soon as he saw him put himself in motion, he moved on before at a quick
pace. Diving still deeper down the lane, Roland perceived that it was
now bordered by buildings upon the one side only, and that the other
was fenced by a high old wall, over which some trees extended their
branches. Descending a good way farther, they came to a small door in
the wall. Roland's guide paused, looked around an instant to see if any
one were within sight, then taking a key from his pocket, opened the
door and entered, making a sign to Roland Graeme to follow him. He did
so, and the stranger locked the door carefully on the inside. During
this operation the page had a moment to look around, and perceived that
he was in a small orchard very trimly kept.
The stranger led him through an alley or two, shaded by trees loaded
with summer-fruit, into a pleached arbour, where, taking the turf-seat
which was on the one side, he motioned to Roland to occupy that
which was opposite to him, and, after a momentary silence, opened the
conversation as follows: “You have asked a better warrant than the word
of a mere stranger, to satisfy you that I have the authority of George
of Douglas for possessing myself of the packet intrusted to your
charge.”
“It is precisely the point on which I demand reckoning of you,” said
Roland. “I fear I have acted hastily; if so, I must redeem my error as I
best may.”
“You hold me then as a perfect stranger?” said the man. “Look at my face
more attentively, and see if the features do not resemble those of a man
much known to you formerly.”
Roland gazed attentively; but the ideas recalled to his mind were so
inconsistent with the mean and servile dress of the person before him,
that he did not venture to express the opinion which he was irresistibly
induced to form.
“Yes, my son,” said the stranger, observing his embarrassment, “you
do indeed see before you the unfortunate Father Ambrosius, who once
accounted his ministry crowned in your preservation from the snares of
heresy, but who is now condemned to lament thee as a castaway!”
Roland Graeme's kindness of heart was at least equal to his vivacity
of temper--he could not bear to see his ancient and honoured master and
spiritual guide in a situation which inferred a change of fortune so
melancholy, but throwing himself at his feet, grasped his knees and wept
aloud.
“What mean these tears, my son?” said the Abbot; “if they are shed for
your own sins and follies, surely they are gracious showers, and may
avail thee much--but weep not, if they fall on my account. You indeed
see the Superior of the community of Saint Mary's in the dress of a poor
sworder, who gives his master the use of his blade and buckler, and,
if needful, of his life, for a coarse livery coat and four marks by the
year. But such a garb suits the time, and, in the period of the church
militant, as well becomes her prelates, as staff, mitre, and crosier, in
the days of the church's triumph.”
“By what fate,” said the page--“and yet why,” added he, checking
himself, “need I ask? Catherine Seyton in some sort prepared me for
this. But that the change should be so absolute--the destruction so
complete!”--
“Yes, my son,” said the Abbot Ambrosius, “thine own eyes beheld, in my
unworthy elevation to the Abbot's stall, the last especial act of holy
solemnity which shall be seen in the church of Saint Mary's, until it
shall please Heaven to turn back the captivity of the church. For the
present, the shepherd is smitten--ay, well-nigh to the earth--the
flock are scattered, and the shrines of saints and martyrs, and pious
benefactors to the church, are given to the owls of night, and the
satyrs of the desert.”
“And your brother, the Knight of Avenel--could he do nothing for your
protection?”
“He himself hath fallen under the suspicion of the ruling powers,” said
the Abbot, “who are as unjust to their friends as they are cruel to
their enemies. I could not grieve at it, did I hope it might estrange
him from his cause; but I know the soul of Halbert, and I rather fear
it will drive him to prove his fidelity to their unhappy cause, by some
deed which may be yet more destructive to the church, and more offensive
to Heaven. Enough of this; and now to the business of our meeting.--I
trust you will hold it sufficient if I pass my word to you that the
packet of which you were lately the bearer, was designed for my hands by
George of Douglas?”
“Then,” said the page, “is George of Douglas----”
“A true friend to his Queen, Roland; and will soon, I trust, have his
eyes opened to the errors of his (miscalled) church.”
“But what is he to his father, and what to the Lady of Lochleven, who
has been as a mother to him?” said the page impatiently.
“The best friend to both, in time and through eternity,” said the Abbot,
“if he shall prove the happy instrument for redeeming the evil they have
wrought, and are still working.”
“Still,” said the page, “I like not that good service which begins in
breach of trust.”
