The Abbot

Chapter 20

In the gray of the next morning's dawn, there was a loud knocking at

the gate of the hostelrie; and those without, proclaiming that they

came in the name of the Regent, were instantly admitted. A moment or

two afterwards, Michael Wing-the-wind stood by the bedside of our

travellers.

"Up! up!" he said, "there is no slumber where Murray hath work

ado."

Both sleepers sprung up, and began to dress themselves.

"You, old friend," said Wing-the-wind to Adam Woodcock, "must to horse

instantly, with this packet to the Monks of Kennaquhair; and with

this," delivering them as he spoke, "to the Knight of Avenel."

"As much as commanding the monks to annul their election, I'll warrant

me, of an Abbot," quoth Adam Woodcock, as he put the packets into his

bag, "and charging my master to see it done--To hawk at one brother

with another, is less than fair play, methinks."

"Fash not thy beard about it, old boy," said Michael, "but betake thee

to the saddle presently; for if these orders are not obeyed, there

will be bare walls at the Kirk of Saint Mary's, and it may be at the

Castle of Avenel to boot; for I heard my Lord of Morton loud with the

Regent, and we are at a pass that we cannot stand with him anent

trifles."

"But," said Adam, "touching the Abbot of Unreason--what say they to

that outbreak--An they be shrewishly disposed, I were better pitch the

packets to Satan, and take the other side of the Border for my bield."

"Oh, that was passed over as a jest, since there was little harm

done.--But, hark thee, Adam," continued his comrade, "if there was a

dozen vacant abbacies in your road, whether of jest or earnest, reason

or unreason, draw thou never one of their mitres over thy brows.--The

time is not fitting, man!--besides, our Maiden longs to clip the neck

of a fat churchman."

"She shall never sheer mine in that capacity," said the falconer,

while he knotted the kerchief in two or three double folds around his

sunburnt bull-neck, calling out at the same time, "Master Roland,

Master Roland, make haste! we must back to perch and mew, and, thank

Heaven, more than our own wit, with our bones whole, and without a

stab in the stomach."

"Nay, but," said Wing-the-wind, "the page goes not back with you; the

Regent has other employment for him."

"Saints and sorrows!" exclaimed the falconer--"Master Roland Graeme to

remain here, and I to return to Avenel!--Why, it cannot be--the child

cannot manage himself in this wide world without me, and I question if

he will stoop to any other whistle than mine own; there are times I

myself can hardly bring him to my lure."

It was at Roland's tongue's end to say something concerning the

occasion they had for using mutually each other's prudence, but the

real anxiety which Adam evinced at parting with him, took away his

disposition to such ungracious raillery. The falconer did not

altogether escape, however, for, in turning his face towards the

lattice, his friend Michael caught a glimpse of it, and exclaimed, "I

prithee, Adam Woodcock, what hast thou been doing with these eyes of

thine? They are swelled to the starting from the socket!"

"Nought in the world," said he, after casting a deprecating glance at

Roland Graeme, "but the effect of sleeping in this d--ned truckle

without a pillow."

"Why, Adam Woodcock, thou must be grown strangely dainty," said his

old companion; "I have known thee sleep all night with no better

pillow than a bush of ling, and start up with the sun, as glegg as a

falcon; and now thine eyes resemble----"

"Tush, man, what signifies how mine eyes look now?" said Adam--"let us

but roast a crab-apple, pour a pottle of ale on it, and bathe our

throats withal, thou shalt see a change in me."

"And thou wilt be in heart to sing thy jolly ballad about the Pope,"

said his comrade.

"Ay, that I will," replied the falconer, "that is, when we have left

this quiet town five miles behind us, if you will take your hobby and

ride so far on my way."

"Nay, that I may not," said Michael--"I can but stop to partake your

morning draught, and see you fairly to horse--I will see that they

saddle them, and toast the crab for thee, without loss of time."

During his absence the falconer took the page by the hand--"May I

never hood hawk again," said the good-natured fellow, "if I am not as

sorry to part with you as if you were a child of mine own, craving

pardon for the freedom--I cannot tell what makes me love you so much,

unless it be for the reason that I loved the vicious devil of a brown

galloway nag whom my master the Knight called Satan, till Master

Warden changed his name to Seyton; for he said it was over boldness to

call a beast after the King of Darkness----"

"And," said the page, "it was over boldness in him, I trow, to call a

vicious brute after a noble family."

