p>Mortimer Sang sprang forward to prevent their seizure of his master, but he was speedily -overpowered, and Sir Patrick was led passively away. -</p> -<p>He was conducted through a long dark passage, and finally lodged in a cell, to which -he ascended by a short circular flight of steps. He questioned his conductors as to -what was to be his fate, but they retired without giving him any reply. His new prison, -though small, was less dark and gloomy than the larger dungeon from which he had been -taken; and though sufficiently strong, it had an air of greater comfort about it; -yet would he willingly have exchanged it for that he had left, to have been again -blessed with the society of his esquire and the wine merchant. He seemed to be now -condemned to solitary imprisonment, and he anticipated the worst possible intentions -from this seclusion. The survey he took of the four walls that enclosed him left no -hope of escape. There was indeed another small door besides that by which he had entered, -but both were so powerfully fenced with iron as to be perfectly impregnable. He viewed -this second door with an eye of suspicion, and the idea that through it might enter -the assassins who were privily to despatch him, presented death to him in a shape -so uninviting, that, ready as he had been to lay down his life but the moment before, -he now resolved to sell it as dearly <span class="pageNum" id="pb577">[<a href="#pb577">577</a>]</span>as he could, although he had no other weapon but his hands to defend himself with. -</p> -<p>He sat down on a stone bench in a niche in the wall opposite to this suspicious door, -and, fixing his eye on it, he fell into a reverie, from which he was roused by the -sound of footsteps, as if descending towards it. He sprang up, that he might be prepared -for action. The door opened, and a young man in the garb of a lacquey, and altogether -unarmed, appeared at the bottom of a very narrow spiral staircase. He made an obeisance -to Sir Patrick, and silently, but respectfully beckoned him to follow; and the knight, -resolving to pursue his fate, immediately obeyed. He was conducted up several flights -of steps, until at length, to his great surprise, he was brought into a little oratory, -where he was again left alone. -</p> -<p>He had not waited long, when a pannel in the wall, behind the altar, opened, and a -Franciscan Friar appeared. The knight regarded him with a calm and steady look. It -was Friar Rushak, the King’s Confessor. -</p> -<p>“Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said the monk mildly to him, “I come to thee on private embassage -from the Royal Richard. Thine intemperance in breaking in upon his privacy as thou -didst, hath led thee to be accused, by some who are more zealous than prudent, of -having made a premeditated attempt to assassinate His Majesty. But this hath been -done without the Royal sanction; for albeit that appearances do of a surety most powerfully -array themselves against thee, yet he doth acquit thee of all such traitorous intent. -But thou hast been led by blind fury to lift thine hand against the Sovereign whose -hospitality thou dost now enjoy, and that, too, in defence of one against whom he -did mean nothing dishonourable, though circumstances may have wrought up her fears -to believe that he did.” -</p> -<p>“What!” cried Hepborne, with a strong expression of doubt in his face; “so King Richard -doth deny all dishonourable intention against the Lady Beatrice? But what availeth -it if he doth so? Hath he not sithence devoted her to certain destruction, by giving -her up to one who hath already proved himself to be her enemy, yea, an assassin, who -would have murdered her?” -</p> -<p>“Sir Knight,” said Friar Rushak, after some moments’ thought, “trust me, the King -had no hand in the disposal of her. He did never see the lady after that moment when -thou didst force him to retreat before thine inconsiderate rage. But, an assassin—a -murderer, saidst thou? How canst thou so accuse a brother of St. Francis?” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb578">[<a href="#pb578">578</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Because I have good reason to know that he did once steal into the chamber of the -Lady Beatrice at the hour of midnight, armed with a dagger,” cried Hepborne impatiently; -“and had she not saved herself by flight——” -</p> -<p>“Thou must suffer me to tell thee that this strange tale is difficult of credence -with me,” said Friar Rushak, interrupting him; “the more, too, that it cometh from -the very knight whom report doth accuse of having taught the damsel to stray from -the path of virtue, and to whom she oweth her present infamy.” -</p> -<p>“What mean ye, friar?” cried Sir Patrick Hepborne, with mingled indignation and astonishment. -“Who hath so foully and falsely dared to charge me and the Lady Beatrice—she who is -pure as an angel of light—Who, I say, hath dared to prefer so foul and false an accusation?” -</p> -<p>“The Franciscan whom thou——” -</p> -<p>“Villain!” cried Sir Patrick, interrupting Friar Rushak, and giving way to a rage -which he was quite unable to control; “villain, black and damnable villain! I swear -by the honour of a knight, that this charge is false as hell. Pardon me, holy father, -for my just ire. I do beseech thee, tell me what thou dost know of this wretch, of -this assassin, who doth so foully stab reputation too, and who hath so imposed on -thy too easy belief—What, I pray thee, dost thou know of him?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, I am ashamed to say, I know not much,” replied Friar Rushak, already shaken -in his opinion of the Franciscan by the solemnity of Sir Patrick’s asseverations; -“yet what I do know I was about to tell thee, when thou didst break in on my speech. -Being yesterday at the Franciscan Convent in the Newgate Street, a stranger brother -of the order did claim a private audience of me, when he entreated mine aid to recover -a damsel of good family from the house of the Lady de Vere. He stated his belief that -she had come hither for the purpose of meeting with thee, with whom she had once lived -in lawless love, hid in the disguise of a page, a connection which both were impatient -to renew. He said that it was intended to bury her disgrace in a convent. Fearing, -for certain reasons, that the King might see her at the Lady de Vere’s, and so be -misled to take up with one so light, I resolved to do my best to assist in her removal, -and to this I was afterwards the more spurred on by hearing that Richard had gone -expressly to meet with her, as I did believe, by her own especial consent. Availing -myself of my private knowledge of the palace, I did enable the stranger Franciscan -to take her from the apartment, where she succeeded <span class="pageNum" id="pb579">[<a href="#pb579">579</a>]</span>in convincing me that she was no willing captive; and the King’s confession of this -morning, the which I am so far permitted to impart to thee, hath satisfied me that -I had weened too gravely of the matter as it did regard him, and that the whole of -his share in it did but arise from a harmless piece of humour.” -</p> -<p>“And whither hath the Lady Beatrice been carried by this villain?” cried Hepborne, -in all the agony of apprehension for her safety. -</p> -<p>“He took her hence by water,” said Friar Rushak, “and Scotland did seem to be the -object of his voyage. But, of a truth, mine intercourse with the foul deceiver was -so short that I had little leisure to question him.” -</p> -<p>“Fiend!” cried Sir Patrick Hepborne, his rage overpowering his grief. “If St. Baldrid -do but speed me, I shall find him though he were to flee unto the uttermost parts -of the earth. Meanwhile, may God in his mercy, and the blessed Virgin in her purity, -protect the <span class="corr" id="xd31e7425" title="Source: lady">Lady</span> Beatrice!” -</p> -<p>“Amen! my son,” said the father confessor. “Verily, I do grieve for thee and for her; -and of a truth I do bitterly reproach mine own facile credence, the which hath led -me to be the innocent author of this misfortune. Thou shalt have my prayers. Meanwhile, -let us return to the object of my mission. Richard did send me to tell thee that he -doth freely forgive thee thine indiscreet attack on his sacred person, seeing it was -committed under a delusion. Thou and thine esquire are forthwith liberated, under -his word as a king, and yours as a knight, that all that hath passed shall be buried -in oblivion by both sides; and further, that thou, on thy part, shalt fasten no quarrel -on Sir Hans de Vere for what hath passed.” -</p> -<p>“Nay,” replied Hepborne; “meseems that His Majesty doth ask too much in demanding -of me to withhold punishment in a quarter where it is so justly due.” -</p> -<p>“Yes, and where it would be so well merited, Sir Knight,” observed the Friar Rushak. -“But yet must thou yield for peace’s sake.” -</p> -<p>“Thou mayest tell the King, then,” said Hepborne, “that as a mark of the high sense -I entertain of his hospitality, he shall be obeyed herein, and that Sir Hans de Vere -shall find shelter under it from my just indignation.” -</p> -<p>“And now let me show thee forth, Sir Knight,” said Friar Rushak. -</p> -<p>“Ere I go,” said Hepborne, forgetting not the misery of others amid his own affliction; -“ere I go hence let me entreat <span class="pageNum" id="pb580">[<a href="#pb580">580</a>]</span>thee to use thine influence with His Majesty for the liberation of mine host, Master -Lawrence Ratcliffe.” -</p> -<p>“Knowest thou aught of this same Ratcliffe, Sir Knight?” demanded the Friar after -a pause, during which he endeavoured to read Hepborne’s countenance. -</p> -<p>“Nay, nothing further than that I have experienced his hospitality by His Majesty’s -good will,” replied Hepborne. -</p> -<p>“And how may he have treated thee and thine?” inquired Rushak, resuming a careless -air. -</p> -<p>“With a kindness for which I cannot sufficiently express my gratitude,” replied Hepborne. -</p> -<p>“’Tis well,” replied Rushak. “Then may I tell thee in confidence that he hath been -for some time suspected as a malcontent, and after thine attempt of yesternight against -the King, he was taken up by the officious minions of power, as the most likely person -to have set thee on. But I may now promise for his liberation. Thou shalt forthwith -see him at his own house, and he shall know, ere he goeth, that it is to thee he oweth -his liberty.” -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick Hepborne now hastened home to his lodgings, whither he was soon afterwards -followed by his esquire and Master Lawrence Ratcliffe. The former was all joy, and -the latter all gratitude. By and by he was joined by Adam of Gordon, who wept bitterly -for the fate of the Lady Beatrice. Hepborne, much as he wanted comfort himself, found -it necessary to administer it to the good old man, whom he immediately took into his -service. He was now impatient to begin his quest after the Franciscan, and he would -have quitted London immediately could he have easily procured a safe-conduct for himself -individually; but this could not be granted. Sir David Lindsay, however, having witnessed -the perfect recovery of the Lord Welles, on whom he had been unceasing in his attendance, -he readily yielded to Hepborne’s impatience, and the brave band of Scottish knights -departed, leaving a sweet odour of good fame, both for courtesy and deeds of arms, -behind them. -</p> -<p>Their journey was speedily and safely performed; and they were no sooner in Scotland -than Hepborne hastened to Hailes Castle, whither he was accompanied by his friends. -Thence he was eager to pursue his way northwards to Elgin, where he believed that -the Franciscan had his abode, and whither he thought it likely that he had conveyed -his prisoner. But Sir John Halyburton, to whom he had been much attached ever since -their first acquaintance at Tarnawa, and with whom his <span class="pageNum" id="pb581">[<a href="#pb581">581</a>]</span>friendship had been drawn yet tighter by the intercourse he held during their late -expedition, had already extracted a promise from him that he would be present at his -marriage with the Lady Jane de Vaux, a promise from which he felt it impossible to -rid himself by any excuse he could invent. But this, he hoped, would occasion him -but small delay, for the Lord of Dirleton, with his lady and daughter, were understood -to be with the Court at Scone; and thither Sir John Halyburton resolved to proceed -immediately, in the hope that the consummation of his happiness would not be long -deferred. Delay to Hepborne was distraction; but it was at least some small comfort -to him, that at Scone he would be so much nearer that part of Scotland whither his -anxiety now so powerfully drew him. -</p> -<p>The whole party then hastened to Scone, which the residence of the Court had already -made the general rendezvous of the great. There Sir Patrick Hepborne had the happiness -to find his father, and there he also embraced his happy sister Isabelle, and her -Assueton. The Lord of Dirleton and his lady expressed much pleasure in again enjoying -his society; but, to the great grief of Sir John Halyburton, and to the secret mortification -of his friend Sir Patrick, the Lady Jane de Vaux was not with her father and mother, -for, not being aware of the so early return of the knights from England, they had -permitted their daughter to accompany the Countess of Moray from Aberdeen to Tarnawa, -whence that noble lady was daily expected to bring her to Scone. -</p> -<p>The venerable King Robert received the knights who had so nobly supported the honour -of Scotland on the bloody field of Otterbourne with distinguished cordiality and condescension. -Sir Patrick Hepborne was among those who were most highly honoured. To him was granted -the privilege, only extended to a limited number of courtiers, of entering the Royal -presence at all times; and Robert, pressing his hand with a warmth which kings seldom -permit themselves to show, told him that the more frequently he availed himself of -the power of approaching him, the more he would add to his satisfaction. This flattering -reception from his aged King, together with the gratifying notice bestowed on him -by the Earl of Fife and Menteith, now the Regent of the Kingdom, might have made him -well contented to prolong his residence at Court, and little regret the delay of Halyburton’s -marriage, had it not been for the thought, that never forsook him, of the mysterious -fate and probable misery of the Lady Beatrice. His mind was <span class="pageNum" id="pb582">[<a href="#pb582">582</a>]</span>ceaselessly employed in fancying a thousand improbable things regarding her, and he -was generally abstracted in the midst of those gay scenes which the politic Regent -took care should follow one another with the greatest rapidity, that he might the -better keep his hold of the fickle hearts of the nobles. In vain were the fairest -eyes of the Court thrown upon Sir Patrick Hepborne: their warm glances were invariably -chilled by the freezing indifference by which they were met. -</p> -<p>Day after day passed away, and still no appearance of the Countess of Moray and her -lovely companion; and Halyburton’s loudly-expressed impatience was only to be equalled -by that which affected Hepborne in secret. The two knights had nearly agreed to proceed -northwards together, a plan proposed by Hepborne, and listened to by Halyburton with -great gratitude, as he considered it a very strong proof of his friend’s anxiety for -his happiness. But, happening to recollect that the party from Tarnawa might reach -Scone perhaps a few hours only after they should leave it on this doubtful expedition, -and that the long-wished-for meeting with his beloved Jane de Vaux might thus be much -delayed, instead of hastened, Halyburton, to Hepborne’s very great grief, abandoned -the scheme as unwise. Soon afterwards came the intelligence of the burning of Elgin, -which, whilst it threw a gloom over the whole Court, filled Hepborne’s mind with fresh -apprehensions and anxieties. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch72" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e930">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER LXXII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>At the Scottish Court—The Penitential Procession—Sir Patrick and the Friar.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">It happened one day that Sir Patrick went to pay his duty to the King, and understanding, -as he passed through the ante-room, from those who were in waiting, that His Majesty -was in the apartment he usually occupied as a private audience-chamber, he approached -and opened the door. To his unspeakable astonishment, he beheld the very Franciscan -whom he was so anxious to go in search of, standing beside His Majesty’s chair, and -in conference with him. They were alone. Holding a letter and parchment carelessly -folded in his hand, His Majesty seemed to have been much moved with what had been -passing between him and the monk, and he was so much occupied in listening, that Sir -Patrick’s entrance could have hardly been observed, had not the opening of the door -startled both of them. <span class="pageNum" id="pb583">[<a href="#pb583">583</a>]</span>Sir Patrick was so petrified with what he beheld, that he had neither self-command -enough to retreat, as he ought to have done, nor to apologise, as the interruption -demanded. -</p> -<p>“Another time, Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said the King, nodding him away. But His Majesty -was compelled to repeat the hint ere the knight had so far regained his self-possession -as to take it, and when he did retire, it was with a face overwhelmed with confusion, -and with a heart boiling with rage against the monk. -</p> -<p>“Ha!” said he, at length, in soliloquy; “at least I am now nearer the object of my -anxious quest than I did think I was. The friar must be a fiend, who can thus so soon -catch the King’s ear. But, fiend or mortal, he shall not escape me. How malignant -was his eye-glance, shot at me the moment that he heard my name uttered. But, by St. -Baldrid, were he a basilisk I will seize him by the throat. He shall tell me where -he hath hid her who is the idol of my soul; yea, he shall disgorge all that his black -heart doth contain, even though the monarch himself should endeavour to protect him. -What if the Lady Beatrice may be here? Oh, misery! so near me, and yet am I denied -the delight of hearing that voice, the which did so soothe mine ear when it came from -the lips of my faithful page—or of beholding that eye, which did so beam upon me with -looks that nothing but love could have explained. But the monk at least shall not -escape me this time. I shall station myself here, and watch his approach, albeit he -should tarry within till doomsday.” -</p> -<p>After thinking, rather than uttering, all this, Sir Patrick mingled with the crowd -in the ante-room, where he waited patiently for the greater part of the day, until -the King came forth to get into his litter to take the air. His Majesty appeared unattended -by the friar, and then it was that Sir Patrick Hepborne began to recollect, what his -agitation had made him overlook before, that the Franciscan must have been admitted, -and allowed to retire, by a private passage, only accessible to those who received -a very particular confidential audience of His Majesty. Hepborne threw himself as -much in the King’s way as he could, and made a very marked obeisance to him as he -passed; but Robert, who usually received all his advances with peculiar kindness and -condescension, now turned from him with a certain distance of manner that could not -be mistaken, and which chilled Sir Patrick to the heart. At once it flashed upon him -that the Franciscan, who had so strangely possessed himself of the King’s ear, must -have poisoned it <span class="pageNum" id="pb584">[<a href="#pb584">584</a>]</span>against him, as he had formerly done that of Friar Rushak. His rage against the monk -grew to tenfold strength, and, in the agony of his distraction, he resolved to risk -His Majesty’s displeasure by seeking his presence again, rather than not gain his -object. He determined to accuse the Franciscan to the King, as he who had stolen away, -and perhaps murdered, the Lady Beatrice, and this in defiance of all consequences. -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick again tried to catch the Royal eye, as the King returned from his airing, -but again he had the mortification to observe that he was shunned and neglected. His -Majesty appeared not at the banquet, where, indeed, he had not been since the news -of the burning of Elgin had reached him; and when Hepborne thought on this, a faint -hope came over him that the King’s neglect might perhaps proceed from no particular -feeling against him, but might arise from the vexation that must naturally fill the -Royal breast on this unhappy occasion. But then again he remembered, with incalculable -chagrin, that although the sunshine of the Monarch’s smiles had been eclipsed towards -him, it had