She was silent, and the astonished physician said, "If there was ever
an _Energumene,_ or possessed demoniac, in our days, there is a
devil speaking with that woman's tongue!"

"Practice," said the Lady of Lochleven, recovering her surprise; "here
is all practice and imposture--To the dungeon with her!"

"Lady of Lochleven," said Mary, arising from her bed, and coming
forward with her wonted dignity, "ere you make arrest on any one in
our presence, hear me but one word. I have done you some wrong--I
believed you privy to the murderous purpose of your vassal, and I
deceived you in suffering you to believe it had taken effect. I did
you wrong, Lady of Lochleven, for I perceive your purpose to aid me
was sincere. We tasted not of the liquid, nor are we now sick, save
that we languish for our freedom."

"It is avowed like Mary of Scotland," said Magdalen Graeme; "and know,
besides, that had the Queen drained the drought to the dregs, it was
harmless as the water from a sainted spring. Trow ye, proud woman,"
she added, addressing herself to the Lady of Lochleven, "that
I--I--would have been the wretch to put poison into the hands of a
servant or vassal of the house of Lochleven, knowing whom that house
contained? as soon would I have furnished drug to slay my own
daughter!"

"Am I thus bearded in mine own castle?" said the Lady; "to the dungeon
with her!--she shall abye what is due to the vender of poisons and
practiser of witchcraft."

"Yet hear me for an instant, Lady of Lochleven," said Mary; "and do
you," to Magdalen, "be silent at my command.--Your steward, lady, has
by confession attempted my life, and those of my household, and this
woman hath done her best to save them, by furnishing him with what was
harmless, in place of the fatal drugs which he expected. Methinks I
propose to you but a fair exchange when I say I forgive your vassal
with all my heart, and leave vengeance to God, and to his conscience,
so that you also forgive the boldness of this woman in your presence;
for we trust you do not hold it as a crime, that she substituted an
innocent beverage for the mortal poison which was to have drenched our
cup."

"Heaven forfend, madam," said the Lady, "that I should account that a
crime which saved the house of Douglas from a foul breach of honour
and hospitality! We have written to our son touching our vassal's
delict, and he must abide his doom, which will most likely be death.
Touching this woman, her trade is damnable by Scripture, and is
mortally punished by the wise laws of our ancestry--she also must
abide her doom."

"And have I then," said the Queen, "no claim on the house of Lochleven
for the wrong I hare so nearly suffered within their walls? I ask but
in requital, the life of a frail and aged woman, whose brain, as
yourself may judge, seems somewhat affected by years and suffering."

"If the Lady Mary," replied the inflexible Lady of Lochleven, "hath
been menaced with wrong in the house of Douglas, it may be regarded as
some compensation, that her complots have cost that house the exile of
a valued son."

"Plead no more for me, my gracious Sovereign," said Magdalen Graeme,
"nor abase yourself to ask so much as a gray hair of my head at her
hands. I knew the risk at which I served my Church and my Queen, and
was ever prompt to pay my poor life as the ransom. It is a comfort to
think, that in slaying me, or in restraining my freedom, or even in
injuring that single gray hair, the house, whose honour she boasts so
highly, will have filled up the measure of their shame by the breach
of their solemn written assurance of safety."--And taking from her
bosom a paper, she handed it to the Queen.

"It is a solemn assurance of safety in life and limb," said Queen
Mary, "with space to come and go, under the hand and seal of the
Chamberlain of Kinross, granted to Magdalen Graeme, commonly called
Mother Nicneven, in consideration of her consenting to put herself,
for the space of twenty-four hours, if required, within the iron gate
of the Castle of Lochleven."

"Knave!" said the Lady, turning to the Chamberlain, "how dared you
grant her such a protection?"

"It was by your Ladyship's orders, transmitted by Randal, as he can
bear witness," replied Doctor Lundin; "nay, I am only like the
pharmacopolist, who compounds the drugs after the order of the
mediciner."

"I remember--I remember," answered the Lady; "but I meant the
assurance only to be used in case, by residing in another
jurisdiction, she could not have been apprehended under our warrant."

"Nevertheless," said the Queen, "the Lady of Lochleven is bound by the
action of her deputy in granting the assurance."

"Madam," replied the Lady, "the house of Douglas have never broken
their safe-conduct, and never will--too deeply did they suffer by such
a breach of trust, exercised on themselves, when your Grace's
ancestor, the second James, in defiance of the rights of hospitality,
and of his own written assurance of safety, poniarded the brave Earl
of Douglas with his own hand, and within two yards of the social
board, at which he had just before sat the King of Scotland's honoured
guest."

"Methinks," said the Queen, carelessly, "in consideration of so very
recent and enormous a tragedy, which I think only chanced some
six-score years agone, the Douglasses should have shown themselves
less tenacious of the company of their sovereigns, than you, Lady of
Lochleven, seem to be of mine."

"Let Randal," said the Lady, "take the hag back to Kinross, and set
her at full liberty, discharging her from our bounds in future, on
peril of her head.--And let your wisdom," to the Chamberlain, "keep
her company. And fear not for your character, though I send you in
such company; for, granting her to be a witch, it would be a waste of
fagots to burn you for a wizard."

