"Truly she was, my lord, with the purpose of being transferred
to the patronage of the Duchess--I mean of the Lady Marjory of
Douglas. Now, this beetle headed provost, who is after all but a
piece of blundering valiancy, has, like most such, a retainer of
some slyness and cunning, whom he uses in all his dealings, and
whose suggestions he generally considers as his own ideas. Whenever
I would possess myself of a landward baron, I address myself to such
a confidant, who, in the present case, is called Kitt Henshaw, an
old skipper upon the Tay, and who, having in his time sailed as
far as Campvere, holds with Sir Patrick Charteris the respect due
to one who has seen foreign countries. This his agent I have made
my own, and by his means have insinuated various apologies in order
to postpone the departure of Catharine for Falkland."

"But to what good purpose?"

"I know not if it is wise to tell your Highness, lest you should
disapprove of my views. I meant the officers of the Commission for
inquiry into heretical opinions should have found the Fair Maid
at Kinfauns, for our beauty is a peevish, self willed swerver from
the church; and certes, I designed that the knight should have come
in for his share of the fines and confiscations that were about to
be inflicted. The monks were eager enough to be at him, seeing he
hath had frequent disputes with them about the salmon tithe."

"But wherefore wouldst thou have ruined the knight's fortunes, and
brought the beautiful young woman to the stake, perchance?"

"Pshaw, my Lord Duke! monks never burn pretty maidens. An old
woman might have been in some danger; and as for my Lord Provost,
as they call him, if they had clipped off some of his fat acres,
it would have been some atonement for the needless brave he put on
me in St. John's church."

"Methinks, John, it was but a base revenge," said Rothsay.

"Rest ye contented, my lord. He that cannot right himself by the
hand must use his head. Well, that chance was over by the tender
hearted Douglas's declaring in favour of tender conscience; and
then, my lord, old Henshaw found no further objections to carrying
the Fair Maid of Perth to Falkland, not to share the dulness of the
Lady Marjory's society, as Sir Patrick Charteris and she herself
doth opine, but to keep your Highness from tiring when we return
from hunting in the park."

There was again a long pause, in which the Prince seemed to muse
deeply. At length he spoke. "Ramorny, I have a scruple in this matter;
but if I name it to thee, the devil of sophistry, with which thou
art possessed, will argue it out of me, as it has done many others.
This girl is the most beautiful, one excepted, whom I ever saw or
knew; and I like her the more that she bears some features of--
Elizabeth of Dunbar. But she, I mean Catharine Glover, is contracted,
and presently to be wedded, to Henry the armourer, a craftsman
unequalled for skill, and a man at arms yet unmatched in the barrace.
To follow out this intrigue would do a good fellow too much wrong."

"Your Highness will not expect me to be very solicitous of Henry
Smith's interest," said Ramorny, looking at his wounded arm.

"By St. Andrew with his shored cross, this disaster of thine is too
much harped upon, John Ramorny! Others are content with putting a
finger into every man's pie, but thou must thrust in thy whole gory
hand. It is done, and cannot be undone; let it be forgotten."

"Nay, my lord, you allude to it more frequently than I," answered
the knight--"in derision, it is true; while I--but I can be
silent on the subject if I cannot forget it."

"Well, then, I tell thee that I have scruple about this intrigue.
Dost thou remember, when we went in a frolic to hear Father
Clement preach, or rather to see this fair heretic, that he spoke
as touchingly as a minstrel about the rich man taking away the poor
man's only ewe lamb?"

"A great matter, indeed," answered Sir John, "that this churl's
wife's eldest son should be fathered by the Prince of Scotland!
How many earls would covet the like fate for their fair countesses?
and how many that have had such good luck sleep not a grain the
worse for it?"

"And if I might presume to speak," said the mediciner, "the ancient
laws of Scotland assigned such a privilege to every feudal lord
over his female vassals, though lack of spirit and love of money
hath made many exchange it for gold."

"I require no argument to urge me to be kind to a pretty woman;
but this Catharine has been ever cold to me," said the Prince.

"Nay, my lord," said Ramorny, "if, young, handsome, and a prince,
you know not how to make yourself acceptable to a fine woman, it
is not for me to say more."

"And if it were not far too great audacity in me to speak again,
I would say," quoth the leech, "that all Perth knows that the Gow
Chrom never was the maiden's choice, but fairly forced upon her by
her father. I know for certain that she refused him repeatedly."

"Nay, if thou canst assure us of that, the case is much altered,"
said Rothsay. "Vulcan was a smith as well as Harry Wynd; he would
needs wed Venus, and our chronicles tell us what came of it."

"Then long may Lady Venus live and be worshipped," said Sir John
Ramorny, "and success to the gallant knight Mars who goes a-wooing
to her goddess-ship!"

The discourse took a gay and idle turn for a few minutes; but the
Duke of Rothsay soon dropped it. "I have left," he said, "yonder
air of the prison house behind me, and yet my spirits scarce revive.
I feel that drowsy, not unpleasing, yet melancholy mood that comes
over us when exhausted by exercise or satiated with pleasure. Some
music now, stealing on the ear, yet not loud enough to make us lift
the eye, were a treat for the gods."

"Your Grace has but to speak your wishes, and the nymphs of the
Tay are as favourable as the fair ones upon the shore. Hark! it is
a lute."

"A lute!" said the Duke of Rothsay, listening; "it is, and rarely
touched. I should remember that dying fall. Steer towards the boat
from whence the music comes"

"It is old Henshaw," said Ramorny, "working up the stream. How,
skipper!"

