Lost in these meditations, he kept his gaze fixed on the subject of
them; and in every casual motion, discovered, or thought he
discovered, something which reminded him still more strongly of
Catherine Seyton. It occurred to him more than once, indeed, that he
might be deceiving himself by exaggerating some casual likeness into
absolute identity. But then the meeting at the hostelrie of Saint
Michael's returned to his mind, and it seemed in the highest degree
improbable, that, under such various circumstances, mere imagination
should twice have found opportunity to play him the selfsame trick.
This time, however, he determined to have his doubts resolved, and for
this purpose he sate during the rest of the play like a greyhound in
the slip, ready to spring upon the hare the instant that she was
started. The damsel, whom he watched attentively lest she should
escape in the crowd when the spectacle was closed, sate as if
perfectly unconscious that she was observed. But the worthy Doctor
marked the direction of his eyes, and magnanimously suppressed his own
inclination to become the Theseus to this Hippolyta, in deference to
the rights of hospitality, which enjoined him to forbear interference
with the pleasurable pursuits of his young friend. He passed one or
two formal gibes upon the fixed attention which the page paid to the
unknown, and upon his own jealousy; adding, however, that if both were
to be presented to the patient at once, he had little doubt she would
think the younger man the sounder prescription. "I fear me," he
added, "we shall have no news of the knave Auchtermuchty for some
time, since the vermin whom I sent after him seem to have proved
corbie-messengers. So you have an hour or two on your hands, Master
Page; and as the minstrels are beginning to strike up, now the play is
ended, why, an you incline for a dance, yonder is the green, and there
sits your partner--I trust you will hold me perfect in my diagnostics,
since I see with half an eye what disease you are sick of, and have
administered a pleasing remedy.

  "_Discernit sapiens res_ (as Chambers hath it) _quas
    confundit asellus_."

The page hardly heard the end of the learned adage, or the charge
which the Chamberlain gave him to be within reach, in case of the
wains arriving suddenly, and sooner than expected--so eager he was at
once to shake himself free of his learned associate, and to satisfy
his curiosity regarding the unknown damsel. Yet in the haste with
which he made towards her he found time to reflect, that, in order to
secure an opportunity of conversing with her in private, he must not
alarm her at first accosting her. He therefore composed his manner
and gait, and advancing with becoming self-confidence before three or
four country-fellows who were intent on the same design, but knew not
so well how to put their request into shape, he acquainted her that
he, as the deputy of the venerable Chamberlain, requested the honour
of her hand as a partner.

"The venerable Chamberlain," said the damsel frankly, reaching the
page her hand, "does very well to exercise this part of his privilege
by deputy; and I suppose the laws of the revels leave me no choice but
to accept of his faithful delegate."

"Provided, fair damsel," said the page, "his choice of a delegate is
not altogether distasteful to you."

"Of that, fair sir," replied the maiden, "I will tell you more when we
have danced the first measure."

Catherine Seyton had admirable skill in gestic lore, and was sometimes
called on to dance for the amusement of her royal mistress. Roland
Graeme had often been a spectator of her skill, and sometimes, at the
Queen's command, Catherine's partner on such occasions. He was,
therefore, perfectly acquainted with Catherine's mode of dancing; and
observed that his present partner, in grace, in agility, in quickness
of ear, and precision of execution, exactly resembled her, save that
the Scottish jig, which he now danced with her, required a more
violent and rapid motion, and more rustic agility, than the stately
pavens, lavoltas, and courantoes, which he had seen her execute in the
chamber of Queen Mary. The active duties of the dance left him little
time for reflection, and none for conversation; but when their _pas
de deux_ was finished, amidst the acclamations of the villagers,
who had seldom witnessed such an exhibition, he took an opportunity,
when they yielded up the green to another couple, to use the privilege
of a partner and enter into conversation with the mysterious maiden,
whom he still held by the hand.

"Fair partner, may I not crave the name of her who has graced me
thus far?"

"You may," said the maiden; "but it is a question whether I shall
answer you."

"And why?" asked Roland.

"Because nobody gives anything for nothing--and you can tell me
nothing in return which I care to hear."

"Could I not tell you my name and lineage, in exchange for yours?"
returned Roland.

"No!" answered the maiden, "for you know little of either."

"How?" said the page, somewhat angrily.

"Wrath you not for the matter," said the damsel; "I will show you in
an instant that I know more of you than you do of yourself."

"Indeed," answered Graeme; "for whom then do you take me?"

"For the wild falcon," answered she, "whom a dog brought in his mouth
to a certain castle, when he was but an unfledged eyas--for the hawk
whom men dare not fly, lest he should check at game, and pounce on
carrion--whom folk must keep hooded till he has the proper light of
his eyes, and can discover good from evil."

"Well--be it so," replied Roland Graeme; "I guess at a part of your
parable, fair mistress mine--and perhaps I know as much of you as you
do of me, and can well dispense with the information which you are so
niggard in giving."

"Prove that," said the maiden, "and I will give you credit for more
penetration than I judged you to be gifted withal."

"It shall be proved instantly," said Roland Graeme. "The first letter
of your name is S, and the last N."

"Admirable," said his partner, "guess on."

"It pleases you to-day," continued Roland, "to wear the snood and
kirtle, and perhaps you may be seen to-morrow in hat and feather, hose
and doublet."

"In the clout! in the clout! you have hit the very white," said the
damsel, suppressing a great inclination to laugh.