The crest-fallen Chamberlain was preparing to depart; but Magdalen
Graeme, collecting herself, was about to reply, when the Queen
interposed, saying, "Good mother, we heartily thank you for your
unfeigned zeal towards our person, and pray you, as our liege-woman,
that you abstain from whatever may lead you into personal danger; and,
farther, it is our will that you depart without a word of farther
parley with any one in this castle. For thy present guerdon, take this
small reliquary--it was given to us by our uncle the Cardinal, and
hath had the benediction of the Holy Father himself;--and now depart
in peace and in silence.--For you, learned sir," continued the Queen,
advancing to the Doctor, who made his reverence in a manner doubly
embarrassed by the awe of the Queen's presence, which made him fear to
do too little, and by the apprehension of his lady's displeasure, in
case he should chance to do too much--"for you, learned sir, as it was
not your fault, though surely our own good fortune, that we did not
need your skill at this time, it would not become us, however
circumstanced, to suffer our leech to leave us without such guerdon as
we can offer."

With these words, and with the grace which never forsook her, though,
in the present case, there might lurk under it a little gentle
ridicule, she offered a small embroidered purse to the Chamberlain,
who, with extended hand and arched back, his learned face stooping
until a physiognomist might have practised the metoposcopical science
upon it, as seen from behind betwixt his gambadoes, was about to
accept of the professional recompense offered by so fair as well as
illustrious a hand. But the Lady interposed, and, regarding the
Chamberlain, said aloud, "No servant of our house, without instantly
relinquishing that character, and incurring withal our highest
displeasure, shall dare receive any gratuity at the hand of the Lady
Mary."

Sadly and slowly the Chamberlain raised his depressed stature into the
perpendicular attitude, and left the apartment dejectedly, followed by
Magdalen Graeme, after, with mute but expressive gesture, she had
kissed the reliquary with which the Queen had presented her, and,
raising her clasped hands and uplifted eyes towards Heaven, had seemed
to entreat a benediction upon the royal dame. As she left the castle,
and went towards the quay where the boat lay, Roland Graeme, anxious
to communicate with her if possible, threw himself in her way, and
might have succeeded in exchanging a few words with her, as she was
guarded only by the dejected Chamberlain and his halberdiers, but she
seemed to have taken, in its most strict and literal acceptation, the
command to be silent which she had received from the Queen; for, to
the repeated signs of her grandson, she only replied by laying her
finger on her lip. Dr. Lundin was not so reserved. Regret for the
handsome gratuity, and for the compulsory task of self-denial imposed
on him, had grieved the spirit of that worthy officer and learned
mediciner--"Even thus, my friend," said he, squeezing the page's hand
as he bade him farewell, "is merit rewarded. I came to cure this
unhappy Lady--and I profess she well deserves the trouble, for, say
what they will of her, she hath a most winning manner, a sweet voice,
a gracious smile, and a most majestic wave of her hand. If she was not
poisoned, say, my dear Master Roland, was that fault of mine, I being
ready to cure her if she had?--and now I am denied the permission to
accept my well-earned honorarium--O Galen! O Hippocrates! is the
graduate's cap and doctor's scarlet brought to this pass! _Frustra
fatigamus remediis aegros!_"

He wiped his eyes, stepped on the gunwale, and the boat pushed off
from the shore, and went merrily across the lake, which was dimpled by
the summer wind. [Footnote:  A romancer, to use a Scottish phrase,
wants but a hair to make a tether of. The whole detail of the
steward's supposed conspiracy against the life of Mary, is grounded
upon an expression in one of her letters, which affirms, that Jasper
Dryfesdale, one of the Laird of Lochleven's servants, had threatened
to murder William Douglas, (for his share in the Queen's escape,) and
averred that he would plant a dagger in Mary's own heart.--CHALMER'S
_Life of Queen Mary_, vol. i. p. 278.]




Chapter the Thirty-Third.


  Death distant?--No, alas! he's ever with us,
  And shakes the dart at us in all our actings:
  He lurks within our cup, while we're in health;
  Sits by our sick-bed, mocks our medicines;
  We cannot walk, or sit, or ride, or travel,
  But Death is by to seize us when he lists.
                         THE SPANISH FATHER.

From the agitating scene in the Queen's presence-chamber, the Lady of
Lochleven retreated to her own apartment, and ordered the steward to
be called before her.

"Have they not disarmed thee, Dryfesdale?" she said, on seeing him
enter, accoutred, as usual, with sword and dagger.

"No!" replied the old man; "how should they?--Your ladyship, when you
commanded me to ward, said nought of laying down my arms; and, I think
none of your menials, without your order, or your son's, dare approach
Jasper Dryfesdale for such a purpose.--Shall I now give up my sword to
you?--it is worth little now, for it has fought for your house till it
is worn down to old iron, like the pantler's old chipping knife."

"You have attempted a deadly crime--poison under trust."

"Under trust?--hem!--I know not what your ladyship thinks of it, but
the world without thinks the trust was given you even for that very
end; and you would have been well off had it been so ended as I
proposed, and you neither the worse nor the wiser."

"Wretch!" exclaimed the lady, "and fool as well as villain, who could
not even execute the crime he had planned!"

"I bid as fair for it as man could," replied Dryfesdale; "I went to a
woman--a witch and a Papist--If I found not poison, it was because it
was otherwise predestined. I tried fair for it; but the half-done job
may be clouted, if you will."

"Villain! I am even now about to send off an express messenger to my
son, to take order how thou shouldst be disposed of. Prepare thyself
for death, if thou canst."

"He that looks on death, Lady," answered Dryfesdale, "as that which he
may not shun, and which has its own fixed and certain hour, is ever
prepared for it. He that is hanged in May will eat no flaunes
[footnote: Pancakes] in midsummer--so there is the moan made for the
old serving-man. But whom, pray I, send you on so fair an errand?"

"There will be no lack of messengers," answered his mistress.

