The Abbot

Chapter 17

"This, then, is Edinburgh?" said the youth, as the fellow-travellers

arrived at one of the heights to the southward, which commanded a view

of the great northern capital--"This is that Edinburgh of which we

have heard so much!"

"Even so," said the falconer; "yonder stands Auld Reekie--you may see

the smoke hover over her at twenty miles' distance, as the gosshawk

hangs over a plump of young wild-ducks--ay, yonder is the heart of

Scotland, and each throb that she gives is felt from the edge of

Solway to Duncan's-bay-head. See, yonder is the old Castle; and see

to the right, on yon rising ground, that is the Castle of Craigmillar,

which I have known a merry place in my time."

"Was it not there," said the page in a low voice, "that the Queen held

her court?"

"Ay, ay," replied the falconer, "Queen she was then, though you must

not call her so now. Well, they may say what they will--many a true

heart will be sad for Mary Stewart, e'en if all be true men say of

her; for look you, Master Roland--she was the loveliest creature to

look upon that I ever saw with eye, and no lady in the land liked

better the fair flight of a falcon. I was at the great match on Roslin

Moor betwixt Bothwell--he was a black sight to her that Bothwell--and

the Baron of Roslin, who could judge a hawk's flight as well as any

man in Scotland--a butt of Rhenish and a ring of gold was the wager,

and it was flown as fairly for as ever was red gold and bright wine.

And to see her there on her white palfrey, that flew as if it scorned

to touch more than the heather blossom; and to hear her voice, as

clear and sweet as the mavis's whistle, mix among our jolly whooping

and whistling; and to mark all the nobles dashing round her; happiest

he who got a word or a look--tearing through moss and hagg, and

venturing neck and limb to gain the praise of a bold rider, and the

blink of a bonny Queen's bright eye!--she will see little hawking

where she lies now--ay, ay, pomp and pleasure pass away as speedily as

the wap of a falcon's wing."

"And where is this poor Queen now confined?" said Roland Graeme,

interested in the fate of a woman whose beauty and grace had made so

strong an impression even on the blunt and careless character of Adam

Woodcock.

"Where is she now imprisoned?" said honest Adam; "why, in some castle

in the north, they say--I know not where, for my part, nor is it worth

while to vex one's sell anent what cannot be mended--An she had guided

her power well whilst she had it, she had not come to so evil a pass.

Men say she must resign her crown to this little baby of a prince, for

that they will trust her with it no longer. Our master has been as

busy as his neighbours in all this work. If the Queen should come to

her own again, Avenel Castle is like to smoke for it, unless he makes

his bargain all the better." "In a castle in the north Queen Mary is

confined?" said the page. "Why, ay--they say so, at least--In a

castle beyond that great river which comes down yonder, and looks like

a river, but it is a branch of the sea, and as bitter as brine."

"And amongst all her subjects," said the page, with some emotion, "is

there none that will adventure anything for her relief?"

"That is a kittle question," said the falconer; "and if you ask it

often, Master Roland, I am fain to tell you that you will be mewed up

yourself in some of those castles, if they do not prefer twisting your

head off, to save farther trouble with you--Adventure any thing? Lord,

why, Murray has the wind in his poop now, man, and flies so high and

strong, that the devil a wing of them can match him--No, no; there she

is, and there she must lie, till Heaven send her deliverance, or till

her son has the management of all--But Murray will never let her loose

again, he knows her too well.--And hark thee, we are now bound for

Holyrood, where thou wilt find plenty of news, and of courtiers to

tell it--But, take my counsel, and keep a calm sough, as the Scots

say--hear every man's counsel, and keep your own. And if you hap to

learn any news you like, leap not up as if you were to put on armour

direct in the cause--Our old Mr. Wingate says--and he knows

court-cattle well--that if you are told old King Coul is come alive

again, you should turn it off with, 'And is he in truth?--I heard not

of it,' and should seem no more moved, than if one told you, by way of

novelty, that old King Coul was dead and buried. Wherefore, look well

to your bearing, Master Roland, for, I promise you, you come among a

generation that are keen as a hungry hawk--And never be dagger out of

sheath at every wry word you hear spoken; for you will find as hot

blades as yourself, and then will be letting of blood without advice

either of leech or almanack."