The boatman answered the hail, and drew up alongside of the Prince's
barge.

"Oh, ho! my old friend!" said the Prince, recognising the figure as
well as the appointments of the French glee woman, Louise. "I think
I owe thee something for being the means of thy having a fright,
at least, upon St. Valentine's Day. Into this boat with thee, lute,
puppy dog, scrip and all; I will prefer thee to a lady's service
who shall feed thy very cur on capons and canary."

"I trust your Highness will consider--" said Ramorny.

"I will consider nothing but my pleasure, John. Pray, do thou be
so complying as to consider it also."

"Is it indeed to a lady's service you would promote me?" said the
glee maiden. "And where does she dwell?"

"At Falkland," answered the Prince.

"Oh, I have heard of that great lady!" said Louise; "and will you
indeed prefer me to your right royal consort's service?"

"I will, by my honour--whenever I receive her as such. Mark that
reservation, John," said he aside to Ramorny.

The persons who were in the boat caught up the tidings, and,
concluding a reconciliation was about to take place betwixt the
royal couple, exhorted Louise to profit by her good fortune, and
add herself to the Duchess of Rothsay's train. Several offered her
some acknowledgment for the exercise of her talents.

During this moment of delay, Ramorny whispered to Dwining: "Make
in, knave, with some objection. This addition is one too many.
Rouse thy wits, while I speak a word with Henshaw."

"If I might presume to speak," said Dwining, "as one who have made
my studies both in Spain and Arabia, I would say, my lord, that the
sickness has appeared in Edinburgh, and that there may be risk in
admitting this young wanderer into your Highness's vicinity."

"Ah! and what is it to thee," said Rothsay, "whether I choose to
be poisoned by the pestilence or the 'pothecary? Must thou, too,
needs thwart my humour?"

While the Prince thus silenced the remonstrances of Dwining, Sir
John Ramorny had snatched a moment to learn from Henshaw that the
removal of the Duchess of Rothsay from Falkland was still kept
profoundly secret, and that Catharine Glover would arrive there
that evening or the next morning, in expectation of being taken
under the noble lady's protection.

The Duke of Rothsay, deeply plunged in thought, received this intimation
so coldly, that Ramorny took the liberty of remonstrating. "This,
my lord," he said, "is playing the spoiled child of fortune. You
wish for liberty; it comes. You wish for beauty; it awaits you,
with just so much delay as to render the boon more precious. Even
your slightest desires seem a law to the Fates; for you desire music
when it seems most distant, and the lute and song are at your hand.
These things, so sent, should be enjoyed, else we are but like
petted children, who break and throw from them the toys they have
wept themselves sick for."

"To enjoy pleasure, Ramorny," said the Prince, "a man should have
suffered pain, as it requires fasting to gain a good appetite. We,
who can have all for a wish, little enjoy that all when we have
possessed it. Seest thou yonder thick cloud, which is about to
burst to rain? It seems to stifle me--the waters look dark and
lurid--the shores have lost their beautiful form--"

"My lord, forgive your servant," said Ramorny. "You indulge
a powerful imagination, as an unskilful horseman permits a fiery
steed to rear until he falls back on his master and crushes him. I
pray you shake off this lethargy. Shall the glee maiden make some
music?"

"Let her; but it must be melancholy: all mirth would at this moment
jar on my ear."

The maiden sung a melancholy dirge in Norman French; the words,
of which the following is an imitation, were united to a tune as
doleful as they are themselves:

Yes, thou mayst sigh,
And look once more at all around,
At stream and bank, and sky and ground.
Thy life its final course has found,
And thou must die.

Yes, lay thee down,
And while thy struggling pulses flutter,
Bid the grey monk his soul mass mutter,
And the deep bell its death tone utter--
Thy life is gone.

Be not afraid.
'Tis but a pang, and then a thrill,
A fever fit, and then a chill,
And then an end of human ill,
For thou art dead.

The Prince made no observation on the music; and the maiden, at
Ramorny's beck, went on from time to time with her minstrel craft,
until the evening sunk down into rain, first soft and gentle, at
length in great quantities, and accompanied by a cold wind. There
was neither cloak nor covering for the Prince, and he sullenly
rejected that which Ramorny offered.

"It is not for Rothsay to wear your cast garments, Sir John; this
melted snow, which I feel pierce me to the very marrow, I am now
encountering by your fault. Why did you presume to put off the boat
without my servants and apparel?"

Ramorny did not attempt an exculpation; for he knew the Prince was
in one of those humours, when to enlarge upon a grievance was more
pleasing to him than to have his mouth stopped by any reasonable
apology. In sullen silence, or amid unsuppressed chiding, the boat
arrived at the fishing village of Newburgh. The party landed, and
found horses in readiness, which, indeed, Ramorny had long since
provided for the occasion. Their quality underwent the Prince's
bitter sarcasm, expressed to Ramorny sometimes by direct words,
oftener by bitter gibes. At length they were mounted and rode on
through the closing night and the falling rain, the Prince leading
the way with reckless haste. The glee maiden, mounted by his express
order, attended them and well for her that, accustomed to severe
weather, and exercise both on foot and horseback, she supported as
firmly as the men the fatigues of the nocturnal ride. Ramorny was
compelled to keep at the Prince's rein, being under no small anxiety
lest, in his wayward fit, he might ride off from him entirely, and,
taking refuge in the house of some loyal baron, escape the snare
which was spread for him. He therefore suffered inexpressibly during
the ride, both in mind and in body.