"By my hand, but there will," replied the old man; "your castle is but
poorly manned, considering the watches that you must keep, having this
charge--There is the warder, and two others, whom you discarded for
tampering with Master George; then for the warder's tower, the bailie,
the donjon--five men mount each guard, and the rest must sleep for the
most part in their clothes. To send away another man, were to harass
the sentinels to death--unthrifty misuse for a household. To take in
new soldiers were dangerous, the charge requiring tried men. I see but
one thing for it--I will do your errand to Sir William Douglas
myself."

"That were indeed a resource!--And on what day within twenty years
would it be done?" said the Lady.

"Even with the speed of man and horse," said Dryfesdale; "for though I
care not much about the latter days of an old serving-man's life, yet
I would like to know as soon as may be, whether my neck is mine own or
the hangman's."

"Holdest thou thy own life so lightly?" said the Lady.

"Else I had reckoned more of that of others," said the
predestinarian--"What is death?--it is but ceasing to live--And what
is living?--a weary return of light and darkness, sleeping and waking,
being hungered and eating. Your dead man needs neither candle nor can,
neither fire nor feather-bed; and the joiner's chest serves him for an
eternal frieze-jerkin."

"Wretched man! believest thou not that after death comes the
judgment?"

"Lady," answered Dryfesdale, "as my mistress, I may not dispute your
words; but, as spiritually speaking, you are still but a burner of
bricks in Egypt, ignorant of the freedom of the saints; for, as was
well shown to me by that gifted man, Nicolaus Schoefferbach, who was
martyred by the bloody Bishop of Munster, he cannot sin who doth but
execute that which is predestined, since--"

"Silence!" said the Lady, interrupting him,--"Answer me not with thy
bold and presumptuous blasphemy, but hear me. Thou hast been long the
servant of our house--"

"The born servant of the Douglas--they have had the best of me--I
served them since I left Lockerbie: I was then ten years old, and you
may soon add the threescore to it."

"Thy foul attempt has miscarried, so thou art guilty only in
intention. It were a deserved deed to hang thee on the warder's
tower; and yet in thy present mind, it were but giving a soul to
Satan. I take thine offer, then--Go hence--here is my packet--I will
add to it but a line, to desire him to send me a faithful servant or
two to complete the garrison. Let my son deal with you as he will. If
thou art wise, thou wilt make for Lockerbie so soon as thy foot
touches dry land, and let the packet find another bearer; at all
rates, look it miscarries not."

"Nay, madam," replied he--"I was born, as I said, the Douglas's
servant, and I will be no corbie-messenger in mine old age--your
message to your son shall be done as truly by me as if it concerned
another man's neck. I take my leave of your honour."

The Lady issued her commands, and the old man was ferried over to the
shore, to proceed on his extraordinary pilgrimage. It is necessary the
reader should accompany him on his journey, which Providence had
determined should not be of long duration.

On arriving at the village, the steward, although his disgrace had
transpired, was readily accommodated with a horse, by the
Chamberlain's authority; and the roads being by no means esteemed
safe, he associated himself with Auchtermuchty, the common carrier, in
order to travel in his company to Edinburgh.

The worthy waggoner, according to the established customs of all
carriers, stage-coachmen, and other persons in public authority, from
the earliest days to the present, never wanted good reasons for
stopping upon the road, as often as he would; and the place which had
most captivation for him as a resting-place was a change-house, as it
was termed, not very distant from a romantic dell, well known by the
name of Keirie Craigs. Attractions of a kind very different from those
which arrested the progress of John Auchtermuchty and his wains, still
continue to hover round this romantic spot, and none has visited its
vicinity without a desire to remain long and to return soon.

Arrived near his favourite _howss_, not all the authority of
Dryfesdale (much diminished indeed by the rumours of his disgrace)
could prevail on the carrier, obstinate as the brutes which he drove,
to pass on without his accustomed halt, for which the distance he had
travelled furnished little or no pretence. Old Keltie, the landlord,
who had bestowed his name on a bridge in the neighbourhood of his
quondam dwelling, received the carrier with his usual festive
cordiality, and adjourned with him into the house, under pretence of
important business, which, I believe, consisted in their emptying
together a mutchkin stoup of usquebaugh.  While the worthy host and
his guest were thus employed, the discarded steward, with a double
portion of moroseness in his gesture and look, walked discontentedly
into the kitchen of the place, which was occupied but by one guest.
The stranger was a slight figure, scarce above the age of boyhood, and
in the dress of a page, but bearing an air of haughty aristocratic
boldness and even insolence in his look and manner, that might have
made Dryfesdale conclude he had pretensions to superior rank, had not
his experience taught him how frequently these airs of superiority
were assumed by the domestics and military retainers of the Scottish
nobility.--"The pilgrim's morning to you, old sir," said the youth;
"you come, as I think, from Lochleven Castle--What news of our bonny
Queen?--a fairer dove was never pent up in so wretched a dovecot."

"They that speak of Lochleven, and of those whom its walls contain,'
answered Dryfesdale," speak of what concerns the Douglas; and they who
speak of what concerns the Douglas, do it at their peril."

"Do you speak from fear of them, old man, or would you make a quarrel
for them?--I should have deemed your age might have cooled your
blood."

"Never, while there are empty-pated coxcombs at each corner to keep it
warm."

"The sight of thy gray hairs keeps mine cold," said the boy, who had
risen up and now sat down again.

"It is well for thee, or I had cooled it with this holly-rod," replied
the steward. "I think thou be'st one of those swash-bucklers, who
brawl in alehouses and taverns; and who, if words were pikes, and
oaths were Andrew Ferraras, would soon place the religion of Babylon
in the land once more, and the woman of Moab upon the throne."