"You shall see how staid I will be, and how cautious, my good friend,"

said Graeme; "but, blessed Lady, what goodly house is that which is

lying all in ruins so close to the city? Have they been playing at the

Abbot of Unreason here, and ended the gambol by burning the church?"

"There again now," replied his companion, "you go down the wind like a

wild haggard, that minds neither lure nor beck--that is a question you

should have asked in as low a tone as I shall answer it."

"If I stay here long," said Roland Graeme, "it is like I shall lose

the natural use of my voice--but what are the ruins then?"

"The Kirk of Field," said the falconer, in a low and impressive

whisper, laying at the same time his finger on his lip; "ask no more

about it--somebody got foul play, and somebody got the blame of it;

and the game began there which perhaps may not be played out in our

time.--Poor Henry Darnley! to be an ass, he understood somewhat of a

hawk; but they sent him on the wing through the air himself one bright

moonlight night."

The memory of this catastrophe was so recent, that the page averted

his eyes with horror from the scathed ruins in which it had taken

place; and the accusations against the Queen, to which it had given

rise, came over his mind with such strength as to balance the

compassion he had begun to entertain for her present forlorn

situation.

It was, indeed, with that agitating state of mind which arises partly

from horror, but more from anxious interest and curiosity, that young

Graeme found himself actually traversing the scene of those tremendous

events, the report of which had disturbed the most distant solitudes

in Scotland, like the echoes of distant thunder rolling among the

mountains.

"Now," he thought, "now or never shall I become a man, and bear my

part in those deeds which the simple inhabitants of our hamlets repeat

to each other, as if they were wrought by beings of a superior order

to their own. I will know now, wherefore the Knight of Avenel carries

his crest so much above those of the neighbouring baronage, and how it

is that men, by valour and wisdom, work their way from the hoddin-gray

coat to the cloak of scarlet and gold. Men say I have not much wisdom

to recommend me; and if that be true, courage must do it; for I will

be a man amongst living men, or a dead corpse amongst the dead."

From these dreams of ambition he turned his thoughts to those of

pleasure, and began to form many conjectures, when and where he should

see Catherine Seyton, and in what manner their acquaintance was to be

renewed. With such conjectures he was amusing himself, when he found

that they had entered the city, and all other feelings were suspended

in the sensation of giddy astonishment with which an inhabitant of the

country is affected, when, for the first time, he finds himself in the

streets of a large and populous city, a unit in the midst of

thousands.

The principal street of Edinburgh was then, as now, one of the most

spacious in Europe. The extreme height of the houses, and the variety

of Gothic gables and battlements, and balconies, by which the sky-line

on each side was crowned and terminated, together with the width of

the street itself, might have struck with surprise a more practised

eye than that of young Graeme. The population, close packed within the

walls of the city, and at this time increased by the number of the

lords of the King's party who had thronged to Edinburgh to wait upon

the Regent Murray, absolutely swarmed like bees on the wide and

stately street. Instead of the shop-windows, which are now calculated

for the display of goods, the traders had their open booths projecting

on the street, in which, as in the fashion of the modern bazaars, all

was exposed which they had upon sale. And though the commodities were

not of the richest kinds, yet Graeme thought he beheld the wealth of

the whole world in the various bales of Flanders cloths, and the

specimens of tapestry; and, at other places, the display of domestic

utensils and pieces of plate struck him with wonder. The sight of

cutlers' booths, furnished with swords and poniards, which were

manufactured in Scotland, and with pieces of defensive armour,

imported from Flanders, added to his surprise; and, at every step, he

found so much to admire and gaze upon, that Adam Woodcock had no

little difficulty in prevailing on him to advance through such a scene

of enchantment.