"Well," proceeded Adam, "Seyton or Satan, I loved that nag over every

other horse in the stable---There was no sleeping on his back--he was

for ever fidgeting, bolting, rearing, biting, kicking, and giving you

work to do, and maybe the measure of your back on the heather to the

boot of it all. And I think I love you better than any lad in the

castle, for the self-same qualities."

"Thanks, thanks, kind Adam. I regard myself bound to you for the

good estimation in which you hold me."

"Nay, interrupt me not," said the falconer--"Satan was a good nag--

But I say I think I shall call the two eyases after you, the one

Roland, and the other Graeme; and while Adam Woodcock lives, be sure

you have a friend--Here is to thee, my dear son."

Roland most heartily returned the grasp of the hand, and Woodcock,

having taken a deep draught, continued his farewell speech.

"There are three things I warn you against, Roland, now that you art

to tread this weary world without my experience to assist you. In the

first place, never draw dagger on slight occasion--every man's doublet

is not so well stuffed as a certain abbot's that you wot of. Secondly,

fly not at every pretty girl, like a merlin at a thrush--you will not

always win a gold chain for your labour--and, by the way, here I

return to you your fanfarona--keep it close, it is weighty, and may

benefit you at a pinch more ways than one. Thirdly, and to conclude,

as our worthy preacher says, beware of the pottle-pot--it has drenched

the judgment of wiser men than you. I could bring some instances of

it, but I dare say it needeth not; for if you should forget your own

mishaps, you will scarce fail to remember mine--And so farewell, my

dear son."

Roland returned his good wishes, and failed not to send his humble

duty to his kind Lady, charging the falconer, at the same time, to

express his regret that he should have offended her, and his

determination so to bear him in the world that she would not be

ashamed of the generous protection she had afforded him.

The falconer embraced his young friend, mounted his stout, round-made,

trotting-nag, which the serving-man, who had attended him, held ready

at the door, and took the road to the southward. A sullen and heavy

sound echoed from the horse's feet, as if indicating the sorrow of the

good-natured rider. Every hoof-tread seemed to tap upon Roland's heart

as he heard his comrade withdraw with so little of his usual alert

activity, and felt that he was once more alone in the world.

He was roused from his reverie by Michael Wing-the-wind, who reminded

him that it was necessary they should instantly return to the palace,

as my Lord Regent went to the Sessions early in the morning. They went

thither accordingly, and Wing-the-wind, a favourite old domestic, who

was admitted nearer to the Regent's person and privacy, than many

whose posts were more ostensible, soon introduced Graeme into a small

matted chamber, where he had an audience of the present head of the

troubled State of Scotland. The Earl of Murray was clad in a

sad-coloured morning-gown, with a cap and slippers of the same cloth,

but, even in this easy deshabill, held his sheathed rapier in his

hand, a precaution which he adopted when receiving strangers, rather

in compliance with the earnest remonstrances of his friends and

partisans, than from any personal apprehensions of his own. He

answered with a silent nod the respectful obeisance of the page, and

took one or two turns through the small apartment in silence, fixing

his keen eye on Roland, as if he wished to penetrate into his very

soul. At length he broke silence.

"Your name is, I think, Julian Graeme?"

"Roland Graeme, my lord, not Julian," replied the page.

"Right--I was misled by some trick of my memory--Roland Graeme, from

the Debateable Land.--Roland, thou knowest the duties which belong to

a lady's service?"

"I should know them, my lord," replied Roland, "having been bred so

near the person of my Lady of Avenel; but I trust never more to

practise them, as the Knight hath promised----"

"Be silent, young man," said the Regent, "I am to speak, and you to

hear and obey. It is necessary that, for some space at least, you

shall again enter into the service of a lady, who, in rank, hath no

equal in Scotland; and this service accomplished, I give thee my word

as Knight and Prince, that it shall open to you a course of ambition,

such as may well gratify the aspiring wishes of one whom circumstances

entitle to entertain much higher views than thou. I will take thee

into my household and near to my person, or, at your own choice, I

will give you the command of a foot-company--either is a preferment

which the proudest laird in the land might be glad to ensure for a

second son."