"Now, by Saint Bennet of Seyton," said the youth, "I will strike thee
on the face, thou foul-mouthed old railing heretic!"

"Saint Bennet of Seyton," echoed the steward; "a proper warrant is
Saint Bennet's, and for a proper nest of wolf-birds like the
Seytons!--I will arrest thee as a traitor to King James and the good
Regent.--Ho! John Auchtermuchty, raise aid against the King's
traitor!"

So saying, he laid his hand on the youth's collar, and drew his sword.
John Auchtermuchty looked in, but, seeing the naked weapon, ran faster
out than he entered. Keltie, the landlord, stood by and helped neither
party, only exclaiming, "Gentlemen! gentlemen! for the love of
Heaven!" and so forth. A struggle ensued, in which the young man,
chafed at Dryfesdale's boldness, and unable, with the ease he
expected, to extricate himself from the old man's determined grasp,
drew his dagger, and with the speed of light, dealt him three wounds
in the breast and body, the least of which was mortal. The old man
sunk on the ground with a deep groan, and the host set up a piteous
exclamation of surprise.

"Peace, ye brawling hound!" said the wounded steward; "are
dagger-stabs and dying men such rarities in Scotland, that you should
cry as if the house were falling?--Youth, I do not forgive thee, for
there is nought betwixt us to forgive. Thou hast done what I have done
to more than one--And I suffer what I have seen them suffer--it was
all ordained to be thus and not otherwise. But if thou wouldst do me
right, thou wilt send this packet safely to the hands of Sir William
Douglas; and see that my memory suffer not, as if I would have
loitered on mine errand for fear of my life."

The youth, whose passion had subsided the instant he had done the
deed, listened with sympathy and attention, when another person,
muffled in his cloak, entered the apartment, and exclaimed--"Good God!
Dryfesdale, and expiring!"

"Ay, and Dryfesdale would that he had been dead," answered the wounded
man, "rather than that his ears had heard the words of the only
Douglas that ever was false--but yet it is better as it is. Good my
murderer, and the rest of you, stand back a little, and let me speak
with this unhappy apostate.--Kneel down by me, Master George--You have
heard that I failed in my attempt to take away that Moabitish
stumbling-block and her retinue--I gave them that which I thought
would have removed the temptation out of thy path--and this, though I
had other reasons to show to thy mother and others, I did chiefly
purpose for love of thee."

"For the love of me, base poisoner!" answered Douglas, "wouldst thou
have committed so horrible, so unprovoked a murder, and mentioned my
name with it?"

"And wherefore not, George of Douglas?" answered Dryfesdale. "Breath
is now scarce with me, but I would spend my last gasp on this
argument. Hast thou not, despite the honour thou owest to thy
parents, the faith that is due to thy religion, the truth that is due
to thy king, been so carried away by the charms of this beautiful
sorceress, that thou wouldst have helped her to escape from her
prison-house, and lent her thine arm again to ascend the throne, which
she had made a place of abomination?--Nay, stir not from me--my hand,
though fast stiffening, has yet force enough to hold thee--What dost
thou aim at?--to wed this witch of Scotland?--I warrant thee, thou
mayest succeed--her heart and hand have been oft won at a cheaper
rate, than thou, fool that thou art, would think thyself happy to pay.
But, should a servant of thy father's house have seen thee embrace the
fate of the idiot Darnley, or of the villain Bothwell--the fate of the
murdered fool, or of the living pirate--while an ounce of ratsbane
would have saved thee?"

"Think on God, Dryfesdale," said George Douglas, "and leave the
utterance of those horrors--Repent, if thou canst--if not, at least be
silent.--Seyton, aid me to support this dying wretch, that he may
compose himself to better thoughts, if it be possible."

"Seyton!" answered the dying man; "Seyton! Is it by a Seyton's hand
that I fall at last?--There is something of retribution in that--since
the house had nigh lost a sister by my deed." Fixing his fading eyes
on the youth, he added, "He hath her very features and presence!--
Stoop down, youth, and let me see thee closer--I would know thee when
we meet in yonder world, for homicides will herd together there, and I
have been one." He pulled Seyton's face, in spite of some resistance,
closer to his own, looked at him fixedly, and added, "Thou hast begun
young--thy career will be the briefer--ay, thou wilt be met with, and
that anon--a young plant never throve that was watered with an old
man's blood.--Yet why blame I thee?  Strange turns of fate," he
muttered, ceasing to address Seyton; "I designed what I could not do,
and he has done what he did not perchance design.--Wondrous, that our
will should ever oppose itself to the strong and uncontrollable tide
of destiny--that we should strive with the stream when we might drift
with the current! My brain will serve me to question it no farther--I
would Schoefferbach were here--yet why?--I am on a course which the
vessel can hold without a pilot.--Farewell, George of Douglas--I die
true to thy father's house." He fell into convulsions at these words,
and shortly after expired.

Seyton and Douglas stood looking on the dying man, and when the scene
was closed, the former was the first to speak. "As I live, Douglas, I
meant not this, and am sorry; but he laid hands on me, and compelled
me to defend my freedom, as I best might, with my dagger. If he were
ten times thy friend and follower, I can but say that I am sorry."

"I blame thee not, Seyton," said Douglas, "though I lament the chance.
There is an overruling destiny above us, though not in the sense in
which it was viewed by that wretched man, who, beguiled by some
foreign mystagogue, used the awful word as the ready apology for
whatever he chose to do--we must examine the packet."

