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 mignóne_--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?”