CHAPTER X.

I want none of your gold, Douglas,

I want none of your fee,

But swear by the faith of thy right hand

That you'll love only me:

And I'll leave my country and my kin

And wend along with thee.

_May Marley._

When the mass, and a plentiful morning meal, were over next day, every

one began to prepare for such exercises as the season admitted. All

lingered about for some time, but seeing that no orders were likely to

be given out for any procession or general rendezvous during the day,

which every one had expected, some betook them to the chace, others to

equestrian exercises with sword and spear, while the Homes and the

Gordons joined in an excursion into English ground, keeping along the

southern bank of the Tweed. The King observing them all about to

disperse, reminded the Douglas that it was a high festal day; on

which the latter made a low obeisance, and remarked, that he was only

now a guest in the castle of Roxburgh, and that his honoured liege

sovereign was host; that his foresters and sumptuary officers had got

timeous notice, and nothing would be lacking that his Majesty could

desire for the entertainment of his nobles and friends. The King then

caused it to be intimated, that he would be happy to meet all his

lords and nobles in the banquet-hall at even-tide, where every knight,

gentleman, and yeoman, were expected to attend in their several

places, and all should be heartily welcome. "And now, Lord Douglas,"

said he, leading the way into an anti-chamber, "let us two retire by

ourselves, and consult what is to be done next."

Lord Douglas followed, but ill prepared to answer the inquiries about

to be put to him. He had received injunctions of secrecy from one who

had in no instance misled him, and to whom he had been of late

indebted for the preservation of his life. But how was he now to

conduct himself, or how answer his sovereign in any other way than

according to the truth as it had been stated unto him? His predicament

was a hard one; for he was, in the first place, ashamed of the part he

had acted, of never having discovered his royal mistress while

attached to his side, notwithstanding of all the evidences in

confirmation of the fact, which he had never once seen till too late.

And then to have suffered even his mistress' page to fall a victim to

such a shameful death, without either making an effort to save him, or

so much as missing him from his hand, or mentioning his loss,--were

circumstances not quite consistent with the high spirit of gallantry, as

well as chivalry, he had displayed at first by the perilous undertaking.

Gladly would he have kept his knowledge of the transaction a secret; but

then there was the monk Benjamin, who, by some supernatural agency, had

been given to understand the whole scope and tenor of it; and there was

dame Mary Kirkmichael knew the whole, except the degrading catastrophe,

and had unfolded it all to him when it was too late. He run over all

these things in his mind, and was as little, as at any previous period,

prepared what part to act, when the King turned round, and, in the most

anxious and earnest manner, said, "Lord Douglas, where is our daughter?"

"My liege lord and sovereign, ought not I rather to have asked that

question of you?" said the Douglas: "And I would have done it at our

first meeting, only that I would not trifle with your feelings on such

a serious matter, perceiving that you laboured under a grievous

misconception regarding my conduct. You have not, it seems, brought

the princess Margaret along with you, as was expected by all my

friends and followers?"

"Not by yourself, I am certain. I say, Lord Douglas, where is my

daughter? I demand a categorical answer."

"Sire, in what way am I accountable for your daughter?"

"Lord Douglas, I hate all evasion. I request an answer as express

as my question. I know my darling child, in admiration of your

chivalrous enterprise, resolved, in the true spirit of this romantic

age, to take some active part in the perils undertaken solely on her

account: I know her ingenuity, which was always boundless, was

instrumental in performing some signal services to you; and that

finally she attached herself to your side in a disguise which she

deemed would ensure her a kind and honourable protection. Thus far I

know; and, though the whole was undertaken and transacted without my

knowledge, when I was absent in the Highlands, I am certain as to the

truth of every circumstance; and I am farther certified that you know

all this."

"Hear me, my liege sovereign. Admitting that your daughter, or any

other king's, lord's, or commoner's daughter, should put herself into

a page's raiment, and"----

"Silence, lord!" cried the King, furiously, interrupting him: "Am I to

be mocked thus, and answered only with circumlocution, notwithstanding

my express command to the contrary? Answer me in one word. My Lord of

Douglas, where is my daughter?"

"Where God will, sire," was the short and emphatic reply. The king

eyed Douglas with a keen and stern regard, and the eagle eye of the

latter met that of his sovereign without any abashment. But yet this

look of the Douglas, unyielding as it was, manifested no daring or

offensive pride; it was one rather of stern sorrow and regret;

nevertheless he would not withdraw it, but, standing erect, he looked

King Robert in the face, until the eyes of the latter were gradually

raised from his toward heaven. "Almighty Father!" cried he, clasping

his hands together,--"Where, then, is it thy will that my beloved

child should be? O Douglas! Douglas! In the impatience and warmth of

temper peculiar to my race, I was offended at your pertinacity; but I

dread it was out of respect to a father's feelings. I forgive it, now

that I see you are affected, only, in pity to this yearning bosom,

relate to me all that you know. Douglas! can you not inform me what

has befallen to my daughter?"

"No, my liege, I cannot. I know nothing, or at least little save from

report; but the little that I have heard, and the little that I have

seen, shall never be reported by my tongue."

"Then hope is extinct!" cried the King. "The scene that can draw tears

from the stern eye of the Douglas, even by an after reflection, is one

unmeet for a parent's ear. The will of the Almighty be done! He hath

given and he hath taken away: blessed be his name! But why have the

men of my household, and the friends in whom I trusted, combined

against my peace?" The King said this in a querulous mood. "Why did

you not tell me sooner?" cried he, turning to Douglas, his tone

altering gradually from one of penitence and deep humiliation to one

of high displeasure: "Why bring me on this fool's errand, when I ought

to have been sitting in sack-cloth and ashes, and humbling myself for

the sins of my house? These must have been grievous indeed, that have

drawn down such punishments on me. But the indifference of those in

whom we trusted is the worst of all! O, my child! My darling child,

Margaret! Never was there a parent so blest in a daughter as I was in

thee! The playfulness of the lamb or the kid,--the affection of

the turtle-dove, were thine. Thy breast was all enthusiasm and

benevolence, and every emotion of thy soul as pure as the ray of

heaven. I loved thee with more than parental affection, and, if I am

bereaved of thee, I will go mourning to my grave. Is there no one in

this place that can inform me of my daughter's fate? Her lady

confidant, I understand, is still lingering here. Send for her

instantly. Send for her confessor also, that I may confront you

altogether, and ascertain the hideous and unwelcome truth. If I cannot

have it here, I shall have it elsewhere, or wo be to all that have

either been instrumental in her fate or lax in warding it off! Do you

think, Lord of Douglas, that I can be put off with a hum and a haw,

and a shake of the head, and, 'it's 'God's will?' Do you think I

should, when I am inquiring about my own daughter, whom I held

dearest of all earthly beings? No, I'll scrutinize it to a pin's

point. I'll wring every syllable of the truth out of the most secret

heart and the most lying tongue. I'll move heaven and hell, but I'll

know every circumstance that has befallen to my daughter. Send, I say,

for her foster-sister and faithful attendant, dame Mary Kirkmichael.

Send also for her confessor, and for all to whom she has but once

spoken since she arrived here. Why are they not sent for before this

time?"

"My liege lord, restrain your impatience. They are sent for; but they

will tell you nothing that can mitigate your sorrow. If it be all true

that has been told to me, and that you yourself have told to me, of

the disguise the Princess assumed, then is it also true that you will

never again see your daughter in this state of existence."

"Ah! is it even so! Then is the flower of the realm fallen! then is

the solace of my old age departed! But she is happy in the realms of

blessedness. While love, joy, and truth are the delight of heaven,

there will my Margaret find a place! O, that she had staid by her

father's hand! Why was my jewel entrusted to the care and honour of

those who care but for themselves, and who have suffered the loveliest

flower of the world to be cropped in its early blossom? nay, left it

to be sullied and trodden down in forgetfulness. Lord Douglas, did you

see my daughter perish?"

"Now, my liege lord, can I act the man no longer. Forgive me; and may

the holy Virgin, the mother of God, forgive me; for I indeed saw with

these eyes that inestimable treasure cut off, without one effort on my

part to save her, and without a tear wetting my cheeks."

"Then may all the powers of darkness blast thy soul, thou unfeeling

traitor! Thus! thus will I avenge me on the culprit who could give up

his sovereign's daughter, and his own betrothed bride, to a violent

death, and that without a tear! O thou incarnate fiend! shalt thou not

bewail this adown the longest times of eternity? Darest thou not draw

against an injured father and king?"

"Put up thy sword, sire. The Douglas draws not but on his equals, and

thou art none of them. Thy person is sacred and thy frame debilitated.

He holds thee inviolate; but he holds thee also as nothing!"

"Thou shall know, proud lord, that the King of Scotland fears no

single arm, and that he can stand on one limb to avenge the blood of

his royal house."

"My gracious lord, this is the mere raving of a wounded spirit, and I

grieve that I should have for one moment regarded it otherwise than

with veneration. I had deserved to die an hundred deaths, if I had

known who the dear sufferer was; but, alas! I know not ought of the

sex or rank of my page, who was taken prisoner in the great night

engagement. But I can tell you no more, Sire; nor is it needful; you

now know all. I am guiltless as the babe unborn of my royal mistress's

blood; but I will never forgive myself for my negligence and want of

perception; nor do I anticipate any more happiness in this world. I

have been laid under some mysterious restraints, and have suffered

deeply already. And now, my gracious lord, I submit myself to your

awards."

"Alas, Lord Douglas, you are little aware of the treasure you have

lost. Your loss is even greater than mine. It behoves us, therefore, to

lament and bewail our misfortunes together, rather than indulge in

bitter upbraidings."