"You can switch men's eyes out of their heads, as well as the heart
out of their bosoms."

These last words were uttered in a low and tender tone, which, to
Roland's great mortification, and somewhat to his displeasure, was so
far from allaying, that it greatly increased, his partner's
disposition to laughter. She could scarce compose herself while she
replied, "If you had thought my hand so formidable," extricating it
from his hold, "you would not have grasped it so hard; but I perceive
you know me so fully, that there is no occasion to show you my face."

"Fair Catherine," said the page, "he were unworthy ever to have seen
you, far less to have dwelt so long in the same service, and under the
same roof with you, who could mistake your air, your gesture, your
step in walking or in dancing, the turn of your neck, the symmetry of
your form--none could be so dull as not to recognize you by so many
proofs; but for me, I could swear even to that tress of hair that
escapes from under your muffler."

"And to the face, of course, which that muffler covers," said the
maiden, removing her veil, and in an instant endeavouring to replace
it. She showed the features of Catherine; but an unusual degree of
petulant impatience inflamed them, when, from some awkwardness in her
management of the muffler, she was unable again to adjust it with that
dexterity which was a principal accomplishment of the coquettes of the
time.

"The fiend rive the rag to tatters!" said the damsel, as the veil
fluttered about her shoulders, with an accent so earnest and decided,
that it made the page start. He looked again at the damsel's face, but
the information which his eyes received, was to the same purport as
before. He assisted her to adjust her muffler, and both were for an
instant silent. The damsel spoke first, for Roland Graeme was
overwhelmed with surprise at the contrarieties which Catherine Seyton
seemed to include in her person and character.

"You are surprised," said the damsel to him, "at what you see and hear
--But the times which make females men, are least of all fitted for
men to become women; yet you yourself are in danger of such a change."

"I in danger of becoming effeminate!" said the page.

"Yes, you, for all the boldness of your reply," said the damsel. "When
you should hold fast your religion, because it is assailed on all
sides by rebels, traitors, and heretics, you let it glide out of your
breast like water grasped in the hand. If you are driven from the
faith of your fathers from fear of a traitor, is not that
womanish?--If you are cajoled by the cunning arguments of a trumpeter
of heresy, or the praises of a puritanic old woman, is not that
womanish?--If you are bribed by the hope of spoil and preferment, is
not that womanish?--And when you wonder at my venting a threat or an
execration, should you not wonder at yourself, who, pretending to a
gentle name and aspiring to knighthood, can be at the same time
cowardly, silly, and self-interested!"

"I would that a man would bring such a charge," said the page; "he
should see, ere his life was a minute older, whether he had cause to
term me coward or no."

"Beware of such big words," answered the maiden; "you said but anon
that I sometimes wear hose and doublet."

"But remain still Catharine Seyton, wear what you list," said the
page, endeavouring again to possess himself of her hand.

"You indeed are pleased to call me so," replied the maiden, evading
his intention, "but I have many other names besides."

"And will you not reply to that," said the page, "by which you are
distinguished beyond every other maiden in Scotland?"

The damsel, unallured by his praises, still kept aloof, and sung with
gaiety a verse from an old ballad,

  "Oh, some do call me Jack, sweet love,
    And some do call me Gill;
  But when I ride to Holyrood,
    My name is Wilful Will."

"Wilful Will" exclaimed the page, impatiently; "say rather Will o' the
Wisp--Jack with the Lantern--for never was such a deceitful or
wandering meteor!"

"If I be such," replied the maiden, "I ask no fools to follow me--If
they do so, it is at their own pleasure, and must be on their own
proper peril."

"Nay, but, dearest Catherine," said Roland Graeme, "be for one instant
serious."

"If you will call me your dearest Catherine, when I have given you so
many names to choose upon," replied the damsel, "I would ask you how,
supposing me for two or three hours of my life escaped from yonder
tower, you have the cruelty to ask me to be serious during the only
merry moments I have seen perhaps for months?"

"Ay, but, fair Catherine, there are moments of deep and true feeling,
which are worth ten thousand years of the liveliest mirth; and such
was that of yesterday, when you so nearly--"

"So nearly what?" demanded the damsel, hastily.

"When you approached your lips so near to the sign you had traced on
my forehead."

"Mother of Heaven!" exclaimed she, in a yet fiercer tone, and with a
more masculine manner than she had yet exhibited,-"Catherine Seyton
approach her lips to a man's brow, and thou that man!--vassal, thou
liest!"

The page stood astonished; but, conceiving he had alarmed the damsel's
delicacy by alluding to the enthusiasm of a moment, and the manner in
which she had expressed it, he endeavoured to falter forth an apology.
His excuses, though he was unable to give them any regular shape, were
accepted by his companion, who had indeed suppressed her indignation
after its first explosion--"Speak no more on't," she said. "And now
let us part; our conversation may attract more notice than is
convenient for either of us."

"Nay, but allow me at least to follow you to some sequestered place."

"You dare not," replied the maiden.

"How," said the youth, "dare not? where is it you dare go, where I
dare not follow?"

"You fear a Will o' the Wisp," said the damsel; "how would you face a
fiery dragon, with an enchantress mounted on its back?"

"Like Sir Eger, Sir Grime, or Sir Greysteil," said the page; "but be
there such toys to be seen here?"

"I go to Mother Nicneven's," answered the maid; "and she is witch
enough to rein the horned devil, with a red silk thread for a bridle,
and a rowan-tree switch for a whip."