"May I presume to ask, my lord," said Roland, observing the Earl

paused for a reply, "to whom my poor services are in the first place

destined?"

"You will be told hereafter," said the Regent; and then, as if

overcoming some internal reluctance to speak farther himself, he

added, "or why should I not myself tell you, that you are about to

enter into the service of a most illustrious--most unhappy lady--

into the service of Mary of Scotland."

"Of the Queen, my lord!" said the page, unable to suppress his

surprise.

"Of her who was the Queen!" said Murray, with a singular mixture of

displeasure and embarrassment in his tone of voice. "You must be

aware, young man, that her son reigns in her stead."

He sighed from an emotion, partly natural, perhaps, and partly

assumed.

"And am I to attend upon her Grace in her place of imprisonment, my

lord?" again demanded the page, with a straightforward and hardy

simplicity, which somewhat disconcerted the sage and powerful

statesman.

"She is not imprisoned," answered Murray, angrily; "God forbid she

should--she is only sequestered from state affairs, and from the

business of the public, until the world be so effectually settled,

that she may enjoy her natural and uncontrolled freedom, without her

royal disposition being exposed to the practices of wicked and

designing men. It is for this purpose," he added, "that while she is

to be furnished, as right is, with such attendance as may befit her

present secluded state, it becomes necessary that those placed around

her, are persons on whose prudence I can have reliance. You see,

therefore, you are at once called on to discharge an office most

honourable in itself, and so to discharge it that you may make a

friend of the Regent of Scotland. Thou art, I have been told, a

singularly apprehensive youth; and I perceive by thy look, that thou

dost already understand what I would say on this matter. In this

schedule your particular points of duty are set down at length--but

the sum required of you is fidelity--I mean fidelity to myself and

to the state. You are, therefore, to watch every attempt which is

made, or inclination displayed, to open any communication with any of

the lords who have become banders in the west--with Hamilton,

Seyton, with Fleming, or the like. It is true that my gracious sister,

reflecting upon the ill chances that have happened to the state of

this poor kingdom, from evil counsellors who have abused her royal

nature in time past, hath determined to sequestrate herself from state

affairs in future. But it is our duty, as acting for and in the name

of our infant nephew, to guard against the evils which may arise from

any mutation or vacillation in her royal resolutions. Wherefore, it

will be thy duty to watch, and report to our lady mother, whose guest

our sister is for the present, whatever may infer a disposition to

withdraw her person from the place of security in which she is lodged,

or to open communication with those without. If, however, your

observation should detect any thing of weight, and which may exceed

mere suspicion, fail not to send notice by an especial messenger to me

directly, and this ring shall be thy warrant to order horse and men on

such service.--And now begone. If there be half the wit in thy head

that there is apprehension in thy look, thou fully comprehendest all

that I would say--Serve me faithfully, and sure as I am belted earl,

thy reward shall be great."

Roland Graeme made an obeisance, and was about to depart.

The Earl signed to him to remain. "I have trusted thee deeply," he

said, "young man, for thou art the only one of her suite who has been

sent to her by my own recommendation. Her gentlewomen are of her own

nomination--it were too hard to have barred her that privilege, though

some there were who reckoned it inconsistent with sure policy. Thou

art young and handsome. Mingle in their follies, and see they cover

not deeper designs under the appearance of female levity--if they do

mine, do thou countermine. For the rest, bear all decorum and respect

to the person of thy mistress--she is a princess, though a most

unhappy one, and hath been a queen! though now, alas! no longer such!

Pay, therefore, to her all honour and respect, consistent with thy

fidelity to the King and me--and now, farewell.--Yet stay--you travel

with Lord Lindesay, a man of the old world, rough and honest, though

untaught; see that thou offend him not, for he is not patient of

raillery, and thou, I have heard, art a crack-halter." This he said

with a smile, then added, "I could have wished the Lord Lindesay's

mission had been intrusted to some other and more gentle noble."