fallen with all its wonted cheering influence upon some who were near -him, and who had hitherto been considered as planets of a much lower order, and of -infinitely less happy influence than himself. -</p> -<p>But Sir Patrick now became so impatient to get at the truth, that he threw aside all -that delicacy which might have otherwise swayed him. He resolved to make an attempt -to obtain an audience of His Majesty at his hour of couchée; and, accordingly, entering -the ante-room a little before the time, he made his enquiries for that purpose. -</p> -<p>“The King hath given strict orders that no one be admitted to him,” replied the Lord-in-waiting, -to whom he addressed himself. “He doth hold private conference. And between you and -me, Sir Patrick Hepborne, I do verily believe that it is with his son, the furious -Wolfe of Badenoch, who hath so besieged the Bishop of Moray, that he is to hold parlance.” -</p> -<p>“What, hath the Earl of Buchan arrived, then?” demanded Sir Patrick. -</p> -<p>“Yea, he is here,” replied the nobleman with whom he talked. “Hast thou not heard -that to-morrow the streets of St. Johnstoun will see a sight the like of which hath -not been seen in Scotland before? for there the fierce and proud Wolfe of Badenoch -is to walk in penance from the Castle, where he now hath his lodging, to the Church -of the Blackfriars.” -</p> -<p>“And how dost thou know all this?” demanded Sir Patrick Hepborne, who had probably -heard the report, but who had <span class="pageNum" id="pb585">[<a href="#pb585">585</a>]</span>been too much occupied with his own thoughts to attend to anything extraneous, however -interesting it might be to others. -</p> -<p>“The news hath already gone fully abroad,” replied the nobleman; “but, moreover, all -manner of preparation hath been already made for the ceremony; yea, and all the world -do make arrangement for witnessing so great a miracle. I, for one, shall assuredly -be there.” -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick Hepborne retired. As he passed by the entrance to the King’s private staircase, -a portly figure brushed by him, and entered it hastily. He called to mind that he -had encountered the same as he left the King’s presence at Aberdeen. It was indeed -the Wolfe of Badenoch, but he had passed Sir Patrick Hepborne without observing him. -</p> -<p>King Robert was at this moment seated in a large antique chair, placed close to the -chimney corner, somewhat in the same dishabille as we have described him to have worn -on a former occasion. His foot-bath stood ready prepared, and his attendant Vallance, -who waited at a respectful distance, ventured more than once to remind His Majesty -that the water was cooling. But the old man was deeply absorbed in serious thought. -His eyes were directed to a huge vacuum in the hinder part of the chimney, amidst -the black void of which the play of his ideas went on without interruption. A gentle -tap was heard at his private door. -</p> -<p>“We would be private, Vallance,” said the King, starting from his reverie, and pointing -to his attendants to quit the apartment. -</p> -<p>When they had withdrawn, Robert arose feebly, and propped himself on a cane. The knock -at the private room was repeated. The old Monarch tottered towards the middle of the -room. The knock was heard a third time, and with more impatience. -</p> -<p>“If it be thou, son Alexander, come in,” said the King. -</p> -<p>The door opened and the Wolfe of Badenoch entered, with a chastened step, and a mien -very different from that which usually characterised him. He made an humble obeisance -to his father. He spoke not, but his eyes glanced unsteadily towards the King, as -if yet half in doubt what his reception might be. He beheld the old man standing before -him struggling with emotions that convulsed his face and threw his whole frame into -a fit of trembling. He saw that a great and mortifying change had taken place on his -father since the last interview, and his conscience at once struck him that his own -disobedience and outrageous conduct must have largely contributed <span class="pageNum" id="pb586">[<a href="#pb586">586</a>]</span>to produce the decay which was so evident. He was smitten to the heart. -</p> -<p>“Oh, my father, my father!” cried he in a half-choked voice; “canst thou forgive me? -When all have forgiven me, canst thou refuse me pardon?” -</p> -<p>“Son Alexander,” said Robert, in a voice that shook from agitation as well as debility, -“all others may pardon thee, and yet it may be the duty of thy King, albeit that he -is thy father, to put on sternness with thee. Nor have we been wanting in performance -of the severe duty of a King towards thee; for ere we did receive the godly Bishop -of Moray’s letters regarding thee from the hands of the good Friar John, we had issued -orders for the arrestment and warding of thy person in the nearest and most convenient -of our prisons. Nor did we ever spare to meet thee with harsh reproof whilst thou -were headstrong and rebellious; but now that thou dost come before us as a penitent -and afflicted son, saying, ‘Father, I have sinned against Heaven and in thy sight;’ -when thou comest as one willing to submit thee to all that the Church may demand of -thee in reparation or in penance for thine outrages, we can no longer remember that -we are a King, but we must yield us to those feelings which do now so stirringly tell -us that we are a father. Oh, Alexander, my son, my son!” cried the old man, yielding -to those emotions which he could no longer restrain, and bursting into a flood of -tears, whilst he threw his aged arms around the manly form of the Wolfe of Badenoch; -“the joy of this thy repentance doth more than recompense for all the affliction thou -hast occasioned me during a long life. For thee, my son Alexander, have all my nights -been sleepless; yea, and for thee have all my prayers been put up. Blessed be the -holy Virgin, that they have not been put up in vain. Verily, I do sink fast into the -grave; but thanks be to the Almighty King of kings, I shall now die in peace and with -joy, sith that it hath pleased Him to bring thee to a due sense of the enormity of -thy guilt.” -</p> -<p>“Alas, alas!” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, deeply affected by his father’s wasted -appearance, and sobbing aloud from remorse; “alas! I do fear that thy life hath been -amenused by mine iniquities. Oh, father, I could bear all but this, the bitterest -punishment of all. Thou hast sadly drooped sith that I did last behold thee. Would -that I had then listened to the voice of thy wisdom, when it did so eloquently speak. -But a devil hath possessed me; and, fiend that I was——” -</p> -<p>“Speak not so, my son,” cried the old King, who had now <span class="pageNum" id="pb587">[<a href="#pb587">587</a>]</span>sufficiently recovered himself to be able to talk calmly. “Self-accusation, except -in so far as it is used as an offering before Heaven, is but a vain thing. Let thy -whole heart be given up to that contrition the which is between thee and thy God alone, -through the medium and mediation of the blessed Virgin and her Son; and let the seemliness -and sincerity of thy public penance be an earnest of the amendment of thy future life.” -</p> -<p>“I will, I will, my father,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, much moved. “Would that -ages of my penance could but add to the number of thy peaceful and righteous years; -cheerfully would I wander as a barefooted palmer for the rest of my miserable days. -Yet fancy not, my father, that I have lacked mine own share of punishment. The viper -for whom I did risk thy wrath and that of Heaven, hath stung me to the heart. Ha! -but ’tis over now. The good Friar John hath taught me to keep down the raging ire -which her black and hellish ingratitude did excite within me. May the holy Virgin -grant me aid to subdue it, that my whole heart may be in to-morrow’s work; for, sooth -to say, ’tis cruel and cutting, after all, for a hardy, haughty soul like mine to -bend me thus beneath the rod of the priesthood. Ha! by the bones of my ancestors, -a King’s son too—thy son! Nay, ’tis that the which doth most gall and chafe me; to -think that thou shouldst thus be brought into derision by the disgrace which befalleth -me. Thou, a King who——” -</p> -<p>“Son Alexander,” said the venerable Monarch, calmly interrupting the Wolfe of Badenoch, -as he was gradually blowing up a self-kindled flame of passion; “think not of us—think -not of us now. Thou shouldst have thought of us and of our feelings before thou didst -apply the torch of thy wild wrath to the holy temples of God and the peaceful habitations -of his ministers. Robert was indeed ashamed of a wicked son, glorying in his mad and -guilty rage; but Robert never can be ashamed of a son who is an humble penitent. No, -Alexander; thy penance will be a crown of glory to us. Further, we would have thee -remember that the priesthood are but the ministers of the justice of a greater King -than any upon earth; and we would have thee to bear in mind how the Son of that Almighty -King did, in all His innocence, submit Himself to the scourge and the cross, to infamy -and cruel suffering, that He might redeem such sinners as thou and I. Let this humble -thy pride and tame thy temper, if, indeed, pride or violence may yet remain with thee. -And now haste thee homeward, that, by a night spent in conversation and prayer with -the holy Friar John, thou mayest fit and prepare thyself for to-morrow’s duty, the -which ought <span class="pageNum" id="pb588">[<a href="#pb588">588</a>]</span>to be rather esteemed a triumph than a trial to thee. We shall be at the Castle of -St. Johnstoun by times to give thee our best comfort; till then take with thee a father’s -blessing.” -</p> -<p>The Wolfe of Badenoch bowed his head to receive the benediction of the good old King, -who wept as he gave it him, and throwing one arm round his son’s neck, he patted his -head with the other hand, kissing his cheek repeatedly with all the affection of a -doating father, who abandons himself to the full tide of his feelings and who is unwilling -to shorten the transports he enjoys. -</p> -<p>The news of the intended penitential procession of the King’s son, the terrible Wolfe -of Badenoch, spread like wildfire through the town of St<span class="corr" id="xd31e7506" title="Not in source">.</span> Johnstoun, as well as throughout the surrounding country, and produced a general -commotion. The Bishops of St. Andrews, Dunkeld, and Dunblane, had already arrived -at the Dominican Convent, each having separately entered the town in great pomp, attended -by all the high dignitaries of their respective dioceses. It was a proud triumph for -the Church, and secret advices had been accordingly sent everywhere, that it might -be rendered the more imposing and impressive by the numbers and importance of those -religious persons who came as deputations from the different monastic houses which -were within reach. Of the canons regular, there were the Abbots of Scone, Inch Colm, -and Inch Mahome, with the Priors of St. Andrews, Loch Leven, Port Moak, and Pittenweem; -of the Trinity, or Red Friars, were the Ministers of the Hospitals of Scotlandwell -and of Dundee; of the Dominicans or Black Friars, the inmates of the Dominican Convent -of Perth, where the ceremony was to take place, with the heads of the Convents of -Dundee, Cupar in Fife, St. Monans, and St. Andrews; of the Benedictines, the Abbot -of Dunfermline; of the Tyronenses, the Abbot of Lundores; of the Cistertians, or Bernardines, -the Abbots of Culross and Balmerinoch; of the Franciscans, or Grey Friars, the head -of the Convent of Inverkeithing; and, lastly, a numerous body of Carmelites, or White -Friars, from the neighbouring Convent of Tullilum. All these heads of houses were -largely attended; and if the crowd of these holy men was great that of the laity and -vulgar was tenfold greater. The houses of the place were unable to contain them, and -many were glad to encamp on those beautiful meadows stretching to north and south -of the town, thankful to huddle themselves under any temporary shelter they could -procure. The Black Friars Monastery, which was to be the scene of the humiliation -of the Wolfe of Badenoch, was all in a <span class="pageNum" id="pb589">[<a href="#pb589">589</a>]</span>ferment, and many there were who, knowing the formidable character of him they had -to deal with, muttered secret ejaculations that all were well over. -</p> -<p>The King left his Palace of Scone early in the morning, and entered Perth in his litter, -attended by the Regent and the courtiers, being desirous to get as quietly as possible -into the Castle. The King’s body-guard were drawn out to line the street from the -Castle to the Church of the Dominican Convent. The distance was short, but the crowd -contained in that small space was immense. The murmur was great, and the eyes of the -spectators were constantly directed towards the gate of the Castle, whence they expected -the procession to come. Every motion among the multitude excited an accession of impatience. -</p> -<p>At length the King’s litter appeared, attended by the Regent, and followed by the -crowd of courtiers. They came without order, and the litter hurried into the Church -amidst the loud shouts of the people. All was then eager expectation, and nothing -interrupted the low hum of voices, save the noise occasioned by those who made way -for the different religious deputations, who approached the Church from different -directions. -</p> -<p>All these had passed onwards, and some time had elapsed, when a general hush ran through -the crowd—a dead silence ensued—all eyes were directed towards the Castle gate—and -the Wolfe of Badenoch appeared. He was supported on his right hand by his confessor, -the Franciscan Friar, and he was followed by his two sons Andrew and Duncan, and by -a very numerous train of attendants, all clad in the same humiliating penitential -garb, walking barefooted. The Wolfe of Badenoch had no sooner issued from the Castle -gateway than he appeared to be astonished and mortified at the multitude of people -who had collected to witness his abasement. Anticipating nothing of this sort, he -had prepared to assume a subdued air; but he was roused by the sight, and advanced -with his head carried high, and with all his usual haughtiness of stride, his eyes -flinging a bold defiance to all round, and their glances travelling rapidly from countenance -to countenance, as they surveyed the two walls of human faces lining his way, as if -he looked eagerly for some one whose taunting smile might give him an apology for -breaking forth, and giving vent to his pent-up passion by felling him to the earth. -He went on, biting his nether lip, and still he scanned them man by man; but everywhere -he encountered eyes that quailed before his, and peaceful, gaping faces, filled with -vulgar wonder, perhaps, and indicating much of fear, but nothing of scorn to <span class="pageNum" id="pb590">[<a href="#pb590">590</a>]</span>be seen. The Franciscan was observed to whisper him; he seemed to listen with reverence, -and, as he approached the entrance to the Church, he adopted a more humble gait and -look. As for his men, they hung down their heads sheepishly from the first, like felons -going to execution. -</p> -<p>When the procession had reached the great door of the Church, which was closed against -it, the Franciscan approached, and knocked slowly and solemnly. -</p> -<p>“Who is he who knocketh for admission into the Church of God?” demanded a voice from -within. -</p> -<p>“Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan, and Lord of Badenoch, son of Robert, our most -pious King,” replied the Franciscan. -</p> -<p>“We do know right well that there once was such an one as thou dost name,” replied -the voice; “but now he hath no existence. The great sentence of excommunication hath -gone forth against his hardened obstinacy, and the Holy Church knoweth him no longer.” -</p> -<p>“He cometh here as an humble penitent, to crave mercy and pardon of our Holy Mother -Church,” replied the Franciscan. -</p> -<p>“Is he ready to confess his sins against God and man, then?” demanded the voice. “Is -he prepared humbly on his knees to declare his penitence, and to implore that mercy -and pardon, the which must of necessity be extended to him ere he can again be received -back into the bosom of that Church which he hath so greatly outraged?” -</p> -<p>“He is,” replied the Franciscan. -</p> -<p>“Then, if such be his sincere professions,” replied the voice, “let him and all understand, -that albeit she can greatly and terribly punish, yet doth the Church delight in mercy, -and it is ever her most joyful province to open her doors wide to her sincerely repentant -children.” -</p> -<p>These words were no sooner uttered, than the folding doors were thrown wide, and the -populace were dazzled with the grandeur of the spectacle that presented itself. The -verse of a hymn, that burst from a powerful choir within, added to the sublimity of -the effect, whilst it gave time for the spectators to feast their eyes without distraction -on what they beheld. In the centre of the doorway stood Walter Traill, the Bishop -of St. Andrews, arrayed in all the splendour of his pastoral robes. Within his left -arm was his crosier, and in his right hand he raised aloft a large silver crucifix. -On his right and left were the Bishops of Dunblane and Dunkeld, behind whom were the -whole dignitaries of the three sees in all their pomp of costume. <span class="pageNum" id="pb591">[<a href="#pb591">591</a>]</span>The Church had been darkened that it might be artificially lighted by tapers, so as -to present objects under that softly diffused and holy kind of illumination most favourable -for the productions of strong impressions of awe. By this was seen a long train of -Abbots and Priors, with Monks and Friars from all those religious houses we have already -particularised. The sight was grand and imposing in itself, and picturesque in its -grouping and disposal. The Franciscan Friar John whispered the Wolfe of Badenoch, -and he bent down with a rigid effort until his knees were on the pavement. His sons -and his followers imitated his example. -</p> -<p>“Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan, and Lord of Badenoch,” said the Bishop of St. -Andrews, in a full and sonorous voice, when the music had died away, “dost thou earnestly -desire to be relieved from the heavy sentence of excommunication which thy manifold -crimes and iniquities have compelled the Church to issue forth against thee?” -</p> -<p>“I do,” replied the Wolfe in a firm voice. -</p> -<p>“Dost thou humbly confess and repent thee of thy sins in general,” demanded the Bishop; -“and art thou willing to confess and repent thee of each sin in particular at the -high altar of this holy temple?” -</p> -<p>“I do so repent me, and I am willing so to confess me,” replied the Wolfe. -</p> -<p>“Then arise, my contrite son,” said the Bishop, “and humbly follow me to present thyself -at the holy altar of God.” -</p> -<p>The three Bishops with their attendants then turned away, and being followed by the -Wolfe of Badenoch and his long train of penitential adherents, they moved in slow -procession up the middle of the church towards the high altar, before which the penitents -kneeled down, with their stern leader at their head, the monks of the various orders -closing in behind them. The most perfect silence prevailed, and the soft fall of the -footsteps on the pavement, and the rustling of draperies, were the only sounds heard. -</p> -<p>“Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan, and Lord of Badenoch,” said the Bishop of St. -Andrews, “dost thou confess that thou hast greatly sinned in thine abandonment of -thine honourable and lawful wife Euphame Countess of Ross, and dost thou repent thee -of this thine offence?” -</p> -<p>“I do repent me,” said the Wolfe in an humble tone. -</p> -<p>“Dost thou confess that thou hast greatly sinned in taking to thy bosom that foul -and impure strange woman, Mariota Athyn?” demanded the Bishop; “especially thou being——” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb592">[<a href="#pb592">592</a>]</span></p> -<p>“I do so confess, and I do most sincerely, yea, cruelly repent me,” cried the Wolfe, -breaking in impatiently, and with great bitterness, on the unfinished question of -the Bishop, and shouting out his answer in a tone that re-echoed from the Gothic roof. -</p> -<p>“And art thou willing, or dost thou purpose to put this strange woman far from thee?” -demanded the Bishop. -</p> -<p>“I have already turned her forth,” shouted the Wolfe, in the same furious tone; “yea, -and before God, at this His holy altar, do I swear, that with mine own will these -eyes shall never see her more.” -</p> -<p>“And wilt thou take back thy lawful wife?” demanded the Bishop, now willing to be -as short as possible. -</p> -<p>“I will,” replied the Wolfe. -</p> -<p>“And now, dost thou sincerely acknowledge and repent thee of all the outrages thou -hast done to our Holy Mother Church, as well as to God and His