The Abbot

Chapter 11

It was undoubtedly lucky for Catherine, as well as for Roland, that

the latter did not share in the excessive mirth of the former. For,

seated as she was, with her back to the casement, Catherine could

easily escape the observation of the two matrons during the course of

their promenade; whereas Graeme was so placed, with his side to the

window, that his mirth, had he shared that of his companion, would

have been instantly visible, and could not have failed to give offence

to the personages in question. He sate, however, with some impatience,

until Catherine had exhausted either her power or her desire of

laughing, and was returning with good grace to the exercise of her

needle, and then he observed with some dryness, that "there seemed no

great occasion to recommend to them to improve their acquaintance, as

it seemed, that they were already tolerably familiar."

Catherine had an extreme desire to set off upon a fresh score, but she

repressed it strongly, and fixing her eyes on her work, replied by

asking his pardon, and promising to avoid future offence.

Roland had sense enough to feel, that an air of offended dignity was

very much misplaced, and that it was with a very different bearing he

ought to meet the deep blue eyes which had borne such a hearty burden

in the laughing scene. He tried, therefore, to extricate himself as

well as he could from his blunder, by assuming a tone of correspondent

gaiety, and requesting to know of the nymph, "how it was her pleasure

that they should proceed in improving the acquaintance which had

commenced so merrily."

"That," she said, "you must yourself discover; perhaps I have gone a

step too far in opening our interview."

"Suppose," said Roland Graeme, "we should begin as in a tale-book, by

asking each other's names and histories?"

"It is right well imagined," said Catherine, "and shows an argute

judgment. Do you begin, and I will listen, and only put in a question

or two at the dark parts of the story. Come, unfold then your name and

history, my new acquaintance."

"I am called Roland Graeme, and that tall woman is my grandmother."

"And your tutoress?--good. Who are your parents?"

"They are both dead," replied Roland.

"Ay, but who were they? you _had_ parents, I presume?"

"I suppose so," said Roland, "but I have never been able to learn much

of their history. My father was a Scottish knight, who died gallantly

in his stirrups--my mother was a Graeme of Hathergill, in the

Debateable Land--most of her family were killed when the Debateable

country was burned by Lord Maxwell and Herries of Caerlaverock."

"Is it long ago?" said the damsel.

"Before I was born," answered the page.

"That must be a great while since," said she, shaking her head

gravely; "look you, I cannot weep for them."

"It needs not," said the youth, "they fell with honour."

"So much for your lineage, fair sir," replied his companion, "of whom

I like the living specimen (a glance at the casement) far less than

those that are dead. Your much honoured grandmother looks as if she

could make one weep in sad earnest. And now, fair sir, for your own

person--if you tell not the tale faster, it will be cut short in the

middle; Mother Bridget pauses longer and longer every time she passes

the window, and with her there is as little mirth as in the grave of

your ancestors."

"My tale is soon told--I was introduced into the castle of Avenel to

be page to the lady of the mansion."

"She is a strict Huguenot, is she not?" said the maiden.

"As strict as Calvin himself. But my grandmother can play the puritan

when it suits her purpose, and she had some plan of her own, for

quartering me in the Castle--it would have failed, however, after we

had remained several weeks at the hamlet, but for an unexpected master

of ceremonies--"

"And who was that?" said the girl.

"A large black dog, Wolf by name, who brought me into the castle one

day in his mouth, like a hurt wild-duck, and presented me to the

lady."

"A most respectable introduction, truly," said Catherine; "and what

might you learn at this same castle? I love dearly to know what my

acquaintances can do at need."

"To fly a hawk, hollow to a hound, back a horse, and wield lance, bow,

and brand."

"And to boast of all this when you have learned it," said Catherine,

"which, in France at least, is the surest accomplishment of a page.

But proceed, fair sir; how came your Huguenot lord and your no less

Huguenot lady to receive and keep in the family so perilous a person

as a Catholic page?"

"Because they knew not that part of my history, which from infancy I

have been taught to keep secret--and because my grand-dame's former

zealous attendance on their heretic chaplain, had laid all this

suspicion to sleep, most fair Callipolis," said the page; and in so

saying, he edged his chair towards the seat of the fair querist.

"Nay, but keep your distance, most gallant sir," answered the

blue-eyed maiden, "for, unless I greatly mistake, these reverend

ladies will soon interrupt our amicable conference, if the

acquaintance they recommend shall seem to proceed beyond a certain

point--so, fair sir, be pleased to abide by your station, and reply to

my questions.--By what achievements did you prove the qualities of a

page, which you had thus happily acquired?"

Roland, who began to enter into the tone and spirit of the damsel's

conversation, replied to her with becoming spirit.

"In no feat, fair gentlewoman, was I found inexpert, wherein there was

mischief implied. I shot swans, hunted cats, frightened serving-women,

chased the deer, and robbed the orchard. I say nothing of tormenting

the chaplain in various ways, for that was my duty as a good

Catholic."

"Now, as I am a gentlewoman," said Catherine, "I think these heretics

have done Catholic penance in entertaining so all-accomplished a

serving-man! And what, fair sir, might have been the unhappy event

which deprived them of an inmate altogether so estimable?"

"Truly, fair gentlewoman," answered the youth, "your real proverb says

that the longest lane will have a turning, and mine was more--it was,

in fine, a turning off."