They withdrew into an inner room, and remained deep in consultation,
until they were disturbed by the entrance of Keltie, who, with an
embarrassed countenance, asked Master George Douglas's pleasure
respecting the disposal of the body. "Your honour knows," he added,
"that I make my bread by living men, not by dead corpses; and old Mr.
Dryfesdale, who was but a sorry customer while he was alive, occupies
my public room now that he is deceased, and can neither call for ale
nor brandy."

"Tie a stone round his neck," said Seyton, "and when the sun is down,
have him to the Loch of Ore, heave him in, and let him alone for
finding out the bottom."

"Under your favour, sir," said George Douglas, "it shall not be
so.--Keltie, thou art a true fellow to me, and thy having been so
shall advantage thee. Send or take the body to the chapel at
Scotland's wall, or to the church of Ballanry, and tell what tale thou
wilt of his having fallen in a brawl with some unruly guests of thine.
Auchtermuchty knows nought else, nor are the times so peaceful as to
admit close-looking into such accounts."

"Nay, let him tell the truth," said Seyton, "so far as it harms not
our scheme.--Say that Henry Seyton met with him, my good fellow;--I
care not a brass bodle for the feud."

"A feud with the Douglas was ever to be feared, however," said George,
displeasure mingling with his natural deep gravity of manner.

"Not when the best of the name is on my side," replied Seyton.

"Alas! Henry, if thou meanest me, I am but half a Douglas in this
emprize--half head, half heart, and half hand.--But I will think on
one who can never be forgotten, and be all, or more, than any of my
ancestors was ever.--Keltie, say it was Henry Seyton did the deed; but
beware, not a word of me!--Let Auchtermuchty carry this packet" (which
he had resealed with his own signet) "to my father at Edinburgh; and
here is to pay for the funeral expenses, and thy loss of custom."

"And the washing of the floor," said the landlord, "which will be an
extraordinary job; for blood they say, will scarcely ever cleanse
out."

"But as for your plan," said George of Douglas, addressing Seyton, as
if in continuation of what they had been before treating of, "it has a
good face; but, under your favour, you are yourself too hot and too
young, besides other reasons which are much against your playing the
part you propose."

"We will consult the Father Abbot upon it," said the youth. "Do you
ride to Kinross to-night?"

"Ay--so I purpose," answered Douglas; "the night will be dark, and
suits a muffled man. [Footnote: Generally, a disguised man; originally
one who wears the cloak or mantle muffled round the lower part of the
face to conceal his countenance. I have on an ancient, piece of iron
the representation of a robber thus accoutred, endeavouring to make
his way into a house, and opposed by a mastiff, to whom he in vain
offers food. The motto is _spernit dona fides_. It is part of a
fire-grate said to have belonged to Archbishop Sharpe.]--Keltie, I
forgot, there should be a stone laid on that man's grave, recording
his name, and his only merit, which was being a faithful servant to
the Douglas."

"What religion was the man of?" said Seyton; "he used words, which
make me fear I have sent Satan a subject before his time."

"I can tell you little of that," said George Douglas; "he was noted
for disliking both Rome and Geneva, and spoke of lights he had learned
among the fierce sectaries of Lower Germany--an evil doctrine it was,
if we judge by the fruits. God keep us from presumptuously judging of
Heaven's secrets!"

"Amen!" said the young Seyton, "and from meeting any encounter this
evening."

"It is not thy wont to pray so," said George Douglas.

"No! I leave that to you," replied the youth, "when you are seized
with scruples of engaging with your father's vassals. But I would fain
have this old man's blood off these hands of mine ere I shed more--I
will confess to the Abbot to-night, and I trust to have light penance
for ridding the earth of such a miscreant. All I sorrow for is, that
he was not a score of years younger--He drew steel first, however,
that is one comfort."




Chapter the Thirty-Fourth.


  Ay, Pedro,--Come you here with mask and lantern.
  Ladder of ropes and other moonshine tools--
  Why, youngster, thou mayst cheat the old Duenna,
  Flatter the waiting-woman, bribe the valet;
  But know, that I her father play the Gryphon,
  Tameless and sleepless, proof to fraud or bribe,
  And guard the hidden, treasure of her beauty.
                             THE SPANISH FATHER.

The tenor of our tale carries us back to the Castle of Lochleven,
where we take up the order of events on the same remarkable day on
which Dryfesdale had been dismissed from the castle. It was past noon,
the usual hour of dinner, yet no preparations seemed made for the
Queen's entertainment. Mary herself had retired into her own
apartment, where she was closely engaged in writing. Her attendants
were together in the presence-chamber, and much disposed to speculate
on the delay of the dinner; for it may be recollected that their
breakfast had been interrupted. "I believe in my conscience," said the
page, "that having found the poisoning scheme miscarry, by having gone
to the wrong merchant for their deadly wares, they are now about to
try how famine will work upon us."

Lady Fleming was somewhat alarmed at this surmise, but comforted
herself by observing that the chimney of the kitchen had reeked that
whole day in a manner which contradicted the supposition.--Catherine
Seyton presently exclaimed, "They were bearing the dishes across the
court, marshalled by the Lady Lochleven herself, dressed out in her
highest and stiffest ruff, with her partlet and sleeves of cyprus, and
her huge old-fashioned farthingale of crimson velvet."

"I believe on my word," said the page, approaching the window also,
"it was in that very farthingale that she captivated the heart of
gentle King Jamie, which procured our poor Queen her precious bargain
of a brother."