The sight of the crowds which filled the streets was equally a subject

of wonder. Here a gay lady, in her muffler, or silken veil, traced her

way delicately, a gentleman-usher making way for her, a page bearing

up her train, and a waiting gentlewoman carrying her Bible, thus

intimating that her purpose was towards the church--There he might see

a group of citizens bending the same way, with their short Flemish

cloaks, wide trowsers, and high-caped doublets, a fashion to which, as

well as to their bonnet and feather, the Scots were long faithful.

Then, again, came the clergyman himself, in his black Geneva cloak and

band, lending a grave and attentive ear to the discourse of several

persons who accompanied him, and who were doubtless holding serious

converse on the religious subject he was about to treat of. Nor did

there lack passengers of a different class and appearance.

At every turn, Roland Graeme might see a gallant ruffle along in the

newer or French mode, his doublet slashed, and his points of the same

colours with the lining, his long sword on one side, and his poniard

on the other, behind him a body of stout serving men, proportioned to

his estate and quality, all of whom walked with the air of military

retainers, and were armed with sword and buckler, the latter being a

small round shield, not unlike the Highland target, having a steel

spike in the centre. Two of these parties, each headed by a person of

importance, chanced to meet in the very centre of the street, or, as

it was called, "the crown of the cause-way," a post of honour as

tenaciously asserted in Scotland, as that of giving or taking the wall

used to be in the more southern part of the island. The two leaders

being of equal rank, and, most probably, either animated by political

dislike, or by recollection of some feudal enmity, marched close up to

each other, without yielding an inch to the right or the left; and

neither showing the least purpose of giving way, they stopped for an

instant, and then drew their swords. Their followers imitated their

example; about a score of weapons at once flashed in the sun, and

there was an immediate clatter of swords and bucklers, while the

followers on either side cried their master's name; the one shouting

"Help, a Leslie! a Leslie!" while the others answered with shouts of

"Seyton! Seyton!" with the additional punning slogan, "Set on, set

on--bear the knaves to the ground!"

If the falconer found difficulty in getting the page to go forward

before, it was now perfectly impossible. He reined up his horse,

clapped his hands, and, delighted with the fray, cried and shouted as

fast as any of those who were actually engaged in it.

The noise and cries thus arising on the Highgate, as it was called,

drew into the quarrel two or three other parties of gentlemen and

their servants, besides some single passengers, who, hearing a fray

betwixt these two distinguished names, took part in it, either for

love or hatred.

The combat became now very sharp, and although the sword-and-buckler

men made more clatter and noise than they did real damage, yet several

good cuts were dealt among them; and those who wore rapiers, a more

formidable weapon than the ordinary Scottish swords, gave and received

dangerous wounds. Two men were already stretched on the causeway, and

the party of Seyton began to give ground, being much inferior in

number to the other, with which several of the citizens had united

themselves, when young Roland Graeme, beholding their leader, a noble

gentleman, fighting bravely, and hard pressed with numbers, could

withhold no longer. "Adam Woodcock," he said, "an you be a man, draw,

and let us take part with the Seyton." And, without waiting a reply,

or listening to the falconer's earnest entreaty, that he would leave

alone a strife in which he had no concern, the fiery youth sprung from

his horse, drew his short sword, and shouting like the rest, "A

Seyton! a Seyton! Set on! set on!" thrust forward into the throng, and

struck down one of those who was pressing hardest upon the gentleman

whose cause he espoused. This sudden reinforcement gave spirit to the

weaker party, who began to renew the combat with much alacrity, when

four of the magistrates of the city, distinguished by their velvet

cloaks and gold chains, came up with a guard of halberdiers and

citizens, armed with long weapons, and well accustomed to such

service, thrust boldly forward, and compelled the swordsmen to

separate, who immediately retreated in different directions, leaving

such of the wounded on both sides, as had been disabled in the fray,

lying on the street.

The falconer, who had been tearing his beard for anger at his

comrade's rashness, now rode up to him with the horse which he had

caught by the bridle, and accosted him with "Master Roland--master

goose--master mad-cap--will it please you to get on horse, and budge?

or will you remain here to be carried to prison, and made to answer

for this pretty day's work?"