"And wherefore should you wish that, my lord?" said Morton, who even

then entered the apartment; "the council have decided for the

best--we have had but too many proofs of this lady's stubbornness of

mind, and the oak that resists the sharp steel axe, must be riven with

the rugged iron wedge.--And this is to be her page?--My Lord Regent

hath doubtless instructed you, young man, how you shall guide yourself

in these matters; I will add but a little hint on my part. You are

going to the castle of a Douglas, where treachery never thrives--the

first moment of suspicion will be the last of your life. My kinsman,

William Douglas, understands no raillery, and if he once have cause to

think you false, you will waver in the wind from the castle

battlements ere the sun set upon his anger.--And is the lady to have

an almoner withal?"

"Occasionally, Douglas," said the Regent; "it were hard to deny the

spiritual consolation which she thinks essential to her salvation."

"You are ever too soft hearted, my lord--What! a false priest to

communicate her lamentations, not only to our unfriends in Scotland,

but to the Guises, to Rome, to Spain, and I know not where!"

"Fear not," said the Regent, "we will take such order that no

treachery shall happen."

"Look to it then." said Morton; "you know my mind respecting the

wench you have consented she shall receive as a waiting-woman--one of

a family, which, of all others, has ever been devoted to her, and

inimical to us. Had we not been wary, she would have been purveyed of

a page as much to her purpose as her waiting-damsel. I hear a rumour

that an old mad Romish pilgrimer, who passes for at least half a saint

among them, was employed to find a fit subject."

"We have escaped that danger at least," said Murray, "and converted it

into a point of advantage, by sending this boy of Glendinning's--and

for her waiting-damsel, you cannot grudge her one poor maiden instead

of her four noble Marys and all their silken train?"

"I care not so much for the waiting-maiden," said Morton, "but I

cannot brook the almoner--I think priests of all persuasions are much

like each other--Here is John Knox, who made such a noble puller-down,

is ambitious of becoming a setter-up, and a founder of schools and

colleges out of the Abbey lands, and bishops' rents, and other spoils

of Rome, which the nobility of Scotland have won with their sword and

bow, and with which he would endow new hives to sing the old drone."

"John is a man of God," said the Regent, "and his scheme is a devout

imagination."

The sedate smile with which this was spoken, left it impossible to

conjecture whether the words were meant in approbation, or in

derision, of the plan of the Scottish Reformer. Turning then to Roland

Graeme, as if he thought he had been long enough a witness of this

conversation, he bade him get him presently to horse, since my Lord of

Lindesay was already mounted. The page made his reverence, and left

the apartment.

Guided by Michael Wing-the-wind, he found his horse ready saddled and

prepared for the journey, in front of the palace porch, where hovered

about a score of men-at-arms, whose leader showed no small symptoms of

surly impatience.

"Is this the jackanape page for whom we have waited thus long?" said

he to Wing-the-wind.--"And my Lord Ruthven will reach the castle long

before us."

Michael assented, and added, that the boy had been detained by the

Regent to receive some parting instructions. The leader made an

inarticulate sound in his throat, expressive of sullen acquiescence,

and calling to one of his domestic attendants, "Edward," said he,

"take the gallant into your charge, and let him speak with no one

else."

He then addressed, by the title of Sir Robert, an elderly and

respectable-looking gentleman, the only one of the party who seemed

above the rank of a retainer or domestic, and observed, that they must

get to horse with all speed.

During this discourse, and while they were riding slowly along the

street of the suburb, Roland had time to examine more accurately the

looks and figure of the Baron, who was at their head.