"That may hardly be, Master Roland," answered the Lady Fleming, who
was a great recorder of the changes of fashion, "since the
farthingales came first in when the Queen Regent went to Saint
Andrews, after the battle of Pinkie, and were then called
_Vertugardins_--"

She would have proceeded farther in this important discussion, but was
interrupted by the entrance of the Lady of Lochleven, who preceded the
servants bearing the dishes, and formally discharged the duty of
tasting each of them. Lady Fleming regretted, in courtly phrase, that
the Lady of Lochleven should have undertaken so troublesome an
office."

"After the strange incident of this day, madam," said the Lady, "it is
necessary for my honour and that of my son, that I partake whatever is
offered to my involuntary guest. Please to inform the Lady Mary that I
attend her commands."

"Her Majesty," replied Lady Fleming, with due emphasis on the word,
"shall be informed that the Lady Lochleven waits."

Mary appeared instantly, and addressed her hostess with courtesy,
which even approached to something more cordial. "This is nobly done,
Lady Lochleven," she said; "for though we ourselves apprehend no
danger under your roof, our ladies have been much alarmed by this
morning's chance, and our meal will be the more cheerful for your
presence and assurance.  Please you to sit down."

The Lady Lochleven obeyed the Queen's commands, and Roland performed
the office of carver and attendant as usual. But, notwithstanding what
the Queen had said, the meal was silent and unsocial; and every effort
which Mary made to excite some conversation, died away under the
solemn and chill replies of the Lady of Lochleven. At length it became
plain that the Queen, who had considered these advances as a
condescension on her part, and who piqued herself justly on her powers
of pleasing, became offended at the repulsive conduct of her hostess.
After looking with a significant glance at Lady Fleming and Catherine,
she slightly shrugged her shoulders, and remained silent. A pause
ensued, at the end of which the Lady Douglas spoke:--"I perceive,
madam, I am a check on the mirth of this fair company. I pray you to
excuse me--I am a widow--alone here in a most perilous charge---
deserted by my grandson--betrayed by my servant--I am little worthy of
the grace you do me in offering me a seat at your table, where I am
aware that wit and pastime are usually expected from the guests."

"If the Lady Lochleven is serious," said the Queen, "we wonder by what
simplicity she expects our present meals to be seasoned with mirth.
If she is a widow, she lives honoured and uncontrolled, at the head of
her late husband's household. But I know at least of one widowed woman
in the world, before whom the words desertion and betrayal ought never
to be mentioned, since no one has been made so bitterly acquainted
with their import."

"I meant not, madam, to remind you of your misfortunes, by the mention
of mine," answered the Lady Lochleven, and there was again a deep
silence.

Mary at length addressed Lady Fleming. "We can commit no deadly sins
here, _ma bonne_, where we are so well warded and looked to; but
if we could, this Carthusian silence might be useful as a kind of
penance. If thou hast adjusted my wimple amiss, my Fleming, or if
Catherine hath made a wry stitch in her broidery, when she was
thinking of something else than her work, or if Roland Graeme hath
missed a wild-duck on the wing, and broke a quarrel-pane [Footnote:
Diamond-shaped; literally, formed like the head of a _quarrel_,
or arrow for the crossbow.] of glass in the turret window, as chanced
to him a week since, now is the time to think on your sins and to
repent of them."

"Madam, I speak with all reverence," said the Lady Lochleven; "but I
am old, and claim the privilege of age. Methinks your followers might
find fitter subjects for repentance than the trifles you mention, and
so mention--once more, I crave your pardon--as if you jested with sin
and repentance both."

"You have been our taster, Lady Lochleven," said the Queen, "I
perceive you would eke out your duty with that of our Father
Confessor--and since you choose that our conversation should be
serious, may I ask you why the Regent's promise--since your son so
styles himself--has not been kept to me in that respect? From time to
time this promise has been renewed, and as constantly broken. Methinks
those who pretend themselves to so much gravity and sanctity, should
not debar from others the religious succours which their consciences
require."

"Madam, the Earl of Murray was indeed weak enough," said the Lady
Lochleven, "to give so far way to your unhappy prejudices, and a
religioner of the Pope presented himself on his part at our town of
Kinross. But the Douglass is Lord of his own castle, and will not
permit his threshold to be darkened, no not for a single moment, by an
emissary belonging to the Bishop of Rome."

"Methinks it were well, then," said Mary, "that my Lord Regent would
send me where there is less scruple and more charity."

"In this, madam," answered the Lady Lochleven, "you mistake the nature
both of charity and of religion. Charity giveth to those who are in
delirium the medicaments which may avail their health, but refuses
those enticing cates and liquors which please the palate, but augment
the disease."

"This your charity, Lady Lochleven, is pure cruelty, under the
hypocritical disguise of friendly care. I am oppressed amongst you as
if you meant the destruction both of my body and soul; but Heaven will
not endure such iniquity for ever, and they who are the most active
agents in it may speedily expect their reward."

At this moment Randal entered the apartment, with a look so much
perturbed, that the Lady Fleming uttered a faint scream, the Queen was
obviously startled, and the Lady of Lochleven, though too bold and
proud to evince any marked signs of alarm, asked hastily what was the
matter?

"Dryfesdale has been slain, madam," was the reply; "murdered as soon
as he gained the dry land by young Master Henry Seyton."

It was now Catherine's turn to start and grow pale--"Has the murderer
of the Douglas's vassal escaped?" was the Lady's hasty question.

"There was none to challenge him but old Keltie, and the carrier
Auchtermuchty," replied Randal; "unlikely men to stay one of the
frackest [Footnote: Boldest--most forward.] youths in Scotland of his
years, and who was sure to have friends and partakers at no great
distance."