Here they were interrupted by the entrance of the Queen, who brought

with her the Lady Jane Howard, dressed in a style of eastern

magnificence, to introduce her to the King. The King, amid all the grief

that overwhelmed his spirit, was struck with her great beauty, and paid

that respect and homage to her which high birth and misfortune always

command from the truly great; and the Queen, with the newfangledness of

her sex, appeared wholly attached to this captive stranger, and had

brought her down at that time to intercede with the King and Lord

Douglas for her liberty, loading her with commendations and kind

attentions. To check the Queen's volatility of spirits, the King

informed her shortly of the irreparable loss both of them had suffered,

but the effect was manifestly not at all proportionate to the cause. She

appeared indeed much moved, and had well nigh fallen into hysterics; but

if her grief was not assumed, it bore strong symptoms of being so. She

first railed at, and then tried to comfort the Douglas; but finally

turned again to Lady Jane, (who wept bitterly, out of true sympathy, for

the Princess's cruel and untimely fate,) and caressed her, trying to

console her in the most extravagant terms. The King, on the other hand,

sobbed from his inmost soul, and bewailed his loss in terms so pathetic

and moving, that the firm soul of Douglas was overcome, and he entered

into all his Sovereign's feelings with the keenest sensations. It was a

scene of sorrow and despair, which was rather increased than mitigated

by the arrival of two more who had lately been sent for. These were the

monk Benjamin and the lady Mary Kirkmichael, whom the King began anew to

examine, dwelling on every circumstance that occurred during the course

of his darling child's extravagant adventure with a painful anxiety. But

every now and then he became heated with anger, blaming some one for the

want of discernment or respect. When he came to examine the monk, who

shewed great energy and acuteness of speech, he lost his temper

altogether at some part of the colloquy; but the monk was not to be

daunted; he repelled every invective with serenity of voice and manner,

and at sundry times rather put the monarch to shame.

"Hadst thou ever an opportunity of confessing and shriving my child,

previous to the time she fell into the hands of her enemies, reverend

brother."

"No Sire, she never made confession to me, nor asked absolution at my

hand."

"And wherefore didst thou not proffer it, thou shriveled starveling?

Were there no grants to bestow? no rich benefices to confer for the

well-being of a royal virgin's soul, that caused thee to withold these

poor alms of grace? Who was it that bestowed on thy unconscionable

order all that they possess in this realm? And yet thou wilt suffer

one of their posterity to come into thy cell, to ask thy assistance,

without bestowing a mass or benediction for the sake of heaven."

"Sire, it is only to the ignorant and the simple that we proffer our

ghostly rites. Those who are enlightened in the truths and mysteries

of religion it behoves to judge for themselves, and to themselves we

leave the state of their consciences, in all ordinary cases." The monk

was robed in a very wide flowing grey frock, and cowled over the eyes,

while his thin and effeminate-looking beard trembled adown his breast

with the fervency of his address. As he said these last words, he

stretched his right hand forth toward the King, and raising the left

up behind him, his robe was by that means extended and spread forth in

a manner that increased the tiny monk to triple the size he was

before. "And for you, King of Scotland," added he, raising his keen

voice that quavered with energy, "I say such a demeanour is unseemly.

Is it becoming the head and guardian of the Christian church in this

realm,--him that should be a pattern to all in the lower walks of

life,--thus to threat and fume beneath the chastening of his Maker?

You ask me who bestowed these ample bounds on my order? I ask you in

return who it was that bestowed them on thy progenitors and thee, and

for what purpose? Who gave thee a kingdom, a people, and a family of

thy own? Was it not he before whose altar thou hast this day kneeled,

and vowed to be for him and not for another? And what he has bestowed

has he not a right to require of thee again, in his own time, and in

his own way?" The King bowed with submission to the truth of this bold

expostulation, and the impetuous and undaunted monk went on: "It is

rather thy duty, most revered monarch, to bow with deep humiliation to

the righteous awards of the Almighty, for just and righteous they are,

however unequal they may appear to the purblind eyes of mortal men. If

he has taken a beloved child from thee, rest assured that he has only

snatched her from evil to come, and translated her to a better and a

happier home. Why then wilt thou not acknowledge the justice of this

dispensation, and rather speak comfort to the weaker vessels than give

way to ill-timed and unkingly wrath.

"As for thee, noble lord, to the eyes of men thine may appear a hard

lot indeed. For the love of one thou adventuredst thy life and the

very existence of thy house and name. The stake was prodigious, and

when thou hadst won it with great labour and perseverance, the prize

was snatched from thy grasp. Thy case will to all ages appear a

peculiarly hard one; still there is this consolation in it--"

"There is no grain of consolation in it," said Douglas interrupting

him: "There can be none! The blow on my head, and my hopes of

happiness, is irretrievable."

"Yes lord, there is," said the monk; "for has it not been decreed in

heaven above, that this union was never to be consummated? Man may

propose and scheme and lay out plans for futurity, but it is good for

him that the fulfilment is vested in other hands than his. This then

is consolation, to know that it was predestinated in the counsels of

one who cannot err, that that royal maid never was to be thine; and

therefore all manner of repining is not only unmanly and unmeet, but

sinful. It behoves now thy sovereign, in reward of thy faithful

services, to bestow on thee another spouse with the same dowry he

meant to bestow on his daughter. And it behoves you to accept of this

as the gift of heaven, proffered to thee in place of the one it

snatched from thy grasp. As its agent, therefore, and the promoter of

peace, love, and happiness among men, I propose that King Robert

bestow upon thee this noble and high born dame for thy consort. Both

of you have been bereaved of those to whom you were betrothed, and it

cannot fail to strike every one that this seems a fortune appointed

for you two by Providence; nor can I form in my mind the slightest

objection that can be urged to it on either side. It is desirable on

every account, and may be the means of promoting peace between the two

sister kingdoms, wasted by warfare and blood, which every true

Christian must deplore. I propose it as a natural consequence, and a

thing apparently foreordained by my master; and give my voice for it.

King and Queen of Scotland what say you?"

"I hold the matter that this holy and enlightened brother has

uttered to be consistent with truth, reason, and religion," said the

King,--"and the union has my hearty and free approval. I farther

promise to behave to this lady as a father to a daughter, and to

bestow upon our trusty and leal cousin, the Lord Douglas, such

honours, power, and distinction as are most due for the great services

rendered to this realm. The match has my hearty concurrence."

"And mine," said the Queen: "I not only acquiesce in the reverend

brother's proposal, but I lay my commands on my noble kinsman the Lord

Douglas to accept of this high boon of heaven."

"Pause my sovereign lady," said the Douglas, "before you proceed too

far. In pity to the feelings that rend this bosom, let me hear no more

of the subject at present. In pity to that lovely and angelic lady's

feelings, that must be acute as my own, I implore that you will not

insist farther in this proposal. Do not wound a delicate female

breast, pressed down by misfortunes."

"This is something like affectation, Lord Douglas," rejoined the

Queen: "If I answer for the lady Jane's consent, what have you then to

say against this holy brother's proposal?"

"Ay, if your Queen stand security for the lady's consent, and if _I

stand security for it likewise_," said the monk--"what have you to say

against the union then? Look at her again, lord. Is not she _a lovely_

and _angelic_ being? Confess the truth now. For I know it to be the

truth, that never since you could distinguish beauty from deformity,

have your eyes beheld _so lovely_ and _so angelic_ a lady? Pressed

down by misfortunes, too! Does that not add a triple charm to all her

excellencies? You know what has been done for her? what has been

suffered for her? what a noble and gallant life was laid down for

her? Was such a sacrifice ever made for a lady or princess of your

own country? No, never, heroic lord! Therefore bless your stars that

have paved out a way for your union with such a _lovely_, _angelic_,

and _matchless lady_; and take her! take her to your longing and

aching bosom."

"Moderate your fervour, holy brother," said the Douglas, "which

appears to me rather to be running to unwarrantable extremes. Granting

that the lady Jane Howard is perhaps unequalled in beauty and elegant

accomplishments----"

"Is she not so? Is she not so?" cried the monk with a fervour that

raised his voice to a scream of passion: "Did I not say that she was?

And now am I not warranted by your own sentiments, _freely expressed_

enough. Sure, lord, you cannot deny that I said, that I told you, the

lady was _peerless in beauty and accomplishments_? I knew it, and told

you before that she was the _queen of beauty_. Why then do you

hesitate, and make all this foolish opposition to an union which we

all know you are eager to consummate? Yes; you are: And we all know

it. You are!"

"Holy brother, what unaccountable phrenzy has seized upon you," said

the Douglas; "and why all this extravagant waste of declamation? Let

me not hear another sentence, nor another word on the subject: only

suffer me to finish what I had begun. I say then, granting that the

lady Jane were peerless in beauty and accomplishments, still there is

an impression engraven on my heart that can never be removed, or give

place to another; and there will I cherish it as sacred, till the day

of my death. And, that no reckless importunity may ever be wasted on

me again, here I kneel before the holy rood, which I kiss, and swear

before God and his holy angels, that since I have been bereaved of the

sovereign mistress of my heart and all my affections,--of her in whom

all my hopes of happiness in this world were placed, and who to me was

all in all of womankind--that never shall another of the sex be folded

in the arms of Douglas, or call him husband! So help me thou Blessed

One, and all thy holy saints and martyrs, in the performance of this

vow!"

During the time of this last speech and solemn oath, the sobs of the

monk Benjamin became so audible that all eyes were turned to him, for

they thought that his delicate frame would burst with its emotions.