ministers?” demanded -the Bishop. -</p> -<p>“I do,” replied the Wolfe. -</p> -<p>“Then do I, God’s servant, proceed to give thee and thine absolution, and to remove -from thee the excommunication which was hurled upon thee by the Church in her just -vengeance,” said the Bishop, who immediately began to pronounce the form of absolution -prescribed by his ritual, as well as that for removing the excommunication. -</p> -<p><i>Miserere</i> was now sung by the choir, after which a mass was chanted, and the impatient Wolfe -of Badenoch, tired twenty times over of a ceremony which would have worn out a much -more submissive temper, tarried not a moment in the church after it was concluded, -but, attended by the Franciscan, forced his way without any delicacy through the crowd, -which yielded him a ready passage, and made a hasty exit from the church door. Having -gained the open air, he strode along the lane of the guards, with an air that might -have led a bystander to fancy that he gloried in his strange attire. -</p> -<p>He was about to enter the Castle-gate, when a loud voice, calling “Halt!” came from -behind him. He stopped, and turning loftily round, he beheld an armed knight, who -came rushing through the abashed and scattered ranks of his men, who were straggling -after him. In an instant, the mailed warrior made an effort to grapple the Franciscan -by the throat; and he would have succeeded, had not the friar sprung nimbly aside -to avoid him. -</p> -<p>“Ha!” cried the Wolfe, in a voice like thunder, and at the <span class="pageNum" id="pb593">[<a href="#pb593">593</a>]</span>same time snatching a formidable Scottish axe from one of the guards, and planting -his unprotected body firmly before the Franciscan; “ha! who art thou that doth thus -dare to attack the father confessor of the Wolfe of Badenoch? Dost thou think that -I have tyned my spirit in yonder Church? By all the solemn vows I have made, I will -split the skull of any he who may dare to lay impious hands on this holy Franciscan.” -</p> -<p>“Is this possible?” cried the knight, raising his vizor, and showing himself to be -Sir Patrick Hepborne the younger; “can it be that the Earl of Buchan will thus defend -the very friar whom mine ears have so often heard him curse as a fiend? But let me -pass to him, my Lord; I do beseech thee to provoke me not, for, of a truth, I am mad, -utterly mad, at this present.” -</p> -<p>“Mad or sober, Sir Patrick Hepborne,” cried the Wolfe, “for now I do perceive that -thou art indeed Sir Patrick Hepborne, and much as I do love thee, I swear, by the -beard of my grandfather, that neither thine arm, nor that of any created man, shall -reach the friar save through this body of mine.” -</p> -<p>“Wull she wants her helps? wull she wants her to grip him? wull she cleave the Wolfe’s -crown?” said Duncan MacErchar, who now stepped out from the ranks, and spoke into -Sir Patrick’s ear. “Troth, she wull soon do that, though she be twenty Wolfes, and -a hundert Badenochs.” -</p> -<p>“Stand aside, Duncan,” cried the knight, now somewhat sensible of his apparently unwarrantable -violence, and altogether confounded by the Wolfe of Badenoch’s unlooked-for defence -of the Franciscan. “By St. Baldrid, my Lord of Buchan, I should have as soon looked -to have seen the eagle defending the owl who hath robbed her nest, as to see thee -thus stand forth the protector of that accursed priest, that foul-mouthed slanderer, -and remorseless assassin. Let me secure him. He is a criminal who must be brought -to justice.” -</p> -<p>“Thou shalt not touch the hem of his garment,” roared the Wolfe of Badenoch. -</p> -<p>“Nay, give him way, my noble Lord of Buchan,” said the Franciscan in a taunting manner; -“let this brave knight have way to use his poinard, or his sword, against the defenceless -body of a friar. But,” continued he, snatching a long spear from one of those near -him, whilst his eyes flashed a fiery defiance against Hepborne, “let him come on now, -and he shall find that beneath this peaceful habit there doth beat as proud and determined -a heart as ever his bosom did own. As for his <span class="pageNum" id="pb594">[<a href="#pb594">594</a>]</span>villainous and lying charges, I do hereby cast them back in his teeth as false.” -</p> -<p>“Caitiff,” cried Sir Patrick, “I should gain but little credit, I trow, by attacking -a vile friar. I did but intend to prevent thine escape from the justice thou dost -merit; and if I were but sure of seeing thee again in fitter time and place, when -and where I could bring forward my charges, and prove them against thee, I should -let thee go for this present.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, fear not, I will promise not to shun thee, Sir Knight,” said the friar; “and -thou, too, dost well know what charges thou shalt have to defend. The Earl of Buchan -here will answer for my presence in the Castle when it shall be wanted; but who shall -answer for thine?” -</p> -<p>“I will,” said Sir John Halyburton, who chanced to come up at that moment. -</p> -<p>“Sir John Halyburton!” exclaimed the Franciscan, with an air of astonishment. “Um—’tis -well; and trust me, Sir John Halyburton, thou wilt find that thou hast more interest -in his being forthcoming than thou dost at this moment imagine, and so the sooner -he doth appear the better.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, I will follow thee now,” replied Sir Patrick; “by all the holy saints, thou -shalt not leave my sight.” -</p> -<p>“Come on, then,” replied the Franciscan, with a bitter laugh; “and yonder cometh the -King’s litter, so thou shalt have little time to wait, I wis, for ample justice.” -</p> -<p>The monk then entered the Castle, followed by the Wolfe of Badenoch, who still brandished -the long Scottish axe, and looked sternly around from time to time upon Sir Patrick -as if suspicious that he might yet meditate an attack upon the friar. -</p> -<p>“Hoit oit,” cried Duncan MacErchar, “and has the Hepbornes lost their spunks sith -the battles o’ Otterburns? Who would hae thought that ony ane o’ her name would hae -ta’en the boast yon way even frae the Wolfes o’ Badenoch hersel? Huits toots, Sir -Patrick—uve, uve!” -</p> -<p>“Pshaw,” replied Sir Patrick, much mortified to find that MacErchar had attributed -his forbearance to want of spirit, “Wouldst thou have had a Hepborne attack a monk, -or a man half naked, and at such a time as this too!” -</p> -<p>“Ou fye! faith an’ it may be’s,” replied Duncan, somewhat doubtfully; “but she might -ha’ gien him a clour for a’ tats. But can she do nothing to serve her honour?” -</p> -<p>“Yea,” replied Sir Patrick, “plant thyself here; let not that Franciscan Friar leave -the Castle until I have questioned him.” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb595">[<a href="#pb595">595</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Ou, troth, and she’ll no scruples to gie him a clour,” replied Duncan. -</p> -<p>Hepborne hastened into the Castle, and Captain MacErchar mechanically took his stand, -nor did even the approach of the King’s litter, and the bustle that came with it, -dislodge him from his post. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch73" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e942">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER LXXIII.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>Accusation made in presence of the King—The Challenge.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Sir Patrick Hepborne, accompanied by his friend Sir John Halyburton, made his way -into the hall of the Castle, burning with impatience to bring the Franciscan to a -strict account, and half dreading that he might yet escape, by that mysterious power -which had already so marvellously availed him. The Wolfe of Badenoch had hurried to -his apartments to rid himself of his penitential weeds; and the Franciscan having -disappeared also, the two knights were left to pace the hall for at least two hours, -until Sir Patrick began to suspect that his fears had been realized. Rushing down -to the gate, however, he found Captain MacErchar as steady at his post as the walls -of the fortress; and, having questioned him, he learned that no friar had passed outwards. -When he returned to the hall, he found the King seated on a chair of state, and his -courtiers ranged on either hand of him, forming a semi-circle, of which he was the -central point. -</p> -<p>“Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said the King, with a high and distant air, “we are here to -listen to thine accusation against the holy Franciscan Friar John, whom, we do understand, -thou hast dared to malign.” -</p> -<p>“My liege,” said Hepborne, “the thirsty steed panteth not more for the refreshing -fountain than I do for audience of your Most Gracious Majesty, from whom I would claim -that justice the which thou dost never deny to the meanest of thy subjects.” -</p> -<p>“And we shall not refuse it to thee, the son of our ancient and faithful servant,” -replied the King; “to one who hath himself done us and our kingdom of Scotland much -good service. Yet do we bid thee bear in mind, that the best services may be wiped -away by the disgraceful finger of polluted iniquity. Speak, Sir Patrick, what hast -thou to say?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, my liege, I would stay me until mine adversary doth appear to meet my charge,” -said Sir Patrick. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb596">[<a href="#pb596">596</a>]</span></p> -<p>“’Tis so far considerate of thee,” replied the King; “but thou mayest say on, for -he will be here anon.” -</p> -<p>“I come here, then, to impeach this Friar John of having feloniously carried off a -damsel from the Tower of London, where she did then abide,” said Sir Patrick Hepborne, -violently agitated; “a damsel whom he did once before attempt to murder, and whom -he doth even now secrete, if he hath not already cruelly slain her.” -</p> -<p>“Friar John is here to meet thy charge, Sir Knight,” cried the Franciscan, who had -entered the hall in time to hear what had fallen from Hepborne, and who now came sternly -forward, attended by the Wolfe of Badenoch, the Lord of Dirleton, and some others; -“Friar John shall not shrink from whatever tales thine inventive recrimination may -produce against him; he too shall have his charge against thee; but let thine be disposed -of first, whereby the incredible boldness of thy wickedness may be made the more apparent -to all.” -</p> -<p>“What sayest thou?” demanded Hepborne, with considerable confusion. -</p> -<p>“I do say,” replied the friar, “that conscious guilt doth already stagger thee in -the very outset of this thine infamous attempt against an innocent man, whom thou -wouldst fain sacrifice to hide thy foul deeds. Guilt doth often prove its own snare, -and so shall ye see it here, I ween.” -</p> -<p>“Villain, wretch, fiend?” cried Sir Patrick Hepborne, who forgot in his resentment -the presence in which he stood; “mine emotions, the which thou wouldst have others -so misjudge, have been those only of horror and astonishment at thine unparalleled -effrontery. My liege, this fiend—this wicked sorcerer—for so do I believe him to be—this -assassin——” -</p> -<p>“Ha! by the ghost of my grandfather,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, who stood by, now -restored to all his knightly splendour—“by the ghost of my grandfather, but I will -not stand by to hear such names hurled without reason on my holy father confessor. -As he is here to answer thee, Sir Patrick Hepborne, and as I would not willingly seem -to interfere with justice, say what thou wilt of calm accusation, for I fear not that -he will cleanse himself, whosoever may be foul. But, by all the holy saints, I swear -that, friends though we have been, I will not hear the holy man so foully miscalled; -and I am well willing to fight for him to the outrance, not only in this world, but -in the next too, if chivalry be but carried thither.” -</p> -<p>“Silence, son Alexander,” said the King; “speak not, I pray thee, with lips so irreverent. -And do thou, Sir Patrick Hepborne, <span class="pageNum" id="pb597">[<a href="#pb597">597</a>]</span>proceed with thy charges, withouten these needless terms of reproach, the which are -unseemly in our presence, and do but tend to inflame.” -</p> -<p>“My liege,” said Sir Patrick, making an obeisance to the King, “I shall do my best -to restrain my just indignation.—The Lady Beatrice, of whom I do now speak, did accompany -me to Moray Land in the disguise of a page; and——” -</p> -<p>“Ha!” exclaimed the King, starting with an air of surprise, and exchanging a look -with the Franciscan and some others, that very much discomposed Sir Patrick; “so—dost -thou confess this?” -</p> -<p>“I do confess nothing, my liege,” replied Sir Patrick; “I do only tell the truth. -When we were guests for some days to thee, my Lord of Buchan, at Lochyndorbe, this -friar did enter the apartment of the Lady Beatrice armed with a dagger, and had she -not fled from him to save her life, she had surely been murdered by his villainy. -Already have I told that he did snatch her from the Tower of London, by means of false -representations made to Friar Rushak, King Richard’s Confessor, and thence he did -carry her by ship to Scotland, as I do know from Friar Rushak himself. I do therefore -call on him to produce the damsel straightway, if indeed his cruelty hath not already -put it beyond his power so to do.” -</p> -<p>“Hast thou aught else to charge him withal?” demanded the King. -</p> -<p>“Nay, my liege,” replied Hepborne, “but I require an immediate answer to these charges.” -</p> -<p>“Before I do give a reply,” said the Franciscan, assuming a grand air, “I, on my part, -do demand to know by what right Sir Patrick Hepborne doth thus question me.” -</p> -<p>“Right, didst thou say?” exclaimed Hepborne; “I must answer thee by simply saying, -that I do question thee by that right which every honourable knight hath to come forward -in the cause of the unfortunate. But I will go farther, and say before all who are -here present, that I do more especially appear here against thee for the unquenchable -love I do bear to the Lady Beatrice.” -</p> -<p>“Ha! so,” replied the Franciscan, with a bitter expression, “thou hast so far confessed -that thou didst entertain the Lady Beatrice in thy company in male attire, and that -thou dost cherish an unquenchable passion for her? Then, my liege, do I boldly accuse -this pretended phœnix of virtue, this Sir Patrick Hepborne, of having stolen this -damsel from the path of honour—of having plunged her in guilt—of having so bewitched -her <span class="pageNum" id="pb598">[<a href="#pb598">598</a>]</span>by potent charms, that she did even follow him to London, whence, with much fatigue -and stratagem, I did indeed reclaim her, yea, did bring her to Scotland in a ship. -But she was not many hours on land when she so contrived as to flee from me; and no -one can doubt that her flight was directed to him who hath thrown his sorcery over -her, and to whom she hath made so many efforts basely to unite herself again.” -</p> -<p>“Friar, thou hast lied, grossly and villanously lied,” cried Sir Patrick Hepborne -in a fury, “<span class="corr" id="xd31e7622" title="Source: But">but</span> now let me, in my turn, demand of thee what hast thou to urge that mought have given -thee right so to control the Lady Beatrice?” -</p> -<p>“All have right to prevent the commission of wickedness,” said the Franciscan. “But -I do claim the right of parentage to control the Lady Beatrice. I am her uncle. Hath -not so near a parent some right to control the erring daughter of his brother? Speak -then; tell me where thou hast hid her, Sir Knight?” -</p> -<p>“Can this be true?” exclaimed Sir Patrick Hepborne, petrified with astonishment at -what he heard; “canst thou in very deed be the uncle of the Lady Beatrice? But what -shall we say of that tender uncle who doth enter the apartment of his niece at midnight -with a dagger in his hand? Villain, I observe thee blench as I do speak it. Thou art -a villain still, let thy kindred to her be what it may. Thou hast murdered my love, -and thou wouldst shift off suspicion from thyself, by an endeavour to throw guilt -upon me. Wretched hypocrite! foul stain to the holy habit thou dost wear—say where, -where hast thou bestowed the Lady Beatrice? Is she dead or alive?” -</p> -<p>“Nay, foul shame to knighthood that thou art, ’tis thou who hast secreted the Lady -Beatrice—thou who hast poisoned her mind—thou who hast disgraced her—thou who dost -hide her from the light of day, that she may minister to thine abandoned love. Tell, -tell me where thou hast hid her, or, friar as I am, I do here appeal thee to single -duel.” -</p> -<p>“Ha!” said Sir Patrick<span class="corr" id="xd31e7630" title="Source: ,">.</span> “And right willingly, I trow, shall I do instant battle in support of mine unsullied -honour—in support of the honour of her who hath been so foully calumniated; but with -a friar like thee!” -</p> -<p>“Nay, let that be no hindrance, Sir Knight,” cried the Franciscan, whilst his eyes -darted lightnings; “now indeed I am a friar, but, trust me, I was not always so. In -me thou shalt have no weak or untaught arm to deal withal; and if I may but have dispensation——” -</p> -<p>“Talk not so, Friar John,” said the King; “thou shalt never <span class="pageNum" id="pb599">[<a href="#pb599">599</a>]</span>be suffered to peril thy life. Thou must seek thee out some cham——” -</p> -<p>“Nay, seek nowhere but here,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, slapping his right hand -furiously on his cuirass. “If the good Friar John doth bestir himself to save my soul, -’tis but reason, meseems, that I should rouse me to save his body. I am in some sort -a witness to the truth of part of what he hath asserted. So, by the blood of the Bruce, -Sir Patrick——” -</p> -<p>“Nay, nay, my Lord Earl,” cried the old Lord of Dirleton, now starting up with an -agitation that shook every fibre, and with a countenance in which grief and resentment -were powerfully blended; “verily I am old; but old as I am, I have still some strength; -and my heart, at least, hath not waxed feeble. It shall never be said that a De Vaux -did suffer a son of the Royal house of Scotland to risk the spilling of his noble -blood, to save that which hath already been so often shed in its defence, and the -which shall be ever ready to flow for it, whilst a drop of it may remain within these -shrivelled veins. Here am I ready to encounter the caitiff knight, on whose smiles, -when an infant, I looked with delight as the future husband of my very daughter Beatrice, -and who did so gain upon me lately by the plausible semblance of virtue. Base son -of thy noble sire, full hard, I ween, hath it been for me, an injured father, to sit -silent thus so long listening to thy false denials, and thy vile recriminations against -my brother John. But now do I give thee the lie to them all, and dare thee to mortal -combat.” -</p> -<p>“My Lord, my Lord,” cried Sir John Halyburton, going up to the Lord of Dirleton in -great astonishment, “calm thy rage, I beseech thee. What is this I do hear? Of whom -dost thou speak? For whom dost thou thus hurl mortal defiance against my dearest friend -Sir Patrick Hepborne? Daughter, saidst thou?” -</p> -<p>“Ay, daughter, Sir John Halyburton,” exclaimed the old man; “my daughter Beatrice—she -whom I have discovered to be yet alive, only that I may wish her dead. Oh, I could -bear the loss of mine innocent infant—I could forgive a sinning and now repentant -brother—but to forgive the villain who hath robbed my sweet flower of her fragrance—no, -no, no, ’tis impossible. The very thought doth bring back all a father’s rage upon -me. Give me my daughter, villain!—my daughter. Oh, villain, villain, give me my daughter!” -The aged Lord of Dirleton, exhausted by the violence of his emotions, tottered forward -a step or two towards Sir Patrick, and would have sunk down on the floor had he not -been supported to the seat he had occupied. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb600">[<a href="#pb600">600</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said Sir John Halyburton, sternly advancing towards him, after -he had assisted the father of his future bride, “we have been warm friends, yea, I -did come in hither to stand by thee to the last, as thy friend; but my friendship -did sow itself and spread its roots in that honourable surface with the which thou -wert covered. ’Tis no wonder, then, that it should dry up and wither when it doth -push deeper into the less wholesome soil, which was hitherto hid from my sight. The -Earl of Buchan, the Lord of Dirleton—nay, all do seem to know thy blackness, and I -do now curse myself that we were ever so linked. We can be friends no longer; and -sith that it has pleased heaven to deny a son to that honourable but much injured -Lord, it behoveth me, who look soon to stand in that relation to him, to take his -wrongs upon myself. We must meet, yea, and that speedily, as deadly foes. My liege,” -continued he, turning towards the King, and making his obeisance, “have I thy gracious -permission here to appeal Sir Patrick Hepborne to single combat of outrance, to be -fought as soon as convenient lists may be prepared?” -</p> -<p>“Thou hast our licence, Sir John Halyburton,” replied the King; “to-morrow shall the -lists be prepared, and on the day thereafter this plea shall be tried.” -</p> -<p>“Then, sith that I have thy Royal licence, my liege,” cried Sir John Halyburton, “I -do hereby challenge Sir Patrick Hepborne to do battle with me in single combat of -outrance, with sharp grounden lances, and after that with battle-axes, and swords -and daggers, as may be, and that unto the death. And this for the foul stain he hath -brought upon the noble family of De Vaux, of the which I am about to become a son, -and may God defend the right, and prosper the just cause;” and with these words, Sir -John Halyburton threw down his gauntlet on the floor. -</p> -<p>“I will not deny,” said Sir Patrick, as he stooped to lift it with a deep sigh, “I -will not deny that it doth deeply grieve me thus to take up the gauntlet of challenge -from one whom I have so much loved, and one for whom I should much more willingly -have fought to the death than lifted mine arm against him. But the will of an all-seeing -Providence must be obeyed; that Providence, who doth know that I wist not even that -the Lady Beatrice was aught else but the page Maurice de Grey, until after she did -flee from me. Twice did I afterwards behold her; once in the field of Otterbourne, -where she had piously sought out and found the body of her benefactor, Sir Walter -de Selby, and once within the Church of Norham, where she did <span class="pageNum" id="pb601">[<a href="#pb601">601</a>]</span>assist at his funeral rites; but on neither of these sad occasions had I even speech -of her. A third time I did behold her but for an instant in the house of Sir Hans -de Vere, in the Tower of London, and then did I save her, at the peril of my life, -from what I then conceived to be a base assault of King Richard of England against -her, for the which I did pay the penalty of imprisonment. On these three occasions -only have mine eyes beheld her, sith that we parted at Tarnawa. If to love her honourably -and virtuously be a crime, then am I indeed greatly guilty; but for aught else——” -</p> -<p>“Thou hast told a fair tale, Sir Patrick,” said the King, shaking his head. -</p> -<p>“Nay, ’twere better to be silent, methinks, than thus to try to thrust such ill-digested -stories on us,” cried the Franciscan. “But ’tis no wonder that he should be loth to -appear in the lists in such a cause. Conscience will make cowards of the bravest.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, let God judge me then,” cried Sir Patrick Hepborne, turning fiercely round, -and darting a furious glance at the friar. “Conscience, as with thee, may sleep for -a time; but trust me, its voice will be terribly heard at last. Then bethink thee -how thou shalt answer thine, when thy death-bed cometh. Coward, saidst thou?—By St. -Baldrid, ’tis the first time—But Sir John Halyburton, thou at least will readily acquit -me of aught that may have so disgraceful a savour. I do accept thy challenge; I am -thine at the appointed time; may God indeed defend the right! Then shall mine innocence -appear, while the transcendent virtue of the Lady Beatrice, whom I do glory to proclaim -my lady-love, shall shine forth like the noonday sun.” -</p> -<p>By one of those unfortunate accidents which sometimes occur, it chanced that the elder -Sir Patrick Hepborne had been gone for some days on private business to his Castle -of Hailes. Had he been present, this unfortunate feud might have perhaps been prevented; -but he could not be now looked for at Scone until after the day fixed for the duel; -and if he had been expected sooner, things had already gone too far to have been arrested, -without some living proof to establish the truth. Sir John Assueton was present during -the scene we have described, but he had been too much confounded by all he had witnessed -and heard to be able to utter a sentence. -</p> -<p>“My dear Assueton,” said Sir Patrick, going up to him, and taking him aside after -all was over, “my friend, my oldest, my best-tried, my staunchest friend, thou brother -of my dearest affections, from thee, I trust, I may look for a fairer judgment than -these have given me?” -<span class="pageNum" id="pb602">[<a href="#pb602">602</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Thou mayest indeed, Hepborne,” replied Assueton, griping his friend’s hand warmly. -“Trust me, it doleth me sorely to see such deadly strife about to be waged between -thee and one whom we both do so much love. Yet are the ways of Providence past our -finding out. But may God do thee right, and make thy virtue appear.” -</p> -<p>“Thou canst not have been astonished at the tardiness I did show!” said Hepborne. -“Alas! my heart doth grieve to bursting; perplexed, lost in a maze of conjecture, -the whole doth appear to me to have been delusion. So the Lady Beatrice proveth to -be the long-lost daughter of the Lord of Dirleton! and the Franciscan—ha!—the Friar—he -then is that John de Vaux who did so traitorously steal his brother’s child!—and hath -the word of such a villain had power to face down mine? Oh, monstrous! Nay, now do -I more than ever fear for the safety—for the life—of her whom I do love to distraction. -And then her pure fame blasted, mine own good name tarnished, and no other means left -for the cleansing of mine honour and her fame, but to lift the pointed lance, and -the whetted sword, against the life of him whom, next to thee, I do of all men account -most dear to me! May the holy Virgin, may the blessed Trinity, aid and sustain me -amid the cruel host of distresses by the which I am environed!” -</p> -<p>“Most hardly art thou indeed beset,” replied Sir John Assueton; “yet hast thou no -other choice but to put thy trust in God, and to do thy best in this combat for the -establishment of thine own honour as a knight, and the pure fame of thy lady-love, -leaving to Providence the issues of life and death.” -</p> -<p>After this conversation, Sir Patrick Hepborne and Sir John Assueton prepared to leave -the Castle. As they were passing through the gateway, Hepborne, who was deeply absorbed -in his own reflections, was gently touched on the arm by some one. -</p> -<p>“She be’e here, Sir Patricks,” whispered Duncan MacErchar; “troth, she hath catched -the friars, and troth she be’s a strong sturdy loons. Uve, uve, but she had a hard -tuilzie wi’ her.” -</p> -<p>“What? whom?” cried Sir Patrick. -</p> -<p>“Troth, she did tell her to stand there till Sir Patricks come,” said MacErchar; “but -she would not bide; and so, afore a’ was done, she was forced to gie her a bit clouring. -Would she no likes to——” -</p> -<p>“What?” cried Sir Patrick, now beginning to comprehend him, “thou dost not talk of -the Franciscan? I do hope and trust thou hast not hurt the Franciscan?” -</p> -<p>“Phoo! troth, as to tat, she doth best ken hersel the friars,” <span class="pageNum" id="pb603">[<a href="#pb603">603</a>]</span>replied Duncan; “but hurts or no hurts, she be’s in here,” continued he, pointing -under the gateway to a low vaulted door, “and she may e’en ask the friars hersel.” -</p> -<p>“Holy Virgin!” cried Hepborne, “thou hast ruined me with thy zeal. Open the door of -this hole, and let me forthwith release the friar. Though he be mine enemy, yet would -I not for kingdoms lie under the foul suspect of having caused him to be waylaid.” -</p> -<p>“Troth, she shall soon see her,” said Duncan, opening the door of the place—“Ho, ho, -ho! there she doth lie, I do well wot, like a mockell great grey swine.” -</p> -<p>There indeed, in an area not four feet square, was squeezed together the body of the -Franciscan. He had a considerable cut and bruise upon his tonsure, from which the -blood still oozed profusely. He seemed to be insensible; but he was no sooner lifted -into the open air, than it appeared that his swoon was more owing to the closeness -of the hole he had been crammed into than the wound he had received. He quickly began -to recover and Sir Patrick raised him up and assisted him to stand. -</p> -<p>“To thee, then, I am indebted for thy villainous traiterie?” cried the Franciscan, -looking wildly at Sir Patrick, and shaking himself free from his arms as he said so. -“Oh, shame to knighthood, thus to plant an assassin in my path; but rivers of thy -blood shall speedily flow for every drop that doth fall from this head of mine.” -</p> -<p>With these words he darted into the Castle ere Sir Patrick could speak, leaving him -stupified by this unfortunate mistake, which had brought a fresh cause of shameful -suspicion upon him. -</p> -<p>“May she leave her posts noo!” demanded Duncan MacErchar with great coolness.<span id="xd31e7680"></span> -</p> -<p>“Leave thy post!” cried Hepborne in a frenzy; “would thou hadst been in purgatory, -knave, rather than that thou hadst wrought me this evil.” -</p> -<p>“Oh, hoit-toit!” cried Duncan. “Spurgumstory! Uve, uve! and tat’s from Sir Patricks!” -</p> -<p>“Forgive me, Duncan,” cried Hepborne, immediately recovering his self-command, and -remembering whom it was he had so wounded, “forgive my haste. I do well know thy zeal. -But here, by ill luck, thou hast fortuned to carry it farther than befitting. It will -be but an evil report when it shall be told of Sir Patrick Hepborne that he did plant -a partizan to assail and wound the friar with whom he had feud. But thou art forgiven, -<span class="pageNum" id="pb604">[<a href="#pb604">604</a>]</span>my friend, for I do well know that thine intention was of the best.” -</p> -<p>“Phoo-oo-o!” cried Duncan, with a prolonged sound, “troth, and she doth see that she -hath missed her marks, fan she did hit the friars a clour. But troth, she will see -yet and mend the friar’s head; and sith she doth ken that she hath a feud wi’ her, -och, but she will mak her quiet wi’ the same plaisters that did the ills.” -</p> -<p>“On thy life, touch him not again,” said Sir Patrick, “not as thou dost love me, Duncan. -Let not the friar be touched, else thou dost make me thy foe for ever.” -</p> -<p>“Phoo, ay, troth she’s no meddles mair wi’ her,” said Duncan; “ou ay, troth no, she’ll -no meddles.” -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch74" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e952">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER LXXIV.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The missing Lady Beatrice.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Whilst preparations are making for the duel, it may not be improper to relieve the -reader’s mind regarding the Lady Beatrice, who had thus unwittingly become the subject -of a feud likely to terminate so fatally. After having providentially effected her -escape, first from the flames of the Hospital of the Maison Dieu, and then from the -base and treacherous protection of Sir Andrew Stewart, she fled through the garden, -and, being bewildered by a complication of terrors, she ran she knew not whither, -and unwittingly taking the direction of the town, rushed wildly through the streets. -Terror-struck by the blaze of the Cathedral and the shouts of those who were engaged -in its destruction, some of whom her fears led her to imagine had joined in the pursuit -which she believed Sir Andrew Stewart still held after her, she darted onwards with -inconceivable rapidity, until she passed quite through the town. A little beyond its -western entrance, she beheld a light at some distance before her, and believing that -it proceeded from the casement of some cottage, she sprang towards it with renewed -exertion. To her great disappointment, it turned out to be one of those lamps kept -burning within a shrine of the Virgin that stood by the wayside. She sank down exhausted -before the image it contained, and clasping her hands together, implored protection -from her whom the figure represented. -</p> -<p>While she was occupied in devotion, she heard the distant tramp of a horse. At first -she was doubtful of the reality of the <span class="pageNum" id="pb605">[<a href="#pb605">605</a>]</span>sound, confounded as it was with the far-off shouts of the Wolfe of Badenoch’s people; -but it soon became too distinct to be mistaken. It came not very quick, however, and -she had yet time to flee. Filled with fresh alarm, she again sprang to her feet; but, -alas! their strength was gone. Her limbs refused to do their office, and, tottering -for a step or two, she again sank down on the ground, under the half shadow at the -base of the little Gothic building. As she fell the horseman came on. He halted in -doubt whether that which he beheld sink so strangely was corporeal or spiritual. His -horse, too, seemed to partake of his alarm; for when he tried to urge the animal to -pass by, he snorted and backed, and could not be persuaded or compelled to advance -by any means the rider could use. -</p> -<p>Meanwhile, the Lady Beatrice, believing that the man who rode the horse had halted -for the purpose of dismounting, lay trembling with apprehension that Sir Andrew Stewart -was about to seize her. Fear robbed her for some moments of recollection, from which -temporary stupor she was roused by feeling her waist powerfully encircled by two arms -of no pigmy size or strength, upon which she screamed aloud and fainted away. -</p> -<p>When the Lady Beatrice regained her recollection, she found herself seated on the -saddle, and travelling at a good round pace. She was held in her place, and supported -by the same sinewy arms, which were also employed in guiding the reins, and pressing -on the steed. -</p> -<p>“Mercy, mercy, Sir Andrew Stewart,” shrieked she; “oh, whither dost thou carry me?” -</p> -<p>“St. Lowry be praised that thou hast gathered thysel back frae the warld o’ sauls, -my leddy! Of a truth I did greatly fear that thy spirit had yode thither.” -</p> -<p>“Merciful Providence, Rory Spears!” cried the Lady Beatrice, almost doubting the evidence -of her ears. “The holy Virgin be praised, if it be thee indeed!” -</p> -<p>“Yea, in good truth, it is assuredly me, Roderick Spears, esquire, at the humble service -of thy leddyship,” replied Rory. -</p> -<p>“Then thanks be to the blessed Virgin, I am safe!” replied Beatrice. -</p> -<p>“Safe!” cried Rory; “yea, as safe as the bold heart of ane esquire can make thee. -Trust me, they sall take measure o’ ane ell and ane half o’ this lance that hangs -ahint me here, that may essay to do thee aught o’ harm between this and Tarnawa, whither -my shalty Brambleberry shall speedily convey us.” -</p> -<p>“May the saints unite to shower their blessings upon thee, <span class="pageNum" id="pb606">[<a href="#pb606">606</a>]</span>Rory, for thy timely aid!” cried the Lady Beatrice; “but how, I pray thee, didst thou -chance to rescue me from the power of Sir Andrew Stewart?” -</p> -<p>“What!” cried Rory, “so that ill-doing, misbegotten fumart hath been besetting thee -again with this accursed traiterie. By St. Lowrie, but I did ance tak measure o’ him -afore.” -</p> -<p>“Yea, he encountered me as I did escape from the flames of the Maison Dieu, and he -pursued me to the shrine of the Virgin, where he was in the act of laying his impure -hands on me, when I did faint away.” -</p> -<p>“Na, troth, my leddy,” said Rory, “the hands that war laid on thee war my hands; and, -though I should speak weel o’ that the which be’s mine ain, I do boldly avow that -they are purer than the scartin’ claws o’ that mouldwarp, although they hae handled -mony a foul fish, and I wad be sair ashamed an they waur no teucher. It was me that -took haud o’ ye, my leddy, and I made bauld to do that same (being ane esquire) that -I might succour ye, distressed damsel that thou wert, by lifting thy dead body into -the saddle, that wi’ a sair heart I mought bring thee aff to Tarnawa, where, an thou -didst not recover thee, thou mightest have had ane honourable yirdin’.” -</p> -<p>“But tell me, I pray thee, how thou didst chance to come there?” demanded Beatrice. -</p> -<p>“I’ll tell thee,” said Rory. “My master, the Yearl, did send me to Aberdeen wi’ a -flight o’ falcons he had promised till the King’s Majesty; so I hae been there, yea, -and did behold his Royal Grace afore he depairted for his Palace of Scone. I wot he -was weel pleased wi’ the birds, and he did show me the fair side o’ his Royal favour -for bringing them, partly, nae doot, for the sake o’ my noble master the Yearl o’ -Moray, and partly, I do opine, because I am noo an esquire admitted and acknowledged, -the which the King himsel did alswa most graciously confirm out o’ his ain mouth. -For, says he to me, ‘Squire Rory,’ says he, ‘are the falcons well mewed, and hast -thou reclaimed them to purpose?’ To the which I did answer, ‘Try ye them, my Royal -Liege, and ye’ll see gin there be ony Royal hern that’ll mount wi’ them. Trust me, -my Lord King, that they have a wing that will carry them up to the very riggin’ o’ -the lift, an ye can find a hern that ’ill gang there before them.’ The king gied a -most gracious laugh thereupon, and so I did laugh too, and the Lords did laugh. At -length the King telled ane o’ his fouk to see that Squire Roderick Spears was well -feasted; and so I was in good troth, yea, and got handsome gurdeon I rauckon alswa. -So, as I was on my way back from Aberdeen, I stopped late <span class="pageNum" id="pb607">[<a href="#pb607">607</a>]</span>yestreen at the Spital o’ the Mason’s Due; but I had not lain long asleep until I -was startled to my legs by the cry o’ fire, and the flames bursting out. I hurried -on some of my garments, and grupping the rest in my hands, I made the best o’ my way -to the stable; but there I could not get in for lack o’ the key. It was firm fast, -and I had hard wark, I wis, till I could get something to break it open wi’. Then -did I ride through a’ the town to see what destruction the Wolfe o’ Badenoch was doing. -But as I was but ae man, and that it would ill become me to find faut wi’ the son -o’ the King or the brother o’ my leddy Countess, I cam aff hot foot to tell the Yearl. -So seeing thee moving in the light yonder, I maun just say, that, at the first, I -did opine that thou wert something not o’ this warld; and had it not been for Brambleberry -here, who would by no means pass thee by, and whose good sense therein did gie me -time to see that thou were nae ghost, verily thou mightst ha’e lain there still for -me.” -</p> -<p>Under the protection of the faithful Rory Spears, the Lady Beatrice arrived safely -at Tarnawa, where she was joyfully received by the Countess. Her converse with the -Franciscan had been enough to inform her of the pleasing fact that she was indeed -the daughter of the Lord of Dirleton; and the happy Jane de Vaux learned this much -from her with a rapture that melted Beatrice’s heart with emotions of delight she -had never before experienced. To her, who had grown up without knowing aught of the -affectionate regard of a near relation, how soothing must have been the pure embrace -of a sister, of a sister too who had already shown herself to be the kindest of friends. -But the joy of Jane de Vaux and the Countess of Moray, who had fully participated -in the felicity of her young friend, was converted into extreme anxiety about Beatrice, -who was seized with a severe illness, the effect of the fatigue, shipwreck, dread, -and agitation to which she had lately been exposed. To add to their distress, the -Earl of Moray had been gone from home for some days. It is no wonder, then, that the -Countess and the Lady Jane de Vaux should have been too much occupied with their patient -to think of making inquiry about her uncle the Franciscan; nor was it until the Earl -returned that he did what they should have done before; and then it was they learned -from the Bishop of Moray that the friar had gone on his important mission to the Wolfe -of Badenoch. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb608">[<a href="#pb608">608</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch75" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e962">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER LXXV.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Ordeal of Battle.