"Was the deed completed?" said the Lady.

"Done, and done thoroughly," said Randal; "a Seyton seldom strikes
twice--But the body was not despoiled, and your honour's packet goes
forward to Edinburgh by Auchtermuchty, who leaves Keltie-Bridge early
to-morrow--marry, he has drunk two bottles of aquavitae to put the
fright out of his head, and now sleeps them off beside his
cart-avers." [Footnote: Cart-horses.]

There was a pause when this fatal tale was told. The Queen and Lady
Douglas looked on each other, as if each thought how she could best
turn the incident to her own advantage in the controversy, which was
continually kept alive betwixt them--Catherine Seyton kept her
kerchief at her eyes and wept.

"You see, madam, the bloody maxims and practice of the deluded
Papists," said Lady Lochleven.

"Nay, madam," replied the Queen, "say rather you see the deserved
judgment of Heaven upon a Calvinistical poisoner."

"Dryfesdale was not of the Church of Geneva, or of Scotland," said the
Lady of Lochleven, hastily.

"He was a heretic, however," replied Mary; "there is but one true and
unerring guide; the others lead alike into error."

"Well, madam, I trust it will reconcile you to your retreat, that this
deed shows the temper of those who might wish you at liberty.
Blood-thirsty tyrants, and cruel men-quellers are they all, from the
Clan-Ranald and Clan-Tosach in the north, to the Ferniherst and
Buccleuch in the south--the murdering Seytons in the east, and--"

"Methinks, madam, you forget that I am a Seyton?" said Catherine,
withdrawing her kerchief from her face, which was now coloured with
indignation.

"If I had forgot it, fair mistress, your forward bearing would have
reminded me," said Lady Lochleven.

"If my brother has slain the villain that would have poisoned his
Sovereign, and his sister," said Catherine, "I am only so far sorry
that he should have spared the hangman his proper task. For aught
farther, had it been the best Douglas in the land, he would have been
honoured in falling by the Seyton's sword."

"Farewell, gay mistress," said the Lady of Lochleven, rising to
withdraw; "it is such maidens as you, who make giddy-fashioned
revellers and deadly brawlers. Boys must needs rise, forsooth, in the
grace of some sprightly damsel, who thinks to dance through life as
through a French galliard." She then made her reverence to the Queen,
and added, "Do you also, madam, fare you well, till curfew time, when
I will make, perchance, more bold than welcome in attending upon your
supper board.--Come with me, Randal, and tell me more of this cruel
fact."

"'Tis an extraordinary chance," said the Queen, when she had departed;
"and, villain as he was, I would this man had been spared time for
repentance. We will cause something to be done for his soul, if we
ever attain our liberty, and the Church will permit such grace to a
heretic.--But, tell me, Catherine, _ma mignГіne_--this brother of
thine, who is so _frack_, as the fellow called him, bears he the
same wonderful likeness to thee as formerly?"

"If your Grace means in temper, you know whether I am so _frack_
as the serving-man spoke him."

"Nay, thou art prompt enough in all reasonable conscience," replied
the Queen; "but thou art my own darling notwithstanding--But I meant,
is this thy twin-brother as like thee in form and features as
formerly? I remember thy dear mother alleged it as a reason for
destining thee to the veil, that, were ye both to go at large, thou
wouldst surely get the credit of some of thy brother's mad pranks."

"I believe, madam," said Catherine, "there are some unusually simple
people even yet, who can hardly distinguish betwixt us, especially
when, for diversion's sake, my brother hath taken a female
dress,"--and as she spoke, she gave a quick glance at Roland Graeme,
to whom this conversation conveyed a ray of light, welcome as ever
streamed into the dungeon of a captive through the door which opened
to give him freedom.

"He must be a handsome cavalier this brother of thine, if he be so
like you," replied Mary. "He was in France, I think, for these late
years, so that I saw him not at Holyrood."

"His looks, madam, have never been much found fault with," answered
Catherine Seyton; "but I would he had less of that angry and heady
spirit which evil times have encouraged amongst our young nobles. God
knows, I grudge not his life in your Grace's quarrel; and love him for
the willingness with which he labours for your rescue. But wherefore
should he brawl with an old ruffianly serving-man, and stain at once
his name with such a broil, and his hands with the blood of an old and
ignoble wretch?"

"Nay, be patient, Catherine; I will not have thee traduce my gallant
young knight. With Henry for my knight, and Roland Graeme for my
trusty squire, methinks I am like a princess of romance, who may
shortly set at defiance the dungeons and the weapons of all wicked
sorcerers.--But my head aches with the agitation of the day. Take me
_La Mer Des Histoires_, and resume where we left off on
Wednesday.--Our Lady help thy head, girl, or rather may she help thy
heart!--I asked thee for the Sea of Histories, and thou hast brought
_La Cronique d'Amour_."

Once embarked upon the Sea of Histories, the Queen continued her
labours with her needle, while Lady Fleming and Catherine read to her
alternately for two hours.