Lord Lindesay of the Byres was rather touched than stricken with

years. His upright stature and strong limbs, still showed him fully

equal to all the exertions and fatigues of war. His thick eyebrows,

now partially grizzled, lowered over large eyes full of dark fire,

which seemed yet darker from the uncommon depth at which they were set

in his head. His features, naturally strong and harsh, had their

sternness exaggerated by one or two scars received in battle. These

features, naturally calculated to express the harsher passions, were

shaded by an open steel cap, with a projecting front, but having no

visor, over the gorget of which fell the black and grizzled beard of

the grim old Baron, and totally hid the lower part of his face. The

rest of his dress was a loose buff-coat, which had once been lined

with silk and adorned with embroidery, but which seemed much stained

with travel, and damaged with cuts, received probably in battle. It

covered a corslet, which had once been of polished steel, fairly

gilded, but was now somewhat injured with rust. A sword of antique

make and uncommon size, framed to be wielded with both hands, a kind

of weapon which was then beginning to go out of use, hung from his

neck in a baldrick, and was so disposed as to traverse his whole

person, the huge hilt appearing over his left shoulder, and the point

reaching well-nigh to the right heel, and jarring against his spur as

he walked. This unwieldy weapon could only be unsheathed by pulling

the handle over the left shoulder--for no human arm was long enough

to draw it in the usual manner. The whole equipment was that of a rude

warrior, negligent of his exterior even to misanthropical sullenness;

and the short, harsh, haughty tone, which he used towards his

attendants, belonged to the same unpolished character.

The personage who rode with Lord Lindesay, at the head of the party,

was an absolute contrast to him, in manner, form, and features. His

thin and silky hair was already white, though he seemed not above

forty-five or fifty years old. His tone of voice was soft and

insinuating--his form thin, spare, and bent by an habitual stoop--

his pale cheek was expressive of shrewdness and intelligence--his

eye was quick though placid, and his whole demeanour mild and

conciliatory. He rode an ambling nag, such as were used by ladies,

clergymen, or others of peaceful professions--wore a riding habit of

black velvet, with a cap and feather of the same hue, fastened up by a

golden medal--and for show, and as a mark of rank rather than for

use, carried a walking-sword, (as the short light rapiers were

called,) without any other arms, offensive or defensive.

The party had now quitted the town, and proceeded, at a steady trot,

towards the west.--As they prosecuted their journey, Roland Graeme

would gladly have learned something of its purpose and tendency, but

the countenance of the personage next to whom he had been placed in

the train, discouraged all approach to familiarity. The Baron himself

did not look more grim and inaccessible than his feudal retainer,

whose grisly beard fell over his mouth like the portcullis before the

gate of a castle, as if for the purpose of preventing the escape of

any word, of which absolute necessity did not demand the utterance.

The rest of the train seemed under the same taciturn influence, and

journeyed on without a word being exchanged amongst them--more like a

troop of Carthusian friars than a party of military retainers. Roland

Graeme was surprised at this extremity of discipline; for even in the

household of the Knight of Avenel, though somewhat distinguished for

the accuracy with which decorum was enforced, a journey was a period

of license, during which jest and song, and every thing within the

limits of becoming mirth and pastime were freely permitted. This

unusual silence was, however, so far acceptable, that it gave him time

to bring any shadow of judgment which he possessed to council on his

own situation and prospects, which would have appeared to any

reasonable person in the highest degree dangerous and perplexing.

It was quite evident that he had, through various circumstances not

under his own control, formed contradictory connexions with both the

contending factions, by whose strife the kingdom was distracted,

without being properly an adherent of either. It seemed also clear,

that the same situation in the household of the deposed Queen, to

which he was now promoted by the influence of the Regent, had been

destined to him by his enthusiastic grandmother, Magdalen Graeme; for

on this subject, the words which Morton had dropped had been a ray of

light; yet it was no less clear that these two persons, the one the

declared enemy, the other the enthusiastic votary, of the Catholic

religion,--the one at the head of the King's new government, the

other, who regarded that government as a criminal usurpation--must

have required and expected very different services from the individual

whom they had thus united in recommending. It required very little

reflection to foresee that these contradictory claims on his services

might speedily place him in a situation where his honour as well as

his life might be endangered. But it was not in Roland Graeme's

nature to anticipate evil before it came, or to prepare to combat

difficulties before they arrived. "I will see this beautiful and

unfortunate Mary Stewart," said he, "of whom we have heard so much,

and then there will be time enough to determine whether I will be

kingsman or queensman. None of them can say I have given word or

promise to either of their factions; for they have led me up and down

like a blind Billy, without giving me any light into what I was to do.

But it was lucky that grim Douglas came into the Regent's closet this

morning, otherwise I had never got free of him without plighting my

troth to do all the Earl would have me, which seemed, after all, but

foul play to the poor imprisoned lady, to place her page as an espial

on her."