"Good!" said the merry young maiden, "it is an apt play on the word

--and what occasion was taken for so important a catastrophe?--Nay,

start not for my learning, I do know the schools--in plain phrase, why

were you sent from service?"

The page shrugged his shoulders while he replied,--"A short tale is

soon told--and a short horse soon curried. I made the falconer's boy

taste of my switch--the falconer threatened to make me brook his

cudgel--he is a kindly clown as well as a stout, and I would rather

have been cudgelled by him than any man in Christendom to choose--but

I knew not his qualities at that time--so I threatened to make him

brook the stab, and my Lady made me brook the 'Begone;' so adieu to

the page's office and the fair Castle of Avenel--I had not travelled

far before I met my venerable parent--And so tell your tale, fair

gentlewoman, for mine is done."

"A happy grandmother," said the maiden, "who had the luck to find the

stray page just when his mistress had slipped his leash, and a most

lucky page that has jumped at once from a page to an old lady's

gentleman-usher!"

"All this is nothing of your history," answered Roland Graeme, began to

be much interested in the congenial vivacity of this facetious young

gentlewoman,--" tale for tale is fellow-traveller's justice."

"Wait till we are fellow-travellers, then," replied Catherine.

"Nay, you escape me not so," said the page; "if you deal not justly by

me, I will call out to Dame Bridget, or whatever your dame be called,

and proclaim you for a cheat."

"You shall not need," answered the maiden--"my history is the

counterpart of your own; the same words might almost serve, change but

dress and name. I am called Catherine Seyton, and I also am an

orphan."

"Have your parents been long dead?"

"This is the only question," said she, throwing down her fine eyes

with a sudden expression of sorrow, "that is the only question I

cannot laugh at."

"And Dame Bridget is your grandmother?"

The sudden cloud passed away like that which crosses for an instant

the summer sun, and she answered with her usual lively expression,

"Worse by twenty degrees--Dame Bridget is my maiden aunt."

"Over gods forbode!" said Roland--"Alas! that you have such a tale to

tell! and what horror comes next?"

"Your own history, exactly. I was taken upon trial for service--"

"And turned off for pinching the duenna, or affronting my lady's

waiting-woman?"

"Nay, our history varies there," said the damsel--"Our mistress broke

up house, or had her house broke up, which is the same thing, and I am

a free woman of the forest."

"And I am as glad of it as if any one had lined my doublet with cloth

of gold," said the youth.

"I thank you for your mirth," said she, "but the matter is not likely

to concern you."

"Nay, but go on," said the page, "for you will be presently

interrupted; the two good dames have been soaring yonder on the

balcony, like two old hooded crows, and their croak grows hoarser as

night comes on; they will wing to roost presently.--This mistress of

yours, fair gentlewoman, who was she, in God's name?"

"Oh, she has a fair name in the world," replied Catherine Seyton. "Few

ladies kept a fairer house, or held more gentlewomen in her household;

my aunt Bridget was one of her housekeepers. We never saw our

mistress's blessed face, to be sure, but we heard enough of her; were

up early and down late, and were kept to long prayers and light food."

"Out upon the penurious old beldam!" said the page.

"For Heaven's sake, blaspheme not!" said the girl, with an expression

of fear.--"God pardon us both! I meant no harm. I speak of our blessed

Saint Catherine of Sienna!--may God forgive me that I spoke so

lightly, and made you do a great sin and a great blasphemy. This was

her nunnery, in which there were twelve nuns and an abbess. My aunt

was the abbess, till the heretics turned all adrift."

"And where are your companions?" asked the youth.

"With the last year's snow," answered the maiden; "east, north, south,

and west--some to France, some to Flanders, some, I fear, into the

world and its pleasures. We have got permission to remain, or rather

our remaining has been connived at, for my aunt has great relations

among the Kerrs, and they have threatened a death-feud if any one

touches us; and bow and spear are the best warrant in these times."

"Nay, then, you sit under a sure shadow," said the youth; "and I

suppose you wept yourself blind when Saint Catherine broke up

housekeeping before you had taken arles [Footnote: _Anglice_--

Earnest-money] in her service?"

"Hush! for Heaven's sake," said the damsel, crossing herself; "no more

of that! but I have not quite cried my eyes out," said she, turning

them upon him, and instantly again bending them upon her work. It was

one of those glances which would require the threefold plate of brass

around the heart, more than it is needed by the mariners, to whom

Horace recommends it. Our youthful page had no defence whatever to

offer.

"What say you, Catherine," he said, "if we two, thus strangely turned

out of service at the same time, should give our two most venerable

duennas the torch to hold, while we walk a merry measure with each

other over the floor of this weary world?"

"A goodly proposal, truly," said Catherine, "and worthy the mad-cap

brain of a discarded page!--And what shifts does your worship propose

we should live by?--by singing ballads, cutting purses, or swaggering

on the highway? for there, I think, you would find your most

productive exchequer."

"Choose, you proud peat!" said the page, drawing off in huge disdain

at the calm and unembarrassed ridicule with which his wild proposal

was received. And as he spoke the words, the casement was again

darkened by the forms of the matrons--it opened, and admitted Magdalen

Graeme and the Mother Abbess, so we must now style her, into the

apartment.