And, besides, he was all the while fumbling about his throat, so that

they dreaded he had purposed some mortal injury to himself. But in

place of that, he had been unloosing some clasps or knots about his

tunick; for with a motion quicker than thought, he flung at once his

cowl, frock, and beard away,--and there stood arrayed as a royal bride

the Princess Margaret of Scotland! "Journeyer of earth, where art thou

now?"

Yes; there stood, in one moment, disclosed to the eyes of all present,

_the princess Margaret Stuart herself_, embellished in all the

ornaments of virgin royalty, and blooming in a glow of new born

beauties."

"Thank heaven I have been deceived!" cried she, with great emphasis;

and when she had said this, she stood up motionless by the side of

lady Jane Howard, and cast her eyes on the ground. No pen can do

justice to the scene. It must be left wholly to conception, after the

fact is told that no one present had the slightest conception of the

disguise save the Queen, who had been initiated into the princess's

project of trying the real state of the Douglas's affections on the

preceding night. It was like a scene of enchantment, such as might

have been produced at the castle of Aikwood. But a moment ago all was

sorrow and despair; now all was one burst of joyful surprise. And, to

make it still more interesting, there stood the two rival beauties of

Scotland and England, side by side, as if each were vying with the

other for the palm to be bestowed on her native country. But to this

day the connoisseurs in female beauty have never decided whether the

dark falcon eyes and lofty forehead of the one, or the soft blushing

roses and blue liquid eyes of the other, were the most irresistible.

The King was the first to burst from the silence of surprise. He flew

to his daughter's arms with more vigour than a cripple could well be

supposed to exert, kissed and embraced her, took her on his knee and

wept on her neck; then, striking his crutch on the floor, he scolded

her most heartily for the poignant and unnecessary pain she had

occasioned to him. "And the worst of it is," added he, "that you have

caused me show too much interest in an imp that has been the constant

plague of my life with her whims and vagaries; an interest, and an

intensity of feeling, that I shall be ashamed of the longest day I

have to live."

"Indeed but you shall not, my dear lord and father, for I will now

teaze another than you, and teaze him only to deeds of valour and

renown; to lead your troops to certain conquest, till you are fully

avenged of the oppressors of your people."

Mary Kirkmichael hung by her seymar and wept. The Douglas kneeled at

her feet, and in an ecstacy took her hand and pressed it to his lips.

"I do not know whether or not I shall have reason to bless heaven all

my life for this singular restoration," said he; "but for the present

I do it with all my heart. Tell me, thou lovely cameleon, what am I to

think of this? Wert thou indeed, as was related to me, the page Colin

Roy Macalpin? He with the carroty locks and the flippant tongue?"

"You need not doubt it, lord Douglas. I was. And I think during our

first intimacy that I teazed you sufficiently."

"Then that delicate neck of yours, for all its taper form and lily hue

is a charmed one, and rope proof; for, sure as I look on you now, I

saw you swing from a beam's end on the battlement of this same tower."

"Oh! no, no, my lord! It was not I. Never trust this head again if it

should suffer its neck to be noosed. _You_ suffered it though; that

you must confess. And I dare say, though a little sorry, felt a dead

weight removed from about your neck. You suffered me to be taken

prisoner out of your tent, and mured up among rude and desperate men

in a dungeon. It cost me all my wits then to obtain my release. But I

effected it. Swung from a beam's end. quoth he! Och! what a vulgar

idea! No my lord, the page whom you saw swung was a _tailor's

apprentice_, whom I hired to carry a packet up to your lordship, with

my green suit of clothes, and a promise of a high place of preferment,

and I kept my word to the brat! An intolerable ape it was. Many better

lives have been lost in this contention; few of less value--I never

deemed he was so soon to be strung, and my heart smote me for the part

I had acted. But the scheme of turning monk and confessor suited me

best of all: I then got my shacles of mystery riveted on you; and,

heavens! what secrets I have found out."

At this part of the narrative, Isaac the curate bestows a whole

chapter and a half on the description of the wedding, and all the

processions, games, and feasting that ensued; but as none of these

things bore the slightest resemblance to ought that has ever been

witnessed in the present age, like a judicious editor I have passed

them over. Suffice it that the Border never witnessed such splendor of

array, such tournaments, such feasting, and such high wassail. For

why? because it never witnessed the marriage of a king's daughter

before. The streets of the city, and the square of the fortress, that

had so lately been dyed with blood, now "ran red with Rhenish wine."

And be it farther known, that Sir Charles Scott and his horse Corbie

bore off every prize in the tilting matches, till at last no knight

would enter the lists with him; but the fair dames were all in

raptures with the gallantry of his bearing, and the suavity of his

manners. As for the Queen, she became so much enamoured of the hero,

that she was scarcely to be kept in due bounds, and if she had not

been advanced in years he might have deemed she was in love with him.

In the lists she drew up her snow-white palfrey by Corbie's side, and

in the revel hall the royal dame herself was sure to be at the

knight's side, except when at table, on pretence of hearing something

more about his perils at Aikwood, and in particular about the scene

with the beautiful and splendid witches; at which, as Sir Charles

related it with abashed countenance, the Queen and her Maries laughed

till the salt tears ran from their eyes. As for the description of

their appearance the succeeding morning, and the feelings of the

warrior, both then and afterward when transformed to a huge bull,

these never failed to throw the gamesome group into convulsions of

mirth. In short, the knight of Raeburn was of all the gallants quite

the favourite at that splendid festival in the hall, as well as the

hero in the lists, in which he six times received the prize of honour

from the hands of the royal bride and those of lady Jane Howard, who,

at the Queen's earnest request was made principal bride's-maid, and

presiding lady at the sports.

But if Charles was the hero of those engaged in the games, his friend

the gospel friar was as completely so among the gay onlookers, and

created them more sport often than all in the lists. Ever since the

various affrays in which his mule had been engaged, and come off with

such decided success, the mongrel had learned to value himself solely

as a beast of warfare, and no man who rode near him was sure of

keeping his seat a minute, especially if he rode a high mettled and

capricious charger. By the side of a horse of modesty that bore

himself with candour and humility of countenance, the mule was a beast

of sociality and decorum; but whenever he saw a steed begin to cut

any unnecessary capers, he deemed himself insulted or put to the

challenge, and on the instant began to lay back his long ears and

switch with his tail, while his grey sunk eyes emitted a hellish

gleam. It was no matter at what distance such a horse made his

appearance, if the mule disliked his deportment, he would have flown

across a whole field to attack and humble him. He had borne his master

headlong into so many unpremeditated and unwarrantable scuffles since

his return from Aikwood, that he had bestowed on him the name of

Goliah of Gath; and besides giving him that veteran title, he often

averred that he believed one of the necromancer's imps of darkness had

taken possession of his beast.

The friar had, however, learned to distinguish all his motions, and

knew from these the exact points and stages of his irritation; and

when his offence began to reach its acme, he had no other resource

than that of wheeling his head forcibly around, and turning his tail

toward the object of his displeasure. Without this precaution, the

friar would have been carried into the lists every day merely to

gratify the spleen of Goliah, who could not endure the curvetting and

jangling that was going on there. And even this inverse precaution did

not at all times prove effectual, as in the following pleasant

instance.

It chanced one day that the knight of Kraeland entered the lists

alone, no opponent appearing against him, owing to some mistake made

in the arrangement by the officers. He was a goodly youth, but

uplifted above the earth with vanity, and of his vapouring and airs

there were no end. Imagining that he attracted the eyes of all the

beholders, and elated because no one had the courage to appear against

him, for so he affected to regard the circumstance, he paraded the

circle round and round, brandished his lance, and made his horse to

curvette, rear, and wheel, accomplishing many grand evolutions. The

lookers on were all beginning to get sick of him, and to view his

vaporous manoeuvres with disdain, but amongst them all there was

none so much moved with spleen as Goliah of Gath. From the first

moment that the knight entered the lists that uncircumcised Philistine

began to manifest a mortal dislike towards him; the more so it

was believed that he was mounted on a milk-white steed, a colour

peculiarly disagreeable to the mule's optics. The judges of the games

wist not what to do, and appealed to the King, who gave it as his

opinion that this unchallenged appearance should be accounted as a

victory, and that the knight should take his course in the next round;

and the heralds got directions to make proclamation accordingly.

But long before this period the friar had been compelled to turn away

the face of Goliah from this scene of vanity, and, as chance would

have had it, he was in the innermost circle, so that retreat outward

through the innumerable files was utterly impracticable, and there sat

the gruff uncourtly form of the gospel friar, with the tail of his

beast where the head should have been, to the great amusement of the

spectators. For all this the malevolent eye of Goliah, as well

accustomed to look backward as forward, perceived all the outrageous

rearings and snortings of that proud and gaudy animal, and became

moved with so much indignation that he would no longer be restrained,

either by bit or spur, soothing or threatening. Just as the herald had

taken his place to make proclamation, the mule fell a running

backward; and the more fiercely that the friar spurred, and the more

bitterly he threatened, the beast of Belial retrogaded the faster,

till at last, after two or three intemperate plunges, he got his head

straight to the white charger, and then in one moment he was upon him,

and had him by the brisket with his teeth. The horse reared furiously,

but the mule pressed still closer to him, fixing his long teeth in the

horse's shoulder, till on a sudden, in an attempt to clear both

Goliah and his rider, or, at least, to leap over the mule's neck, the

white steed was overturned, and thrown right on his back, above his

overweening rider. All this was transacted in a space of time shorter

than the time taken up in reading the relation; and the moment that

Goliah of Gath had achieved this overthrow, he wheeled about with a

mettledness and inveteracy beyond all description, and attacked the

couple with his heels, prostrate as they were, yerk for yerk,

indiscriminately. The friar sunk the rowels of his spurs to the head

in his sides, and uttered some strong declamatory sentences against

him in the style of the nations of the East; but Goliah plied his

iron-heels still the faster, although he groaned, as he kicked, in the

bitterness of his spirit. The scene was perfectly irresistible,

grievous as the consequences threatened to be on the one side. The

lists were all in convulsions of laughter, and involuntary shouts of

applause shook the storeys of the firmament. The King laughed till he

sunk down in his litter, and his attendants had some fears that he

would expire in a convulsive fit. The knight of Kraeland was carried

out of the lists, maimed, and in a state of insensibility; and the

friar, maugre all he could advance in opposition to the award, was

proclaimed the victor in that course, and obliged to appear in the

next encounter in opposition to the knight who had been the conqueror

in the preceding combat.