"I will follow you," said the page.

"Let it be at some distance," said the maiden.

And wrapping her mantle round her with more success than on her former
attempt, she mingled with the throng, and walked towards the village,
heedfully followed by Roland Graeme at some distance, and under every
precaution which he could use to prevent his purpose from being
observed.




Chapter the Twenty-Eighth.


  Yes, it is he whose eyes look'd on thy childhood,
  And watch'd with trembling hope thy dawn of youth,
  That now, with these same eyeballs dimm'd with age,
  And dimmer yet with tears, sees thy dishonour.
                                OLD PLAY.

At the entrance of the principal, or indeed, so to speak, the only
street in Kinross, the damsel, whose steps were pursued by Roland
Graeme, cast a glance behind her, as if to be certain he had not lost
trace of her and then plunged down a very narrow lane which ran
betwixt two rows of poor and ruinous cottages. She paused for a second
at the door of one of those miserable tenements, again cast her eye up
the lane towards Roland, then lifted the latch, opened the door, and
disappeared from his view.

With whatever haste the page followed her example, the difficulty
which he found in discovering the trick of the latch, which did not
work quite in the usual manner, and in pushing open the door, which
did not yield to his first effort, delayed for a minute or two his
entrance into the cottage. A dark and smoky passage led, as usual,
betwixt the exterior wall of the house, and the _hallan_, or clay
wall, which served as a partition betwixt it and the interior. At the
end of this passage, and through the partition, was a door leading
into the _ben_, or inner chamber of the cottage, and when Roland
Graeme's hand was upon the latch of this door, a female voice
pronounced, "_Benedictus qui veniat in nomine Domini, damnandus qui
in nomine inimici._" On entering the apartment, he perceived the
figure which the chamberlain had pointed out to him as Mother
Nicneven, seated beside the lowly hearth. But there was no other
person in the room. Roland Graeme gazed around in surprise at the
disappearance of Catherine Seyton, without paying much regard to the
supposed sorceress, until she attracted and riveted his regard by the
tone in which she asked him--"What seekest thou here?"

"I seek," said the page, with much embarrassment; "I seek--"

But his answer was cut short, when the old woman, drawing her huge
gray eyebrows sternly together, with a frown which knitted her brow
into a thousand wrinkles, arose, and erecting herself up to her full
natural size, tore the kerchief from her head, and seizing Roland by
the arm, made two strides across the floor of the apartment to a small
window through which the light fell full on her face, and showed the
astonished youth the countenance of Magdalen Graeme.--"Yes, Roland,"
she said, "thine eyes deceive thee not; they show thee truly the
features of her whom thou hast thyself deceived, whose wine thou hast
turned into gall, her bread of joyfulness into bitter poison, her hope
into the blackest despair--it is she who now demands of thee, what
seekest thou here?--She whose heaviest sin towards Heaven hath been,
that she loved thee even better than the weal of the whole church, and
could not without reluctance surrender thee even in the cause of
God--she now asks you, what seekest thou here?"

While she spoke, she kept her broad black eye riveted on the youth's
face, with the expression with which the eagle regards his prey ere he
tears it to pieces. Roland felt himself at the moment incapable either
of reply or evasion. This extraordinary enthusiast had preserved over
him in some measure the ascendency which she had acquired during his
childhood; and, besides, he knew the violence of her passions and her
impatience of contradiction, and was sensible that almost any reply
which he could make, was likely to throw her into an ecstasy of rage.
He was therefore silent; and Magdalen Graeme proceeded with increasing
enthusiasm in her apostrophe--"Once more, what seek'st thou, false
boy?--seek'st thou the honour thou hast renounced, the faith thou hast
abandoned, the hopes thou hast destroyed?--Or didst thou seek me, the
sole protectress of thy youth, the only parent whom thou hast known,
that thou mayest trample on my gray hairs, even as thou hast already
trampled on the best wishes of my heart?"

"Pardon me, mother," said Roland Graeme; "but, in truth and reason, I
deserve not your blame. I have been treated amongst you--even by
yourself, my revered parent, as well as by others--as one who lacked
the common attributes of free-will and human reason, or was at least
deemed unfit to exercise them. A land of enchantment have I been led
into, and spells have been cast around me--every one has met me in
disguise--every one has spoken to me in parables--I have been like one
who walks in a weary and bewildering dream; and now you blame me that
I have not the sense, and judgment, and steadiness of a waking, and a
disenchanted, and a reasonable man, who knows what he is doing, and
wherefore he does it. If one must walk with masks and spectres, who
waft themselves from place to place as it were in vision rather than
reality, it might shake the soundest faith and turn the wisest head. I
sought, since I must needs avow my folly, the same Catherine Seyton
with whom you made me first acquainted, and whom I most strangely find
in this village of Kinross, gayest among the revellers, when I had but
just left her in the well-guarded castle of Lochleven, the sad
attendant of an imprisoned Queen-I sought her, and in her place I find
you, my mother, more strangely disguised than even she is."

"And what hadst thou to do with Catherine Seyton?" said the matron,
sternly; "is this a time or a world to follow maidens, or to dance
around a Maypole? When the trumpet summons every true-hearted Scotsman
around the standard of the true sovereign, shalt thou be found
loitering in a lady's bower?"