The page, who had begun his retreat along with the Seytons, just as if

he had been one of their natural allies, was by this unceremonious

application made sensible that he was acting a foolish part; and,

obeying Adam Woodcock with some sense of shame, he sprung actively on

horseback, and upsetting with the shoulder of the animal a

city-officer, who was making towards him, he began to ride smartly

down the street, along with his companion, and was quickly out of the

reach of the hue and cry. In fact, rencounters of the kind were so

common in Edinburgh at that period, that the disturbance seldom

excited much attention after the affray was over, unless some person

of consequence chanced to have fallen, an incident which imposed on

his friends the duty of avenging his death on the first convenient

opportunity. So feeble, indeed, was the arm of the police, that it was

not unusual for such skirmishes to last for hours, where the parties

were numerous and well matched. But at this time the Regent, a man of

great strength of character, aware of the mischief which usually arose

from such acts of violence, had prevailed with the magistrates to keep

a constant guard on foot for preventing or separating such affrays as

had happened in the present case.

The falconer and his young companion were now riding down the

Canongate, and had slackened their pace to avoid attracting attention,

the rather that there seemed to be no appearance of pursuit. Roland

hung his head as one who was conscious his conduct had been none of

the wisest, whilst his companion thus addressed him:

"Will you be pleased to tell me one thing, Master Roland Graeme, and

that is, whether there be a devil incarnate in you or no?"

"Truly, Master Adam Woodcock," answered the page, "I would fain

hope there is not."

"Then," said Adam, "I would fain know by what other influence or

instigation you are perpetually at one end or the other of some bloody

brawl? What, I pray, had you to do with these Seytons and Leslies,

that you never heard the names of in your life before?"

"You are out there, my friend," said Roland Graeme, "I have my own

reasons for being a friend to the Seytons."

"They must have been very secret reasons then," answered Adam

Woodcock, "for I think I could have wagered, you had never known one

of the name; and I am apt to believe still, that it was your

unhallowed passion for that clashing of cold iron, which has as much

charm for you as the clatter of a brass pan hath for a hive of bees,

rather than any care either for Seyton or for Leslie, that persuaded

you to thrust your fool's head into a quarrel that no ways concerned

you. But take this for a warning, my young master, that if you are to

draw sword with every man who draws sword on the Highgate here, it

will be scarce worth your while to sheathe bilbo again for the rest of

your life, since, if I guess rightly, it will scarce endure on such

terms for many hours--all which I leave to your serious

consideration."

"By my word, Adam, I honour your advice; and I promise you, that I

will practise by it as faithfully as if I were sworn apprentice to

you, to the trade and mystery of bearing myself with all wisdom and

safety through the new paths of life that I am about to be engaged

in."

"And therein you will do well," said the falconer; "and I do not

quarrel with you, Master Roland, for having a grain over much spirit,

because I know one may bring to the hand a wild hawk which one never

can a dung-hill hen--and so betwixt two faults you have the best

on't. But besides your peculiar genius for quarrelling and lugging out

your side companion, my dear Master Roland, you have also the gift of

peering under every woman's muffler and screen, as if you expected to

find an old acquaintance. Though were you to spy one, I should be as

much surprised at it, well wotting how few you have seen of these same

wild-fowl, as I was at your taking so deep an interest even now in the

Seyton."

"Tush, man! nonsense and folly," answered Roland Graeme, "I but

sought to see what eyes these gentle hawks have got under their hood."

"Ay, but it's a dangerous subject of inquiry," said the falconer; "you

had better hold out your bare wrist for an eagle to perch upon.--Look

you, Master Roland, these pretty wild-geese cannot be hawked at

without risk--they have as many divings, boltings, and volleyings, as

the most gamesome quarry that falcon ever flew at--And besides, every

woman of them is manned with her husband, or her kind friend, or her

brother, or her cousin, or her sworn servant at the least--But you

heed me not, Master Roland, though I know the game so well--your eye

is all on that pretty damsel who trips down the gate before us--by my

certes, I will warrant her a blithe dancer either in reel or revel--a

pair of silver morisco bells would become these pretty ankles as well

as the jesses would suit the fairest Norway hawk."