At length the forest of Falkland received them, and a glimpse of
the moon showed the dark and huge tower, an appendage of royalty
itself, though granted for a season to the Duke of Albany. On a
signal given the drawbridge fell. Torches glared in the courtyard,
menials attended, and the Prince, assisted from horseback, was
ushered into an apartment, where Ramorny waited on him, together
with Dwining, and entreated him to take the leech's advice. The
Duke of Rothsay repulsed the proposal, haughtily ordered his bed to
be prepared, and having stood for some time shivering in his dank
garments beside a large blazing fire, he retired to his apartment
without taking leave of anyone.

"You see the peevish humour of this childish boy, now," said Ramorny
to Dwining; "can you wonder that a servant who has done so much
for him as I have should be tired of such a master?"

"No, truly," said Dwining, "that and the promised earldom of Lindores
would shake any man's fidelity. But shall we commence with him this
evening? He has, if eye and cheek speak true, the foundation of a
fever within him, which will make our work easy while it will seem
the effect of nature."

"It is an opportunity lost," said Ramorny; "but we must delay our
blow till he has seen this beauty, Catharine Glover. She may be
hereafter a witness that she saw him in good health, and master of
his own motions, a brief space before--you understand me?"

Dwining nodded assent, and added:

"There is no time lost; for there is little difficulty in blighting
a flower exhausted from having been made to bloom too soon."



CHAPTER XXXI.

Ah, me! in sooth he was a shameless wight,
Sore given to revel and ungodly glee:
Few earthly things found favour in his sight,
Save concubines and carnal companie,
And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree.

BYRON.


With the next morning the humour of the Duke of Rothsay was changed.
He complained, indeed, of pain and fever, but they rather seemed
to stimulate than to overwhelm him. He was familiar with Ramorny,
and though he said nothing on the subject of the preceding night,
it was plain he remembered what he desired to obliterate from the
memory of his followers--the ill humour he had then displayed.
He was civil to every one, and jested with Ramorny on the subject
of Catharine's arrival.

"How surprised will the pretty prude be at seeing herself in a
family of men, when she expects to be admitted amongst the hoods
and pinners of Dame Marjory's waiting women! Thou hast not many of
the tender sex in thy household, I take it, Ramorny?"

"Faith, none except the minstrel wench, but a household drudge or
two whom we may not dispense with. By the way, she is anxiously
inquiring after the mistress your Highness promised to prefer her
to. Shall I dismiss her, to hunt for her new mistress at leisure?"

"By no means, she will serve to amuse Catharine. And, hark you, were
it not well to receive that coy jillet with something of a mumming?"

"How mean you, my lord?"

"Thou art dull, man. We will not disappoint her, since she expects
to find the Duchess of Rothsay: I will be Duke and Duchess in my
own person."

"Still I do not comprehend."

"No one so dull as a wit," said the Prince, "when he does not hit
off the scent at once. My Duchess, as they call her, has been in
as great a hurry to run away from Falkland as I to come hither. We
have both left our apparel behind. There is as much female trumpery
in the wardrobe adjoining to my sleeping room as would equip a whole
carnival. Look you, I will play Dame Marjory, disposed on this day
bed here with a mourning veil and a wreath of willow, to show my
forsaken plight; thou, John, wilt look starch and stiff enough for
her Galwegian maid of honour, the Countess Hermigild; and Dwining
shall present the old Hecate, her nurse--only she hath more beard
on her upper lip than Dwining on his whole face, and skull to boot.
He should have the commodity of a beard to set her forth conformably.
Get thy kitchen drudges, and what passable pages thou hast with thee,
to make my women of the bedroom. Hearest thou? about it instantly."

Ramorny hasted into the anteroom, and told Dwining the Prince's
device.

"Do thou look to humour the fool," he said; "I care not how little
I see him, knowing what is to be done."

"Trust all to me," said the physician, shrugging his shoulders.
"What sort of a butcher is he that can cut the lamb's throat, yet
is afraid to hear it bleat?"

"Tush, fear not my constancy: I cannot forget that he would have
cast me into the cloister with as little regard as if he threw
away the truncheon of a broken lance. Begone--yet stay; ere you
go to arrange this silly pageant, something must be settled to
impose on the thick witted Charteris. He is like enough, should he
be left in the belief that the Duchess of Rothsay is still here,
and Catharine Glover in attendance on her, to come down with offers
of service, and the like, when, as I need scarce tell thee, his
presence would be inconvenient. Indeed, this is the more likely,
that some folks have given a warmer name to the iron headed knight's
great and tender patronage of this damsel."

"With that hint, let me alone to deal with him. I will send him
such a letter, that for this month he shall hold himself as ready
for a journey to hell as to Falkland. Can you tell me the name of
the Duchess's confessor?"

"Waltheof, a grey friar."

"Enough--then here I start."

In a few minutes, for he was a clerk of rare celerity, Dwining
finished a letter, which he placed in Ramorny's hand.

"This is admirable, and would have made thy fortune with Rothsay.
I think I should have been too jealous to trust thee in his household,
save that his day is closed."

"Read it aloud," said Dwining, "that we may judge if it goes
trippingly off."

