The Home of the Hepbornes—Remembrances of Childhood—The Old
Wolf-Hound.
After tarrying for a little while at the small town of Dunse, the two
knights pursued their journey over the high ridge of Lammermoor, and
early on the second day they reached Hailes Castle, the seat of the
Hepbornes, a strong fortress, standing on the southern banks of the
river Tyne, in the heart of the fertile county of East Lothian. At the
period we are now speaking of, the varied surface of the district
surrounding the place was richly though irregularly wooded; and even
the singular isolated hill of Dunpender, rising to the southward of it,
had gigantic oaks growing about its base, and towering upon its sides,
amidst thick hazel and other brushwood, wherever they could find soil
enough to nourish them.
Sir Patrick Hepborne had been particularly silent during their march.
The events which took place at Norham, and the conviction he felt that
the Lady Eleanore de Selby had indirectly endeavoured to draw him into
an attachment for her, when her heart either was or ought to have been
engaged to another, made him unhappy. It was needless to inquire why it
should have done so, since he was ever and anon congratulating himself
on having escaped uninjured from the toils of one so unworthy of him.
But the truth was he had not escaped uninjured; he had “tane a hurt”
from her, of a nature too serious to be of very easy cure. Assueton,
who had never felt the tender passion, and who had consequently very
little sympathy for it, had more than once complained of the unwonted
dulness of his companion, who used to be so full of life and
cheerfulness, and had made several vain attempts to rouse him, until at
last, despairing of success, he amused himself in jesting with Master
Mortimer Sang, who possessed a never-failing spring of good humour.
As they drew near the domains of Sir Patrick Hepborne the elder,
however, a thousand spots, and things, and circumstances, began to
present themselves in succession, and to force themselves on the
attention of the love-sick knight, awakening warm associations with the
events of his youthful days, and overpowering, for a time, his
melancholy. To these he began to give utterance in a language his
friend could not only comprehend, but participate in the feelings they
naturally gave rise to.
“Assueton,” said he, “it was here, in this very wood, that I took my
first lessons in the merry art of woodcraft; in yonder hollow were the
rethes and pankers spread to toyle the deer; and, see there, under
yonder ancient tree, was I first planted with my little cross-bow, as a
lymer, to have my vantage of the game. It was Old Gabriel Lindsay, then
a jolly forester, who put me there, and taught me how to behave me. He
is now my father’s seneschal, if, as I hope, he be yet alive. He was a
hale man then, and though twenty years older than my father, he had a
boy somewhat younger than myself, who took up his father’s trade of
forester, just before I went to France. Alas, the old tree has had a
fearful skathe of firelevin since last I saw it. See what a large limb
hath been rent from its side. Dost see the river glancing yonder below,
through the green-wood? Ay, now we see it better. In yonder shallow
used I to wade when a child, with my little hauselines tucked up above
my knees. I do remember well, I was so engaged one hot summer’s day,
when, swelled by some sudden water-spout or upland flood, I saw the
liquid wall come sweeping onwards, ready to overwhelm me. I ran in
childish fear, but ere I reached the strand it came, and overtaking my
tottering steps, hurried me with it into yonder pool. I sank, and rose,
and sank again. I remember e’en now how quickly the ideas passed
through my infant mind, as I was whirling furiously round and round by
the force of the eddy, vainly struggling and gasping for life, now
below and now on the surface of the water. I thought of the dreadful
death I was dying; I thought of the misery about to befall my father
and mother—nay, strange as it may seem, I saw them in my mind’s eye
weeping in distraction over my pale and dripping corpse, and all this
was intermixed with flitting hopes of rescue, that were but the flash
amidst the darkness of the storm. The recollections of the five or six
years I could remember of my past childhood were all condensed into the
short period of as many minutes; for that was all the time my lucky
stars permitted me to remain in jeopardy, till Gabriel Lindsay came,
and, plunging into the foaming current, dragged me half dead to the
shore. Full many a time have I sithence chosen that very pool as a
pleasure bayne wherein to exercise my limbs in swimming, when hardier
boyhood bid me defy the flood.”