"Thou art a fool, Adam," said the page, "and I care not a button about

the girl or her ankles--But, what the foul fiend, one must look at

something!"

"Very true, Master Roland Graeme," said his guide, "but let me pray

you to choose your objects better. Look you, there is scarce a woman

walks this High-gate with a silk screen or a pearlin muffler, but, as

I said before, she has either gentleman-usher before her, or kinsman,

or lover, or husband, at her elbow, or it may be a brace of stout

fellows with sword and buckler, not so far behind but what they can

follow close--But you heed me no more than a goss-hawk minds a yellow

yoldring."

"O yes, I do--I do mind you indeed," said Roland Graeme; "but hold my

nag a bit--I will be with you in the exchange of a whistle." So

saying, and ere Adam Woodcock could finish the sermon which was dying

on his tongue, Roland Graeme, to the falconer's utter astonishment,

threw him the bridle of his jennet, jumped off horseback, and pursued

down one of the closes or narrow lanes, which, opening under a vault,

terminate upon the main-street, the very maiden to whom his friend had

accused him of showing so much attention, and who had turned down the

pass in question.

"Saint Mary, Saint Magdalen, Saint Benedict, Saint Barnabas!" said the

poor falconer, when he found himself thus suddenly brought to a pause

in the midst of the Canongate, and saw his young charge start off like

a madman in quest of a damsel whom he had never, as Adam supposed,

seen in his life before,--"Saint Satan and Saint Beelzebub--for this

would make one swear saint and devil--what can have come over the lad,

with a wanion! And what shall I do the whilst!--he will have his

throat cut, the poor lad, as sure as I was born at the foot of

Roseberry-Topping. Could I find some one to hold the horses! but they

are as sharp here north-away as in canny Yorkshire herself, and quit

bridle, quit titt, as we say. An I could but see one of our folks

now, a holly-sprig were worth a gold tassel; or could I but see one of

the Regent's men--but to leave the horses to a stranger, that I

cannot--and to leave the place while the lad is in jeopardy, that I

wonot."

We must leave the falconer, however, in the midst of his distress, and

follow the hot-headed youth who was the cause of his perplexity.

The latter part of Adam Woodcock's sage remonstrance had been in a

great measure lost upon Roland, for whose benefit it was intended;

because, in one of the female forms which tripped along the street,

muffled in a veil of striped silk, like the women of Brussels at this

day, his eye had discerned something which closely resembled the

exquisite shape and spirited bearing of Catherine Seyton.--During all

the grave advice which the falconer was dinning in his ears, his eye

continued intent upon so interesting an object of observation; and at

length, as the damsel, just about to dive under one of the arched

passages which afforded an outlet to the Canongate from the houses

beneath, (a passage, graced by a projecting shield of arms, supported

by two huge foxes of stone,) had lifted her veil for the purpose

perhaps of descrying who the horseman was who for some time had eyed

her so closely, young Roland saw, under the shade of the silken plaid,

enough of the bright azure eyes, fair locks, and blithe features, to

induce him, like an inexperienced and rash madcap, whose wilful ways

never had been traversed by contradiction, nor much subjected to

consideration, to throw the bridle of his horse into Adam Woodcock's

hand, and leave him to play the waiting gentleman, while he dashed

down the paved court after Catherine Seyton--all as aforesaid.

Women's wits are proverbially quick, but apparently those of Catherine

suggested no better expedient than fairly to betake herself to speed

of foot, in hopes of baffling the page's vivacity, by getting safely

lodged before he could discover where. But a youth of eighteen, in

pursuit of a mistress, is not so easily outstripped. Catherine fled

across a paved court, decorated with large formal vases of stone, in

which yews, cypresses, and other evergreens, vegetated in sombre

sullenness, and gave a correspondent degree of solemnity to the high

and heavy building in front of which they were placed as ornaments,

aspiring towards a square portion of the blue hemisphere,

corresponding exactly in extent to the quadrangle in which they were

stationed, and all around which rose huge black walls, exhibiting

windows in rows of five stories, with heavy architraves over each,

bearing armorial and religious devices.