"No, by Heaven, nor imprisoned in the rugged walls of an island
castle!" answered Roland Graeme: "I would the blast were to sound even
now, for I fear that nothing less loud will dispel the chimerical
visions by which I am surrounded."

"Doubt not that it will be winded," said the matron, "and that so
fearfully loud, that Scotland will never hear the like until the last
and loudest blast of all shall announce to mountain and to valley that
time is no more. Meanwhile, be thou but brave and constant--Serve God
and honour thy sovereign--Abide by thy religion--I cannot--I will
not--I dare not ask thee the truth of the terrible surmises I have
heard touching thy falling away--perfect not that accursed
sacrifice--and yet, even at this late hour, thou mayest be what I have
hoped for the son of my dearest hope--what say I? the son of _my_
hope--thou shalt be the hope of Scotland, her boast and her
honour!--Even thy wildest and most foolish wishes may perchance be
fulfilled--I might blush to mingle meaner motives with the noble
guerdon I hold out to thee--It shames me, being such as I am, to
mention the idle passions of youth, save with contempt and the purpose
of censure. But we must bribe children to wholesome medicine by the
offer of cates, and youth to honourable achievement with the promise
of pleasure. Mark me, therefore, Roland. The love of Catherine Seyton
will follow him only who shall achieve the freedom of her mistress;
and believe, it may be one day in thine own power to be that happy
lover. Cast, therefore, away doubt and fear, and prepare to do what
religion calls for, what thy country demands of thee, what thy duty as
a subject and as a servant alike require at your hand; and be assured,
even the idlest or wildest wishes of thy heart will be most readily
attained by following the call of thy duty."

As she ceased speaking, a double knock was heard against the inner
door. The matron hastily adjusting her muffler, and resuming her chair
by the hearth, demanded who was there.

"_Salve in nomine sancto_," was answered from without.

"_Salvete et vos_," answered Magdalen Graeme.

And a man entered in the ordinary dress of a nobleman's retainer,
wearing at his girdle a sword and buckler--"I sought you," said he,
"my mother, and him whom I see with you." Then addressing himself to
Roland Graeme, he said to him, "Hast thou not a packet from George
Douglas?"

"I have," said the page, suddenly recollecting that which had been
committed to his charge in the morning, "but I may not deliver it to
any one without some token that they have a right to ask it."

"You say well," replied the serving-man, and whispered into his ear,
"The packet which I ask is the report to his father--will this token
suffice?"

"It will," replied the page, and taking the packet from his bosom,
gave it to the man.

"I will return presently," said the serving-man, and left the cottage.

Roland had now sufficiently recovered his surprise to accost his
relative in turn, and request to know the reason why he found her in
so precarious a disguise, and a place so dangerous--"You cannot be
ignorant," he said, "of the hatred that the Lady of Lochleven bears to
those of your--that is of our religion--your present disguise lays you
open to suspicion of a different kind, but inferring no less hazard;
and whether as a Catholic, or as a sorceress, or as a friend to the
unfortunate Queen, you are in equal danger, if apprehended within the
bounds of the Douglas; and in the chamberlain who administers their
authority, you have, for his own reasons, an enemy, and a bitter one."

"I know it," said the matron, her eyes kindling with triumph; "I know
that, vain of his school-craft, and carnal wisdom, Luke Lundin views
with jealousy and hatred the blessings which the saints have conferred
on my prayers, and on the holy relics, before the touch, nay, before
the bare presence of which, disease and death have so often been known
to retreat.--I know he would rend and tear me; but there is a chain
and a muzzle on the ban dog that shall restrain his fury, and the
Master's servant shall not be offended by him until the Master's work
is wrought. When that hour comes, let the shadows of the evening
descend on me in thunder and in tempest; the time shall be welcome
that relieves my eyes from seeing guilt, and my ears from listening to
blasphemy. Do thou but be constant--play thy part as I have played and
will play mine, and my release shall be like that of a blessed martyr
whose ascent to heaven angels hail with psalm and song, while earth
pursues him with hiss and with execration."

As she concluded, the serving-man again entered the cottage, and said,
"All is well! the time holds for to-morrow night."

"What time? what holds?" exclaimed Roland Graeme; "I trust I have
given the Douglas's packet to no wrong--"

"Content yourself, young man," answered the serving-man; "thou hast
my word and token."

"I know not if the token be right," said the page; "and I care not
much for the word of a stranger."

"What," said the matron, "although thou mayest have given a packet
delivered to thy charge by one of the Queen's rebels into the hand of
a loyal subject--there were no great mistake in that, thou hot-brained
boy!"

"By Saint Andrew, there were foul mistake, though," answered the page;
"it is the very spirit of my duty, in this first stage of chivalry, to
be faithful to my trust; and had the devil given me a message to
discharge, I would not (so I had plighted my faith to the contrary)
betray his counsel to an angel of light."

"Now, by the love I once bore thee," said the matron, "I could slay
thee with mine own hand, when I hear thee talk of a dearer faith being
due to rebels and heretics, than thou owest to thy church and thy
prince!"

"Be patient, my good sister," said the serving-man; "I will give him
such reasons as shall counterbalance the scruples which beset
him---the spirit is honourable, though now it may be mistimed and
misplaced.--Follow me, young man."

"Ere I go to call this stranger to a reckoning," said the page to the
matron, "is there nothing I can do for your comfort and safety?"