Had Goliah of Gath restrained his wrath when this conquest was

achieved, it would have been all very well, save for Kraeland and his

white charger; but the mongrel's wrath once aroused was not easily

abated. Therefore, when the friends of the fallen knight and his

squire forced the Philistine to forego his attack and battery, his

gleaming eyes glanced all around for another proper object whereon to

wreak his horrid revenge. Now it so happened, that the Queen and her

Maries were all mounted on white palfreys; and as these stood in the

inner circles, arching their proud necks, and champing the bits, he

was moved with choler against them, and resolved within himself to

give them a surprise, and shew them the prowess of a veteran warrior;

for, over and above their saucy demeanor, the glaring whiteness of

colour that pervaded them and their riders his heart could not endure:

And, besides all these, the shouts and laughter of the multitude were

thought to have added greatly to his ire. The friar, who knew him

well, said so; "for" added he, "the shouts of joy and laughter are

unto him as a portion of gall and of worm-wood." Certes, when he was

driven from the prostrate champion, by dint of club and lance, he

straightway laid back his long ears, and with a swiftness hardly

imaginable, scoured the plain to the attack of the dames and their

strutting genets. The friar soon perceived the dangerous dilemma into

which he was about to be precipitated; and, all unable to restrain

this champion of the Philistines, he cried out with a loud voice, "O

wretched man that I am! lo, I shall work destruction among the

daughters of women! Will no man come to the assistance of those who

have no strength of man at all? Wo is me! will the mighty men stand

and look on till the daughters of their people are cut off from the

face of the earth?"

Long ere this sentence had proceeded out of the friar's mouth, the

work of deray and confusion was begun. The column of white palfreys

were routed in one moment, and their gentle and affrighted riders

kicked off in pairs, like so many diving swans. Never was there a

warrior like Goliah of Gath! for he tore with his teeth, and struck

with both hind feet and fore feet, all at the same instant. The Queen

of Scotland would in all probability have been laid low with the rest,

had it not been for the prowess of her favourite hero, who sprung from

Corbie's back, and seized the audacious mule by the bridle. "Smite

him, my son!" cried the friar, with a loud voice: "Draw thou forth thy

sword, and smite him to the earth, for it is better for him to die

than to live."

The mule thought to prove contumacious at the first; but feeling

Charlie's powerful grasp, he calmed himself, turned the one ear back,

the other forward, and switched his tail, listening with much

gratification to the hysterical cries of the discomfited damsels. Not

so his master, who was grieved in spirit, and very wroth with his old

servant and companion; insomuch that when he alighted from his back,

and seized his curb, he exclaimed, "O thou limb of the wicked

one! Thou emblem of the evil principle working in the children of

disobedience! What shall I do unto thee? Lo, now, if I had a sword in

mine hand, would I not strike thy head from off thy body, and cause

thee to be buried with the burial of an ass?" The mule let his ears

fall down very wide asunder, like the horns of a Lancashire ox,

putting on a face of great humility, as he looked out from beneath his

heavy eyebrows, with many a sly demure glance at the friar's face. The

good man led him around the lists in search of an opening to get out,

for he durst not again mount him for fear of being instrumental in

some farther outrage among the ranks of the great and the noble. As he

passed by the King, his Majesty caused him to be called up into his

presence, and asked him what sum it would please him to ask as the

price of his mule?

"Verily, my lord, O King," answered the friar, with great readiness,

"that beast hath been unto thy servant as a friend and an inheritance.

He hath borne me over the mountains of Palestine, and hath drunk from

the fords of Jordan, as well as from Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of

Damascus. Yea, bestriding that woful beast, hath thy servant fought

the battles of the cross; and the hooves that have in thy sight been

lifted up against the fair and the lovely, the meek and the innocent,

have been dyed red in the blood of infidels. Money is of no avail to

thy servant; and he cannot part with his old and trusty companion,

even though the spirit of those that are cursed from the heavens be in

him."

"Then wilt thou come thyself unto me at the Scottish court?" said the

King to him, somewhat in his own style,--"and I will cherish both thee

and thy doughty companion, and thou shalt minister unto me in holy

things, and shalt be unto me as a father, and I and my children will

be to thee as sons and as daughters; for my trusty and well tried

friend, Sir Ringan of Mountcomyn, saith well of thee and of thy great

wisdom, valour, and prudence."

"Verily, most noble King, I have yet many things to accomplish in

other lands than this, which, by the strength of the Lord, must be

fulfilled; when these are finished, then shall thy servant come unto

thee, and visit thee for good."

"And thou shalt be a welcome guest," said the King: "Wear thou this

ring for my sake, which I give thee as a pledge of friendship, and of

protection through my kingdom. Remain in the lists, for thou hast yet

battle to do against two knights of the lance and the sword."

"Lo, I will even strike with the sword and the spear, if my lord the

King commandeth it. But I lack armour, and am not a man of war, save

when the lives of the innocent or the cause of the cross is at stake.

And, moreover, the beast that thou seest is as a beast of the

bottomless pit; he hath antipathies and sympathies of his own; and

instead of bearing me full force against my opponent, he may carry me

to make war against women and children. Nevertheless, I will do all

that it behooveth me to do. Who are my adversaries?"--He was told they

were the knights of Gemelscleuch and Raeburn.--"Then God do so to me,

and more also, if I lift up my hand against any of these my brethren,

the men of my right hand, and the preservers of my life. Neither will

one of them put his spear in rest against me; so that the battle would

perish. Thy servant is not afraid to fight, but as a gladiator he is

unwilling to exhibit; therefore my lord, O King, suffer him to depart

in peace."

These reasons were cogent, so the King admitted them; and the worthy

and heroic friar was suffered to lead off Goliah of Gath, amid

thundering shouts of applause.

CHAP. XI.

This general doctrine of the text explained, I proceed, in what

remains of this discourse, to point out to you three important and

material considerations concerning the nature and character of

woman. These shall be, _1stly_, What she was; _2dly_, What she is;

and, _3dly_, What she will be hereafter. And are not these, my

brethren, matters of high importance?

_Dickson's Sermons._

All things of this world wear to an end, saith Isaac; so also did this

high Christmas festival within the halls and towers of Roxburgh. The

lady Jane had borne a principal share in all the sports, both in and

out of doors. In the hall she was led up to every dance, and in the

lists she presided as the queen of the games, distributing the prizes

with her own fair hands to the Scottish heroes, and, of course,

crowning her old friend Charlie with the bays at least once a day. Sir

Charles was a most unassuming character, and seldom adventured

on addressing his superiors first. But when once they addressed

discourse to him, he never failed answering them with perfect ease and

unconcern; and often, as is well known ere this time, with more

volubility than he himself approved of. Once, and only once during all

these days of his triumph and high honours, did the lady Jane remember

him of having brought her into captivity, and of the high bribe he had

refused for her liberty. "An' if it be your will, honoured lady, I

wish ye wadna say ony mair about that matter," said Sir Charles; "for

mony queer fidgetty kind o' feelings I hae had about it sinsyne. And

if I had kend then what I ken now,--if I had kend wha I had in my

arms, and what I had in my arms, I had nae borne the honours that I

wear the day. My heart had some sair misgiving aince about you, when

there were hard news gaun of your great jeopardy; but now that you are

in sic high favour, I am e'en glad that I brought you, for troth ye

hae a face and a form that does ane good to look at."

The lady Jane only sighed at this address, and looked down, thinking,

without doubt, of the long and dismal _widowhood_ which it would

behoove her to keep for the dismal end of her betrothed knight, and

then a virgin widowhood too, which was the worst of all. There was an

obscure glimpse of the same sort of ideas glanced on Charlie's mind as

he viewed her downcast blushing countenance; and afraid of giving

birth to any painful sensations in such a lovely lady's mind, he

desisted from further conversation.

The Queen was still so much interested in that lady as to endeavour by

all means to procure her liberty without any ransom, somewhat contrary

to her son-in-law's opinion. The Queen reasoned, that she was not a

lawful prisoner of war; the Douglas that she was, there being no bond

of peace subsisting between the nations, and she entering Scotland

with forged credentials, at least signed and sealed in favour of

another and non-existing person. She applied to the King, who gave his

consent, but, at the same time, professed having nothing to do in the

matter. At length she teazed Lord Douglas so much that he resolved to

indulge her Majesty before the court took leave of him, but to leave

it until the very last day. He, however, reckoned before his host; for

now that the abbot of Melrose had conjoined him with royalty, he found

that he had at the very least two to please instead of one.

Here, we must, with that regard to veracity which so well becomes

every narrator of a true tale, divulge a disagreeable secret; that is,

we must delineate truly a trait in the character of our heroine, the

lady Douglas, (lately the princess Margaret of Scotland,) which we

would rather have concealed, had it been possible to have done so. But

she could not conceal it any longer herself,--and why should Isaac and

I vex ourselves about it; for one day when Mary Kirkmichael waited on

her in her chamber, she found her drowned in tears, and with great

perplexity, and no less curiosity, set herself to discover the cause.