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Having thus seen the Lady Beatrice safe into the hands of friends, we must leave her -to be recovered by their affectionate care, whilst we give some account of the preparations -which were making for the duel between Sir Patrick Hepborne and Sir John Halyburton. -</p> -<p>The Lord of Dirleton, after some moments of cool reflection, began to regret that -his feelings had so hurried him away, as to make him forget that his family honour -could gain but little by the cause of the duel being made public. He therefore lost -no time in beseeching the King that the lists might be erected in some situation where -the vulgar, at least, could be excluded; and, in compliance with this request, a spot -was fixed on, in the meadow below the Palace of Scone, and there workmen were employed -in immense numbers to ensure their erection against the time fixed on. Even during -the night they worked unceasingly, and the lights were seen flitting about, and the -hatchets, saws, and hammers were heard in full operation, so that by the morning of -the appointed day a rudely-constructed amphitheatre of combat was prepared. -</p> -<p>The morning was beautiful, and although all about the court knew that the day must -end in a tragedy, yet nothing could be more gay or brilliant than the prologue to -the scene. The King’s pavilion was pitched close to the outside of the lists, and -a private door and stair led up from it into a balcony over the centre of one of the -sides of the enclosure, where the King took his seat, with the Regent, the Lord of -Dirleton and his lady, together with the Franciscan and some others. Between the outer -and the inner lists, a wide space extended all around on both sides, from one gate -to the other, which was dedicated to the nobles and knights who sat on horseback, -there to witness the combat. There were barriers in the inner circle of palisadoes, -one opposite to each side of the gate. -</p> -<p>The two knights arrived at the outside of the lists, each attended by his esquire, -and armed at all points, both horse and man; and each of them waited at a different -gate, that he might be admitted with all the ceremony of chivalry. -</p> -<p>After the King was seated, the Constable, Marshal of the lists, and the heralds took -their stand in the places allotted for <span class="pageNum" id="pb609">[<a href="#pb609">609</a>]</span>them below. Then appeared Sir John Halyburton, attended by his esquire, at the east -gate; which circumstance being formally announced to the Constable and Marshal, they -went thither to receive him. -</p> -<p>“Who art thou, and for what purpose art thou come hither?” demanded the Constable. -</p> -<p>“I am Sir John Halyburton,” replied he; “and hither am I come, mounted and armed, -to perform my challenge against Sir Patrick Hepborne, younger of Hailes, and to redeem -my pledge. Wherefore do I humbly desire this gate to be opened, that I may be suffered -to perform mine intent and purpose.” -</p> -<p>“Thou shalt have way hither if thou be’st indeed he whom thou dost set thyself forth -to be,” replied the Constable. “The Moor’s head proper on thy crest, and thy golden -shield with those three mascles on a bend <i>azure</i>, do speak thee to be him whom thou dost say thou art. Yet must we behold thy face. -Raise thy vizor, then, Sir Knight.” -</p> -<p>Sir John Halyburton did as he was desired, and his identity being acknowledged, he -was led into the lists, and placed opposite the King, where he was to remain until -the defendant should appear. -</p> -<p>He had to wait no longer than the nature of the ceremony required, when the Constable -was called to the western gate to receive the defendant, who, on being formally questioned, -declared himself to be Sir Patrick Hepborne, younger of Hailes. -</p> -<p>“We do indeed behold the couped horse’s head with bridled neck on thy crest,” said -the Constable; “and on thy shield <i>gules</i>, the chevron <i>argent</i>, with the two lions pulling at the rose, but we would have other proof that thou -art in very deed Sir Patrick Hepborne. Raise thy vizor, Sir Knight, that we may behold -thy countenance. Ay, now we do indeed see that thou art the very defendant in this -duel. Enter;” and he was accordingly led into the lists, and placed by the side of -his challenger. -</p> -<p>Then were the weapons of each examined. These were a lance, a battle-axe, a sword, -and a dagger. The lances were measured, and everything was adjusted in such a manner -that neither should have any undue advantage over the other. The Constable next besought -His Majesty’s pleasure, to know whether he would in person take the oaths of the combatants, -or whether he would empower him and the Marshal to do it; and having received orders -to proceed, they first addressed Sir John Halyburton, and demanded of him what were -the terms of his challenge. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb610">[<a href="#pb610">610</a>]</span></p> -<p>“I do appear as champion for William de Vaux, Lord of Dirleton,” replied Sir John; -“he being of an age which doth render it impossible that he can take arms in his own -person; also for John de Vaux, his brother, a friar of the order of St. Francis, to -do battle against Sir Patrick Hepborne, younger of Hailes, whom, in their name, and -upon their credit, I do accuse of having wronged them in certain matters well known -to His Majesty, as also to the defendant, and to compel him to own his guilt, or to -clear it by his arm.” -</p> -<p>“Thou dost swear, then, on the holy Evangelists,” said the Constable, “that this is -the true cause of thy coming hither, that thou dost thyself believe the averments -of those for whom thou dost appear, and that thou art prepared, if it be God’s will, -to support the same with thy life.” -</p> -<p>“I do swear,” replied Sir John Halyburton. -</p> -<p>“And thou, Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said the Constable, “dost thou comprehend the charge -that is brought against thee; and if thou dost, what hast thou to answer?” -</p> -<p>“I do comprehend the charge,” replied Sir Patrick; “and I do deny it solemnly in all -its parts. I do deny that I have ever done injury to the Lord of Dirleton, or to any -person or thing of his; and I do declare, that both to him and to his I have borne, -and do still bear, the strongest love. This do I swear on the holy Evangelists; and -God so help me as I do speak the truth.” -</p> -<p>Then the second oath—that they had not brought with them other armour or weapon than -such as was allowed, nor any engine, instrument, herb, charm, or enchantment, and -that neither of them should put affiance or trust in anything other than God and their -own valour, as God and the holy Evangelists should help them—being solemnly sworn -by both, each was led off to the barrier opposite to the gate he had entered by, where -his banner and blazon were set up; and whilst both were in preparation, the usual -proclamation was given forth by the heralds. -</p> -<p>The lists were then cleared of every one save only of two knights and two esquires, -one of each to wait upon the Constable and the Marshal. The knight who was assigned -to the Constable was Sir William de Dalzel, and he who was appropriated to the Marshal -was Sir John Assueton. To each was given a headless lance, and they sat mounted immediately -before the place occupied by the Constable and the Marshal, and directly under the -King’s balcony, that they might be ready to part the combatants, if it should so please -the King. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb611">[<a href="#pb611">611</a>]</span></p> -<p>When all was in readiness, the bugle-note of warning sounded from both barriers, and, -after a short pause, the King issued the usual command, “<i lang="fr">Laissez les aller!</i>” and, the signal being given by the heralds’ trumpets, the knights flew together. -Halyburton and Hepborne had been, nay, were at that moment, warmly attached to each -other, but his individual honour as a knight was dearer to each of them than even -friendship. Whatever had been their feelings of regret, or unwillingness to engage -in mortal strife, each now only remembered him of his own name and that of his lady -as he spurred; and, throwing the blame on unhappy fate, which had thus doomed them -to this unnatural struggle, each thought but of working the death of his opponent, -as if it had been but the winning from him of some gaudy trophy in a tournament. The -collision was tremendous; the clash resounded far and near, and a murmur of admiration -burst from the assembled knights. Both lances were shivered, and both steeds were -thrown so much back on their haunches, that, for the fraction of a second, it seemed -to the spectators as if it were impossible that they could again recover themselves. -</p> -<p>But the horses regaining their legs, the riders lost not an instant in seizing the -battle-axes that hung at their saddle-bows; and then the fight became dreadful indeed. -Their blows fell so thick and fast upon each other’s head and body, that the sound -resembled that which may be supposed to come from the busy forge of an armourer; and -desperate were the dints made in the plate-mail both of the horses and their riders. -The noble quadrupeds reared and plunged, and, dexterously guided by the rein, leaped -forwards and backwards, and from side to side, with as much precision, while the strokes -were dealing, as if they had been but parts of the animals that combated on their -backs. But this equestrian battle was not of long duration. A heavy blow from the -axe of Sir John Halyburton fell upon the head of Hepborne’s favourite war steed, Beaufront, -and, in defiance of his steel chamfront, the noble animal was so stunned by it that -he staggered, and measured his length on the sod. But as his horse was sinking under -him, Sir Patrick made his battle-axe tell heavily and loudly on the helmet of his -opponent, who had leaned forward to give his stroke more weight, and he beat him fairly -down from his saddle. -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick extricated his feet from the stirrups with great agility as his horse -was falling, and leaped on the ground. His antagonist, having taken some seconds to -regain his legs, was completely in his power. But here friendship came into operation. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb612">[<a href="#pb612">612</a>]</span>Although he might, with perfect honour, have taken full advantage of Sir John Halyburton, -he only brandished his battle-axe over him for an instant to mark that advantage, -whilst the spectators shuddered, in expectation of the blow that was to put an end -to the combat, and then dropping his arm harmlessly by his side, he retreated a few -paces, to wait until his antagonist should be again equal with him. The King, and -the knights who looked on, clapped their hands in sign of approbation. -</p> -<p>And now the combatants again approached each other, and desperate was the encounter. -The armour of both knights was battered so tremendously, that their helmets were soon -shorn of their proud plumes and crests, which hung down in tattered fragments about -their heads. Soon afterwards, the lacings of their head pieces were cut, and each, -in his turn, lost his bassinet. Their surcoats were cut to shreds, and some of the -fastenings of the most important defences of their bodies being also demolished, the -plates dropped away piecemeal, and the persons of both were left comparatively exposed, -having nothing to resist the blows but their hauberks and hauquetons. Still they fought -with their battle-axes, until both becoming unable longer to wield them, they seemed -to throw them away by mutual consent, and, drawing their swords and daggers, began -to cut and stab, aiming at those places where their former weapons had opened breaches, -through which they hoped to extract each other’s life’s blood. -</p> -<p>And now, indeed, the combat assumed the character of a deadly strife. The most experienced -warriors present declared, that so perfectly matched a contest had never before been -witnessed, and a very general opinion prevailed, that, instead of one of them only -being slain, the death of both the knights would probably be the result of this fierce -and desperate duel. Despairing of the life of her champion, the Lady Dirleton had -already fainted, and had been borne out to the King’s pavilion. The poor old Lord -of Dirleton also began to picture to himself the melancholy scene which must take -place on the return of his daughter, the Lady Jane de Vaux, to weep over the cold -and bloody corpse of him whom she expected to find warmly waiting to salute her as -his bride. As for John de Vaux the Franciscan, he inwardly regretted that he had not -been his own champion; the apprehension of evil fortune that naturally arises where -there is a doubt, having already led him to fear that Halyburton had much the worst -of the combat. As for Assueton and Sang, they each sat silently in their saddles, -in the places where they were posted, doubtful and unhappy. Their eyes being more -turned <span class="pageNum" id="pb613">[<a href="#pb613">613</a>]</span>upon Hepborne than upon his adversary, they trembled to remark each new wound he received, -and each reeling step which the successful blows of Halyburton occasioned. His growing -faintness was anxiously and fearfully noticed by them in secret, and every moment -made an accession to their anxiety and their fear. The minstrel, Adam of Gordon, who -was seated among the attendants behind the King, trembled, clasped his hands, groaned, -and moved backwards and forwards on his place; and as Duncan MacErchar, who was there -with his company of Guards, and who as yet knew little of the usages observed at such -duels, it was with the utmost difficulty that he was prevented from rushing to Hepborne’s -assistance, and he was at length only hindered from doing so by being seized by the -order of the Marshal of the lists. -</p> -<p>The combat was raging, though both the knights were evidently growing fainter and -fainter, when a bugle sounded at one of the gates, and one of the marshalmen being -sent to ascertain the cause, brought a message to the Constable that an esquire waited -there who craved immediate admittance to the King; and the circumstance being signified -to his Majesty, leave was granted to the stranger to enter. He no sooner appeared -within the gate than he was seen to push his horse furiously along behind the drawn-up -ranks of the mounted knights who were looking on, making directly for the stair that -led up from thence to the King’s gallery. Some who recognized the face of this esquire -knew him to be Rory Spears. Leaping from his froth-covered horse, he left him to pant, -and, springing up the steps to the King’s gallery, he was seen to throw himself on -his knees before His Majesty. What he said was known only to those who were near the -Monarch’s person; indeed the sudden appearance of this messenger carried away the -eyes of the spectators for a few moments only from the combat, which now appeared -to be approaching nearer and nearer to that fatal termination which so many experienced -heads had anticipated. Already both knights staggered and grew giddy with their numerous -wounds and their loss of blood; and those generous bosoms who surrounded the lists -cursed the interruption which the King’s attention was receiving, being persuaded, -that if it had been still directed towards the combatants, he could not possibly have -allowed the duel to proceed to the extinction of two such brave lives. They trembled -with dread that he should not look and act until his interference would be of no avail; -for it seemed as if every moment would see both the heroes extended dead upon the -<span class="pageNum" id="pb614">[<a href="#pb614">614</a>]</span>sod, that had been already rendered slippery with the blood they had spilt. -</p> -<p>All at once a great confusion seemed to have taken place in the King’s gallery. His -Majesty himself appeared to be much agitated, and a signal was given, in his name -by the Regent to the Constable and Marshal, to stop the combat. Their two knights -assistants, who had both been in misery for the fate of their friends who were fighting, -gave their horses the spur, and darted forward like arrows, with their headless lances -extended, to separate the combatants. The two champions, breathless and hardly able -to support themselves, were yet not approached by any one, save by those who divided -them by their lance-poles, for in this stage of the affair the duel was only stayed; -and as it might yet be the King’s pleasure that they should renew their strife to -the death, the law required that they should be left precisely in the same state, -that if the combat should recommence, it might do so with each champion in the same -circumstances, with relation to his adversary, as he had been in when the King had -interfered. Faint, and ready to drop, therefore, they supported themselves on their -well-hacked swords; and whilst the blood poured from many a wound, they panted, and -silently surveyed each other’s grim and gory features, at the short distance by which -they were divided, as if each read his own death legibly written in the death-like -face of his opponent. -</p> -<p>Female shrieks were now heard coming from the King’s pavilion without the lists, and -all was commotion in the King’s gallery. Robert himself was seen moving away, supported -by some of his people; and, in defiance of propriety, many were seen rushing out before -him by the way that led down to the pavilion. In a few minutes the gallery was cleared. -</p> -<p>Meanwhile the combatants still stood gazing with fixed and ghastly look at each other; -and their two friends sat like equestrian statues, with their lance-shafts crossed -between them, but uttering no word, and giving no sign; and, while they were thus -grouped, a messenger came to announce to the Constable the King’s pleasure that the -duel should be forthwith terminated and ended without further bloodshed, he having -taken the quarrel into his own hand, and that he was prepared to decide it in his -own pavilion, where the combatants were ordered immediately to attend him; that the -two knights should be led forth of the lists, each by his own gate, the one by the -Constable, and the other by the Marshal, and that both should make exit at the same -moment, by signal from the heralds’ trumpets, <span class="pageNum" id="pb615">[<a href="#pb615">615</a>]</span>that neither might suffer the disgrace of being the first to quit them. -</p> -<p>The King’s command was no sooner made known than a loud shout burst from the brave -and noble hearts who had witnessed this obstinate and sanguinary duel. His Majesty’s -orders were punctually obeyed, and Sir Patrick Hepborne followed the marshalman with -tottering steps, whilst Halyburton went staggering in the opposite direction, and -as if he was groping his way in the dark after the Constable. The trumpets sounded, -and they disappeared from the gates. Hepborne, supported by his guide and his faithful -esquire, made the best of his way round to the external entrance to the King’s pavilion; -but thither Sir John Halyburton never came, for he swooned away the moment he had -crossed the threshold of the gateway. As Hepborne was entering the pavilion, a lady, -frantic with grief and despair, rushed by him, and made her way towards the eastern -gate, followed by several attendants. -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick made his obeisance to the King, immediately upon coming into the pavilion, -and His Majesty, with the Regent, came kindly towards him, to praise his valour and -to inquire into his safety. A crowd, among whom he recognized the Lord and Lady Dirleton, -the Earl and Countess of Moray, and the Franciscan, surrounded a lady who seemed to -be overwhelmed with affliction. -</p> -<p>“He is safe,” cried half a dozen voices to her immediately on perceiving him; and -the circle opening at the moment, he beheld the Lady Beatrice de Vaux. At one and -the same instant she screamed aloud when she saw him, and he sprang forward to throw -himself at her feet, where he fainted away. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch76" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e972">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CHAPTER LXXVI.</h2> -<div class="argument"> -<p class="first"><i>The Friar’s Tale—The Two Combatants—Lady Eleanore’s explanation—All is well that ends -well.</i></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">It was not wonderful that a sudden ecstasy of joy, such as that which burst unexpectedly -on Hepborne, coming after so much mental wretchedness, and when his bodily frame had -been so weakened by fatigue, wounds, and loss of blood, should have thrown him into -a swoon, from which he only awakened to show symptoms of a feverish delirium. He passed -some days and nights under all the strange and fluctuating delusions of a <span class="pageNum" id="pb616">[<a href="#pb616">616</a>]</span>labouring dream, during which the angelic image of her he loved, and the hated form -of the Franciscan, appeared before him, but in his delirium he knew them not. -</p> -<p>It was after a long and deep sleep that he opened his eyelids, and felt, for the first -time, a consciousness of perfect calmness and clearness of intellect, but combined -with a sense of great exhaustion. He turned in bed, and immediately he heard a light -step move towards it from a distant part of the room. The drapery was lifted up, and -the lovely, though grief-worn countenance of Beatrice looked anxiously in upon him. -</p> -<p>“Blessed angel,” said Sir Patrick, clasping his hands feebly together, and looking -upwards with a heavy languid eye, that received a faint ray of gladness from what -it looked upon; “blessed angel, is it a fair vision that deceives me, or is it a reality -I behold? I have dreamed much and fearfully of thee and of others; tell me, do I dream -still, or art thou in truth Beatrice, the lady of my heart?” -</p> -<p>“Hush, Sir Knight,” replied the lady, a smile of pleasure delicately blending on her -countenance, with a rich blush of modesty; “I am indeed Beatrice. It joyeth me much -to hear thee talk so calmly, seeing that it doth argue thy returning health; but quiet -and repose are needful for thee, therefore must I leave thee.