“I blame not thy scruples, my son,” said the Abbot; “but the time which
has wrenched asunder the allegiance of Christians to the church, and of
subjects to their king, has dissolved all the lesser bonds of society;
and, in such days, mere human ties must no more restrain our progress,
than the brambles and briers which catch hold of his garments, should
delay the path of a pilgrim who travels to pay his vows.”
“But, my father,”--said the youth, and then stopt short in a hesitating
manner.
“Speak on, my son,” said the Abbot; “speak without fear.”
“Let me not offend you then,” said Roland, “when I say, that it is
even this which our adversaries charge against us; when they say that,
shaping the means according to the end, we are willing to commit great
moral evil in order that we may work out eventual good.”
“The heretics have played their usual arts on you, my son,” said the
Abbot; “they would willingly deprive us of the power of acting wisely
and secretly, though their possession of superior force forbids our
contending with them on terms of equality. They have reduced us to a
state of exhausted weakness, and now would fain proscribe the means by
which weakness, through all the range of nature, supplies the lack of
strength and defends itself against its potent enemies. As well might
the hound say to the hare, use not these wily turns to escape me, but
contend with me in pitched battle, as the armed and powerful heretic
demand of the down-trodden and oppressed Catholic to lay aside the
wisdom of the serpent, by which alone they may again hope to raise
up the Jerusalem over which they weep, and which it is their duty to
rebuild--But more of this hereafter. And now, my son, I command thee
on thy faith to tell me truly and particularly what has chanced to thee
since we parted, and what is the present state of thy conscience. Thy
relation, our sister Magdalen, is a woman of excellent gifts, blessed
with a zeal which neither doubt nor danger can quench; but yet it is
not a zeal altogether according to knowledge; wherefore, my son, I would
willingly be myself thy interrogator, and thy counsellor, in these days
of darkness and stratagem.”
With the respect which he owed to his first instructor, Roland Graeme
went rapidly through the events which the reader is acquainted with; and
while he disguised not from the prelate the impression which had
been made on his mind by the arguments of the preacher Henderson, he
accidentally and almost involuntarily gave his Father Confessor to
understand the influence which Catherine Seyton had acquired over his
mind.
“It is with joy I discover, my dearest son,” replied the Abbot, “that
I have arrived in time to arrest thee on the verge of the precipice to
which thou wert approaching. These doubts of which you complain, are the
weeds which naturally grow up in a strong soil, and require the careful
hand of the husbandman to eradicate them. Thou must study a little
volume, which I will impart to thee in fitting time, in which, by Our
Lady's grace, I have placed in somewhat a clearer light than heretofore,
the points debated betwixt us and these heretics, who sow among the
wheat the same tares which were formerly privily mingled with the good
seed by the Albigenses and the Lollards. But it is not by reason alone
that you must hope to conquer these insinuations of the enemy: It is
sometimes by timely resistance, but oftener by timely flight. You
must shut your ears against the arguments of the heresiarch, when
circumstances permit you not to withdraw the foot from his company.
Anchor your thoughts upon the service of Our Lady, while he is expending
in vain his heretical sophistry. Are you unable to maintain your
attention on heavenly objects--think rather on thine own earthly
pleasures, than tempt Providence and the Saints by giving an attentive
ear to the erring doctrine--think of thy hawk, thy hound, thine angling
rod, thy sword and buckler--think even of Catherine Seyton, rather than
give thy soul to the lessons of the tempter. Alas! my son, believe not
that, worn out with woes, and bent more by affliction than by years, I
have forgotten the effect of beauty over the heart of youth. Even in
the watches of the night, broken by thoughts of an imprisoned Queen, a
distracted kingdom, a church laid waste and ruinous, come other thoughts
than these suggest, and feelings which belonged to an earlier and
happier course of life. Be it so--we must bear our load as we may: and
not in vain are these passions implanted in our breast, since, as now
in thy case, they may come in aid of resolutions founded upon higher
grounds. Yet beware, my son--this Catherine Seyton is the daughter of
one of Scotland's proudest, as well as most worthy barons; and thy state
may not suffer thee, as yet, to aspire so high. But thus it is--Heaven
works its purposes through human folly; and Douglas's ambitious
affection, as well as thine, shall contribute alike to the desired end.”