Through this court Catherine Seyton flashed like a hunted doe, making

the best use of those pretty legs which had attracted the commendation

even of the reflective and cautious Adam Woodcock. She hastened

towards a large door in the centre of the lower front of the court,

pulled the bobbin till the latch flew up, and ensconced herself in the

ancient mansion. But, if she fled like a doe, Roland Graeme followed

with the speed and ardour of a youthful stag-hound, loosed for the

first time on his prey. He kept her in view in spite of her efforts;

for it is remarkable what an advantage, in such a race, the gallant

who desires to see, possesses over the maiden who wishes not to be

seen--an advantage which I have known counterbalance a great start in

point of distance. In short, he saw the waving of her screen, or veil,

at one corner, heard the tap of her foot, light as that was, as it

crossed the court, and caught a glimpse of her figure just as she

entered the door of the mansion.

Roland Graeme, inconsiderate and headlong as we have described him,

having no knowledge of real life but from the romances which he had

read, and not an idea of checking himself in the midst of any eager

impulse; possessed, besides, of much courage and readiness, never

hesitated for a moment to approach the door through which the object

of his search had disappeared. He, too, pulled the bobbin, and the

latch, though heavy and massive, answered to the summons, and arose.

The page entered with the same precipitation which had marked his

whole proceeding, and found himself in a large hall, or vestibule,

dimly enlightened by latticed casements of painted glass, and rendered

yet dimmer through the exclusion of the sunbeams, owing to the height

of the walls of those buildings by which the court-yard was enclosed.

The walls of the hall were surrounded with suits of ancient and rusted

armour, interchanged with huge and massive stone scutcheons, bearing

double tressures, fleured and counter-fleured, wheat-sheaves,

coronets, and so forth, things to which Roland Graeme gave not a

moment's attention.

In fact, he only deigned to observe the figure of Catherine Seyton,

who, deeming herself safe in the hall, had stopped to take breath

after her course, and was reposing herself for a moment on a large

oaken settle which stood at the upper end of the hall. The noise of

Roland's entrance at once disturbed her; she started up with a faint

scream of surprise, and escaped through one of the several

folding-doors which opened into this apartment as a common centre.

This door, which Roland Graeme instantly approached, opened on a large

and well-lighted gallery, at the upper end of which he could hear

several voices, and the noise of hasty steps approaching towards the

hall or vestibule. A little recalled to sober thought by an appearance

of serious danger, he was deliberating whether he should stand fast or

retire, when Catherine Seyton re-entered from a side door, running

towards him with as much speed as a few minutes since she had fled

from him.

"Oh, what mischief brought you hither?" she said; "fly--fly, or you

are a dead man,--or stay--they come--flight is impossible--say you

came to ask for Lord Seyton."

She sprung from him and disappeared through the door by which she had

made her second appearance; and, at the same instant, a pair of large

folding-doors at the upper end of the gallery flew open with

vehemence, and six or seven young gentlemen, richly dressed, pressed

forward into the apartment, having, for the greater part, their swords

drawn.

"Who is it," said one, "dare intrude on us in our own mansion?"

"Cut him to pieces," said another; "let him pay for this day's

insolence and violence--he is some follower of the Rothes."

"No, by Saint Mary," said another; "he is a follower of the arch-fiend

and ennobled clown Halbert Glendinning, who takes the style of

Avenel--once a church-vassal, now a pillager of the church."

"It is so," said a fourth; "I know him by the holly-sprig, which is

their cognizance. Secure the door, he must answer for this insolence."