And Ramorny read as follows: "By command of our high and mighty
Princess Marjory, Duchess of Rothsay, and so forth, we Waltheof,
unworthy brother of the order of St. Francis, do thee, Sir Patrick
Charteris, knight of Kinfauns, to know, that her Highness marvels
much at the temerity with which you have sent to her presence a
woman of whose fame she can judge but lightly, seeing she hath made
her abode, without any necessity, for more than a week in thine
own castle, without company of any other female, saving menials; of
which foul cohabitation the savour is gone up through Fife, Angus,
and Perthshire. Nevertheless, her Highness, considering the ease
as one of human frailty, hath not caused this wanton one to be
scourged with nettles, or otherwise to dree penance; but, as two
good brethren of the convent of Lindores, the Fathers Thickskull
and Dundermore, have been summoned up to the Highlands upon an
especial call, her Highness hath committed to their care this maiden
Catharine, with charge to convey her to her father, whom she states
to be residing beside Loch Tay, under whose protection she will
find a situation more fitting her qualities and habits than the
Castle of Falkland, while her Highness the Duchess of Rothsay abides
there. She hath charged the said reverend brothers so to deal with
the young woman as may give her a sense of the sin of incontinence,
and she commendeth thee to confession and penitence.--Signed,
Waltheof, by command of an high and mighty Princess"; and so forth.

When he had finished, "Excellent--excellent!" Ramorny exclaimed.
"This unexpected rebuff will drive Charteris mad! He hath been long
making a sort of homage to this lady, and to find himself suspected
of incontinence, when he was expecting the full credit of a charitable
action, will altogether confound him; and, as thou say'st, it will
be long enough ere he come hither to look after the damsel or do
honour to the dame. But away to thy pageant, while I prepare that
which shall close the pageant for ever."

It was an hour before noon, when Catharine, escorted by old Henshaw
and a groom of the Knight of Kinfauns, arrived before the lordly
tower of Falkland. The broad banner which was displayed from it
bore the arms of Rothsay, the servants who appeared wore the colours
of the Prince's household, all confirming the general belief that
the Duchess still resided there. Catharine's heart throbbed, for she
had heard that the Duchess had the pride as well as the high courage
of the house of Douglas, and felt uncertain touching the reception
she was to experience. On entering the castle, she observed that
the train was smaller than she had expected, but, as the Duchess
lived in close retirement, she was little surprised at this. In a
species of anteroom she was met by a little old woman, who seemed
bent double with age, and supported herself upon an ebony staff.

"Truly thou art welcome, fair daughter," said she, saluting Catharine,
"and, as I may say, to an afflicted house; and I trust (once more
saluting her) thou wilt be a consolation to my precious and right
royal daughter the Duchess. Sit thee down, my child, till I see
whether my lady be at leisure to receive thee. Ah, my child, thou
art very lovely indeed, if Our Lady hath given to thee a soul to
match with so fair a body."

With that the counterfeit old woman crept into the next apartment,
where she found Rothsay in the masquerading habit he had prepared,
and Ramorny, who had evaded taking part in the pageant, in his
ordinary attire.

"Thou art a precious rascal, sir doctor," said the Prince; "by
my honour, I think thou couldst find in thy heart to play out the
whole play thyself, lover's part and all."

"If it were to save your Highness trouble," said the leech, with
his usual subdued laugh.

"No--no," said Rothsay, "I never need thy help, man; and tell
me now, how look I, thus disposed on the couch--languishing and
ladylike, ha?"

"Something too fine complexioned and soft featured for the Lady
Marjory of Douglas, if I may presume to say so," said the leech.

"Away, villain, and marshal in this fair frost piece--fear not
she will complain of my effeminacy; and thou, Ramorny, away also."

As the knight left the apartment by one door, the fictitious old
woman ushered in Catharine Glover by another. The room had been
carefully darkened to twilight, so that Catharine saw the apparently
female figure stretched on the couch without the least suspicion.

"Is that the maiden?" asked Rothsay, in a voice naturally sweet,
and now carefully modulated to a whispering tone. "Let her approach,
Griselda, and kiss our hand."

The supposed nurse led the trembling maiden forward to the side
of the couch, and signed to her to kneel. Catharine did so, and
kissed with much devotion and simplicity the gloved hand which the
counterfeit duchess extended to her.

"Be not afraid," said the same musical voice; "in me you only see
a melancholy example of the vanity of human greatness; happy those,
my child, whose rank places them beneath the storms of state."

While he spoke, he put his arms around her neck and drew her
towards him, as if to salute her in token of welcome. But the kiss
was bestowed with an earnestness which so much overacted the part
of the fair patroness, that Catharine, concluding the Duchess had
lost her senses, screamed aloud.

"Peace, fool! it is I--David of Rothsay."

Catharine looked around her; the nurse was gone, and the Duke
tearing off his veil, she saw herself in the power of a daring
young libertine.

"Now be present with me, Heaven!" she said; "and Thou wilt, if I
forsake not myself."

As this resolution darted through her mind, she repressed her
disposition to scream, and, as far as she might, strove to conceal
her fear.

"The jest hath been played," she said, with as much firmness as
she could assume; "may I entreat that your Highness will now unhand
me?" for he still kept hold of her arm.

"Nay, my pretty captive, struggle not--why should you fear?"

"I do not struggle, my lord. As you are pleased to detain me, I
will not, by striving, provoke you to use me ill, and give pain to
yourself, when you have time to think."

"Why, thou traitress, thou hast held me captive for months," said
the Prince, "and wilt thou not let me hold thee for a moment?"

"This were gallantry, my lord, were it in the streets of Perth,
where I might listen or escape as I listed; it is tyranny here."

"And if I did let thee go, whither wouldst thou fly?" said Rothsay.
"The bridges are up, the portcullis down, and the men who follow
me are strangely deaf to a peevish maiden's squalls. Be kind,
therefore, and you shall know what it is to oblige a prince."