As to Roland Graeme, it is probable that he continued in secret intent
upon the Chronicle of Love, notwithstanding the censure which the
Queen seemed to pass upon that branch of study. He now remembered a
thousand circumstances of voice and manner, which, had his own
prepossession been less, must surely have discriminated the brother
from the sister; and he felt ashamed, that, having as it were by heart
every particular of Catherine's gestures, words, and manners, he
should have thought her, notwithstanding her spirits and levity,
capable of assuming the bold step, loud tones, and forward assurance,
which accorded well enough with her brother's hasty and masculine
character. He endeavoured repeatedly to catch a glance of Catherine's
eye, that he might judge how she was disposed to look upon him since
he had made the discovery, but he was unsuccessful; for Catherine,
when she was not reading herself, seemed to take so much interest in
the exploits of the Teutonic knights against the Heathens of Esthonia
and Livonia, that he could not surprise her eye even for a second. But
when, closing the book, the Queen commanded their attendance in the
garden, Mary, perhaps of set purpose, (for Roland's anxiety could not
escape so practised an observer,) afforded him a favourable
opportunity of accosting his mistress. The Queen commanded them to a
little distance, while she engaged Lady Fleming in a particular and
private conversation; the subject whereof we learn, from another
authority, to have been the comparative excellence of the high
standing ruff and the falling band. Roland must have been duller, and
more sheepish than ever was youthful lover, if he had not endeavoured
to avail himself of this opportunity.

"I have been longing this whole evening to ask of you, fair
Catherine," said the page, "how foolish and unapprehensive you must
have thought me, in being capable to mistake betwixt your brother and
you?"

"The circumstance does indeed little honour to my rustic manners,"
said Catherine, "since those of a wild young man were so readily
mistaken for mine. But I shall grow wiser in time; and with that view
I am determined not to think of your follies, but to correct my own."

"It will be the lighter subject of meditation of the two," said
Roland.

"I know not that," said Catherine, very gravely; "I fear we have been
both unpardonably foolish."

"I have been mad," said Roland, "unpardonably mad. But you, lovely
Catherine--"

"I," said Catherine, in the same tone of unusual gravity, "have too
long suffered you to use such expressions towards me--I fear I can
permit it no longer, and I blame myself for the pain it may give you."

"And what can have happened so suddenly to change our relation to each
other, or alter, with such sudden cruelty, your whole deportment to
me?"

"I can hardly tell," replied Catherine, "unless it is that the events
of the day have impressed on my mind the necessity of our observing
more distance to each other. A chance similar to that which betrayed
to you the existence of my brother, may make known to Henry the terms
you have used to me; and, alas! his whole conduct, as well as his
deed, this day, makes me too justly apprehensive of the consequences."

"Fear nothing for that, fair Catherine," answered the page; "I am well
able to protect myself against risks of that nature."

"That is to say," replied she, "that you would fight with my
twin-brother to show your regard for his sister? I have heard the
Queen say, in her sad hours, that men are, in love or in hate, the
most selfish animals of creation; and your carelessness in this matter
looks very like it. But be not so much abashed--you are no worse than
others."

"You do me injustice, Catherine," replied the page, "I thought but of
being threatened with a sword, and did not remember in whose hand your
fancy had placed it. If your brother stood before me, with his drawn
weapon in his hand, so like as he is to you in word, person, and
favour, he might shed my life's blood ere I could find in my heart to
resist him to his injury."

"Alas!" said she, "it is not my brother alone. But you remember only
the singular circumstances in which we have met in equality, and I may
say in intimacy. You think not, that whenever I re-enter my father's
house, there is a gulf between us you may not pass, but with peril of
your life.--Your only known relative is of wild and singular habits,
of a hostile and broken clan [Footnote: A broken clan was one who had
no chief able to find security for their good behaviour--a clan of
outlaws; And the Graemes of the Debateable Land were in that
condition.]--the rest of your lineage unknown--forgive me that I speak
what is the undeniable truth."

"Love, my beautiful Catherine, despises genealogies," answered Roland
Graeme.

"Love may, but so will not the Lord Seyton," rejoined the damsel.

"The Queen, thy mistress and mine, she will intercede. Oh! drive me
not from you at the moment I thought myself most happy!--and if I
shall aid her deliverance, said not yourself that you and she would
become my debtors?"

"All Scotland will become your debtors," said Catherine; "but for the
active effects you might hope from our gratitude, you must remember I
am wholly subjected to my father; and the poor Queen is, for a long
time, more likely to be dependant on the pleasure of the nobles of her
party, than possessed of power to control them."

"Be it so," replied Roland; "my deeds shall control prejudice
itself--it is a bustling world, and I will have my share. The Knight
of Avenel, high as he now stands, rose from as obscure an origin as
mine."

"Ay!" said Catherine, "there spoke the doughty knight of romance, that
will cut his way to the imprisoned princess, through fiends and fiery
dragons!"

"But if I can set the princess at large, and procure her the freedom
of her own choice," said the page, "where, dearest Catherine, will
that choice alight?"

"Release the princess from duresse, and she will tell you," said the
damsel; and breaking off the conversation abruptly, she joined the
Queen so suddenly, that Mary exclaimed, half aloud--

"No more tidings of evil import--no dissension, I trust, in my limited
household?"--Then looking on Catherine's blushing cheek, and Roland's
expanded brow and glancing eye--"No--no," she said, "I see all is
well--_Ma petite mignone_, go to my apartment and fetch me
down--let me see--ay, fetch my pomander box."

And having thus disposed of her attendant in the manner best qualified
to hide her confusion, the Queen added, speaking apart to Roland, "I
should at least have two grateful subjects of Catherine and you; for
what sovereign but Mary would aid true love so willingly?--Ay, you lay
your hand on your sword--your _petite flamberge Г  rien_
there--Well, short time will show if all the good be true that is
protested to us--I hear them toll curfew from Kinross. To our
chamber--this old dame hath promised to be with us again at our
evening meal. Were it not for the hope of speedy deliverance, her
presence would drive me distracted. But I will be patient."