"What? My dearest and most noble lady in tears?" exclaimed she. "Now,

a plague on these teazing, battling, boisterous, deluding creatures

called men, that will not let poor innocent maids alone to live at

heart's ease, but hold them thus in constant ferment, married or

unmarried! Well did I ween from experience, that the maiden's troubles

were the most insufferable to be borne! The neglects--the disappointed

hopes--the fears--and, above all, the jealousies! Oh these jealousies!

What infernal tormentors they are! But now little wot I what to say,

or what to think; for beshrew me if I remember the time when I saw my

royal mistress in tears before. Let me recollect. No, not since dame

Mary Malcolm's palfrey leaped the ravine before the lords of Huntly

and Athol, and yours refused. Then, indeed, you wept; and when I

laughed you struck me. Yes, you know you struck me, and that had

nearly made matters worse."

"Pray, madam," said lady Douglas, "could you conveniently command

yourself so far as to bring a surgeon here on the instant?"

"A surgeon! Sanct Marie's grace! what is your ailment, my dearest

lady?"

"It is not for myself, it is for you I want him. You are very ill of a

quinsey, dame, and bleeding below the tongue is necessary. Go bring

my father's leech to me, without delay, and come with him."

"You have not forgot your sweet maiden frolics for all that is come

and all that is done. Well, I am glad you are still in that whimsical

humour. I was afraid you were grievously vexed or disappointed at

something in your new state."

"Step forth, I say, and bring me in a surgeon, for I insist on having

you bleeded under the tongue. You are very ill indeed, and the disease

is infectious."

"By my maidhood, and by your own, sweet lady, (the Douglas's I mean,)

there shall no leech that ever drew lancet open a vein in my blessed

and valuable member. No, not were it to humour a queen, or a _lady

Jane Howard_."

"Now, may all the plagues that prey on the heart of woman seize and

torment thee if thou hast not guessed the cause of my uneasiness.

There's a latent devil within thee that whispers to thy imagination

the thoughts that are passing in my heart. O Kirkmichael, I am ill! I

have suffered many distresses in my time! many, many distresses!"

"Yes, indeed you have, my royal mistress! many, many distresses!"

"Bring the surgeon, I say. Cannot you, for the life of you, compose

yourself for a little space, when you see me in such distress? Your

royal mistress, Mary? I am no royal mistress now! No, I a'nt! Nothing

but a plain jog-trot wife of a lord, or earl, or how do you call that

beautiful title? While the lady Jane Howard!--Oh Kirkmichael, I cannot

tell you the half of what I feel!"

"I know it all. Jealousy! my dear lady, jealousy! Think you I know not

what it is to suffer that? Do you remember young Spinola, that came to

our court from the places abroad? He loved me the best after all; I

had certain demonstrative proofs of it. But do you know what I

suffered? Racks, tortures, strangulations! Fiends tearing out my eyes,

pouring hellebore into my ears, and boring through my heart with red

hot irons! Not know what jealousy is? Was not I telling your royal

self the last minute"--

"Mary! stop, and be advised. You are very ill."

"I humbly ask forgiveness. I was coming to it. Dear lady, I have noted

your trouble these nine days past, and that it was still gaining

ground. But I can partly account for it, so that, with a little

prudence and patience, it may be removed. Ever since the day on which

you was a bride, or the one following perhaps, there has been more

court and more flattery paid to the southern beauty than to the

northern one. It is the course of nature, madam; you are now a married

wife, and your charms must be admired at a distance with respect and

awe. The maid must still be courted and flattered. Quite natural,

madam, I assure you. Think you any knight durst caper and bow, and

prate to the lady Douglas, as they do to _the English puppet_?"

"Mary, I will give you all my wedding apparel for these two last

words. Is not she a mere puppet, without soul or magnanimity?

But--Mary!--How gladly would I change places with her, Mary! She has

conquered after all. Yes: She has conquered Margaret Stuart, there is

no denying of it to one's own heart."

"Gramercy, dearest lady, are you not raving? Has not the noble lord of

your adoption proved victorious, and gained you with all honour and

approbation?"

"But then the lord of _her_ adoption _died_ for her, Mary. Think of

that. The gallant, faithful, and magnanimous Musgrave _died_ for the

mistress of his affections. But who died for the poor degraded lady

Margaret of Scotland? I am conquered with my own weapons. There is no

denying of it! I would rather that one lover had laid down his life

for me than have had fifty husbands."

"Palpably wrong! I'll prove it. Fifty husbands! How delightful--Beg

pardon, madam."

"I tried the Douglas hardly for it. But he was too selfish, and would

not die for me. Base, cruel knight! No, he _would not_ die for me;

even though I got him to believe that I was put to death, and my

ghost haunting him, yet he _would not_ kill himself. What a value

those monstrous men set upon their lives! Musgrave died. Lady Jane has

conquered, and I am _married_! I wish I were dead, Kirkmichael!"

"'Tis a pity but that you were, madam! If ladies are to live on these

terms with the world, they had better be out of it. For you know if

the man that one loves best will not condescend always to die when the

gratification of his mistress' vanity requires it, why there is an end

of all endurance. I managed otherwise with young Spinola."

"Mention the name of your Spinola again to me for the head that stands

on your body, since you deprecate the more gentle prescription of

bleeding below the tongue; and now find me some anodyne without delay

for the distemper that is preying on my vitals. None of your jeers and

your jibes, Kirkmichael, for I am not in humour to bear them. The

worst thing of all is yet to come. This puppet,--this painted

doll,--this thing of wax! after triumphing over me in my own country

and among my own people,--after being died for, while I was only

lived for,--after being courted, and flattered, and smiled on, while I

was only bowed to and gazed on,--after being carressed by my father,

and bedaubed with praises by my newfangled and volatile mother,--after

all this, I say, there is she going to be set at liberty, and without

all question wedded to one of the royal dukes, one of the princes of

the blood! How shall the blood of the Bruce and the spirit of the

Stuart brook this? Before I heard of that lady's name, I knew not what

jealousy was. Ever since that time has she held me in misery. I

thought I had once achieved the greatest conquest that ever was

accomplished by heroine. And I _did_ seize a noble prize! How has it

turned out?--in every instance to her honour, and my disparagement.

And there, through the unnatural fondness of my doating mother, will

she return home, and be courted for her princely fortune, not for her

beauty I am sure! But then, they will hear that the bravest and most

chivalrous knight in England _died for her_; and as certainly as I

speak to you, will she achieve a higher marriage than Margaret, and

how shall she ever show her face again?"

"A higher marriage than you, dearest lady? Then must she be married to

some of the kings on the continent, for in all the dominion of England

there is not a subject of such power as your lord, the Earl of Douglas

and Mar, nor one whose military honours flourish so proudly."

"My lord and husband is all that I could wish in man, only----"

"Only that he is _not dead_. That's all."

"You had better! _Only_ I say that he is not _a prince of the blood

royal_, Mary. Think of that. There are many such in England. And there

to a certainty will my great and only rival be wedded to one of these.

The Duke of York or Glocester, mayhap; or to Prince Henry, the heir of

the house of Mortimer, and then she'll be _a queen_! Yes, Kirkmichael!

then she will be _queen of England_!--And I--what will I be? No more

than plain _Lady Douglas_! The wife of the _Black Douglas_!--Och! what

shall I do, Mary? I'll go and wipe my shoes on her as long as I have

it in my power."

"Tarry for a small space; there is time enough for that afterward, my

dearest lady. Be staid for a little while, till I tell you a secret. A

very important and profound one it is, and it behoves you to know it.

There is a certain distemper that young newly married ladies are

subjected to, which, is entitled PHRENZY, or some such delightful

name. Some call it _derangement of intellect_, but that is too long a

name, I hate long names, or very long things of any sort. So you must

know, madam, that this delightful trouble, for it is delightful in its

way, produces a great deal of animation. It is quite proper you

should know this grand matrimonial secret, madam. This delicious,

spirit-stirring trouble then soon goes off, and when it goes all the

giddy vapours of youth fly with it. The mirror of the eye is changed,

its convex being thence turned inward, reflecting all nature on the

soul in a different light from that in which it had ever appeared

before; and, at the same time the whole structure and frame of the

character is metamorphosed, and the being that is thus transmuted

becomes a more rational and respectable creature than it was previously,

and at the same time a more happy one, although it must be acknowledged

its happiness is framed on a different model. This is my secret, and it

is quite proper that every _young_ lady who is married should be

initiated into it. As for the old ones, they are too wise to be

initiated into any thing; or for any thing to be initiated into them."

"Now, you imagine you have said a very wise thing; and it is not

without shrewdness. But I can add a principal part which you have

wholly left out, and it is this: When the patient is labouring under

this disease, it is absolutely necessary that she be indulged, and

humoured in every one of her caprices, else her convalesence is highly

equivocal. Don't you acknowledge this?"

"I grant it. And the first case that comes under my care I promise to

abide by this prescription."

"That is spoken like yourself,--like the trusty friend and

confidante. What then is to be done? for something must be done, and

that suddenly."

"That is easily decided. She must be kept in confinement. Kept here a

prisoner at large, until she turn an old maid and lose a few of her

fore-teeth. That will be delightful! Eh! Then make her believe all the

time that it is a duty incumbent on her to remain in that widowed

state for the sake of Musgrave--Hoh! beg pardon, madam!"

"I charge you never to let that triumph of hers sound in my ears

again. It creates the same feeling within me as if you informed me

that an adder was laced in my stays. Kirkmichael, you never took any

thing in hand that you did not accomplish for me. This lady must be

retained for the present, till we can determine on some other course.