“My dear friend,” said Assueton, “trust me, I do envy thee thine
indulgence in those remembrances excited by the scenes of thy
childhood; they make me more eager than ever to revel in those that
await me around my paternal boure. I shall be thy father’s guest
to-night; but I can no longer delay returning to my paternal
possessions, and in especial to my widowed mother, who doubtless longs
to embrace me. I must leave thee to-morrow.”
“Nay, Assueton, thou didst promise to bestow upon me three or four days
at least,” said Hepborne: “let me not then have thy promise amenused.
To rob me of so large a portion of thy behote were, methinks, but
unkind.”
“I did promise, indeed,” said Assueton, “but I wist not of the time we
should waste at Norham. I must e’en go to-morrow, Hepborne; but, trust
me, I shall willingly boune me back again some short space hence.”
Hepborne was not lacking in argument to overcome his friend’s
intentions, but he could gain no more than a promise, reluctantly
granted, that his departure should be postponed until the morning after
the following day.
“But see, Assueton,” said Hepborne, “there are the outer towers and
gateway of the Castle, and behold how its proud barbicans rise beyond
them. As I live, there is Flo, my faithful old wolf-dog, lying sunning
himself against the wall. He is the fleetest allounde in all these
parts for taking down the deer at a view. What ho, boy, Flo, Flo! What
means the brute, he minds me not?” continued Hepborne, riding up to
him: “I wot he was never wont to be so litherly; he used to fly at my
voice with all the swiftness of the arrow, which he is named after. Ah!
now I see, he is half-blind; and peraunter he is deaf too, for he seems
as if he heard me not. But, fool that I am, I forget that some years
have passed away sith I saw him last, and that old age must ere this
have come upon him. ’Twas but a week before I left home, Assueton, that
he killed a wolf. But let us hasten in, I am impatient to embrace my
father, and my dear mother, and my sister Isabelle.”
Loud rang the bugle-blast in the court-yard of the Castle. Throwing his
reins to his esquire, Hepborne sprang from his horse, and running
towards the doorway, whence issued a crowd of domestics, alarmed by the
summons, he grasped the hand of an old white-headed man, who presented
the feeble remains of having been once tall and powerful, but who was
now bent and tottering with age.
“My worthy Gabriel,” said he in an affectionate tone and manner, and
with a tear trembling in his eye, “dost thou not know me? How fares my
father, my mother, and my sister, the Lady Isabelle?”
The old man looked at him for some moments, with his hand held up as a
pent-house to his dim eyes.
“Holy St. Giles!” exclaimed he at last, “art thou indeed my young
master? Art thou then alive and sound? Well, who would hae thought,
they that saw me last winter, when I was so ill, that I would hae lived
to hae seen this blessed day!”
“But tell me, Gabriel,” cried Hepborne, interrupting him, “tell me
where are they all; I suppose I shall find them in the banquet hall
above?”
“Stop thee, stop thee, Sir Patrick,” said the old seneschal, “thy
father and the Lady Isabelle rode to the green-wood this morning. There
was a great cry about a route of wolves that have been wrecking doleful
damage on the shepens; they do say, that some of the flocks hae been
sorely herried by them; so my master and the Lady Isabelle rode forth
with the sleuth-hounds, and the alloundes, and the foresters; and this
morning, ere the sun saw the welkin, my boy rode away to lay out the
rethes and the pankers. I wot, thou remembers thee of my son Robert? He
is head forester now. Thy noble father, Heaven’s blessing and the
Virgin’s be about him, did that for him; may long life and eternal joy
be his guerdon for all his good deeds to me and mine! And Ralpho
Proudfoot was but ill content to see my Rob get the place aboon him; so
Ralpho yode his ways, and hath oft sithes threatened some malure to
Rob; but as to that——”
“Nay, my good Gabriel,” said Hepborne, impatiently interrupting him,
“but where, I entreat thee, is my mother?”
A cloud instantly overcast the face of the venerable domestic; he
hesitated and stammered—
“Nay, then, my dear young master, thou hast not heard of the doleful
tidings?”
“What doleful tidings? Quick, speak, old man. My mother! is she ill?
Good God, thou art pale. Oh, thy face doth speak too intelligibly—my
mother, my beloved mother, is no more!”