"Unloose me, then, my lord, and hear me appeal from thyself to
thyself, from Rothsay to the Prince of Scotland. I am the daughter
of an humble but honest citizen. I am, I may well nigh say, the
spouse of a brave and honest man. If I have given your Highness any
encouragement for what you have done, it has been unintentional.
Thus forewarned, I entreat you to forego your power over me, and
suffer me to depart. Your Highness can obtain nothing from me, save
by means equally unworthy of knighthood or manhood."

"You are bold, Catharine," said the Prince, "but neither as a knight
nor a man can I avoid accepting a defiance. I must teach you the
risk of such challenges."

While he spoke, he attempted to throw his arms again around her;
but she eluded his grasp, and proceeded in the same tone of firm
decision.

"My strength, my lord, is as great to defend myself in an honourable
strife as yours can be to assail me with a most dishonourable
purpose. Do not shame yourself and me by putting it to the combat.
You may stun me with blows, or you may call aid to overpower me;
but otherwise you will fail of your purpose."

"What a brute you would make me!" said the Prince. "The force I
would use is no more than excuses women in yielding to their own
weakness."

He sat down in some emotion.

"Then keep it," said Catharine, "for those women who desire such
an excuse. My resistance is that of the most determined mind which
love of honour and fear of shame ever inspired. Alas! my lord,
could you succeed, you would but break every bond between me and
life, between yourself and honour. I have been trained fraudulently
here, by what decoys I know not; but were I to go dishonoured hence,
it would be to denounce the destroyer of my happiness to every
quarter of Europe. I would take the palmer's staff in my hand, and
wherever chivalry is honoured, or the word Scotland has been heard,
I would proclaim the heir of a hundred kings, the son of the godly
Robert Stuart, the heir of the heroic Bruce, a truthless, faithless
man, unworthy of the crown he expects and of the spurs he wears.
Every lady in wide Europe would hold your name too foul for her lips;
every worthy knight would hold you a baffled, forsworn caitiff,
false to the first vow of arms, the protection of woman and the
defence of the feeble."

Rothsay resumed his seat, and looked at her with a countenance in
which resentment was mingled with admiration. "You forget to whom
you speak, maiden. Know, the distinction I have offered you is one
for which hundreds whose trains you are born to bear would feel
gratitude."

"Once more, my lord," resumed Catharine, "keep these favours for
those by whom they are prized; or rather reserve your time and your
health for other and nobler pursuits--for the defence of your
country and the happiness of your subjects. Alas, my lord, how
willingly would an exulting people receive you for their chief!
How gladly would they close around you, did you show desire to
head them against the oppression of the mighty, the violence of
the lawless, the seduction of the vicious, and the tyranny of the
hypocrite!"

The Duke of Rothsay, whose virtuous feelings were as easily excited
as they were evanescent, was affected by the enthusiasm with which
she spoke. "Forgive me if I have alarmed you, maiden," he said
"thou art too noble minded to be the toy of passing pleasure, for
which my mistake destined thee; and I, even were thy birth worthy
of thy noble spirit and transcendent beauty, have no heart to give
thee; for by the homage of the heart only should such as thou be
wooed. But my hopes have been blighted, Catharine: the only woman
I ever loved has been torn from me in the very wantonness of policy,
and a wife imposed on me whom I must ever detest, even had she the
loveliness and softness which alone can render a woman amiable in
my eyes. My health is fading even in early youth; and all that is
left for me is to snatch such flowers as the short passage from
life to the grave will now present. Look at my hectic cheek; feel,
if you will, my intermitting pulse; and pity me and excuse me if
I, whose rights as a prince and as a man have been trampled upon
and usurped, feel occasional indifference towards the rights of
others, and indulge a selfish desire to gratify the wish of the
passing moment."

"Oh, my lord!" exclaimed Catharine, with the enthusiasm which
belonged to her character--"I will call you my dear lord, for
dear must the heir of Bruce be to every child of Scotland--let
me not, I pray, hear you speak thus! Your glorious ancestor endured
exile, persecution, the night of famine, and the day of unequal
combat, to free his country; do you practise the like self denial
to free yourself. Tear yourself from those who find their own way
to greatness smoothed by feeding your follies. Distrust yon dark
Ramorny! You know it not, I am sure--you could not know; but the
wretch who could urge the daughter to courses of shame by threatening
the life of the aged father is capable of all that is vile, all
that is treacherous!"

"Did Ramorny do this?" said the Prince.

"He did indeed, my lord, and he dares not deny it."

"It shall be looked to," answered the Duke of Rothsay. "I have ceased
to love him; but he has suffered much for my sake, and I must see
his services honourably requited."

"His services! Oh, my lord, if chronicles speak true, such services
brought Troy to ruins and gave the infidels possession of Spain."

"Hush, maiden--speak within compass, I pray you," said the Prince,
rising up; "our conference ends here."

"Yet one word, my Lord Duke of Rothsay," said Catharine,
with animation, while her beautiful countenance resembled that of
an admonitory angel. "I cannot tell what impels me to speak thus
boldly; but the fire burns within me, and will break out. Leave
this castle without an hour's delay; the air is unwholesome for
you. Dismiss this Ramorny before the day is ten minutes older; his
company is most dangerous."

"What reason have you for saying this?"

"None in especial," answered Catharine, abashed at her own eagerness
--"none, perhaps, excepting my fears for your safety."

"To vague fears the heir of Bruce must not listen. What, ho! who
waits without?"