I gave my lord a lesson about it already, but his reply was not only

unsatisfactory but mortifying in the extreme. It has almost put me

beside myself, and my pride will not suffer me to apply to him again.

"My dearest love," said he, "I pray that you will not shew a a

sense of any inferiority by a jealousy of that unfortunate lady."

Inferiority! I never had such a sentiment as a feeling of inferiority!

What absurd notions these men imbibe. Is it possible, Mary, that I can

have a sense of inferiority?"

"No, no! quite impossible! Think no more of such antiquated and absurd

apothegms as these. I will manage it for you. I take in hand to keep

her as long as I live, if that will satisfy you. But are you sure that

your brother will not fall in love with her, and marry her, and then

she will be queen of Scotland?"

"Ooh!--Oooh! Give me a drink, Mary. I am going into fits! Ooh!--Yes:

as sure as you stand there, he will. The prince is his mother all

over, newfangled and volatile in the extreme, and amorous to an

intolerable degree. Disgustingly amorous, she is the very sort of food

for his passion. Then her princely fortune, and the peace of the two

realms! Oh! give me another drink, Mary; and bathe my hands--and my

brow--That is kindly done. Queen of Scotland! Then I must pay court

to her,--perhaps be preferred as lady of the bed-chamber. No, no. To

the Scottish court she _must not go_!"

"Be calm, my sweet lady! I have it. You shall assume your brother's

character once more--pay court to her--seduce her, and have her

disgraced."

"What did you say, Kirkmichael? repeat that again. What did you say

about disgracing? I am so very ill."

"O no! That scheme will not do. It will end ill! it will end ill! You

are lady Douglas now, not the maiden princess. Why, I will get her

married to one of your footmen for you. That will do."

"Prithee speak of things possible, and within some bounds of

probability. If she were but married to a knight but one step below my

lord in dignity, I would be satisfied. Nay, were that step only ideal

it would give my heart content."

"Is that then so much to make such a pother about? I will accomplish

it in two days. So difficult to get a maid of her complexion to marry?

Difficulty in fattening--a pig! baiting a hook for a bagrel!--a

stickleback!--a perch! I'll do it in two days--in one day--in half a

day, else never call me Mary Kirkmichael of Balmedie again. Difficulty

in marrying a maid with light blue eyes--golden locks and rosy

cheeks--with a languishing smile always on her countenance? and that

maid an English one too? Peugh! Goodbye, my lady, Lady Black Douglas.

I'm off. (Opening the door again.) It is a shame and a disgrace for

any gentleman not to _die_ for his mistress! I say it is! Young

Spinola would have died for me cheerfully if I would have suffered

him,--that he would! Goodbye, madam."

Mary was as busy all the remaining part of that day as ever was a bee

in a meadow. She had private business with the Queen, and had art or

interest enough to get two private audiences. She had business with

the lady Jane Howard; a word to say to the King, and two or three to

the lord Douglas--But it is a great loss that these important

disclosures cannot be imparted here,--for every word that she told to

each of them was a profound secret! Not a word of it ever to be

repeated till death! What a loss for posterity! It had one quality,

there was not a word of truth in all this important disclosure; but an

ingenious lie by a woman is much more interesting than one of her true

stories. There was, however, one of Mary Kirkmichael's secrets came to

light, though none of those above-mentioned; and from the complexion

of that, a good guess may be made at the matter of all the rest.

Sir Charles Scott, alias Muckle Charlie of Yardbire, was standing at

the head of his hard-headed Olivers, his grimy Potts, and his

skrae-shankit Laidlaws, in all amounting now to 140 brave and well

appointed soldiers. He had them all dressed out in their best light

uniform, consisting of deer-skin jackets with the hair outside;

buckskin breeches, tanned white as snow, with the hair inside; blue

bonnets as broad as the rim of a lady's spinning wheel, and clouted

single-soaled shoes. He was training them to some evolutions for a

grand parade before the King, and was himself dressed in his splendid

battle array, with his plumes and tassels of gold. His bonnet was of

the form of a turban, and his tall nodding plumes consisted of three

fox tails, two of them dyed black, and the middle one crimson. A

goodlier sight than Sir Charles at the head of his borderers, no eye

of man (or woman either) ever beheld. As he stood thus giving the word

of command, and brandishing the Eskdale souple by way of example, in

the great square in the middle of the fortress, a little maid came

suddenly to his side and touched him. Charles was extending his voice

at the time, and the interruption made him start inordinately, and cut

a loud syllable short in the middle. The maid made a low courtesy,

while Charles stooped forward and looked at her as a man does who has

dropt a curious gem or pin on the ground, and cannot find it. "Eh? God

bless us, what is't hinny? Ye war amaist gart me start."

"My mistress requests a few minutes private conversation with you, sir

knight."

"Whisht dame! speak laigh," said Sir Charles, half whispering, and

looking raised-like at his warriors: "Wha's your mistress, my little

bonny dow? Eh? Oh you're nodding and smirking, are you? Harkee, It's

no the auld Queen, is it? Eh?"

"You will see who it is presently, gallant knight. It is a matter of

the greatest import to you, as well as your captain."

"Ha! Gude faith, then it maunna be neglected. I'll be w'ye even now,

lads; saunter about, but dinna quit this great four-nooked fauld till

I come back again. Come along, then, my wee bonny hen chicken. Raux up

an' gie me a grip o' your finger-ends. Side for side's neighbour

like." So away went Sir Charles, leading his tiny conductor by the

hand, and was by her introduced into one of the hundred apartments in

the citadel.

"Our captain is gaun aff at the nail now," said Will Laidlaw; "Thae

new honours o' his are gaun to be his ruin. He's getting far ower

muckle in favour wi' the grit fo'k."

"I wonder to hear ye speak that gate," said Gideon Pott of Bilhope: "I

think it be true that the country says, that ye maun aye read a

Laidlaw backward. What can contribute sae muckle to advance a

gentleman and his friends as to be in favour with the great?"

"I am a wee inclined to be of Laidlaw's opinion," said Peter Oliver of

the Langburnsheils, (for these three were the headsmen of the three

names marshalled under Sir Charles,)--"Sudden rise, sudden fa'; that

was a saying o' my grandfather's, and he was very seldom in the wrong.

I wadna wonder a bit to see our new knight get his head choppit off;

for I think, if he haud on as he is like to do, he'll soon be ower

grit wi' the Queen. Fo'k should bow to the bush they get bield frae,

but take care o' lying ower near the laiggens o't. That was a saying

o' my grandfather's aince when they wantit him to visit at the castle

of Mountcomyn."

"There is he to the gate now," said Laidlaw, "and left his men, his

bread-winners, in the very mids o' their lessons; and as sure as we

saw it, some o' thae imps will hae his simple honest head into Hoy's

net wi' some o' thae braw women. Wha wins at their hands will lose at

naething. I never bodit ony good for my part o' the gowden cuishes and

the gorget, and the three walloping tod tails. Mere eel-baits for

catching herons!"

"Ay weel I wat that's little short of a billyblinder, lad!" said Peter

Oliver; "I trow I may say to you as my grandfather said to the ghost,

'Ay, ay, Billy Baneless, 'an a' tales be true, yours is nae lie,' quo'

he; and he was a right auldfarrant man."

But as this talk was going on among the borderers, Sir Charles, as

before said, was introduced into a private chamber, where sat no less

a dame than the officious and important lady of all close secrets,

Mistress Mary Kirkmichael of Balmedie, who rose and made three low

courtesies, and then with an affected faultering tongue and downcast

look, addressed Sir Charles as follows: "Most noble and gallant

knight,--hem--Pardon a modest and diffident maiden, sir knight!--pink

of all chivalry and hero of the Border: I say be so generous as

to forgive the zeal of a blushing virgin for thus presuming to

interrupt your warrior avocations.--(Sir Charles bowed.)--But, O

knight--hem--there is a plot laying, or laid against your freedom.

Pray may I take the liberty to ask, Are you free of any love

engagement?"

"Perfectly so, madam, at--hem!----"

"At my service. Come that is so far well. You could not then possibly

have any objections to a young lady of twenty-one or thereby, nobly

descended, heir to seven ploughgates of land, and five half-davochs,

and most violently in love with you."

"I maun see her first, and hear her speak," said the knight, "and ken

what blood and what name; and whether she be Scots or English."

"Suppose that you _have_ seen her and heard her speak," said the dame;

"and suppose she was of Fife blood; and that her name was _lady_ Mary

Kirkmichael: What would you then say against her?"

"Nothing at all, madam," said Sir Charles, bowing extremely low.

"Do you then consent to accept of such a one for your lady?"

"How can I possibly tell? Let me see her."

"O Sir Charles! gallant and generous knight! do not force a young

blushing virgin to disclose what she would gladly conceal. You _do_

see her, Sir Charles! You _do_ see her and hear her speak too. Nay,

you see her kneeling at your feet, brave and generous knight! You see

her _tears_ and you hear her _weep_,--and what hero can withstand

that? Oh Sir Charles!--

"Hout, hout, hout!" cried Sir Charles interrupting her, and raising

her gently with both hands, "Hout, hout, hout! for heaven's sake

behave yoursel, and dinna flee away wi' the joke athegither, sweet

lady. Ye may be very weel, and ye are very weel for ought that I see,

but troth ye ken a man maun do ae thing afore another, and a woman

too. Ye deserve muckle better than the likes o' me, but I dinna

incline marriage; and mair than that, I hae nae time to spare."

"Ah, Sir Charles, you should not be so cruel. You should think better

of the fair sex, Sir Charles! Look at this face. What objections have

you to it, Sir Charles?"