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, if thou wouldst have me repose in peace, repeat again that thou art Beatrice, -that thou art mine own Beatrice,” cried Sir Patrick feelingly. “Say that thy beauteous -form shall never more flit from my sight; and that we shall never, never part.” -</p> -<p>“Do but rest thee quietly, Sir Patrick,” said Beatrice. “Trust me, thine own faithful -Maurice de Grey shall be thy page still, and shall never quit the side of thy couch -until health shall have again revisited those wan and wasted cheeks.” -</p> -<p>“’Tis enough,” exclaimed Sir Patrick, rapturously snatching her hand and devouring -it with kisses; “thou hast already made me well. Methinks I do almost feel strong -enow to quit this couch; and yet I could be ill for ever to be blessed with such attendance.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, thou must by no means think of rashly quitting thy sick-bed,” said the Lady -Beatrice, withdrawing her hand, and looking somewhat timorous at his impetuosity, -as she dropped the curtain. -</p> -<p>A stirring was then heard in the apartment, then a whispering, and immediately Assueton -and Sang appeared, with anxious looks, at his bedside. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb617">[<a href="#pb617">617</a>]</span></p> -<p>“My dearest friend, and my faithful esquire,” said Hepborne, with a face of joy, and -with so collected and rational an expression, that they could hardly doubt the perfect -return of his senses; though they soon began to believe themselves deceived, for his -features suddenly became agitated; “but what eye is that which doth glare from between -you? Ha! the face of mine arch enemy—of that demon, the enemy of the Lady Beatrice. -Doth he come to snatch her from me again? Seize him, my beloved Assueton—seize him, -my faithful esquire—let him not escape, I entreat thee, if thou wouldst have me live.” -</p> -<p>“We have been in terror, my dearest Hepborne,” said Assueton, calmly, after having -ascertained that it was the Franciscan, who had been looking over his shoulder, that -had excited Hepborne’s apparent fit of frenzy; “this Franciscan, this friar, John -de Vaux, hath now no evil thought or wish against thee or the Lady Beatrice. He was -worked upon by false impressions, which were not removed until that Providential discovery, -the which did put a stop to thine unfortunate duel with Sir John Halyburton. But sith -that all is now cleared up, the holy Franciscan hath made good reparation for all -the evil his misjudgment did occasion thee; for sith that thou wert laid here, he -hath never ceased day or night to watch by thy bedside, save when called to that of -another; and to him, under God, do we now owe the blessed hope of thy speedy recovery.” -</p> -<p>“Strange,” cried Hepborne; “but didst thou not say unfortunate duel? I beseech thee -speak—Hath my beloved friend, Halyburton, against whom fate did so cruelly compel -me to contend—oh, say not, I beseech thee, that aught hath befallen him! What, thou -dost hesitate! Oh, tell me not that he hath died by my hand, or happiness shall ne’er -again revisit this bosom.” -</p> -<p>“He is not dead,” said the Franciscan, “but he is still grievously sick of his wounds; -yet may we hope that he will soon recover as thou dost.” -</p> -<p>“Thank God, he is not dead,” cried Hepborne with energy; “thank God, there is hope -of his recovery.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, this good Friar John will keep him alive, as he hath done thee,” said Assueton. -</p> -<p>“Strange,” said Hepborne, “to see thee, my truest friend, Assueton, thus in league -with the man whom I did esteem my bitterest foe; wonderful to learn from thee that -he hath exerted himself to recall me from death. Of a truth, then, I must <span class="pageNum" id="pb618">[<a href="#pb618">618</a>]</span>of needscost yield me to conviction so strong, and pray him and God to forgive me -for the hatred I did harbour against him.” -</p> -<p>“Nay, Sir Knight,” said the Franciscan, “of a truth much hatred and misjudging doth -need forgiveness on both our parts, and I do grieve most sincerely and heavily for -mine, as well as for the mischief it hath occasioned.” -</p> -<p>“But I do earnestly entreat thee to clear up my way through this strange wilderness -of perplexity in which I am still involved,” said Sir Patrick. -</p> -<p>“That will I most readily do for thee, Sir Knight,” replied the Franciscan; “but anxiety -for thy certain and speedy return to health would lead me to urge thee to postpone -thy curiosity, until thou shalt have gained further strength.” -</p> -<p>“Nay,” said Sir Patrick, “of a truth I shall have more ease and repose of body after -that my mind shall have been put at rest.” -</p> -<p>“In truth, what thou hast said hath good reason in it,” replied the Franciscan; “then -shall I no longer keep thee in suspense, but briefly run over such circumstances as -it may be necessary for thee to know. -</p> -<p>“My brother, the Lord of Dirleton, hath told me that thou art already possessed by -him of the story of the loss of his first-born infant daughter. It was I, John de -Vaux, his brother, to whom he did ever play the part of a kind benefactor and an affectionate -father—it was I who repaid all the blessings I received from him by robbing him of -his child. My mother (’tis horrible to be compelled thus to allow it) was the worst -of her sex. I was young and violent of temper, and not being at that time aware of -her infamy, I was hurt by the neglect with which she was treated, and, instigated -by her, I boldly attempted to force her into the hall of my brother’s Castle, then -thronged by all the nobility and chivalry of the neighbourhood, to witness the ceremonial -baptism of the little Beatrice. My brother was justly enraged with mine impudence; -he did incontinently turn both of us forth with disgrace, and in doing so he struck -me a blow. Stung with the affront, I gave way to the full fury of my passion, and -vowed to be revenged. My mother wickedly fostered mine already too fiery rage, till -it knew no bounds. She urged me to watch mine occasion to murder the child; and although -my young soul revolted at a crime so horrible, yet did her proposal suggest a plan -of vengeance, which, with less of guilt to me, should convey as much of misery to -my brother, and especially to his wife, against whom we had a peculiar hatred. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb619">[<a href="#pb619">619</a>]</span></p> -<p>“It was long ere a fitting opportunity offered for carrying my purpose into effect. -At length, after frequent watching, I did one evening observe the nurse walking in -a solitary place, with the babe in her arms. With my face concealed beneath a mask, -and my person shrouded in a cloak, I came so suddenly on her, that I snatched the -child from her arms before she was aware. Ere I could flee from the woman, she sprang -on me like a she-wolf robbed of her young—pulled the mantle from the child in a vain -attempt to reach her, and clung to me so firmly as I fled, that, to rid myself of -her, I was compelled to wound her hand deeply with my dagger. My horse was at hand, -and, to put the child equally beyond the reach of the affection of its fond parents -or the cruelty of my mother, I wrapt it in my cloak, and, riding with it over to Lammermoor, -consigned it to the care of a shepherd’s wife. To avoid suspicion, I returned home -immediately; but conscious guilt would not permit me to remain long near those I had -injured. I withdrew myself secretly, and entered on board the privateer of the brave -Mercer, where for six or eight years of my life I encountered many a storm, and bore -my part in many a desperate action. I was a favourite with the old man, and did gain -considerable wealth with him; but my proud spirit would not brook command, so I quitted -the sea-service, and travelled through foreign lands as a knight, when I did share -in many a stubborn field of fight, and won many a single combat. Yet was I not always -successful; and, having been overthrown in a certain tournament, I was so overwhelmed -with mortification at the disgrace that followed me, that I became soured with the -world, and straightway resolved to exchange the helmet and the cuirass for the Franciscan’s -grey cowl and gown, vainly hoping to humble my haughty temper by the outward semblance -of poverty. But my towering soul was not to be subdued by a mere garb of penance. -</p> -<p>“From the foreign convent into which I entered, I chanced to be sent to England, and, -having been recommended as a proper person for confessor in the family of the Earl -of Northumberland, mine ambitious and proud heart did again begin to show itself. -Sir Rafe Piersie, to whom I was more especially attached, made me large promises of -future promotion in the Church; and, having set his affections on the Lady Eleanore -de Selby, he did employ me to further his suit. To effect this, I bribed a certain -villainous pretender to necromancy, who was well known to have much influence over -the old knight. But the villain deceived me. Sir Rafe Piersie had a flat denial, as -well from the father as the daughter, and this did I partly attribute <span class="pageNum" id="pb620">[<a href="#pb620">620</a>]</span>to the traiterie of the impostor, whose services I paid for, and partly to the interposition -of Sir Walter de Selby’s adopted daughter, whom I did not then know to be my niece, -the Lady Beatrice. Sir Rafe Piersie, believing that I had been playing the cheat with -him, drove me indignantly away. I burned to be revenged against those who had occasioned -this overthrow of my hopes, and soon afterwards I had nearly glutted my rage against -the Ancient by a cruel death, from which he most narrowly escaped. I did then journey -northwards to the Franciscan Convent at Elgin, where I arrived at the very time the -Bishop of Moray was sorely lacking some one bold enough to beard the Wolfe of Badenoch. -It was a task quite to my mind, and I accordingly readily undertook that, the which -all others did most anxiously shun. Thou, who wert present at Lochyndorbe, mayest -well remember how mine attempt was likely to have ended. As they dragged me from the -hall I did detect the companion of the Lady Eleanore de Selby under her page’s disguise, -having seen her by accident at Norham. One of mine old seamates, who chanced to be -among the number of Lord Badenoch’s men, procured me admission to the Castle, and -he it was who effected mine escape from the horrors of the Water Pit Vault. He would -fain have had me flee instantly, but, much against his will, I did insist on his showing -me the page’s chamber; and I went thither, determined to question closely her whom -I did then only know to be the companion of the Lady Eleanore de Selby, as to what -share she had in persuading her friend against an union with the Piersie. I sought -her chamber with my mind rankling with the remembrance of my disgrace, inflamed and -full of prejudice against her, and, Heaven pardon me, it is in truth hard to say how -far my blind rage might have hurried me, had she not fled from me at the sight of -my dagger. -</p> -<p>“It was soon after this that my brother, William de Vaux, came to Elgin. The remembrance -of my ingratitude to him came powerfully upon me. I contrived to bring him, at night, -into the Church of the Franciscan Convent, and then it was I discovered that his heart, -instead of being filled with a thirst of revenge against me, was full of charity, -compassion, and forgiveness. This discovery so worked upon my soul, already beginning -to feel compunction for mine early wickedness, that I should have confessed all to -my much-injured brother, had not some one, accidentally approaching at that moment, -unluckily interrupted the conference and compelled me to retreat. But I went straightway -to the good Bishop of Moray, with whom by <span class="pageNum" id="pb621">[<a href="#pb621">621</a>]</span>this time I stood in high favour for my bold service, and to him did I fully confess -my sins against my brother, of the which, until now, I had but little thought, and -had never repented. I did then forthwith solemnly vow to do all that might be in my -power to restore his child to him, if that she did yet live. In this good resolution -the Bishop encouraged me; yea, and he did moreover lend me ample means for effectuating -the purpose I had in view. I hastened to the South of Scotland, to find out the woman -with whom I had left the baby. From her I learned that poverty and my neglect had -induced her to part with Beatrice to Sir Walter de Selby. Then did I shudder to think -of the scene at Lochyndorbe, where, but for the providence of God, I might have murdered -mine own niece, and I secretly blessed a merciful Being who had snatched her from -my hands. -</p> -<p>“But now another cause of affliction took possession of me. Believing, as I did, that -Beatrice was the unworthy partner of thy journey, and that thou hadst taken her with -thee, by her own guilty consent, from Norham, where I did well know thou hadst been, -I cursed my villainy, which had removed an innocent babe from that virtuous maternal -counsel and protection, the lack of which, I believed, had been her undoing. My suspicions -were confirmed when I beheld thee among the crowd at the funeral of Sir Walter de -Selby in Norham Church. I doubted not but thou hadst come thither to meet with Beatrice, -and by her own consent to carry her off. Her eyes encountered mine as I stood near -the altar, and, as they were full of severity from the impressions then on my mind, -it is little marvel that the sight of me should have produced the fainting fit into -which she fell. That night I was deprived of all chance of an interview with her; -and when I sought for one in the morning, I found that she had departed, no one knew -whither. After seeking her for many days, I at last returned to Dunbar in despair, -where I did by chance meet with the son of mine old sea captain, Mercer, and from -him I learned that she had been sojourning for some time at Newcastle, but that she -had sailed for London. Having heard of the expedition of the Scottish knights thither, -I readily believed that her errand was for the purpose of meeting him who had so won -her heart from virtue. My soul boiled within me to rescue her from so base an intercourse, -and mine old sea-mate having offered to carry me to the Thames in his ship, I did -accept his aid, and did take her from thence, as thou dost already know, Sir Knight; -but instead of making the port whence we had sailed, we were driven northward by a -storm, and, after much tossing, we suffered wreck on <span class="pageNum" id="pb622">[<a href="#pb622">622</a>]</span>the eastern coast of Moray Land, whence I conveyed Beatrice to the Hospital of the -Maison-Dieu at Elgin, on that night the place was burnt by the Wolfe of Badenoch. -As I was well assured that the lady had escaped from the fire, and that I could nowhere -hear tidings of her, it was no wonder that I believed she had fled to thee; for our -stormy voyage had left me no leisure to undeceive myself by the discovery of her innocence.” -</p> -<p>The Franciscan then went on to give Sir Patrick such other explanations as his eager -questions called for. But his patient seemed to be insatiable in his thirst of information. -Afraid that he might do himself an injury, the learned leech forbade him further converse, -and, having ordered some proper nourishment for the invalid, desired that he should -be left quiet. Sir Patrick accordingly fell into a deep and refreshing sleep, from -which he next day awakened, with pleasing dreams of future happiness. -</p> -<p>Sir Patrick Hepborne the elder had not yet returned to Scone. The younger Sir Patrick -saw less of the Franciscan after he became convalescent; but his friend, Assueton, -was indefatigable in his attendance on him, and Mortimer Sang did not even permit -his love for Katherine Spears to carry him away from the affectionate duty he paid -his master. It was not surprising, then, that his cure went on rapidly, being so carefully -looked to. As he got better, he was visited by many. The King sent daily inquiries -for him; the Regent came himself; and the Wolfe of Badenoch, though his impatient -temper would never permit him to make his visit long, generally called three or four -times a day to see how he did. But the grateful Duncan MacErchar lay in the ante-room, -like an attached dog<span class="corr" id="xd31e7849" title="Source: .">,</span> from the moment that Hepborne was carried into the Palace, and never quitted the -spot save when he thought he could run off for something that might do him good or -give him ease. -</p> -<p>Hepborne was a good deal surprised, and even a little hurt, that, amongst all those -who came to see him in his wounded state, he had never beheld the old Lord of Dirleton, -who had ever shown so warm a heart towards him until the late unfortunate misunderstanding. -The Franciscan, too, came but to dress his numerous wounds, which were fast healing -up, and then left him in haste. But when some days more had passed away, and he was -enabled to quit his bed, he learned intelligence that explained this seeming neglect -of the De Vaux, and filled him with grief and anxiety. It was the anticipation of -its producing this effect upon him, indeed, which had occasioned the concealment <span class="pageNum" id="pb623">[<a href="#pb623">623</a>]</span>of it, as the Franciscan feared that his recovery might have been retarded by the -communication. Sir John Halyburton’s case had been much less favourable than Hepborne’s. -His life still hung quivering in uncertainty. The Lord of Dirleton, his lady, and -the unhappy Lady Jane de Vaux never left him; and the Franciscan, who had been the -unfortunate cause of bringing it into its present peril, was reduced to the deepest -despair. -</p> -<p>No sooner had Sir Patrick learned those doleful tidings, than, calling to his esquire, -he put on his garments, and demanded to be instantly led to the apartment of Sir John -Halyburton, where he found those who were so deeply interested in him sitting drowned -in affliction, believing that they should soon see him breathe his last. Sir Patrick -mingled his tears with theirs; but he did more—he spoke the words of hope, comfort, -and encouragement; and the Franciscan and the others being worn out, and almost rendered -unserviceable with watching, he took his instructions from the learned leech, and -then seated himself by the wounded knight’s bedside. It seemed as if a kind Providence -had blessed the hand which had inflicted the wounds with a power of healing them. -From the moment that Sir Patrick sat down by his friend’s couch, he had the satisfaction -of finding his disease take a favourable turn. He never left his patient, who continued -to improve hourly. In less than a week he was declared out of danger, and in a few -days more he was able to join Hepborne and the two happy sisters, Beatrice and Jane -de Vaux, in their walks on the terrace of the Palace. -</p> -<p>The reader may easily fancy what was the subject of conversation that gave interest -to these walks. It was during one of them that the Lady Beatrice de Vaux was suddenly -met by a woman of the most graceful mien, who, standing directly in her path, threw -aside a mantle that shrouded her face. Astonishment fixed Beatrice to the spot for -an instant, when, recovering herself, she sprang into the arms of the stranger, exclaiming— -</p> -<p>“Eleanore—my beloved Eleanore de Selby!” -</p> -<p>The meeting was overpowering, and Hepborne hastened to conduct the two friends into -the Palace, where they might give full way to their feelings without observation. -After their transports had in some degree subsided, the Lady Beatrice eagerly inquired -into the history of her friend. -</p> -<p>“Proud as thou knowest me to be, Beatrice,” replied Eleanore, “I do here come to thee -as a suppliant, nor do I fear that I come in vain; albeit I have peraunter but ill -deserved a favour at thy hands, since I did deceive thee into being the <span class="pageNum" id="pb624">[<a href="#pb624">624</a>]</span>propagator of a falsehood, by telling thee that he with whom I fled from Norham was -Sir Hans de Vere——” -</p> -<p>“Ah! if thou didst but know into what wretchedness that falsehood had nearly betrayed -me,” exclaimed Beatrice; “but who then was thy lover?” -</p> -<p>“Thou dost well know that my poor father was early filled by a wicked and lying witch -with a superstitious dread of the union of his daughter with a Scottish knight, the -cunning fortune-teller having discovered his prejudice, and fostered it by prophesying -that such a marriage would lead to certain misery. So he did ever study to keep me -from all sight of Scottish