"Nothing," she replied, "nothing, save what will lead more to thine
own honour;--the saints who have protected me thus far, will lend me
succour as I need it. Tread the path of glory that is before thee, and
only think of me as the creature on earth who will be most delighted
to hear of thy fame.--Follow the stranger--he hath tidings for you
that you little expect."

The stranger remained on the threshold as if waiting for Roland, and
as soon as he saw him put himself in motion, he moved on before at a
quick pace. Diving still deeper down the lane, Roland perceived that
it was now bordered by buildings upon the one side only, and that the
other was fenced by a high old wall, over which some trees extended
their branches. Descending a good way farther, they came to a small
door in the wall. Roland's guide paused, looked around an instant to
see if any one were within sight, then taking a key from his pocket,
opened the door and entered, making a sign to Roland Graeme to follow
him. He did so, and the stranger locked the door carefully on the
inside.  During this operation the page had a moment to look around,
and perceived that he was in a small orchard very trimly kept.

The stranger led him through an alley or two, shaded by trees loaded
with summer-fruit, into a pleached arbour, where, taking the turf-seat
which was on the one side, he motioned to Roland to occupy that which
was opposite to him, and, after a momentary silence, opened the
conversation as follows: "You have asked a better warrant than the
word of a mere stranger, to satisfy you that I have the authority of
George of Douglas for possessing myself of the packet intrusted to
your charge."

"It is precisely the point on which I demand reckoning of you," said
Roland. "I fear I have acted hastily; if so, I must redeem my error as
I best may."

"You hold me then as a perfect stranger?" said the man. "Look at my
face more attentively, and see if the features do not resemble those
of a man much known to you formerly."

Roland gazed attentively; but the ideas recalled to his mind were so
inconsistent with the mean and servile dress of the person before him,
that he did not venture to express the opinion which he was
irresistibly induced to form.

"Yes, my son," said the stranger, observing his embarrassment, "you do
indeed see before you the unfortunate Father Ambrosius, who once
accounted his ministry crowned in your preservation from the snares of
heresy, but who is now condemned to lament thee as a castaway!"

Roland Graeme's kindness of heart was at least equal to his vivacity
of temper--he could not bear to see his ancient and honoured master
and spiritual guide in a situation which inferred a change of fortune
so melancholy, but throwing himself at his feet, grasped his knees and
wept aloud.

"What mean these tears, my son?" said the Abbot; "if they are shed for
your own sins and follies, surely they are gracious showers, and may
avail thee much--but weep not, if they fall on my account. You indeed
see the Superior of the community of Saint Mary's in the dress of a
poor sworder, who gives his master the use of his blade and buckler,
and, if needful, of his life, for a coarse livery coat and four marks
by the year. But such a garb suits the time, and, in the period of
the church militant, as well becomes her prelates, as staff, mitre,
and crosier, in the days of the church's triumph."

"By what fate," said the page--"and yet why," added he, checking
himself, "need I ask? Catherine Seyton in some sort prepared me for
this. But that the change should be so absolute--the destruction so
complete!"--

"Yes, my son," said the Abbot Ambrosius, "thine own eyes beheld, in my
unworthy elevation to the Abbot's stall, the last especial act of holy
solemnity which shall be seen in the church of Saint Mary's, until it
shall please Heaven to turn back the captivity of the church. For the
present, the shepherd is smitten--ay, well-nigh to the earth--the
flock are scattered, and the shrines of saints and martyrs, and pious
benefactors to the church, are given to the owls of night, and the
satyrs of the desert."

"And your brother, the Knight of Avenel--could he do nothing for your
protection?"

"He himself hath fallen under the suspicion of the ruling powers,"
said the Abbot, "who are as unjust to their friends as they are cruel
to their enemies. I could not grieve at it, did I hope it might
estrange him from his cause; but I know the soul of Halbert, and I
rather fear it will drive him to prove his fidelity to their unhappy
cause, by some deed which may be yet more destructive to the church,
and more offensive to Heaven. Enough of this; and now to the business
of our meeting.--I trust you will hold it sufficient if I pass my word
to you that the packet of which you were lately the bearer, was
designed for my hands by George of Douglas?"

"Then," said the page, "is George of Douglas----"

"A true friend to his Queen, Roland; and will soon, I trust, have his
eyes opened to the errors of his (miscalled) church."

"But what is he to his father, and what to the Lady of Lochleven, who
has been as a mother to him?" said the page impatiently.

"The best friend to both, in time and through eternity," said the
Abbot, "if he shall prove the happy instrument for redeeming the evil
they have wrought, and are still working."

"Still," said the page, "I like not that good service which begins in
breach of trust."

"I blame not thy scruples, my son," said the Abbot; "but the time
which has wrenched asunder the allegiance of Christians to the church,
and of subjects to their king, has dissolved all the lesser bonds of
society; and, in such days, mere human ties must no more restrain our
progress, than the brambles and briers which catch hold of his
garments, should delay the path of a pilgrim who travels to pay his
vows."

"But, my father,"--said the youth, and then stopt short in a
hesitating manner.

"Speak on, my son," said the Abbot; "speak without fear."

"Let me not offend you then," said Roland, "when I say, that it is
even this which our adversaries charge against us; when they say that,
shaping the means according to the end, we are willing to commit great
moral evil in order that we may work out eventual good."