Skipping thus lightly over a matter of such consequence, the thoughts

of the hare-brained boy went a wool-gathering after more agreeable

topics. Now he admired the Gothic towers of Barnbougle, rising from

the seabeaten rock, and overlooking one of the most glorious

landscapes in Scotland--and now he began to consider what notable

sport for the hounds and the hawks must be afforded by the variegated

ground over which they travelled--and now he compared the steady and

dull trot at which they were then prosecuting their journey, with the

delight of sweeping over hill and dale in pursuit of his favourite

sports. As, under the influence of these joyous recollections, he gave

his horse the spur, and made him execute a gambade, he instantly

incurred the censure of his grave neighbour, who hinted to him to keep

the pace, and move quietly and in order, unless he wished such notice

to be taken of his eccentric movements as was likely to be very

displeasing to him.

The rebuke and the restraint under which the youth now found himself,

brought back to his recollection his late good-humoured and

accommodating associate and guide, Adam Woodcock; and from that topic

his imagination made a short flight to Avenel Castle, to the quiet and

unconfined life of its inhabitants, the goodness of his early

protectress, not forgetting the denizens of its stables, kennels, and

hawk-mews. In a brief space, all these subjects of meditation gave way

to the resemblance of that riddle of womankind, Catherine Seyton, who

appeared before the eye of his mind--now in her female form, now in

her male attire--now in both at once--like some strange dream, which

presents to us the same individual under two different characters at

the same instant. Her mysterious present also recurred to his

recollection--the sword which he now wore at his side, and which he

was not to draw save by command of his legitimate Sovereign! But the

key of this mystery he judged he was likely to find in the issue of

his present journey.

With such thoughts passing through his mind, Roland Graeme accompanied

the party of Lord Lindesay to the Queen's-Ferry, which they passed in

vessels that lay in readiness for them. They encountered no adventure

whatever in their passage, excepting one horse being lamed in getting

into the boat, an accident very common on such occasions, until a few

years ago, when the ferry was completely regulated. What was more

peculiarly characteristic of the olden age, was the discharge of a

culverin at the party from the battlements of the old castle of

Rosythe, on the north side of the Ferry, the lord of which happened to

have some public or private quarrel with the Lord Lindesay, and took

this mode of expressing his resentment. The insult, however, as it

was harmless, remained unnoticed and unavenged, nor did any thing else

occur worth notice until the band had come where Lochleven spread its

magnificent sheet of waters to the beams of a bright summer's sun.

The ancient castle, which occupies an island nearly in the centre of

the lake, recalled to the page that of Avenel, in which he had been

nurtured. But the lake was much larger, and adorned with several

islets besides that on which the fortress was situated; and instead of

being embosomed in hills like that of Avenel, had upon the southern

side only a splendid mountainous screen, being the descent of one of

the Lomond hills, and on the other was surrounded by the extensive and

fertile plain of Kinross. Roland Graeme looked with some degree of

dismay on the water-girdled fortress, which then, as now, consisted

only of one large donjon-keep, surrounded with a court-yard, with two

round flanking-towers at the angles, which contained within its

circuit some other buildings of inferior importance. A few old trees,

clustered together near the castle, gave some relief to the air of

desolate seclusion; but yet the page, while he gazed upon a building

so sequestrated, could not but feel for the situation of a captive

Princess doomed to dwell there, as well as for his own. "I must have

been born," he thought, "under the star that presides over ladies and

lakes of water, for I cannot by any means escape from the service of

the one, or from dwelling in the other. But if they allow me not the

fair freedom of my sport and exercise, they shall find it as hard to

confine a wild-drake, as a youth who can swim like one."

The band had now reached the edge of the water, and one of the party

advancing displayed Lord Lindesay's pennon, waving it repeatedly to

and fro, while that Baron himself blew a clamorous blast on his bugle.

A banner was presently displayed from the roof of the castle in reply

to these signals, and one or two figures were seen busied as if

unmooring a boat which lay close to the islet.

"It will be some time ere they can reach us with the boat," said the

companion of Lord Lindesay; "should we not do well to proceed to the

town, and array ourselves in some better order, ere we appear

before----"

"You may do as you list, Sir Robert," replied Lindesay, "I have

neither time nor temper to waste on such vanities. She has cost me

many a hard ride, and must not now take offence at the threadbare

cloak and soiled doublet that I am arrayed in. It is the livery to

which she has brought all Scotland."