"The face is weel enough, but it will maybe change. The last blooming

face that took me in turned put a very different article the next day.

Ah, lady! Ye little ken what I hae suffered by women and witchcraft,

or ye wadna bid me think weel o' them."

"Well, knight, since I cannot melt your heart, I must tell you that

there is a plot against your liberty, and you will be a married man

before to morrow's night. It is a grand plot, and I am convinced it is

made solely to entrap you to marry an English heiress that is a captive

here, who is fallen so deeply in love with you that, if she does not

attain you for her lover and husband, her heart will break. She has made

her case known to the Queen, and I have come by it: therefore, sir

knight, as you value my life, keep this a _profound_ secret. I thought

it a pity not to keep you out of English connections; therefore I sent

for you privily to offer you my own hand, and then you could get off on

the score of engagement."

"Thank you kindly, madam."

"Well, Sir. On pretence of an appendage to the marriage of the king's

favourite daughter with the greatest nobleman of the land, before the

festival conclude, it is agreed on that there are to be a number of

weddings beside, which are all to be richly endowed. The ladies are to

choose among the heroes of the games; and this lady Jane Howard is

going to make choice of you, and the law is to be framed in such a

manner that there will be no evading it with honour. You have been a

mortal enemy to the English; so have they to you. Had not you better

then avoid the connection by a previous marriage, or an engagement

say?

"I think I'll rather take chance, with your leave, madam: Always

begging your pardon, ye see. But, depend on it, I'll keep your secret,

and am indebted to you for your kind intentions. I'll take chance.

They winna surely force a wife on ane whether he will or no?"

"Perhaps not. One who does _not incline marriage_, and has not _time

to spare_ to be married, may be excused. Tell me, seriously; surely

you will never think of accepting of her?"

"It is time to decide about that when aince I get the offer. I can

hardly trow what ye say is true; but if the King and the Warden will

hae it sae, ye ken what can a body do?"

"Ah, there it is! Cruel Sir Charles! But you know you really have not

a minute's _time to spare_ for marriage, and the want of _inclination_

is still worse. I have told you, sir knight, and the plot will be

accomplished to-morrow. I would you would break her heart, and

absolutely refuse her, for I hate the rosy minx. But three earldoms

and nine hundred thousand marks go far! Ah me! Goodbye, noble knight.

Be secret for my sake."

Sir Charles returned to his men in the great square, laughing in his

sleeve all the way. He spoke some to himself likewise, but it was only

one short sentence, which was this: "Three earldoms and nine hundred

thousand marks! Gudefaith, Corbie will be astonished."

It was reported afterwards, that this grand story of Mary's to Sir

Charles was was nothing at all in comparison with what she told

to lady Jane, of flames and darts, heroism, royal favour, and

distinction; and, finally, of endless captivity in the event of utter

rejection. However that was, when the troops assembled around the

fortress in the evening, and the leaders in the hall, proclamations

were made in every quarter, setting forth, that all the champions who

had gained prizes since the commencement of the Christmas games were

to meet together, and contend at the same exercises before the King,

for other prizes of higher value; and, farther, that every successful

candidate should have an opportunity of acquiring his mistress' hand

in marriage, with rich dowries, honours, manors, and privileges, to be

conferred by the King and Queen; who, at the same time gave forth

their peremptory commands, that these gallants should meet with

no denial, and this on pain of forfeiting the royal favour and

protection, not only towards the dame so refusing, but likewise to her

parents, guardians, and other relations.

Never was there a proclamation issued that made such a deray among the

fair sex as this. All the beauty of the Lowlands of Scotland was

assembled at this royal festival. The city of Roxburgh and the town of

Kelso were full of visitors; choke full of them! There were ladies in

every house, beside the inmates; and, generally speaking, three _at an

average_ for every male, whether in the city or suburbs. Yet, for all

these lovely women of high rank and accomplishments, none else fled

from the consequences of the mandate but one alone, who dreaded a

rival being preferred,--a proof how little averse the ladies of that

age were to the bonds of matrimony. Such a night as that was in the

city! There were running to and fro, rapping at doors, and calling of

names during the whole night. It was a terrible night for the

dressmakers; for there was such a run upon them, and they had so much

ado, that they got nothing done at all, except the receiving of orders

which there was no time to execute.

Next morning, at eight of the day, by the abbey bell, the multitude

were assembled, when the names of the former heroes were all called

over, but only sixteen appeared, although twenty-two stood on the

list. The candidates were then all taken into an apartment by

themselves, and treated with viands and wines, with whatever else they

required. There also they were instructed in the laws of the game.

Every one was obliged to contend at every one of the exercises;

and the conqueror in each was to retire into the apartment of the

ladies, where they were all placed in a circle, lay his prize at his

mistress's feet, and retire again to the sports without uttering a

word.

The exercises were held on the large plain south of the Teviot, so

that they were beheld by the whole multitude without any inconveniency.

The flowers of the land also beheld from their apartment in the castle,

although no one saw them in return, save the fortunate contenders in

the field. The first trial was a foot race for a chain of gold, given by

the lady Douglas, and all the sixteen being obliged to run, the sport

afforded by the race was excellent; for the eager desire to be foremost

acted not more powerfully to urge the candidates to exertion than the

dread of being the last, so that the two hindmost were straining every

nerve, and gasping as voraciously for breath as the two foremost. Sir

Charles Scott took the lead, leaving the rest quite behind, so far that

every one thought he would gain with all manner of ease, and they began

to hail him as conqueror. But owing to his great weight he lost breath,

and in spite of all he could do the poet made by him and won the prize,

which he took with a proud and a joyful heart, and laid at the feet of

Delany. "Bauchling shurf!" exclaimed Sir Charles, laughing when he saw

the poet passing his elbow, "Useless bauchling shurf! an I had kend I

wad hae letten ye lie, and been singit to an izle in the low o'

Ravensworth."

"Knight, I think ye hae lost," cried one.

"I think sae, too," said Charles. "I liket aye better to rin ahint an

Englishman than afore him a' my life."

The next game given out was a trial in leaping, for a pair of

bracelets, clasped with gold, and set with jewels, given by the Queen.

These also the poet won, and laid at Delany's feet. Sir Charles won

three; one for tilting on horseback, one for wrestling, and one for

pitching the iron bar, and he laid all the three prizes at the feet of

lady Jane Howard. Two lords won each of them two prizes, and other two

knights won each of them one; and all, unknown to one another, laid

them at the feet of lady Jane Howard.

When the sports of the day were finished, the seven conquerors, all

crowned with laurel, and gorgeously arrayed, were conducted to the

gallery where the ladies still remained; and after walking round the

room to the sound of triumphal music, they were desired to kneel one

by one in the order in which they had entered before, and each to

invoke his mistress's pity in his own terms. It fell to the poet's lot

to kneel first, who stretched forth his hands toward a certain point

in the room, and expressed himself as follows: "O lovely darling of my

soul! in whom my every hope is centered; at whose feet I laid my

honours down. This laurel wreath I also consecrate to thee. By all the

love that I have borne for thee, the pains that I have suffered, I

conjure you to raise me up, and say thou wilt be mine:--else here I'll

kneel till doomsday!"

A pause ensued; the King and his nobles looked on in breathless

curiosity, for they knew not where he had bestowed his favours. The

dames also gazed in envious silence, and in hopes that the supplicant

would be refused. He soon himself began to dread what they hoped; his

countenance changed; the wild lustre of his eye faded; and he began to

look around to see where he could get a sword on which to fall and

kill himself. He cast one other pitiful look to Delany, but she

deigned no movement to his relief,--still keeping her seat, though

visibly in great agitation. But, at length, when hope was extinct in

his bosom, there appeared one to his relief. This was no other than

his old rival the gospel friar, who had been admitted in an official

capacity, in order to join hands and bless unions if any such chanced

to be agreed on. He was standing ruminating behind backs; but seeing

the first offer about to be rejected, and aware of the force of

example, whether good or bad, and how little chance he had of

employment that day if the first effort misgave, he stepped briskly up

to Delany, and, taking her hand, said, "Lo, my daughter, have not I

travelled for thee in pain, and yearned over thee as a mother yearneth

over the son of her youth? Why wilt thou break my heart, and the heart

of him that burneth for thy love?" Delany then rose, and with

trembling step came toward her lover, led by the grotesque form of the

good friar. The tears gushed from the poet's eyes as she lifted the

laurel crown from the floor, and replacing it on his head, said, as

she raised him up, "Thou hast adventured and overcome. Hence be thou

the lord of my heart and affections."

The friar gave them no more time to palaver, but joined their hands,

pronounced them a married pair, and blessed their union in the name of

the Trinity. Then Sir Charles Scott kneeled, and, casting his eyes

gravely toward the floor, said only these words: "Will the lady whom I

serve take pity on her humble slave, or shall he retire from this

presence ashamed and disgraced."

Woman, kind and affectionate woman, is ever more ready to confer an

obligation on our sex than accept of one. Lady Jane arose without any

hesitation, put the crown on the knight's head, and, with a most

winning grace, raised him up, and said, "Gallant knight, thou wert

born to conquer my countrymen and me; I yield my hand and with it my

heart." The friar lost no time in joining their hands; he judged it

best and safest to take women at their first words; and short time was

it till the two were pronounced husband and wife, "and whom God hath

joined let no man dare to put asunder. Amen!" said the friar, and

bestowed on them an earnest blessing.--Isaac the curate expatiates

largely on the greatness and goodness of this couple; how they

extended their possessions, and were beloved on the Border. Their son,

he says, was the famous Sir Robert of Eskdale, the warden of the

marches, from whom the families of Thirlstane, Harden, and many other

opulent houses are descended. No union could be more happy; and

besides, it rendered the Lady Douglas the happiest of women, and Mary

Kirkmichael the proudest.