chevaliers. But, when visiting my aunt at Newcastle, I -did chance to meet with Sir Allan de Soulis, who had fled from Scotland for having -killed a knight in a hasty brawl, and to him did I quickly resign my heart. ’Twas -this which made me despise the splendid proposals of the proud Sir Rafe Piersie, and -which rendered the thought of the horrid union with the Wizard Ancient, if possible, -even yet more insupportable. I agreed to fly into the arms of Sir Allan; but, to effect -mine escape, thy connivance was indispensable, nay, without thine aid it would have -been impossible to have carried my scheme into execution. I did well know thine attachment -and devotion to my father, and I felt how difficult it would be to shake thee from -what thou wouldst conceive to be thy duty to him. I saw, however, that I had thy full -pity for the unwonted harshness I was enduring; yet I feared that if thou shouldst -discover the country of my lover, thou wouldst never consent to keep my secret, far -less to become my accomplice in an act that would tend to make Sir Walter so unhappy. -I was therefore compelled to resort to falsehood. I did introduce Sir Allan to thee -as Sir Hans de Vere, one who, from being kinsman to King Richard’s favourite, De Vere, -Duke of Ireland, was likely to rise to high honours. By doing this, I hoped to weaken -thine objections to the step I was about to take. Nor was I wrong in my conjecture, -for thou didst at last kindly agree to facilitate my flight.” -</p> -<p>“And whither didst thou fly, then?” demanded Beatrice. -</p> -<p>“First to Newcastle,” replied the Lady de Soulis, “and then to Holland. Being banished -from his own country, and dreading to remain in England, where he, too, could not -tarry during war without proving himself a traitor to Scotland, we were compelled -to retreat beyond sea for a time. It is not long since that the sad news of my father’s -death did reach me. I was struck with deep remorse for my desertion of him. We hastened -<span class="pageNum" id="pb625">[<a href="#pb625">625</a>]</span>back to Norham. There I found that some low-born kinsmen of my father’s, trusting -that I should never return, had seized on the greater part of his effects and divided -the spoil. The small remnant that was left me was saved by the fidelity of the trusty -Lieutenant Oglethorpe. There doth yet remain for us Sir Allan’s paternal lands in -Scotland, the which have not yet been forfaulted; but without the Royal remission -he dare not return to claim them. To thee, then, my Beatrice, do I look to use thine -influence with the merciful King Robert in behalf of the gallant De Soulis, that he -may be restored to his country, his estates, and the cheering countenance of his Sovereign.” -</p> -<p>We need push the conversation between these two friends no farther. It is enough to -say that the united entreaties of Hepborne, Halyburton, and the two Ladies de Vaux, -soon prevailed in moving the clemency of the good old King, and the happy Lady de -Soulis flew to England to be the bearer of her own good news to the brave Sir Allan. -</p> -<p>The joy of the old Lord of Dirleton and his lady in contemplating the happiness that -awaited their children may be imagined; and it will also be readily believed that -the delight of the elder Sir Patrick Hepborne was no less, when he returned to Scone, -and found that he had lost his share of the general misery, and had arrived just in -time to have full enjoyment in the unalloyed pleasure that spread itself throughout -the whole Court. -</p> -<p>The King resolved that the double nuptials should be celebrated in his presence, with -all the splendour that he could shed upon them. The Bishop of Moray came from his -diocese, at His Majesty’s particular request, to perform the marriage rites; and the -Wolfe of Badenoch, to mark his respect for the good man, actually made one of his -rapid journeys into Buchan, to bring thence his neglected spouse, Euphame, Countess -of Ross, that she might be present with him on the happy occasion. So magnificent -and proudly attended a ceremonial had not been witnessed in Scotland for many a day. -Old Adam of Gordon, who was now a member of the younger Sir <span class="corr" id="xd31e7876" title="Source: Patrick’s">Patrick</span> Hepborne’s household, composed and performed an epithalamium that put all the other -minstrels to shame; and as for Squire Rory Spears, and Captain MacErchar, of His Majesty’s -Guards, their joy was so totally beyond all restraint, that, much to the amusement -of the company, they performed a bargaret together—a sort of dance of these days which -antiquarians have supposed to have borne some resemblance to the fandango of Spain, -or the saltarella of Italy. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb626">[<a href="#pb626">626</a>]</span></p> -<p>If the two knights who thus married the co-heiresses of Dirleton were friends before, -they now became attached to each other with an affection almost beyond that of brothers, -and Sir John Assueton was united with them in the same strict bonds. Sir Patrick Hepborne -being aware that the unexpected discovery of Beatrice had diminished the prospect -of wealth which would have eventually accrued to Halyburton, had Jane de Vaux been -the sole heiress of her father, privately influenced the old Lord to leave his Castle, -and the larger part of his estates, to his brother-in-law. On the death of William -De Vaux, therefore, Sir John Halyburton became Lord of Dirleton. For the descendants -from these marriages, those who are curious in such matters may consult “Douglas’s -Peerage,” vol. i., pp. 223 and 687.<a class="noteRef" id="xd31e7882src" href="#xd31e7882">1</a> -</p> -<p>We must not forget to mention that Rory Spears and Captain MacErchar were called on -soon afterwards to repeat their dancing exhibition which had met with so much applause; -and this was on occasion of the wedding of Squire Mortimer Sang and the lovely Katherine -Spears. Many a happy hour had Squire Roderick afterwards, in teaching his grandson -the mysteries of wood and river craft, whilst the youth’s father, the gallant Sir -Mortimer, was gathering wreaths of laurel in foreign lands, whither he travelled as -a valiant knight. -</p> -<p>One of the last acts of King Robert was to bestow a small estate in the valley of -the Dee upon the veteran MacErchar. Thither he retired to spend a comfortable and -respectable old age, and, having married, became the head of a powerful family. -</p> -<p>It has always been a very common belief in Scotland that, when a wicked man becomes -unexpectedly good, the circumstance is a forewarning of his approaching death. It -was so with the Wolfe of Badenoch, for he lived not above two or three <span class="pageNum" id="pb627">[<a href="#pb627">627</a>]</span>years after the reformation that was so surprisingly worked in him. The Franciscan, -who still continued with the Earl as his confessor, gained a great ascendancy over -his ferocious mind; and his endeavours to subdue it to reason had also the good effect -of enabling him the better to command his own proud spirit, which he every day brought -more and more under subjection. The happy effects of this appeared after the demise -of him to whom he had been so strangely linked; for, despising that Church advancement -which was now within his grasp, he retired into the Franciscan Convent at Haddington, -where he subjected himself to the penance of writing the Chronicle from which these -volumes have been composed; and those who have suffered the tedium of reading the -produce of it, may perhaps be judges of the severity of this self-inflicted punishment. -That the Wolfe of Badenoch had not failed to make good use of the remnant of his life, -in wiping off old scores with the Church by making it large donations, we may well -guess, from the following epitaph, which may yet be read in well-raised, black-letter -characters sculptured around the edge of the sarcophagus in which his body was deposited -in the Cathedral of Dunkeld; but where now, alas! there remains not as much of the -dust of <span class="sc">Alister-more-mac-an-righ</span> as might serve to make clay sufficient for the base purpose to which the fancy of -our immortal dramatic Bard has made his moralizing Prince of Denmark trace a yet mightier -Alexander, and an Imperial Cæsar, -</p> -<div class="lgouter"> -<p class="line">To stop a hole to keep the wind away.</p> -</div> -<p class="first">The Epitaph is:— -</p> -<p class="xd31e7901">Hic Jacet<br> -Dominus Alexander Seneschallus<br> -Comes de Buchan et Dominus de Badenoch,<br> -Bonæ Memoriæ,<br> -Qui Obiit xx Die Mensis Februarii,<br> -Anno Domini MCCCXCIV.<a class="noteRef" id="xd31e7914src" href="#xd31e7914">2</a> -</p> -<p class="trailer xd31e7917">THE END.</p> -</div> -<div class="footnotes"> -<hr class="fnsep"> -<div class="footnote-body"> -<div class="fndiv" id="xd31e7882"> -<p class="footnote"><span class="fnlabel"><a class="noteRef" href="#xd31e7882src">1</a></span> The reader, on consulting the second reference of our text, will find that Douglas -has run into much confusion in regard to the Halyburtons. The Sir John Halyburton -who married the co-heiress of Dirleton, he kills at the battle of Nisbet in 1355. -Now, by consulting the first reference, p. 223, it will be found that Sir Patrick -Hepborne, younger of Hailes, who married the other sister, was killed at the battle -of Nisbet in 1402, at which time Sir Patrick Hepborne, sen., was alive. This we know -to be true, and perfectly according to history; but to suppose that Sir Patrick Hepborne’s -brother-in-law could have been killed in 1355 is a glaring absurdity. The inconsistency -is easily explained, however, for there were several Sir John Halyburtons, and two -battles of Nisbet. There was a Sir John Halyburton killed at the battle of Nisbet -in 1355, and there was a Sir John Halyburton taken at the battle of Nisbet in 1402. -On this last occasion Sir Patrick Hepborne commanded. It is therefore quite natural -that his brother-in-law should have had a share in this expedition.—Vid. <span class="sc">Fordun</span>, II., p. 433. <a class="fnarrow" href="#xd31e7882src" title="Return to note 1 in text.">↑</a></p> -</div> -<div class="fndiv" id="xd31e7914"> -<p class="footnote"><span class="fnlabel"><a class="noteRef" href="#xd31e7914src">2</a></span> This monument is still in tolerable preservation, though it suffered mutilation by -a party of Cameronians about the time of the Revolution. <a class="fnarrow" href="#xd31e7914src" title="Return to note 2 in text.">↑</a></p> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="back"> -<div class="div1 imprint"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divBody"> -<p class="first xd31e7921">GLASGOW: ROBERT MACLEHOSE, PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb629">[<a href="#pb629">1</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="div1 advertisement"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main"><span class="sc">New Books and New Editions.</span></h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first adBook"><i>THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH.</i> A Historical Romance of the Fourteenth Century. By <span class="sc">Sir Thomas Dick Lauder</span>. Complete unabridged edition. Thick Crown 8vo. Price 6s. -</p> -<p><i>This most interesting romance has been frequently described as equal in interest to -any of Sir Walter Scott’s historical tales. This is a complete unabridged edition, -and is uniform with “Highland Legends” and “Tales of the Highlands,” by the same author. -As several abridged editions of the work have been published, especial attention is -drawn to the fact that the above edition is complete.</i> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i>THE LIVES OF THE PLAYERS.</i> By <span class="sc">John Galt</span>, Esq. Post 8vo. Price 5s. -</p> -<p><i>Interesting accounts of the lives of distinguished actors, such as Betterton, Cibber, -Farquhar, Garrick, Foote, Macklin, Murphy, Kemble, Siddons, &c., &c. After the style -of Johnson’s “Lives of the Poets.”</i> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i>KAY’S EDINBURGH PORTRAITS.</i> A Series of Anecdotal Biographies, chiefly of Scotchmen. Mostly written by <span class="sc">James Paterson</span>. And edited by <span class="sc">James Maidment</span>, Esq. Popular Edition. 2 Vols., Post 8vo. Price 12s. -</p> -<p><i>A popular edition of this famous work, which, from its exceedingly high price, has -hitherto been out of the reach of the general public. This edition contains all the -reading matter that is of general interest; it also contains eighty illustrations.</i> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i>THE RELIGIOUS ANECDOTES OF SCOTLAND.</i> Edited by <span class="sc">William Adamson</span>, D.D. Thick Post 8vo. Price 5s. -</p> -<p><i>A voluminous collection of purely religious anecdotes relating to Scotland and Scotchmen, -and illustrative of the more serious side of the life of the people. The anecdotes -are chiefly in connection with distinguished Scottish clergymen and laymen, such as -Rutherford, Macleod, Guthrie, Shirra, Leighton, the Erskines, Knox, Beattie, M’Crie, -Eadie, Brown, Irving, Chalmers, Lawson, Milne, M’Cheyne, &c., &c. The anecdotes are -serious and religious purely, and not at all of the ordinary witty description.</i> -<span class="pageNum" id="pb630">[<a href="#pb630">2</a>]</span></p> -<p class="adBook"><i>DAYS OF DEER STALKING</i> in the Scottish Highlands, including an account of the Nature and Habits of the Red -Deer, a description of the Scottish Forests, and Historical Notes on the earlier Field -Sports of Scotland. With Highland Legends, Superstitions, Folk-Lore, and Tales of -Poachers and Freebooters. By <span class="sc">William Scrope</span>. Illustrated by Sir Edwin and Charles Landseer. Demy 8vo. Price 12s. 6d. -</p> -<p>“<i>The best book of sporting adventures with which we are acquainted.</i>”—<span class="sc">Athenæum.</span> -</p> -<p>“<i>Of this noble diversion we owe the first satisfactory description to the pen of an -English gentleman of high birth and extensive fortune, whose many amiable and elegant -personal qualities have been commemorated in the diary of Sir Walter Scott.</i>”—<span class="sc">London Quarterly Review.</span> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i>DAYS AND NIGHTS OF SALMON FISHING</i> in the River Tweed. By <span class="sc">William Scrope</span>. Illustrated by Sir David Wilkie, Sir Edwin Landseer, Charles Landseer, William Simson, -and Edward Cooke. Demy 8vo. Price 12s. 6d. -</p> -<p>“<i>Mr. Scrope’s book has done for salmon fishing what its predecessor performed for deer -stalking.</i>”—<span class="sc">London Quarterly Review.</span> -</p> -<p>“<i>Mr. Scrope conveys to us in an agreeable and lively manner the results of his more -than twenty years’ experience in our great Border river.… The work is enlivened by -the narration of numerous angling adventures, which bring out with force and spirit -the essential character of the sport in question.… Mr. Scrope is a skilful author -as well as an experienced angler. It does not fall to the lot of all men to handle -with equal dexterity, the brush, the pen, and the rod, to say nothing of the rifle, -still less of the leister under cloud of night.</i>”—<span class="sc">Blackwood’s Magazine.</span> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i>THE FIELD SPORTS OF THE NORTH OF EUROPE.</i> A Narrative of Angling, Hunting, and Shooting in Sweden and Norway. By <span class="sc">Captain L. Lloyd</span>. New edition. Enlarged and revised. Demy 8vo. Price 9s. -</p> -<p>“<i>The chase seems for years to have been his ruling passion, and to have made him a -perfect model of perpetual motion. We admire Mr. Lloyd. He is a sportsman far above -the common run.</i>”—<span class="sc">Blackwood’s Magazine.</span> -</p> -<p>“<i>This is a very entertaining work and written, moreover, in an agreeable and modest -spirit. We strongly recommend it as containing much instruction and more amusement.</i><span class="corr" id="xd31e8025" title="Not in source">”</span>—<span class="sc">Athenæum.</span> -<span class="pageNum" id="pb631">[<a href="#pb631">3</a>]</span></p> -<p class="adBook"><i>PUBLIC AND PRIVATE LIBRARIES OF GLASGOW.</i> A Bibliographical Study. By <span class="sc">Thomas Mason</span>. Demy 8vo. Price 12s. 6d. net. -</p> -<p><i>A strictly Bibliographical work dealing with the subject of rare and interesting works, -and in that respect describing three of the public and thirteen of the private libraries -of Glasgow. All of especial interest.</i> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i><a class="pglink xd31e40" title="Link to Project Gutenberg ebook" href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/47661">THE LIFE OF SIR WILLIAM WALLACE</a>.</i> By <span class="sc">John D. Carrick</span>. Fourth and cheaper edition. Royal 8vo. Price 2s. 6d. -</p> -<p><i>The best life of the great Scottish hero. Contains much valuable and interesting matter -regarding the history of that historically important period.</i> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i>THE HISTORY OF THE PROVINCE OF MORAY.</i> By <span class="sc">Lachlan Shaw</span>. New and Enlarged Edition, 3 Vols., Demy 8vo. Price 30s. -</p> -<p><i>The Standard History of the old geographical division termed the Province of Moray, -comprising the Counties of Elgin and Nairn, the greater part of the County of Inverness, -and a portion of the County of Banff. Cosmo Innes pronounced this to be the best local -history of any part of Scotland.</i> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i><a class="pglink xd31e40" title="Link to Project Gutenberg ebook" href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/58694">HIGHLAND LEGENDS</a>.</i> By <span class="sc">Sir Thomas Dick Lauder</span>. Crown 8vo. Price 6s. -</p> -<p><i>Historical Legends descriptive of Clan and Highland Life and Incident in former times.</i> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i>TALES OF THE HIGHLANDS.</i> By <span class="sc">Sir Thomas Dick Lauder</span>. Crown 8vo. Price 6s. -</p> -<p><i>Uniform with and similar in character to the preceding, though entirely different -tales. The two are companion volumes.</i> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i>AN ACCOUNT OF THE GREAT MORAY FLOODS IN 1829.</i> By <span class="sc">Sir Thomas Dick Lauder</span>. Demy 8vo., with 64 Plates and Portrait. Fourth Edition. Price 8s. 6d. -</p> -<p><i>A most interesting work, containing numerous etchings by the Author. In addition to -the main feature of the book, it contains much historical and legendary matter relating -to the districts through which the River Spey runs.</i> -<span class="pageNum" id="pb632">[<a href="#pb632">4</a>]</span></p> -<p class="adBook"><i>OLD SCOTTISH CUSTOMS</i>: Local and General. By <span class="sc">E. J. Guthrie</span>. Crown 8vo. Price 3s. 6d. -</p> -<p><i>Gives an interesting account of old local and general Scottish customs, now rapidly -being lost sight of.</i> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i>A HISTORICAL ACCOUNT OF THE BELIEF IN WITCHCRAFT IN SCOTLAND.</i> By <span class="sc">Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe</span>. Crown 8vo. Price 4s. 6d. -</p> -<p><i>Gives a chronological account of Witchcraft incidents in Scotland from the earliest -period, in a racy, attractive style. And likewise contains an interesting Bibliography -of Scottish books on Witchcraft.</i> -</p> -<p>“<i>Sharpe was well qualified to gossip about these topics.</i>”—<span class="sc">Saturday Review.</span> -</p> -<p>“<i>Mr. Sharpe has arranged all the striking and important phenomena associated with the -belief in Apparitions and Witchcraft. An extensive appendix, with a list of books -on Witchcraft in Scotland, and a useful index, render this edition of Mr. Sharpe’s -work all the more valuable.</i>”—<span class="sc">Glasgow Herald.</span> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i>TALES OF THE SCOTTISH PEASANTRY.</i> By <span class="sc">Alexander</span> and <span class="sc">John Bethune</span>. With Biography of the Authors by <span class="sc">John Ingram</span>, F.S.A.Scot. Post 8vo. Price 3s. 6d. -</p> -<p>“<i>It is the perfect propriety of taste, no less than the thorough intimacy with the -subjects he treats of, that gives Mr. Bethune’s book a great charm in our eyes.</i>”—<span class="sc">Athenæum.</span> -</p> -<p>“<i>The pictures of rural life and character appear to us remarkably true, as well as -pleasing.</i>”—<span class="sc">Chambers’s Journal.</span> -</p> -<p><i>The Tales are quite out of the ordinary routine of such literature, and are universally -held in peculiarly high esteem. The following may be given as a specimen of the Contents:—“The -Deformed,” “The Fate of the Fairest,” “The Stranger,” “The Drunkard,” “The Illegitimate,” -“The Cousins,” &c., &c.</i> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i>A JOURNEY TO THE WESTERN ISLANDS OF SCOTLAND IN 1773.</i> By <span class="sc">Samuel Johnson</span>, LL.D. Crown 8vo. Price 3s. -</p> -<p><i>Written by Johnson himself, and not to be confounded with Boswell’s account of the -same tour. Johnson said that some of his best writing is in this work.