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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. 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