Ramorny entered, and bowed low to the Duke and to the maiden, whom,
perhaps, he considered as likely to be preferred to the post of
favourite sultana, and therefore entitled to a courteous obeisance.

"Ramorny," said the Prince, "is there in the household any female
of reputation who is fit to wait on this young woman till we can
send her where she may desire to go?"

"I fear," replied Ramorny, "if it displease not your Highness to
hear the truth, your household is indifferently provided in that
way; and that, to speak the very verity, the glee maiden is the
most decorous amongst us."

"Let her wait upon this young person, then, since better may not
be. And take patience, maiden, for a few hours."

Catharine retired.

"So, my lord, part you so soon from the Fair Maid of Perth? This
is, indeed, the very wantonness of victory."

"There is neither victory nor defeat in the case," returned the
Prince, drily. "The girl loves me not; nor do I love her well enough
to torment myself concerning her scruples."

"The chaste Malcolm the Maiden revived in one of his descendants!"
said Ramorny.

"Favour me, sir, by a truce to your wit, or by choosing a different
subject for its career. It is noon, I believe, and you will oblige
me by commanding them to serve up dinner."

Ramorny left the room; but Rothsay thought he discovered a smile
upon his countenance, and to be the subject of this man's satire
gave him no ordinary degree of pain. He summoned, however, the
knight to his table, and even admitted Dwining to the same honour.
The conversation was of a lively and dissolute cast, a tone
encouraged by the Prince, as if designing to counterbalance the
gravity of his morals in the morning, which Ramorny, who was read
in old chronicles, had the boldness to liken to the continence of
Scipio.

The banquet, nothwithstanding the Duke's indifferent health, was
protracted in idle wantonness far beyond the rules of temperance;
and, whether owing simply to the strength of the wine which he
drank, or the weakness of his constitution, or, as it is probable,
because the last wine which he quaffed had been adulterated by
Dwining, it so happened that the Prince, towards the end of the
repast, fell into a lethargic sleep, from which it seemed impossible
to rouse him. Sir John Ramorny and Dwining carried him to his
chamber, accepting no other assistance than that of another person,
whom we will afterwards give name to.

Next morning, it was announced that the Prince was taken ill of
an infectious disorder; and, to prevent its spreading through the
household, no one was admitted to wait on him save his late master
of horse, the physician Dwining, and the domestic already mentioned;
one of whom seemed always to remain in the apartment, while the
others observed a degree of precaution respecting their intercourse
with the rest of the family, so strict as to maintain the belief
that he was dangerously ill of an infectious disorder.



CHAPTER XXXII.

In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire,
With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales
Of woeful ages, long ago betid:
And, ere thou bid goodnight, to quit their grief,
Tell thou the lamentable fall of me.

King Richard II Act V. Scene I.


Far different had been the fate of the misguided heir of Scotland
from that which was publicly given out in the town of Falkland.
His ambitious uncle had determined on his death, as the means
of removing the first and most formidable barrier betwixt his own
family and the throne. James, the younger son of the King, was a
mere boy, who might at more leisure be easily set aside. Ramorny's
views of aggrandisement, and the resentment which he had latterly
entertained against his masters made him a willing agent in young
Rothsay's destruction. Dwining's love of gold, and his native
malignity of disposition, rendered him equally forward. It had been
resolved, with the most calculating cruelty, that all means which
might leave behind marks of violence were to be carefully avoided,
and the extinction of life suffered to take place of itself by
privation of every kind acting upon a frail and impaired constitution.
The Prince of Scotland was not to be murdered, as Ramorny had
expressed himself on another occasion, he was only to cease to exist.
Rothsay's bedchamber in the Tower of Falkland was well adapted for
the execution of such a horrible project. A small, narrow staircase,
scarce known to exist, opened from thence by a trapdoor to the
subterranean dungeons of the castle, through a passage by which
the feudal lord was wont to visit, in private and in disguise,
the inhabitants of those miserable regions. By this staircase the
villains conveyed the insensible Prince to the lowest dungeon of
the castle, so deep in the bowels of the earth, that no cries or
groans, it was supposed, could possibly be heard, while the strength
of its door and fastenings must for a long time have defied force,
even if the entrance could have been discovered. Bonthron, who had
been saved from the gallows for the purpose, was the willing agent
of Ramorny's unparalleled cruelty to his misled and betrayed patron.

This wretch revisited the dungeon at the time when the Prince's
lethargy began to wear off, and when, awaking to sensation, he felt
himself deadly cold, unable to move, and oppressed with fetters,
which scarce permitted him to stir from the dank straw on which he
was laid. His first idea was that he was in a fearful dream, his
next brought a confused augury of the truth. He called, shouted,
yelled at length in frenzy but no assistance came, and he was only
answered by the vaulted roof of the dungeon. The agent of hell heard
these agonizing screams, and deliberately reckoned them against the
taunts and reproaches with which Rothsay had expressed his instinctive
aversion to him. When, exhausted and hopeless, the unhappy youth
remained silent, the savage resolved to present himself before the
eyes of his prisoner. The locks were drawn, the chain fell; the
Prince raised himself as high as his fetters permitted; a red glare,
against which he was fain to shut his eyes, streamed through the
vault; and when he opened them again, it was on the ghastly form
of one whom he had reason to think dead. He sunk back in horror.

"I am judged and condemned," he exclaimed, "and the most abhorred
fiend in the infernal regions is sent to torment me!"

"I live, my lord," said Bonthron; "and that you may live and enjoy
life, be pleased to sit up and eat your victuals."

"Free me from these irons," said the Prince, "release me from this
dungeon, and, dog as thou art, thou shalt be the richest man in
Scotland."