</i> -<span class="pageNum" id="pb633">[<a href="#pb633">5</a>]</span></p> -<p class="adBook"><i><a class="pglink xd31e40" title="Link to Project Gutenberg ebook" href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41380">THE HISTORY OF BURKE AND HARE AND OF THE RESURRECTIONIST TIMES</a>.</i> A Fragment from the Criminal Annals of Scotland. By <span class="sc">George <span class="corr" id="xd31e8173" title="Source: Mac Gregor">MacGregor</span></span>, F.S.A.Scot. With Seven Illustrations, Demy 8vo. Price 7s. 6d. -</p> -<p>“<i>Mr. MacGregor has produced a book which is eminently readable.</i>”—<span class="sc">Journal of Jurisprudence.</span> -</p> -<p>“<i>The book contains a great deal of curious information.</i>”—<span class="sc">Scotsman.</span> -</p> -<p>“<i>He who takes up this book of an evening must be prepared to sup full of horrors, yet -the banquet is served with much of literary grace, and garnished with a deftness and -taste which render it palatable to a degree.</i>”—<span class="sc">Glasgow Herald.</span> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i>THE HISTORY OF GLASGOW</i>: From the Earliest Period to the Present Time. By <span class="sc">George <span class="corr" id="xd31e8203" title="Source: Mac Gregor">MacGregor</span></span>, F.S.A.Scot. Containing 36 Illustrations. Demy 8vo. Price 12s. 6d. -</p> -<p><i>An entirely new as well as the fullest and most complete history of this prosperous -city. In addition it is the first written in chronological order. Comprising a large -handsome volume in Sixty Chapters, and extensive Appendix and Index, and illustrated -throughout with many interesting engravings and drawings.</i> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i><a class="pglink xd31e40" title="Link to Project Gutenberg ebook" href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60365">THE COLLECTED WRITINGS OF DOUGAL GRAHAM</a></i>, “Skellat,” Bellman of Glasgow. Edited with Notes, together with a Biographical and -Bibliographical Introduction, and a Sketch of the Chap Literature of Scotland, by -<span class="sc">George Mac Gregor</span>, F.S.A.Scot. Impression limited to 250 copies. 2 Vols., Demy 8vo. Price 21s. -</p> -<p><i>With very trifling exceptions Graham was the only writer of purely Scottish chap-books -of a secular description, almost all the others circulated being reprints of English -productions. His writings are exceedingly facetious and highly illustrative of the -social life of the period.</i> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i>SCOTTISH PROVERBS.</i> By <span class="sc">Andrew Henderson</span>. Crown 8vo. Cheaper edition. Price 2s. 6d. -</p> -<p><i>A cheap edition of a book that has long held a high place in Scottish Literature.</i> -<span class="pageNum" id="pb634">[<a href="#pb634">6</a>]</span></p> -<p class="adBook"><i>THE BOOK OF SCOTTISH ANECDOTE</i>: Humorous, Social, Legendary, and Historical. Edited by <span class="sc">Alexander Hislop</span>. Crown 8vo., pp. 768. Cheaper edition. Price 5s. -</p> -<p><i>The most comprehensive collection of Scottish Anecdotes, containing about 3,000 in -number.</i> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i>THE BOOK OF SCOTTISH STORY</i>: Historical, Traditional, Legendary, Imaginative, and Humorous. Crown 8vo., pp. 768. -Cheaper edition. Price 5s. -</p> -<p><i>A most interesting and varied collection by Leading Scottish Authors.</i> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i>THE BOOK OF SCOTTISH POEMS</i>: Ancient and Modern. Edited by J. Ross. Crown 8vo., pp. 768. Cheaper edition. Price -5s. -</p> -<p><i>Comprising a History of Scottish Poetry and Poets from the earliest times. With lives -of the Poets and Selections from their Writings.</i> -</p> -<p>⁂ These three works are uniform. -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i>A DESCRIPTION OF THE WESTERN ISLES OF SCOTLAND, CALLED HYBRIDES.</i> With the Genealogies of the Chief Clans of the Isles. By <span class="sc">Sir Donald Monro</span>, High Dean of the Isles, who travelled through most of them in the year 1549. Impression -limited to 250 copies. Demy 8vo. Price 5s. -</p> -<p><i>This is the earliest written description of the Western Islands, and is exceedingly -quaint and interesting. In this edition all the old curious spellings are strictly -retained.</i> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i>A DESCRIPTION OF THE WESTERN ISLANDS OF SCOTLAND CIRCA 1695.</i> By <span class="sc">Martin Martin</span>. Impression limited to 250 copies. Demy 8vo. Price 12s. 6d. -</p> -<p><i>With the exception of Dean Monro’s smaller work 150 years previous, it is the earliest -description of the Western Islands we have, and is the only lengthy work on the subject -before the era of modern innovations. Martin very interestingly describes the people -and their ways as he found them about 200 years ago.</i> -<span class="pageNum" id="pb635">[<a href="#pb635">7</a>]</span></p> -<p class="adBook"><i>THE SCOTTISH POETS, RECENT AND LIVING.</i> By <span class="sc">Alexander G. Murdoch</span>. With Portraits, Post 8vo. Price 6s. -</p> -<p><i>A most interesting resumé of Scottish Poetry in recent times. Contains a biographical -sketch, choice pieces, and portraits of the recent and living Scottish Poets.</i> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i>THE HUMOROUS CHAP-BOOKS OF SCOTLAND.</i> By <span class="sc">John Fraser</span>. 2 Vols., Thin Crown 8vo (all published). Price 5s. -</p> -<p><i>An interesting and racy description of the chap-book literature of Scotland, and biographical -sketches of the writers.</i> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i>THE HISTORY OF STIRLINGSHIRE.</i> By <span class="sc">William Nimmo</span>. 2 Vols., Demy 8vo. 3rd Edition. Price 25s. -</p> -<p><i>A new edition of this standard county history, handsomely printed, and with detailed -map giving the parish boundaries and other matters of interest.</i> -</p> -<p><i>This county has been termed the battlefield of Scotland, and in addition to the many -and important military engagements that have taken place in this district, of all -which a full account is given,—this part of Scotland is of especial moment in many -other notable respects,—among which particular reference may be made to the Roman -Wall, the greater part of this most interesting object being situated within the boundaries -of the county.</i> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i>A POPULAR SKETCH OF THE HISTORY OF GLASGOW</i>: From the Earliest Period to the Present Time. By <span class="sc">Andrew Wallace</span>. Crown 8vo. Price 3s. 6d. -</p> -<p><i>The only attempt to write a History of Glasgow suitable for popular use.</i> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i>THE HISTORY OF THE WESTERN HIGHLANDS AND ISLES OF SCOTLAND</i>, from <span class="asc">A.D.</span> 1493 to <span class="asc">A.D.</span> 1625. With a brief introductory sketch from <span class="asc">A.D.</span> 80 to <span class="asc">A.D.</span> 1493. By <span class="sc">Donald Gregory</span>. Demy 8vo. Price 12s. 6d. -</p> -<p><i>Incomparably the best history of the Scottish Highlands, and written purely from original -investigation. Also contains particularly full and lengthened Contents and Index, -respectively at beginning and end of the volume.</i> -<span class="pageNum" id="pb636">[<a href="#pb636">8</a>]</span></p> -<p class="adBook"><i>THE HISTORY OF AYRSHIRE.</i> By <span class="sc">James Paterson</span>. 5 Vols., Crown 8vo. Price 28s. net. -</p> -<p><i>The most recent and the fullest history of this exceedingly interesting county. The -work is particularly rich in the department of Family History.</i> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i>MARTYRLAND</i>: a Historical Tale of the Covenanters. By the Rev. <span class="sc">Robert Simpson</span>, D.D. Crown 8vo. Cheaper Edition. Price 2s. 6d. -</p> -<p><i>A tale illustrative of the history of the Covenanters in the South of Scotland.</i> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i><a class="pglink xd31e40" title="Link to Project Gutenberg ebook" href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45678">TALES OF THE COVENANTERS</a>.</i> By <span class="sc">E. J. Guthrie</span>. Crown 8vo. Cheaper Edition. Price 2s. 6d. -</p> -<p><i>A number of tales illustrative of leading incidents and characters connected with -the Covenanters.</i> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i>PERSONAL AND FAMILY NAMES.</i> A Popular Monograph on the Origin and History of the Nomenclature of the Present -and Former Times. By <span class="sc">Harry Alfred Long</span>. Demy 8vo. Price 5s. -</p> -<p><i>Interesting investigations as to the origin, history, and meaning of about 9,000 personal -and family names.</i> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i>THE SCOTTISH GALLOVIDIAN ENCYCLOPÆDIA</i> of the Original, Antiquated, and Natural Curiosities of the South of Scotland. By -<span class="sc">John Mactaggart</span>. Demy 8vo. Price raised to 25s. Impression limited to 250 copies. -</p> -<p><i>Contains a large amount of extremely interesting and curious matter relating to the -South of Scotland.</i> -</p> -<p class="adBook"><i>THE COMPLETE TALES OF THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD</i> (<span class="sc">James Hogg</span>). 2 vols., Demy 8vo. -</p> -<p><i>An entirely new and complete edition of the tales of this popular Scottish writer.</i> -</p> -<p class="xd31e7921">GLASGOW: THOMAS D. MORISON. -</p> -<p class="xd31e7921">LONDON: HAMILTON, ADAMS & CO. -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="transcriberNote"> -<h2 class="main">Colophon</h2> -<h3 class="main">Availability</h3> -<p class="first">This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project -Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at <a class="seclink xd31e40" title="External link" href="https://www.gutenberg.org/" rel="home">www.gutenberg.org</a>. -</p> -<p>This eBook is produced by the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at <a class="seclink xd31e40" title="External link" href="https://www.pgdp.net/">www.pgdp.net</a>. -</p> -<p>Scans for this book are available from the Internet Archive (copy <a class="seclink xd31e40" title="External link" href="https://archive.org/details/wolfeofbadenochh00dickuoft">). -</a></p> -<h3 class="main">Metadata</h3> -<table class="colophonMetadata" summary="Metadata"> -<tr> -<td><b>Title:</b></td> -<td>The Wolfe of Badenoch</td> -<td></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><b>Author:</b></td> -<td>Thomas Dick Lauder (1784–1848)</td> -<td><a href="https://viaf.org/viaf/120748091/" class="seclink">Info</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><b>Language:</b></td> -<td>English</td> -<td></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><b>Original publication date:</b></td> -<td>1886</td> -<td></td> -</tr> -</table> -<h3 class="main">Encoding</h3> -<p class="first">The chapter numbering is incorrect in the source used: chapter XXXIV is followed by -chapter XXXVI. However, no text is missing. This has been verified against an earlier -three-volume edition. The chapter numbering has not been corrected in this edition.</p> -<h3 class="main">Revision History</h3> -<ul> -<li>2021-11-14 Started. -</li> -</ul> -<h3 class="main">External References</h3> -<p>This Project Gutenberg eBook contains external references. These links may not work -for you.</p> -<h3 class="main">Corrections</h3> -<p>The following corrections have been applied to the text:</p> -<table class="correctionTable" summary="Overview of corrections applied to the text."> -<tr> -<th>Page</th> -<th>Source</th> -<th>Correction</th> -<th>Edit distance</th> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1087">24</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e7849">622</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">.</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">,</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1171">30</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">fair spoken</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">fair-spoken</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1472">46</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e3039">197</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e5422">405</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e6924">532</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e7150">554</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e7630">598</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">,</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">.</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1483">47</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">.</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">?</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1583">56</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">Heyborne</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">Hepborne</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e2256">118</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e5121">381</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e7680">603</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">”</td> -<td class="width40 bottom"> -[<i>Deleted</i>] -</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e2342">128</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e3927">269</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom"> -[<i>Not in source</i>] -</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">“</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e3861">263</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e4892">356</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e5675">426</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e8025">2</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom"> -[<i>Not in source</i>] -</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">”</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e4111">286</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">sir</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">Sir</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e4170">291</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e4724">336</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">Brugh</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">Burgh</td> -<td class="bottom">2</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e4548">319</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">‘</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">“</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e4968">365</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">Petrick</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">Patrick</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e5091">378</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">fooolish</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">foolish</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e5458">407</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">Proudfout</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">Proudfoot</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e5509">411</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">;</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">.</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e5577">418</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e6098">467</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e6117">468</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e6122">469</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e6135">470</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e7506">588</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom"> -[<i>Not in source</i>] -</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">.</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e5743">432</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">arriere</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">arrière</td> -<td class="bottom">1 / 0</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e6042">461</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">mul titudine</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">multitudine</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e6249">482</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">digusting</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">disgusting</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e6257">483</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e7425">579</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">lady</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">Lady</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e6393">498</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">balony</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">balcony</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e6939">534</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">Bernard</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">Barnard</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e7192">559</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">?</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">!</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e7330">570</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">aad</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">and</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e7362">572</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">sweatmeats</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">sweetmeats</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e7622">598</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">But</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">but</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e7876">625</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">Patrick’s</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">Patrick</td> -<td class="bottom">2</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e8173">5</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e8203">5</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">Mac Gregor</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">MacGregor</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -</table> -</div> -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. -</div> - -<div style='margin:0.83em 0; font-size:1.1em; text-align:center'>START: FULL LICENSE<br> -<span style='font-size:smaller'>THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE<br> -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK</span> -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project -Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person -or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the -Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when -you share it without charge with others. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work -on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the -phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: -</div> - -<blockquote> - <div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most - other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions - whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms - of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online - at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you - are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws - of the country where you are located before using this eBook. - </div> -</blockquote> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project -Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg™ License. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format -other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain -Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -provided that: -</div> - -<div style='margin-left:0.7em;'> - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation.” - </div> - - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ - works. - </div> - - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - </div> - - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works. - </div> -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right -of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™ -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread -public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state -visit <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/donate/">www.gutenberg.org/donate</a>. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. -</div> - -</div> diff --git a/old/66763-h/images/new-cover.jpg b/old/66763-h/images/new-cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index ebcc7a7..0000000 --- a/old/66763-h/images/new-cover.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/66763-h/images/titlepage.png b/old/66763-h/images/titlepage.png Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 9bbef1e..0000000 --- a/old/66763-h/images/titlepage.png +++ /dev/null |