The old man burst into tears. He could not command a single word; but
the grief and agitation he could not hide was enough for Sir Patrick
Hepborne. In a choked and hollow voice—
“Assueton,” said he, “walk up this way, so please thee; there is the
banquet-hall; I must retire into this apartment for some moments. If
thou hadst known my mother—my excellent, my tenderly affectionate
mother—my mother, by whose benignant and joy-beaming eyes I looked to
be now greeted withal—thou wouldst pardon me for being thus unmanned.
But I shall be more composed anon.”
And with these words, and with an agitation he could not hide, he burst
away into an adjacent chamber, where he shut himself in, that he might
give way to his emotions without interruption.
It was his mother’s private room. In the little oratory opening from
the farther end of it, was her prie-dieu and crucifix, and on the floor
opposite to it was the very velvet cushion on which he found her
kneeling, and offering up her fervent orisons to Heaven on his behalf,
as he entered her apartment to embrace her for the last time, the
morning he left Hailes for France. He remembered that his heart was
then bounding with delight at the prospect of breaking into the world,
and figuring among knights and warriors, amidst all the gay splendour
of the French Court. Alas! he little thought then he was embracing her
for the last time. He now looked round the chamber, and her
missal-books, with a thousand trifles he had seen her use, called up
her graceful figure and gentle expression fresh before his eyes. He
wept bitterly, and, seating himself in the chair she used, wasted
nearly an hour in giving way to past recollections, and indulging in
the grief they occasioned. At last his sorrow began to exhaust itself,
and he became more composed. The cushion and the little altar again
caught his eye, and, rising from the chair, he prostrated himself
before the emblem of the Saviour’s sufferings and the Christian’s faith
and hope, pouring out his soul in devotional exercise. As his head was
buried in the velvet drapery of the prie-dieu, and his eyes covered,
his imagination pictured the figure of his mother floating over him in
seraphic glory. He started up, almost expecting to see his waking
vision realized; but it was no more than the offspring of his fancy,
and he again seated himself on his mother’s chair, to dry his eyes and
to compose his agitated bosom.
Though still deeply afflicted, he now felt himself able to command his
feelings, and he left his mother’s apartment to rejoin Assueton. At the
door he met old Gabriel Lindsay, and he being now able to ask, and the
hoary seneschal to tell, the date and circumstances of his mother’s
death, he learned that she had been carried off by a sudden illness
about three months previous to his arrival. The firmness of the warrior
now returned upon him, and, with a staid but steady countenance, he
rejoined his friend.
“Assueton,” said he, “if thou art disposed to ramble with me, it would
give me ease to go forth a little. Let us doff our mail, and put on
less cumbrous hunting-garbs and gippons, and go out into the woods. We
may chance to hear their hunting-horns, and so fall in with them; else
we may loiter idling it here till nightfall ere they return.”
Assueton readily agreed; and both having trimmed themselves for active
exercise, and armed themselves with hunting-spears, and with the
anelace, a kind of wood-knife or falchion, usually worn, together with
the pouch, hanging from the girdlestead of the body, they left the
Castle, with the intent of taking the direction they were informed the
hunting-party had gone in. As they passed from the outer gateway, the
great rough old wolf-hound again attracted his master’s attention.
“Alas! poor old Flo,” said Hepborne, going up to him, and stooping to
caress him, “thou canst no more follow me as thou wert wont to do. Thou
art now but as a withered and decayed log of oak—thou who used,
whenever I appeared, to dart hither and thither around me like a
firelevin.”
The old dog began to lick his master’s hand, and to whine a dull
recognition.
“I believe he doth hardly remember me,” said Hepborne, moving away; “he
seems now to be little better than a clod of earth.”
The old dog, however, though he had scarcely stirred for many months
before, began to whimper, and rearing up his huge body with great pain,
as if in stretching each limb he required to break the bonds that age
had rivetted every joint withal, and getting at last on his legs, he
began to follow Sir Patrick, whining and wagging his tail. Hepborne,
seeing his feeble state, did what he could to drive him back; but the
dog persisted in following him.
“Poor old affectionate fellow,” said Hepborne, “go with me, then, thou
shalt, though I should have to carry thee back. Assueton,” continued
he, “let us climb the lofty height of Dunpender, whence we shall have
such a view around us as may enable us to descry the hunting-party, if
they be anywhere within the range of our ken.”