Two of the gallants, hastily drawing their weapons, passed on to the

door by which Roland had entered the hall, and stationed themselves

there as if to prevent his escape. The others advanced on Graeme, who

had just sense enough to perceive that any attempt at resistance would

be alike fruitless and imprudent. At once, and by various voices, none

of which sounded amicably, the page was required to say who he was,

whence he came, his name, his errand, and who sent him hither. The

number of the questions demanded of him at once, afforded a momentary

apology for his remaining silent, and ere that brief truce had

elapsed, a personage entered the hall, at whose appearance those who

had gathered fiercely around Roland, fell back with respect.

This was a tall man, whose dark hair was already grizzled, though his

high and haughty features retained all the animation of youth. The

upper part of his person was undressed to his Holland shirt, whose

ample folds were stained with blood. But he wore a mantle of crimson,

lined with rich fur, cast around him, which supplied the deficiency of

his dress. On his head he had a crimson velvet bonnet, looped up on

one side with a small golden chain of many links, which, going thrice

around the hat, was fastened by a medal, agreeable to the fashion

amongst the grandees of the time.

"Whom have you here, sons and kinsmen," said he, "around whom you

crowd thus roughly?--Know you not that the shelter of this roof should

secure every one fair treatment, who shall come hither either in fair

peace, or in open and manly hostility?"

"But here, my lord," answered one of the youths, "is a knave who comes

on treacherous espial!"

"I deny the charge!" said Roland Graeme, boldly, "I came to inquire

after my Lord Seyton."

"A likely tale," answered his accusers, "in the mouth of a follower of

Glendinning."

"Stay, young men," said the Lord Seyton, for it was that nobleman

himself, "let me look at this youth--By heaven, it is the very same

who came so boldly to my side not very many minutes since, when some

of my own knaves bore themselves with more respect to their own

worshipful safety than to mine! Stand back from him, for he well

deserves honour and a friendly welcome at your hands, instead of this

rough treatment."

They fell back on all sides, obedient to Lord Seyton's commands, who,

taking Roland Graeme by the hand, thanked him for his prompt and

gallant assistance, adding, that he nothing doubted, "the same

interest which he had taken in his cause in the affray, brought him

hither to inquire after his hurt."

Roland bowed low in acquiescence.

"Or is there any thing in which I can serve you, to show my sense of

your ready gallantry?"

But the page, thinking it best to abide by the apology for his visit

which the Lord Seyton had so aptly himself suggested, replied, "that

to be assured of his lordship's safety, had been the only cause of his

intrusion. He judged," he added, "he had seen him receive some hurt in

the affray."

"A trifle," said Lord Seyton; "I had but stripped my doublet, that the

chirurgeon might put some dressing on the paltry scratch, when these

rash boys interrupted us with their clamour."

Roland Graeme, making a low obeisance, was now about to depart, for,

relieved from the danger of being treated as a spy, he began next to

fear, that his companion, Adam Woodcock, whom he had so

unceremoniously quitted, would either bring him into some farther

dilemma, by venturing into the hotel in quest of him, or ride off and

leave him behind altogether. But Lord Seyton did not permit him to

escape so easily. "Tarry," he said, "young man, and let me know thy

rank and name. The Seyton has of late been more wont to see friends

and followers shrink from his side, than to receive aid from

strangers-but a new world may come around, in which he may have the

chance of rewarding his well-wishers."

"My name is Roland Graeme, my lord," answered the youth, "a page,

who, for the present, is in the service of Sir Halbert Glendinning."

"I said so from the first," said one of the young men; "my life I

will wager, that this is a shaft out of the heretic's quiver-a

stratagem from first to last, to injeer into your confidence some

espial of his own. They know how to teach both boys and women to play

the intelligencers."

"That is false, if it be spoken of me," said Roland; "no man in

Scotland should teach me such a foul part!"

"I believe thee, boy," said Lord Seyton, "for thy strokes were too

fair to be dealt upon an understanding with those that were to receive

them. Credit me, however, I little expected to have help at need from

one of your master's household; and I would know what moved thee in my

quarrel, to thine own endangering?"