"If you would give me the weight of your shackles in gold," said
Bonthron, "I would rather see the iron on you than have the treasure
myself! But look up; you were wont to love delicate fare--behold
how I have catered for you."

The wretch, with fiendish glee, unfolded a piece of rawhide covering
the bundle which he bore under' his arm, and, passing the light to
and fro before it, showed the unhappy Prince a bull's head recently
hewn from the trunk, and known in Scotland as the certain signal
of death. He placed it at the foot of the bed, or rather lair, on
which the Prince lay.

"Be moderate in your food," he said; "it is like to be long ere
thou getst another meal."

"Tell me but one thing, wretch," said the Prince. "Does Ramorny
know of this practice?"

"How else hadst thou been decoyed hither? Poor woodcock, thou art
snared!" answered the murderer.

With these words, the door shut, the bolts resounded, and the
unhappy Prince was left to darkness, solitude, and misery. "Oh, my
father!--my prophetic father! The staff I leaned on has indeed
proved a spear!"

We will not dwell on the subsequent hours, nay, days, of bodily
agony and mental despair.

But it was not the pleasure of Heaven that so great a crime should
be perpetrated with impunity.

Catharine Glover and the glee woman, neglected by the other inmates,
who seemed to be engaged with the tidings of the Prince's illness,
were, however, refused permission to leave the castle until it should
be seen how this alarming disease was to terminate, and whether it
was actually an infectious sickness. Forced on each other's society,
the two desolate women became companions, if not friends; and the
union drew somewhat closer when Catharine discovered that this was
the same female minstrel on whose account Henry Wynd had fallen
under her displeasure. She now heard his complete vindication,
and listened with ardour to the praises which Louise heaped on her
gallant protector. On the other hand, the minstrel, who felt the
superiority of Catharine's station and character, willingly dwelt
upon a theme which seemed to please her, and recorded her gratitude
to the stout smith in the little song of "Bold and True," which
was long a favourite in Scotland.

Oh, bold and true,
In bonnet blue,
That fear or falsehood never knew,
Whose heart was loyal to his word,
Whose hand was faithful to his sword--
Seek Europe wide from sea to sea,
But bonny blue cap still for me!

I've seen Almain's proud champions prance,
Have seen the gallant knights of France,
Unrivall'd with the sword and lance,
Have seen the sons of England true,
Wield the brown bill and bend the yew.
Search France the fair, and England free,
But bonny blue cap still for me!

In short, though Louise's disreputable occupation would have been
in other circumstances an objection to Catharine's voluntarily
frequenting her company, yet, forced together as they now were,
she found her a humble and accommodating companion.

They lived in this manner for four or five days, and, in order to
avoid as much as possible the gaze, and perhaps the incivility, of
the menials in the offices, they prepared their food in their own
apartment. In the absolutely necessary intercourse with domestics,
Louise, more accustomed to expedients, bolder by habit, and desirous
to please Catharine, willingly took on herself the trouble of
getting from the pantler the materials of their slender meal, and
of arranging it with the dexterity of her country.

The glee woman had been abroad for this purpose upon the sixth day,
a little before noon; and the desire of fresh air, or the hope to
find some sallad or pot herbs, or at least an early flower or two,
with which to deck their board, had carried her into the small
garden appertaining to the castle. She re-entered her apartment
in the tower with a countenance pale as ashes, and a frame which
trembled like an aspen leaf. Her terror instantly extended itself
to Catharine, who could hardly find words to ask what new misfortune
had occurred.

"Is the Duke of Rothsay dead?"

"Worse! they are starving him alive."

"Madness, woman!"

"No--no--no--no!" said Louise, speaking under her breath, and
huddling her words so thick upon each other that Catharine could
hardly catch the sense. "I was seeking for flowers to dress your
pottage, because you said you loved them yesterday; my poor little
dog, thrusting himself into a thicket of yew and holly bushes that
grow out of some old ruins close to the castle wall, came back
whining and howling. I crept forward to see what might be the cause
--and, oh! I heard a groaning as of one in extreme pain, but so
faint, that it seemed to arise out of the very depth of the earth.
At length, I found it proceeded from a small rent in the wall,
covered with ivy; and when I laid my ear close to the opening, I
could hear the Prince's voice distinctly say, 'It cannot now last
long'--and then it sunk away in something like a prayer."

"Gracious Heaven! did you speak to him?"

"I said, 'Is it you, my lord?' and the answer was, 'Who mocks me
with that title?' I asked him if I could help him, and he answered
with a voice I shall never forget, 'Food--food! I die of famine!'
So I came hither to tell you. What is to be done? Shall we alarm
the house?"

"Alas! that were more likely to destroy than to aid," said Catharine.

"And what then shall we do?" said Louise.

"I know not yet," said Catharine, prompt and bold on occasions of
moment, though yielding to her companion in ingenuity of resource
on ordinary occasions: "I know not yet, but something we will do:
the blood of Bruce shall not die unaided."

So saying, she seized the small cruise which contained their soup,
and the meat of which it was made, wrapped some thin cakes which she
had baked into the fold of her plaid, and, beckoning her companion
to follow with a vessel of milk, also part of their provisions,
she hastened towards the garden.

"So, our fair vestal is stirring abroad?" said the only man she
met, who was one of the menials; but Catharine passed on without
notice or reply, and gained the little garden without farther
interruption.