"The heretics have played their usual arts on you, my son," said the
Abbot; "they would willingly deprive us of the power of acting wisely
and secretly, though their possession of superior force forbids our
contending with them on terms of equality. They have reduced us to a
state of exhausted weakness, and now would fain proscribe the means by
which weakness, through all the range of nature, supplies the lack of
strength and defends itself against its potent enemies. As well might
the hound say to the hare, use not these wily turns to escape me, but
contend with me in pitched battle, as the armed and powerful heretic
demand of the down-trodden and oppressed Catholic to lay aside the
wisdom of the serpent, by which alone they may again hope to raise up
the Jerusalem over which they weep, and which it is their duty to
rebuild--But more of this hereafter. And now, my son, I command thee
on thy faith to tell me truly and particularly what has chanced to
thee since we parted, and what is the present state of thy conscience.
Thy relation, our sister Magdalen, is a woman of excellent gifts,
blessed with a zeal which neither doubt nor danger can quench; but yet
it is not a zeal altogether according to knowledge; wherefore, my son,
I would willingly be myself thy interrogator, and thy counsellor, in
these days of darkness and stratagem."

With the respect which he owed to his first instructor, Roland Graeme
went rapidly through the events which the reader is acquainted with;
and while he disguised not from the prelate the impression which had
been made on his mind by the arguments of the preacher Henderson, he
accidentally and almost involuntarily gave his Father Confessor to
understand the influence which Catherine Seyton had acquired over his
mind.

"It is with joy I discover, my dearest son," replied the Abbot, "that
I have arrived in time to arrest thee on the verge of the precipice to
which thou wert approaching. These doubts of which you complain, are
the weeds which naturally grow up in a strong soil, and require the
careful hand of the husbandman to eradicate them. Thou must study a
little volume, which I will impart to thee in fitting time, in which,
by Our Lady's grace, I have placed in somewhat a clearer light than
heretofore, the points debated betwixt us and these heretics, who sow
among the wheat the same tares which were formerly privily mingled
with the good seed by the Albigenses and the Lollards. But it is not
by reason alone that you must hope to conquer these insinuations of
the enemy: It is sometimes by timely resistance, but oftener by timely
flight. You must shut your ears against the arguments of the
heresiarch, when circumstances permit you not to withdraw the foot
from his company. Anchor your thoughts upon the service of Our Lady,
while he is expending in vain his heretical sophistry. Are you unable
to maintain your attention on heavenly objects--think rather on thine
own earthly pleasures, than tempt Providence and the Saints by giving
an attentive ear to the erring doctrine--think of thy hawk, thy hound,
thine angling rod, thy sword and buckler--think even of Catherine
Seyton, rather than give thy soul to the lessons of the tempter. Alas!
my son, believe not that, worn out with woes, and bent more by
affliction than by years, I have forgotten the effect of beauty over
the heart of youth. Even in the watches of the night, broken by
thoughts of an imprisoned Queen, a distracted kingdom, a church laid
waste and ruinous, come other thoughts than these suggest, and
feelings which belonged to an earlier and happier course of life. Be
it so--we must bear our load as we may: and not in vain are these
passions implanted in our breast, since, as now in thy case, they may
come in aid of resolutions founded upon higher grounds. Yet beware, my
son--this Catherine Seyton is the daughter of one of Scotland's
proudest, as well as most worthy barons; and thy state may not suffer
thee, as yet, to aspire so high. But thus it is--Heaven works its
purposes through human folly; and Douglas's ambitious affection, as
well as thine, shall contribute alike to the desired end."

"How, my father," said the page, "my suspicions are then
true!--Douglas loves----"

"He does; and with a love as much misplaced as thine own; but beware
of him--cross him not--thwart him not."

"Let him not cross or thwart me," said the page; "for I will not yield
him an inch of way, had he in his body the soul of every Douglas that
has lived since the time of the Dark Gray Man." [Footnote: By an
ancient, though improbable tradition, the Douglasses are said to have
derived their name from a champion who had greatly distinguished
himself in an action. When the king demanded by whom the battle had
been won, the attendants are said to have answered, "Sholto Douglas,
sir;" which is said to mean, "Yonder dark gray man." But the name is
undoubtedly territorial, and taken from Douglas river and vale.]

"Nay, have patience, idle boy, and reflect that your suit can never
interfere with his.--But a truce with these vanities, and let us
better employ the little space which still remains to us to spend
together. To thy knees, my son, and resume the long-interrupted duty
of confession, that, happen what may, the hour may find in thee a
faithful Catholic, relieved from the guilt of his sins by authority of
the Holy Church. Could I but tell thee, Roland, the joy with which I
see thee once more put thy knee to its best and fittest use! _Quid
dicis, mi fili?_"

"_Culpas meas_" answered the youth; and according to the ritual
of the Catholic Church, he confessed and received absolution, to which
was annexed the condition of performing certain enjoined penances.

When this religious ceremony was ended, an old man, in the dress of a
peasant of the better order, approached the arbour, and greeted the
Abbot.--"I have waited the conclusion of your devotions," he said, "to
tell you the youth is sought after by the chamberlain, and it were
well he should appear without delay. Holy Saint Francis, if the
halberdiers were to seek him here, they might sorely wrong my
garden-plot--they are in office, and reck not where they tread, were
each step on jessamine and clovegilly-flowers."

"We will speed him forth, my brother," said the Abbot; "but alas! is
it possible that such trifles should live in your mind at a crisis so
awful as that which is now impending?"

"Reverend father," answered the proprietor of the garden, for such he
was, "how oft shall I pray you to keep your high counsel for high
minds like your own? What have you required of me, that I have not
granted unresistingly, though with an aching heart?"