"Do not speak so harshly," said Sir Robert; "if she hath done wrong,

she hath dearly abied it; and in losing all real power, one would not

deprive her of the little external homage due at once to a lady and a

princess."

"I say to you once more, Sir Robert Melville," replied Lindesay, "do

as you will--for me, I am now too old to dink myself as a gallant to

grace the bower of dames."

"The bower of dames, my lord!" said Melville, looking at the rude old

tower--"is it yon dark and grated castle, the prison of a captive

Queen, to which you give so gay a name?"

"Name it as you list," replied Lindesay; "had the Regent desired to

send an envoy capable to speak to a captive Queen, there are many

gallants in his court who would have courted the occasion to make

speeches out of Amadis of Gaul, or the Mirror of Knighthood. But when

he sent blunt old Lindesay, he knew he would speak to a misguided

woman, as her former misdoings and her present state render necessary.

I sought not this employment--it has been thrust upon me; and I will

not cumber myself with more form in the discharge of it, than needs

must be tacked to such an occupation."

So saying, Lord Lindesay threw himself from horseback, and wrapping

his riding-cloak around him, lay down at lazy length upon the sward,

to await the arrival of the boat, which was now seen rowing from the

castle towards the shore. Sir Robert Melville, who had also

dismounted, walked at short turns to and fro upon the bank, his arms

crossed on his breast, often looking to the castle, and displaying in

his countenance a mixture of sorrow and of anxiety. The rest of the

party sate like statues on horseback, without moving so much as the

points of their lances, which they held upright in the air.

As soon as the boat approached a rude quay or landing-place, near to

which they had stationed themselves, Lord Lindesay started up from his

recumbent posture, and asked the person who steered, why he had not

brought a larger boat with him to transport his retinue.

"So please you," replied the boatman, "because it is the order of our

lady, that we bring not to the castle more than four persons."

"Thy lady is a wise woman," said Lindesay, "to suspect me of

treachery!--Or, had I intended it, what was to hinder us from throwing

you and your comrades into the lake, and filling the boat with my own

fellows?"

The steersman, on hearing this, made a hasty signal to his men to back

their oars, and hold off from the shore which they were approaching.

"Why, thou ass," said Lindesay, "thou didst not think that I meant thy

fool's head serious harm? Hark thee, friend--with fewer than three

servants I will go no whither--Sir Robert Melville will require at

least the attendance of one domestic; and it will be at your peril and

your lady's to refuse us admission, come hither as we are, on matters

of great national concern."

The steersman answered with firmness, but with great civility of

expression, that his orders were positive to bring no more than four

into the island, but he offered to row back to obtain a revisal of his

orders.

"Do so, my friend," said Sir Robert Melville, after he had in vain

endeavoured to persuade his stubborn companion to consent to a

temporary abatement of his train, "row back to the castle, sith it

will be no better, and obtain thy lady's orders to transport the Lord

Lindesay, myself, and our retinue hither."

"And hearken," said Lord Lindesay, "take with you this page, who comes

as an attendant on your lady's guest.--Dismount, sirrah," said he,

addressing Roland, "and embark with them in that boat."

"And what is to become of my horse?" said Graeme; "I am answerable

for him to my master."

"I will relieve you of the charge," said Lindesay; "thou wilt have

little enough to do with horse, saddle, or bridle, for ten years to

come--Thou mayst take the halter an thou wilt--it may stand thee in a

turn."

"If I thought so," said Roland--but he was interrupted by Sir Robert

Melville, who said to him good-humouredly, "Dispute it not, young

friend--resistance can do no good, but may well run thee into danger."

Roland Graeme felt the justice of what he said, and, though neither

delighted with the matter or manner of Lindesay's address, deemed it

best to submit to necessity, and to embark without farther

remonstrance. The men plied their oars. The quay, with the party of

horse stationed near it, receded from the page's eyes--the castle and

the islet seemed to draw near in the same proportion, and in a brief

space he landed under the shadow of a huge old tree which overhung the

landing place. The steersman and Graeme leaped ashore; the boatmen

remained lying on their oars ready for farther service.