“How, my father,” said the page, “my suspicions are then true!--Douglas
loves----”
“He does; and with a love as much misplaced as thine own; but beware of
him--cross him not--thwart him not.”
“Let him not cross or thwart me,” said the page; “for I will not yield
him an inch of way, had he in his body the soul of every Douglas
that has lived since the time of the Dark Gray Man.” [Footnote: By an
ancient, though improbable tradition, the Douglasses are said to have
derived their name from a champion who had greatly distinguished himself
in an action. When the king demanded by whom the battle had been won,
the attendants are said to have answered, “Sholto Douglas, sir;” which
is said to mean, “Yonder dark gray man.” But the name is undoubtedly
territorial, and taken from Douglas river and vale.]
“Nay, have patience, idle boy, and reflect that your suit can never
interfere with his.--But a truce with these vanities, and let us better
employ the little space which still remains to us to spend together. To
thy knees, my son, and resume the long-interrupted duty of confession,
that, happen what may, the hour may find in thee a faithful Catholic,
relieved from the guilt of his sins by authority of the Holy Church.
Could I but tell thee, Roland, the joy with which I see thee once more
put thy knee to its best and fittest use! _Quid dicis, mi fili?_”
“_Culpas meas_” answered the youth; and according to the ritual of the
Catholic Church, he confessed and received absolution, to which was
annexed the condition of performing certain enjoined penances.
When this religious ceremony was ended, an old man, in the dress of
a peasant of the better order, approached the arbour, and greeted the
Abbot.--“I have waited the conclusion of your devotions,” he said, “to
tell you the youth is sought after by the chamberlain, and it were well
he should appear without delay. Holy Saint Francis, if the halberdiers
were to seek him here, they might sorely wrong my garden-plot--they are
in office, and reck not where they tread, were each step on jessamine
and clovegilly-flowers.”
“We will speed him forth, my brother,” said the Abbot; “but alas! is it
possible that such trifles should live in your mind at a crisis so awful
as that which is now impending?”
“Reverend father,” answered the proprietor of the garden, for such he
was, “how oft shall I pray you to keep your high counsel for high minds
like your own? What have you required of me, that I have not granted
unresistingly, though with an aching heart?”
“I would require of you to be yourself, my brother,” said the Abbot
Ambrosius; “to remember what you were, and to what your early vows have
bound you.”
“I tell thee, Father Ambrosius,” replied the gardener, “the patience of
the best saint that ever said pater-noster, would be exhausted by the
trials to which you have put mine--What I have been, it skills not
to speak at present-no one knows better than yourself, father, what I
renounced, in hopes to find ease and quiet during the remainder of
my days--and no one better knows how my retreat has been invaded, my
fruit-trees broken, my flower-beds trodden down, my quiet frightened
away, and my very sleep driven from my bed, since ever this poor Queen,
God bless her, hath been sent to Lochleven.--I blame her not; being a
prisoner, it is natural she should wish to get out from so vile a hold,
where there is scarcely any place even for a tolerable garden, and where
the water-mists, as I am told, blight all the early blossoms--I say, I
cannot blame her for endeavouring for her freedom; but why I should be
drawn into the scheme--why my harmless arbours, that I planted with my
own hands, should become places of privy conspiracy-why my little quay,
which I built for my own fishing boat, should have become a haven for
secret embarkations--in short, why I should be dragged into matters
where both heading and hanging are like to be the issue, I profess to
you, reverend father, I am totally ignorant.”
“My brother,” answered the Abbot, “you are wise, and ought to know--”
“I am not--I am not--I am not wise,” replied the horticulturist,
pettishly, and stopping his ears with his fingers--“I was never called
wise but when men wanted to engage me in some action of notorious
folly.”
“But, my good brother,” said the Abbot--
“I am not good neither,” said the peevish gardener; “I am neither good
nor wise--Had I been wise, you would not have been admitted here; and
were I good, methinks I should send you elsewhere to hatch plots for
destroying the quiet of the country. What signifies disputing about
queen or king,--when men may sit at peace--_sub umbra vitis sui?_ and so
would I do, after the precept of Holy Writ, were I, as you term me, wise
or good. But such as I am, my neck is in the yoke, and you make me draw
what weight you list.--Follow me, youngster. This reverend father, who
makes in his jackman's dress nearly as reverend a figure as I myself,
will agree with me in one thing at least, and that is, that you have
been long enough here.”