"I would require of you to be yourself, my brother," said the Abbot
Ambrosius; "to remember what you were, and to what your early vows
have bound you."

"I tell thee, Father Ambrosius," replied the gardener, "the patience
of the best saint that ever said pater-noster, would be exhausted by
the trials to which you have put mine--What I have been, it skills not
to speak at present-no one knows better than yourself, father, what I
renounced, in hopes to find ease and quiet during the remainder of my
days--and no one better knows how my retreat has been invaded, my
fruit-trees broken, my flower-beds trodden down, my quiet frightened
away, and my very sleep driven from my bed, since ever this poor
Queen, God bless her, hath been sent to Lochleven.--I blame her not;
being a prisoner, it is natural she should wish to get out from so
vile a hold, where there is scarcely any place even for a tolerable
garden, and where the water-mists, as I am told, blight all the early
blossoms--I say, I cannot blame her for endeavouring for her freedom;
but why I should be drawn into the scheme--why my harmless arbours,
that I planted with my own hands, should become places of privy
conspiracy-why my little quay, which I built for my own fishing boat,
should have become a haven for secret embarkations--in short, why I
should be dragged into matters where both heading and hanging are like
to be the issue, I profess to you, reverend father, I am totally
ignorant."

"My brother," answered the Abbot, "you are wise, and ought to
know--"

"I am not--I am not--I am not wise," replied the horticulturist,
pettishly, and stopping his ears with his fingers--"I was never called
wise but when men wanted to engage me in some action of notorious
folly."

"But, my good brother," said the Abbot--

"I am not good neither," said the peevish gardener; "I am neither good
nor wise--Had I been wise, you would not have been admitted here; and
were I good, methinks I should send you elsewhere to hatch plots for
destroying the quiet of the country. What signifies disputing about
queen or king,--when men may sit at peace--_sub umbra vitis sui?_
and so would I do, after the precept of Holy Writ, were I, as you term
me, wise or good. But such as I am, my neck is in the yoke, and you
make me draw what weight you list.--Follow me, youngster. This
reverend father, who makes in his jackman's dress nearly as reverend a
figure as I myself, will agree with me in one thing at least, and that
is, that you have been long enough here."

"Follow the good father, Roland," said the Abbot, "and remember my
words--a day is approaching that will try the temper of all true
Scotsmen--may thy heart prove faithful as the steel of thy blade!"

The page bowed in silence, and they parted; the gardener,
notwithstanding his advanced age, walking on before him very briskly,
and muttering as he went, partly to himself, partly to his companion,
after the manner of old men of weakened intellects--"When I was
great," thus ran his maundering, "and had my mule and my ambling
palfrey at command, I warrant you I could have as well flown through
the air as have walked at this pace. I had my gout and my rheumatics,
and an hundred things besides, that hung fetters on my heels; and,
now, thanks to Our Lady, and honest labour, I can walk with any good
man of my age in the kingdom of Fife--Fy upon it, that experience
should be so long in coming!"

As he was thus muttering, his eye fell upon the branch of a pear-tree
which drooped down for want of support, and at once forgetting his
haste, the old man stopped and set seriously about binding it up.
Roland Graeme had both readiness, neatness of hand, and good nature in
abundance; he immediately lent his aid, and in a minute or two the
bough was supported, and tied up in a way perfectly satisfactory to
the old man, who looked at it with great complaisance. "They are
bergamots," he said, "and if you will come ashore in autumn, you shall
taste of them--the like are not in Lochleven Castle--the garden there
is a poor pin-fold, and the gardener, Hugh Houkham, hath little skill
of his craft--so come ashore, Master Page, in autumn, when you would
eat pears. But what am I thinking of--ere that time come, they may
have given thee sour pears for plums. Take an old man's advice, youth,
one who hath seen many days, and sat in higher places than thou canst
hope for--bend thy sword into a pruning-hook, and make a dibble of thy
dagger--thy days shall be the longer, and thy health the better for
it,--and come to aid me in my garden, and I will teach thee the real
French fashion of _imping_, which the Southron call graffing. Do
this, and do it without loss of time, for there is a whirlwind coming
over the land, and only those shall escape who lie too much beneath
the storm to have their boughs broken by it."

So saying, he dismissed Roland Graeme, through a different door from
that by which he had entered, signed a cross, and pronounced a
benedicite as they parted, and then, still muttering to himself,
retired into the garden, and locked the door on the inside.




Chapter the Twenty-Ninth.


  Pray God she prove not masculine ere long!
                        KING HENRY VI.