"So please you, my lord," said Roland, "I think my master himself

would not have stood by, and seen an honourable man borne to earth by

odds, if his single arm could help him. Such, at least, is the lesson

we were taught in chivalry, at the Castle of Avenel."

"The good seed hath fallen into good ground, young man," said Seyton;

"but, alas! if thou practise such honourable war in these

dishonourable days, when right is every where borne down by mastery,

thy life, my poor boy, will be but a short one."

"Let it be short, so it be honourable," said Roland Graeme; "and

permit me now, my lord, to commend me to your grace, and to take my

leave. A comrade waits with my horse in the street."

"Take this, however, young man," said Lord Seyton,

[Footnote: George, fifth Lord Seton, was immovably faithful to Queen

Mary during all the mutabilities of her fortune. He was grand master

of the household, in which capacity he had a picture painted of

himself, with his official baton, and the following motto:

On his refusing this honour, Mary wrote, or caused to be written, the

following lines in Latin and French:

undoing from his bonnet the golden chain and medal, "and wear it for

my sake."

With no little pride Roland Graeme accepted the gift, which he hastily

fastened around his bonnet, as he had seen gallants wear such an

ornament, and renewing his obeisance to the Baron, left the hall,

traversed the court, and appeared in the street, just as Adam

Woodcock, vexed and anxious at his delay, had determined to leave the

horses to their fate, and go in quest of his youthful comrade. "Whose

barn hast thou broken next?" he exclaimed, greatly relieved by his

appearance, although his countenance indicated that he had passed

through an agitating scene.

"Ask me no questions," said Roland, leaping gaily on his horse; "but

see how short time it takes to win a chain of gold," pointing to that

which he now wore.

"Now, God forbid that thou hast either stolen it, or reft it by

violence," said the falconer; "for, otherwise, I wot not how the devil

thou couldst compass it. I have been often here, ay, for months at an

end, and no one gave me either chain or medal."

"Thou seest I have got one on shorter acquaintance with the city,"

answered the page, "but set thine honest heart at rest; that which is

fairly won and freely given, is neither reft nor stolen."

"Marry, hang thee, with thy fanfarona [Footnote: A name given to the

gold chains worn by the military men of the period. It is of Spanish

origin: for the fashion of wearing these costly ornaments was much

followed amongst the conquerors of the New World.] about thy neck!"

said the falconer; "I think water will not drown, nor hemp strangle

thee. Thou hast been discarded as my lady's page, to come in again as

my lord's squire; and for following a noble young damsel into some

great household, thou gettest a chain and medal, where another would

have had the baton across his shoulders, if he missed having the dirk

in his body. But here we come in front of the old Abbey. Bear thy good

luck with you when you cross these paved stones, and, by our Lady, you

may brag Scotland."

As he spoke, they checked their horses, where the huge old vaulted

entrance to the Abbey or Palace of Holyrood crossed the termination of

the street down which they had proceeded. The courtyard of the palace

opened within this gloomy porch, showing the front of an irregular

pile of monastic buildings, one wing of which is still extant, forming

a part of the modern palace, erected in the days of Charles I.

At the gate of the porch the falconer and page resigned their horses

to the serving-man in attendance; the falconer commanding him with an

air of authority, to carry them safely to the stables. "We follow," he

said, "the Knight of Avenel--We must bear ourselves for what we are

here," said he in a whisper to Roland, "for every one here is looked

on as they demean themselves; and he that is too modest must to the

wall, as the proverb says; therefore c**k thy bonnet, man, and let us

brook the causeway bravely."

Assuming, therefore, an air of consequence, corresponding to what he

supposed to be his master's importance and quality, Adam Woodcock led

the way into the courtyard of the Palace of Holyrood.

He appears to have been fond of the arts; for there exists a beautiful

family-piece of him in the centre of his family. Mr. Pinkerton, in his

Scottish Iconographia, published an engraving of this curious

portrait. The original is the property of Lord Somerville, nearly

connected with the Seton family, and is at present at his lordship's

fishing villa of the Pavilion, near Melrose.