“Follow the good father, Roland,” said the Abbot, “and remember my
words--a day is approaching that will try the temper of all true
Scotsmen--may thy heart prove faithful as the steel of thy blade!”
The page bowed in silence, and they parted; the gardener,
notwithstanding his advanced age, walking on before him very briskly,
and muttering as he went, partly to himself, partly to his companion,
after the manner of old men of weakened intellects--“When I was great,”
thus ran his maundering, “and had my mule and my ambling palfrey at
command, I warrant you I could have as well flown through the air
as have walked at this pace. I had my gout and my rheumatics, and an
hundred things besides, that hung fetters on my heels; and, now, thanks
to Our Lady, and honest labour, I can walk with any good man of my age
in the kingdom of Fife--Fy upon it, that experience should be so long in
coming!”
As he was thus muttering, his eye fell upon the branch of a pear-tree
which drooped down for want of support, and at once forgetting his
haste, the old man stopped and set seriously about binding it up.
Roland Graeme had both readiness, neatness of hand, and good nature in
abundance; he immediately lent his aid, and in a minute or two the bough
was supported, and tied up in a way perfectly satisfactory to the old
man, who looked at it with great complaisance. “They are bergamots,”
he said, “and if you will come ashore in autumn, you shall taste of
them--the like are not in Lochleven Castle--the garden there is a poor
pin-fold, and the gardener, Hugh Houkham, hath little skill of his
craft--so come ashore, Master Page, in autumn, when you would eat pears.
But what am I thinking of--ere that time come, they may have given thee
sour pears for plums. Take an old man's advice, youth, one who hath seen
many days, and sat in higher places than thou canst hope for--bend thy
sword into a pruning-hook, and make a dibble of thy dagger--thy days
shall be the longer, and thy health the better for it,--and come to
aid me in my garden, and I will teach thee the real French fashion of
_imping_, which the Southron call graffing. Do this, and do it without
loss of time, for there is a whirlwind coming over the land, and only
those shall escape who lie too much beneath the storm to have their
boughs broken by it.”
So saying, he dismissed Roland Graeme, through a different door
from that by which he had entered, signed a cross, and pronounced a
benedicite as they parted, and then, still muttering to himself, retired
into the garden, and locked the door on the inside.
Chapter the Twenty-Ninth.
Pray God she prove not masculine ere long!
KING HENRY VI.
Dismissed from the old man's garden, Roland Graeme found that a grassy
paddock, in which sauntered two cows, the property of the gardener,
still separated him from the village. He paced through it, lost in
meditation upon the words of the Abbot. Father Ambrosius had, with
success enough, exerted over him that powerful influence which the
guardians and instructors of our childhood possess over our more mature
youth. And yet, when Roland looked back upon what the father had said,
he could not but suspect that he had rather sought to evade entering
into the controversy betwixt the churches, than to repel the objections
and satisfy the doubts which the lectures of Henderson had excited.
“For this he had no time,” said the page to himself, “neither have I now
calmness and learning sufficient to judge upon points of such magnitude.
Besides, it were base to quit my faith while the wind of fortune sets
against it, unless I were so placed, that my conversion, should it take
place, were free as light from the imputation of self-interest. I was
bred a Catholic--bred in the faith of Bruce and Wallace--I will hold
that faith till time and reason shall convince me that it errs. I
will serve this poor Queen as a subject should serve an imprisoned
and wronged sovereign--they who placed me in her service have to blame
themselves--who sent me hither, a gentleman trained in the paths of
loyalty and honour, when they should have sought out some truckling,
cogging, double-dealing knave, who would have been at once the observant
page of the Queen, and the obsequious spy of her enemies. Since I must
choose betwixt aiding and betraying her, I will decide as becomes her
servant and her subject; but Catherine Seyton--Catherine Seyton, beloved
by Douglas and holding me on or off as the intervals of her leisure or
caprice will permit--how shall I deal with the coquette?--By heaven,
when I next have an opportunity, she shall render me some reason for her
conduct, or I will break with her for ever!”
As he formed this doughty resolution, he crossed the stile which led out
of the little enclosure, and was almost immediately greeted by Dr. Luke
Lundin.