Dismissed from the old man's garden, Roland Graeme found that a grassy
paddock, in which sauntered two cows, the property of the gardener,
still separated him from the village. He paced through it, lost in
meditation upon the words of the Abbot. Father Ambrosius had, with
success enough, exerted over him that powerful influence which the
guardians and instructors of our childhood possess over our more
mature youth. And yet, when Roland looked back upon what the father
had said, he could not but suspect that he had rather sought to evade
entering into the controversy betwixt the churches, than to repel the
objections and satisfy the doubts which the lectures of Henderson had
excited. "For this he had no time," said the page to himself, "neither
have I now calmness and learning sufficient to judge upon points of
such magnitude. Besides, it were base to quit my faith while the wind
of fortune sets against it, unless I were so placed, that my
conversion, should it take place, were free as light from the
imputation of self-interest. I was bred a Catholic--bred in the faith
of Bruce and Wallace--I will hold that faith till time and reason
shall convince me that it errs. I will serve this poor Queen as a
subject should serve an imprisoned and wronged sovereign--they who
placed me in her service have to blame themselves--who sent me hither,
a gentleman trained in the paths of loyalty and honour, when they
should have sought out some truckling, cogging, double-dealing knave,
who would have been at once the observant page of the Queen, and the
obsequious spy of her enemies. Since I must choose betwixt aiding and
betraying her, I will decide as becomes her servant and her subject;
but Catherine Seyton--Catherine Seyton, beloved by Douglas and holding
me on or off as the intervals of her leisure or caprice will
permit--how shall I deal with the coquette?--By heaven, when I next
have an opportunity, she shall render me some reason for her conduct,
or I will break with her for ever!"

As he formed this doughty resolution, he crossed the stile which led
out of the little enclosure, and was almost immediately greeted by Dr.
Luke Lundin.

"Ha! my most excellent young friend," said the Doctor, "from whence
come you?--but I note the place.--Yes, neighbour Blinkhoolie's garden
is a pleasant rendezvous, and you are of the age when lads look after
a bonny lass with one eye, and a dainty plum with another. But hey!
you look subtriste and melancholic--I fear the maiden has proved
cruel, or the plums unripe; and surely I think neighbour Blinkhoolie's
damsons can scarcely have been well preserved throughout the
winter--he spares the saccharine juice on his confects. But courage,
man, there are more Kates in Kinross; and for the immature fruit, a
glass of my double distilled _aqua mirabilis--probatum est_."

The page darted an ireful glance at the facetious physician; but
presently recollecting that the name Kate, which had provoked his
displeasure, was probably but introduced for the sake of alliteration,
he suppressed his wrath, and only asked if the wains had been heard
of?

"Why, I have been seeking for you this hour, to tell you that the
stuff is in your boat, and that the boat waits your pleasure.
Auchtermuchty had only fallen into company with an idle knave like
himself, and a stoup of aquavitae between them. Your boatmen lie on
their oars, and there have already been made two wefts from the
warder's turret to intimate that those in the castle are impatient for
your return. Yet there is time for you to take a slight repast; and,
as your friend and physician, I hold it unfit you should face the
water-breeze with an empty stomach."

Roland Graeme had nothing for it but to return, with such cheer as he
might, to the place where his boat was moored on the beach, and
resisted all offer of refreshment, although the Doctor promised that
he should prelude the collation with a gentle appetizer--a decoction
of herbs, gathered and distilled by himself. Indeed, as Roland had not
forgotten the contents of his morning cup, it is possible that the
recollection induced him to stand firm in his refusal of all food, to
which such an unpalatable preface was the preliminary. As they passed
towards the boat, (for the ceremonious politeness of the worthy
Chamberlain would not permit the page to go thither without
attendance,) Roland Graeme, amidst a group who seemed to be assembled
around a party of wandering musicians, distinguished, as he thought,
the dress of Catherine Seyton. He shook himself clear from his
attendant, and at one spring was in the midst of the crowd, and at the
side of the damsel. "Catherine," he whispered, "is it well for you to
be still here?--will you not return to the castle?"

"To the devil with your Catherines and your castles!" answered the
maiden, snappishly; "have you not had time enough already to get rid
of your follies? Begone! I desire not your farther company, and there
will be danger in thrusting it upon me."

"Nay--but if there be danger, fairest Catherine," replied Roland;
"why will you not allow me to stay and share it with you?"

"Intruding fool," said the maiden, "the danger is all on thine own
side--the risk in, in plain terms, that I strike thee on the mouth
with the hilt of my dagger." So saying, she turned haughtily from him,
and moved through the crowd, who gave way in some astonishment at the
masculine activity with which she forced her way among them.

As Roland, though much irritated, prepared to follow, he was grappled
on the other side by Doctor Luke Lundin, who reminded him of the
loaded boat, of the two wefts, or signals with the flag, which had
been made from the tower, of the danger of the cold breeze to an empty
stomach, and of the vanity of spending more time upon coy wenches and
sour plums. Roland was thus, in a manner, dragged back to his boat,
and obliged to launch her forth upon his return to Lochleven Castle.

That little voyage was speedily accomplished, and the page was greeted
at the landing-place by the severe and caustic welcome of old
Dryfesdale. "So, young gallant, you are come at last, after a delay
of six hours, and after two signals from the castle? But, I warrant,
some idle junketing hath occupied you too deeply to think of your
service or your duty. Where is the note of the plate and household
stuff?--Pray Heaven it hath not been diminished under the sleeveless
care of so young a gad-about!"

"Diminished under my care, Sir Steward!" retorted the page angrily;
"say so in earnest, and by Heaven your gray hair shall hardly protect
your saucy tongue!"

"A truce with your swaggering, young esquire," returned the steward;
"we have bolts and dungeons for brawlers. Go to my lady, and swagger
before her, if thou darest--she will give thee proper cause of
offence, for she has waited for thee long and impatiently."

"And where then is the Lady of Lochleven?" said the page; "for I
conceive it is of her thou speakest."

"Ay--of whom else?" replied Dryfesdale; "or who besides the Lady
of Lochleven hath a right to command in this castle?"

"The Lady of Lochleven is thy mistress," said Roland Graeme; "but
mine is the Queen of Scotland."