But to return to the scene in the gallery with the knights and their

mistresses. The King and his nobles who accompanied the gallants into

the apartment of the ladies, knowing nothing of the choices each had

made, expected great amusement from compliances and non-compliances;

and at all events, after so fair a beginning, a number of weddings to

be the result. Every one of the successful knights expected the same

thing; for it is a curious fact, which shows the duplicity of our

character in a striking light, that, when the champions were all in

the apartment together in the morning, some mentioned one lady as the

flower of the land and of all present, some mentioned another, and so

on. But no one ever mentioned the names either of _Delany_ or _Jane

Howard_. Sir Charles indeed mentioned no name, but when each had named

a pretended favourite with mighty encomiums, he only added, "I'll no

say muckle; but there's ane that I rank aboon a' thae."

The master of the ceremonies looked round to call the next champion to

kneel; but, behold, he was not there! He called the next again. He was

gone also! Every one of the knights had vanished, each thinking

_himself_ slighted by the preference given to Sir Charles Scott, but

none knowing that for his sake they were all slighted alike. The

noblemen were all in the utmost consternation; the King became highly

offended, and said "What is the meaning of this? Have these knights

dared to desert their colours on the very eve of action? This is not

only an affront put upon us, but upon our fair and noble visitors, of

whose honour and feelings we are more jealous than of our own."

But the friar, who was a man of peace, and disliked all sort of

offence, when he saw the King was displeased, took speech to himself,

and his speech set all the gallery into a burst of laughter. He was

standing in the midst of the floor, with his book in hand, ready and

eager to officiate still farther as a knitter and binder; but when he

saw the knights all fled, and the King offended, he uplifted both of

his hands and one of his feet, standing still on the other, and cried

with a loud voice, "Behold my occupation is ended! Woe is me for the

children of my people! For the spirit of man is departed away, and he

hath no strength remaining. Oh what shall I do for the honour of my

brethren! For, lo, the virgins are come to the altar, and there is

none to accept of the offering. The men of might are dismissed, yea

they are confounded and fled away, and the daughters of the land are

left to bewail the months and years of their virginity. Woe is me, for

my hand findeth nothing more to do!"

The ladies laughed immoderately at the cases of the forlorn and

discomfited knights; for they had witnessed the proceedings, and saw

that all their devotions were paid to one object; and as no lady of

Scotland had been chosen, one could not envy another,--so they

tittered and laughed off the affront as well as they could.

The friar got passports into England, and after much labour and pain

got the poet established in his father's possessions, and acknowledged

as the lord of Ravensworth. He also regained for him his lady's

possessions on the continent, which the Nevilles retained for the

space of two hundred years. That amiable couple cultivated the arts of

peace, music, and song, as long as they lived. After these things, the

friar was preferred to great emoluments in his old age, and he spent

them all in acts of charity and benevolence.

From Roxburgh the royal party proceeded to Melrose, where they remained

two days, which they spent partly in devotion and thanksgivings,

and partly in viewing the magnificent scenes in the neighbourhood,

particularly the great hill of Eildon, so lately reft asunder and

divided into three by the power of the elemental spirits. To this awful

theme the mind of the Queen still reverted; and, on her last visit to

these mountains, she passed through the recent chasms, gazing and

trembling at the effects produced by that tremendous convulsion of

nature; and, at length, she had spoken and dreamed so much about it,

that she proposed to go and visit the castle of Aikwood, and if possible

to get a sight of the great enchanter himself, before she left the

Border counties, where, she said, she might never be again. Every one

tried to dissuade her from the attempt, and the King got into a high

passion, but still she could not not be driven from her purpose. "As we

return to the abbey," said she, "we will go by the ford of Dornick-burn

at the foot of the deep dell that you told me of, where the devil first

made his appearance on horseback to the four warriors. I should not

wonder that we shall see him there again under some disguise."

"I would not wonder that we should," said Sir Charles: "I have been

told that he is sometimes seen there in the shape of a clerk;

sometimes as a mariner; and sometimes in the form of the King of

Scotland. Always begging your pardon, royal madam."

"There is no offence, Sir Charles, as long as you do not tell me that

he appears in the shape of a Queen. I hope he has never yet been known

to assume the shape of a woman."

"He has enow to appear for him in _that_ form, which I ken something

about to my cost; and which your royal majesty kens mair about than I

could have wished. What does your majesty account the greatest peril

that man is subject to in this world?"

"Oh war, war, certainly! Nineteen out of twenty of his perils

concentrate in that, or are derived from it."

"Ye may be thankfu' ye ken nae mair about it than that, my lady queen!

Aince ye gang near the castle of Aikwood ye'll get a little mair

experience perhaps. Now ye are determined on ganging there the morn,

and I am determined on accompanying you, since you will go. But troth

I would be right wae to see my queen turned into a cow, and a little

deil set to drive her; or into a grey mare, and a witch or warlock set

to gallop on her; or a doe, or a hare, or a she-fox, and a tichel o'

tikes set after her to tear her a' to tareleathers. Always begging

your pardon, my liege lady."

As they were chatting on in this familiar and jocular style, they came

to the identical little deep dell, at the meeting of two rivulets, or

moorland burns, where the devil and his three attendant imps had

appeared to our warriors on their way to Melrose; and, as Dan Chisholm

was of the party, the Queen caused him to be called up to describe the

whole scene,--with the personal appearance of the arch fiend,--the

words he spoke, and also the extraordinary course that he had with him

along the marble pavement of the air. All these matters were detailed

to her by the trooper with perfect seriousness and simplicity, which

made such an impression on the Queen's romantic and superstitious

mind, that her countenance altered in every feature, and she was every

now and then gazing around as if expecting Satan's personal appearance

before them once more. The party were sitting on horseback conversing

together, when the sharp eye of Sir Charles, well accustomed to the

discernment of all living or moving objects, whether by night or by

day, perceived a miserable looking wight approaching them by the very

path on which the infernal cavalcade had formerly proceeded. The Queen

was talking to Dan, still pushing her inquiries, when Sir Charles

touched her gently on the shoulder, and said, "Hush, your majesty. See

who is this approaching us by the very road that the deils took? It is

a question who we have here. Ane is nae sure of ony shape that appears

in sic a place and sic a time as this."

Then there was such crossing and telling of beads, and calling on the

names of saints, took place with the Queen and her ladies, every one

of them asking the same question in terrified whispers, "Is it he,

think you? Is it he? Oh, is it he?" Then there was a general request

made that they should take instant flight, and ride home to the abbey

full speed; but an opposition arose to this proposal from a quarter

not expected. This was from no other than Sir Charles' English lady,

whose education had taught her to despise the superstitions so

prevalent in Scotland; and seeing them all about to fly from a poor

wo-begone, half-famished wretch, she opposed it with indignation,

adding, that she would abide his coming by herself if none else would.

Sir Charles was still far from being clear about these matters, hard

experience having taught him caution; however, he commended his lady's

spirit, and drew up by her side: They rest marshalling behind them,

they awaited in a body the coming of this doubtful guest; and every

eye being fixed on his motions, so every tongue was busied in giving

vent to the spontaneous movements of the mind. "It is a palmer," said

one. "It is a warlock," said another. "It is the devil," said a third;

"I ken him by his lang nose!" "Aha, my royal and noble dames!" cried

Sir Charles exultingly: "If it be nae the deil, it's his man; sae we

may expect some important message, either frae his infernal majesty or

the great enchanter, for this is no other than his seneschal. My royal

liege, this man that you see approaching is no other than Gilbert

Jordan, the late laird of the Peatstackknowe, who was drawn by lot to

supply the room of the wretch whom our gospel friar sent up through

the clouds in a convoy of fire and brimstone. Whether this be Gibbie

or his ghaist, it is hard to say; but I ken weel by the coulter nose

it is either the one or the other. Your majesty will scrimply believe

it, but the last time I saw that carl the deil was hauding him by the

cuff o' the neck ower the topmost tower of the castle of Aikwood, and

the poor laird was sprawling like a paddock in a gled's claws, when

fifty fathom frae the ground. There is nought in nature I expected

less to see than that creature again in the land of the living; yet it

is actually he himself in flesh and blood, and that is all, for he is

worn to skin and bone, and his nose is even longer than it was! Hech,

laird, is this you? And are you indeed returned to the Christian world

aince mair?"

"Aye troth, Yardbire, it is a' that's to the fore of me. But who have

you got all here? Good-e'en to you, gentles. This brings me in mind of

a story, man, that I hae heard about the hunting of Stanebires' cat--"

"Whisht, Gibbie,and gie us nane o' your auld stories about cats even

now. This is the Queen of Scots and her attendants. Rather tell us, in

one word, how you have made your escape from yon infernal gang in the

castle of Aikwood?"

"Aha, Yardbire, that is a tale that winna tell in ae word, nor twa

neither; it wad take a winter night in telling, and it is the

awesomest ane that ever passed frae the lips o' man; but I am ower

sair forespent at this time to begin to it."

"Oh, no!" cried the Queen: "Honest man, do not begin it at present. It

shall serve for our evening's amusement, and you shall tell it before

your King and his nobles, after you have had such refreshment as you

stand in need of." She then caused one of her squires to alight, and

mounting the wearied and exhausted laird on his horse, they rode off

to Melrose, where, after a plentiful meal, the laird was brought into

the apartment where the King, the Queen, the abbot, with the nobles

and ladies of the court, were all assembled; and then, at the royal

request, he related to them the following narrative.