“Ha! my most excellent young friend,” said the Doctor, “from whence come
you?--but I note the place.--Yes, neighbour Blinkhoolie's garden is a
pleasant rendezvous, and you are of the age when lads look after a bonny
lass with one eye, and a dainty plum with another. But hey! you look
subtriste and melancholic--I fear the maiden has proved cruel, or the
plums unripe; and surely I think neighbour Blinkhoolie's damsons can
scarcely have been well preserved throughout the winter--he spares the
saccharine juice on his confects. But courage, man, there are more Kates
in Kinross; and for the immature fruit, a glass of my double distilled
_aqua mirabilis--probatum est_.”
The page darted an ireful glance at the facetious physician; but
presently recollecting that the name Kate, which had provoked his
displeasure, was probably but introduced for the sake of alliteration,
he suppressed his wrath, and only asked if the wains had been heard of?
“Why, I have been seeking for you this hour, to tell you that the stuff
is in your boat, and that the boat waits your pleasure. Auchtermuchty
had only fallen into company with an idle knave like himself, and a
stoup of aquavitae between them. Your boatmen lie on their oars, and
there have already been made two wefts from the warder's turret to
intimate that those in the castle are impatient for your return. Yet
there is time for you to take a slight repast; and, as your friend and
physician, I hold it unfit you should face the water-breeze with an
empty stomach.”
Roland Graeme had nothing for it but to return, with such cheer as he
might, to the place where his boat was moored on the beach, and resisted
all offer of refreshment, although the Doctor promised that he should
prelude the collation with a gentle appetizer--a decoction of herbs,
gathered and distilled by himself. Indeed, as Roland had not forgotten
the contents of his morning cup, it is possible that the recollection
induced him to stand firm in his refusal of all food, to which such
an unpalatable preface was the preliminary. As they passed towards the
boat, (for the ceremonious politeness of the worthy Chamberlain would
not permit the page to go thither without attendance,) Roland Graeme,
amidst a group who seemed to be assembled around a party of wandering
musicians, distinguished, as he thought, the dress of Catherine Seyton.
He shook himself clear from his attendant, and at one spring was in
the midst of the crowd, and at the side of the damsel. “Catherine,” he
whispered, “is it well for you to be still here?--will you not return to
the castle?”
“To the devil with your Catherines and your castles!” answered the
maiden, snappishly; “have you not had time enough already to get rid of
your follies? Begone! I desire not your farther company, and there will
be danger in thrusting it upon me.”
“Nay--but if there be danger, fairest Catherine,” replied Roland; “why
will you not allow me to stay and share it with you?”
“Intruding fool,” said the maiden, “the danger is all on thine own
side--the risk in, in plain terms, that I strike thee on the mouth with
the hilt of my dagger.” So saying, she turned haughtily from him,
and moved through the crowd, who gave way in some astonishment at the
masculine activity with which she forced her way among them.
As Roland, though much irritated, prepared to follow, he was grappled
on the other side by Doctor Luke Lundin, who reminded him of the loaded
boat, of the two wefts, or signals with the flag, which had been made
from the tower, of the danger of the cold breeze to an empty stomach,
and of the vanity of spending more time upon coy wenches and sour plums.
Roland was thus, in a manner, dragged back to his boat, and obliged to
launch her forth upon his return to Lochleven Castle.
That little voyage was speedily accomplished, and the page was
greeted at the landing-place by the severe and caustic welcome of old
Dryfesdale. “So, young gallant, you are come at last, after a delay of
six hours, and after two signals from the castle? But, I warrant, some
idle junketing hath occupied you too deeply to think of your service
or your duty. Where is the note of the plate and household stuff?--Pray
Heaven it hath not been diminished under the sleeveless care of so young
a gad-about!”
“Diminished under my care, Sir Steward!” retorted the page angrily; “say
so in earnest, and by Heaven your gray hair shall hardly protect your
saucy tongue!”
“A truce with your swaggering, young esquire,” returned the steward; “we
have bolts and dungeons for brawlers. Go to my lady, and swagger before
her, if thou darest--she will give thee proper cause of offence, for she
has waited for thee long and impatiently.”
“And where then is the Lady of Lochleven?” said the page; “for I
conceive it is of her thou speakest.”
“Ay--of whom else?” replied Dryfesdale; “or who besides the Lady of
Lochleven hath a right to command in this castle?”