Louise indicated to her a heap of ruins, which, covered with underwood,
was close to the castle wall. It had probably been originally a
projection from the building; and the small fissure, which communicated
with the dungeon, contrived for air, had terminated within it. But
the aperture had been a little enlarged by decay, and admitted a
dim ray of light to its recesses, although it could not be observed
by those who visited the place with torchlight aids.

"Here is dead silence," said Catharine, after she had listened
attentively for a moment. "Heaven and earth, he is gone!"

"We must risk something," said her companion, and ran her fingers
over the strings of her guitar.

A sigh was the only answer from the depth of the dungeon. Catharine
then ventured to speak. "I am here, my lord--I am here, with food
and drink."

"Ha! Ramorny! The jest comes too late; I am dying," was the answer.

"His brain is turned, and no wonder," thought Catharine; "but whilst
there is life, there may be hope."

"It is I, my lord, Catharine Glover. I have food, if I could pass
it safely to you."

"Heaven bless thee, maiden! I thought the pain was over, but it
glows again within me at the name of food."

"The food is here, but how--ah, how can I pass it to you? the
chink is so narrow, the wall is so thick! Yet there is a remedy--
I have it. Quick, Louise; cut me a willow bough, the tallest you
can find."

The glee maiden obeyed, and, by means of a cleft in the top of
the wand, Catharine transmitted several morsels of the soft cakes,
soaked in broth, which served at once for food and for drink.

The unfortunate young man ate little, and with difficulty, but
prayed for a thousand blessings on the head of his comforter. "I
had destined thee to be the slave of my vices," he said, "and yet
thou triest to become the preserver of my life! But away, and save
thyself."

"I will return with food as I shall see opportunity," said Catharine,
just as the glee maiden plucked her sleeve and desired her to be
silent and stand close.

Both crouched among the ruins, and they heard the voices of Ramorny
and the mediciner in close conversation.

"He is stronger than I thought," said the former, in a low, croaking
tone. "How long held out Dalwolsy, when the knight of Liddesdale
prisoned him in his castle of Hermitage?"

"For a fortnight," answered Dwining; "but he was a strong man, and
had some assistance by grain which fell from a granary above his
prison house."

"Were it not better end the matter more speedily? The Black Douglas
comes this way. He is not in Albany's secret. He will demand to
see the Prince, and all must be over ere he comes."

They passed on in their dark and fatal conversation.

"Now gain we the tower," said Catharine to her companion, when she
saw they had left the garden. "I had a plan of escape for myself;
I will turn it into one of rescue for the Prince. The dey woman
enters the castle about vesper time, and usually leaves her cloak
in the passage as she goes into the pantlers' office with the milk.
Take thou the cloak, muffle thyself close, and pass the warder
boldly; he is usually drunken at that hour, and thou wilt go as
the dey woman unchallenged through gate and along bridge, if thou
bear thyself with confidence. Then away to meet the Black Douglas;
he is our nearest and only aid."

"But," said Louise, "is he not that terrible lord who threatened
me with shame and punishment?"

"Believe it," said Catharine, "such as thou or I never dwelt an
hour in the Douglas's memory, either for good or evil. Tell him
that his son in law, the Prince of Scotland dies--treacherously
famished--in Falkland Castle, and thou wilt merit not pardon
only, but reward."

"I care not for reward," said Louise; "the deed will reward itself.
But methinks to stay is more dangerous than to go. Let me stay,
then, and nourish the unhappy Prince, and do you depart to bring
help. If they kill me before you return, I leave you my poor lute,
and pray you to be kind to my poor Charlot."

"No, Louise," replied Catharine, "you are a more privileged and
experienced wanderer than I--do you go; and if you find me dead
on your return, as may well chance, give my poor father this ring
and a lock of my hair, and say, Catharine died in endeavouring to
save the blood of Bruce. And give this other lock to Henry; say,
Catharine thought of him to the last, and that, if he has judged
her too scrupulous touching the blood of others, he will then know
it was not because she valued her own."

They sobbed in each other's arms, and the intervening hours till
evening were spent in endeavouring to devise some better mode of
supplying the captive with nourishment, and in the construction
of a tube, composed of hollow reeds, slipping into each other, by
which liquids might be conveyed to him. The bell of the village
church of Falkland tolled to vespers. The dey, or farm woman, entered
with her pitchers to deliver the milk for the family, and to hear
and tell the news stirring. She had scarcely entered the kitchen
when the female minstrel, again throwing herself in Catharine's
arms, and assuring her of her unalterable fidelity, crept in silence
downstairs, the little dog under her arm. A moment after, she was
seen by the breathless Catharine, wrapt in the dey woman's cloak,
and walking composedly across the drawbridge.

"So," said the warder, "you return early tonight, May Bridget? Small
mirth towards in the hall--ha, wench! Sick times are sad times!"

"I have forgotten my tallies," said the ready witted French woman,
"and will return in the skimming of a bowie."

She went onward, avoiding the village of Falkland, and took
a footpath which led through the park. Catharine breathed freely,
and blessed God when she saw her lost in the distance. It was another
anxious hour for Catharine which occurred before the escape of the
fugitive was discovered. This happened so soon as the dey girl,
having taken an hour to perform a task which ten minutes might have
accomplished, was about to return, and discovered that some one
had taken away her grey frieze cloak. A strict search was set on
foot; at length the women of the house remembered the glee maiden,
and ventured to suggest her as one not unlikely to exchange an old
cloak for a new one. The warder, strictly questioned, averred he
saw the dey woman depart immediately after vespers; and on this
being contradicted by the party herself, he could suggest, as the
only alternative, that it must needs have been the devil.